Cate looked at the baskets of herbs and crates of greens Hunter had spent a good part of yesterday afternoon cutting, weighing, and bagging. “So, tell me about some of this specialty produce.”
“You want a tutorial on kale and collards?” Owen asked, and she lifted a slender brow in reply.
“I’m working the farmers’ market with you, aren’t I? Someone might have questions, so, yeah, Casanova. I want a tutorial on kale and collards and whatever else you’ve got here.”
Damn, her moxie was bottomless. Also, incredibly hot.
Owen cleared his throat and turned toward the tables they’d set up along the perimeter of the canopy tent, with a few smaller ones in the center of the space to maximize their allotted square footage while still allowing for a good flow of foot traffic. “Most of our produce is pretty straightforward. Strawberries, asparagus, rhubarb, sweet onions, mixed greens.”
His heart tapped faster, a familiar, intoxicating buzz spreading out in his chest at the sight of the jewel-toned berries in their cardboard baskets and the thousand shades of green from the leeks to the baby spinach. “We’re a little limited with what’s available right now since it’s still early in the season, but we’re also lucky that the yield from our greenhouse has been high.”
“Somehow, I doubt that’s just luck,” Cate said, but Owen lifted his shoulders in a shrug.
“A lot of variables go into it, and any one of them could make or break a crop. Soil composition, amount and type of fertilizers—”
Cate interrupted him with a laugh that, while brassy, carried no heat. “Come on, Owen. It’s not all circumstance. Anyone with functional vision and half a brain can see how seriously you take the farm.”
“I do,” he said, the admission sliding out with ease. “Farming doesn’t just feel like a job to me, though, you know? Not that it’s not ball-busting work. But even on the hardest days, even when things go sideways and the weather turns and we lose crops or cattle, I still love it.”
The excitement he’d been dancing with all morning spread out and strengthened, allowing the words to pour right out. “There’s something…I don’t know, vital about working the land with your hands. Watching each plant grow from this tiny little seed into something sustainable, something that comes directly from the earth the way nature intended it to. Like it shouldn’t be possible, and yet, under the right circumstances, it happens without any effort at all. Just humble and real and right.”
Owen looked up from the produce in front of them, Cate’s wide, whiskey-colored stare tugging him out of his thoughts and making him realize how insane he probably sounded.
A hard shot of embarrassment sent heat over his face. Jesus. “Which, I’m sure, is probably the craziest thing you’ve heard in a while. But—”
“No. It’s not.”
The pared-down honesty on Cate’s face sent a different feeling through Owen, one he couldn’t quite pin with a name, but God, it felt frighteningly good. I get it, the look said. I see you. I understand.
She didn’t actually speak the words, and hell if that didn’t make the feeling in his gut—whatever the hell it was—that much stronger.
“So, how about these?” Cate asked, pointing to the small baskets of heirloom tomatoes, and, just like that, his comfort zone snapped right back into place.
“These are Cherokee purples. We’ve also got some Brandywines, and these here”—he paused just long enough to cradle one of the pretty, bright yellow tomatoes he’d plucked from the vine yesterday morning—“are Kellogg’s Breakfast. They’re all heirloom tomatoes.”
“They look pretty wild.” She ran her fingers over the fat, rippled curves of the tomato in his palm. “Are they all so different?”
Owen nodded. “Yep. I mean, I can almost always tell what variety a tomato is just by looking; and by taste, I’m even more accurate. But each one of these babies is as unique as a signature. You never know how they’ll turn out.”
“Sounds like baking.” A wry smile played at the edges of her mouth, making her so much more beautiful than even a full-wattage, pose-for-the-camera variety would. “I could put together the same recipe a thousand times and the yield is always a little different. I don’t think anyone can tell but me, but…I can.”
“You know your stuff,” he said, his pulse speeding up as Cate’s smile bloomed into a laugh.
“And clearly, you know yours.”
A flash of movement grabbed his attention from over her shoulder, making him grin down at her as he said, “Well, that’s a good thing, because it looks like the gates just opened up. So what do you say we go knock opening day out of the park?”
Cate should’ve been nervous. No. That wasn’t quite right. She should’ve been curled up in a ball on the asphalt, rocking back and forth and channeling all of her will into not throwing up.
But she wasn’t. Not that her calm had much to do with her at all. From the minute Owen had opened up about farming, to the sexy stunner of a grin he’d given her when the gates opened, to now, two hours and a steady stream of customers later, Cate had been able to breathe for one reason, and one reason only.
And he was standing ten feet away, looking as intense and as gorgeous as ever.
“Cate? Is that you?” came a kind, familiar voice from across the table, and she dialed up a smile to—please, God, let it work—cover up the dark and naughty thoughts that had been having a field day with her brain.
“Hi, Mrs. Ellersby. Would you like to try a cookie this morning?” Cate offered the plate of samples to the elderly woman, who politely took a bite-sized sugar cookie.
“I’d heard you were working down at Cross Creek, helping them out with their books and such. Such nice boys, those Crosses.”
Cate followed the woman’s gaze over to Owen, who was re-stocking leeks and spring onions with all the seriousness of brain surgery. “Yes, ma’am,” she murmured, although nice didn’t even make the top ten of words she’d use to describe Owen. Not that she’d expect any of those to make Mrs. Ellersby’s list, either.
“Balancing the books for such a big farm can’t be easy,” Mrs. Ellersby said, peering over the rims of her glasses. “I always knew you had a good head on those shoulders.”
Shock pinged through Cate’s chest at the words, and the same sentiment showed on Mrs. Ellersby’s face a second later as she tasted her cookie.
“Well, my land! Cate McAllister, did you make these?”
Cate nodded hesitantly. “Yes, ma’am.”
Mrs. Ellersby fluttered a hand over the front of her blouse, taking another bite. “I didn’t know you could bake like this. These cookies are soft as a pillow!”
“Thank you,” Cate said, the back of her neck heating even though she was under the full protection of the canopy tent. “I had a lot of help from the Crosses. All the herbs, fruit, and eggs that I baked with came right from their farm.”
“Sounds like a match made in heaven,” Mrs. Ellersby clucked, picking up a package of sugar cookies. “I’ve just got to take some of these home with me. They’ll be perfect with my afternoon tea.”
“Enjoy them,” Cate said, marking the sale on her inventory sheet as Mrs. Ellersby smiled and continued on to the rest of the tables beneath the tent. Cate had kept a careful tally of the money she’d spent on ingredients and materials, along with the inventory she’d used from Cross Creek’s greenhouse and henhouse, and the hours she’d spent in the kitchen. Paying Owen back every dime of that advance was priority number one, and from the look of the list right now, she’d already turned enough profit to do so with ease. If things kept up, those earnings would amount to not only the ability to make a healthy mortgage payment, but also a litany of “I told you so”s from Owen.
Which would also present her with one hell of a quandary, she realized with dread. If she was actually successful selling her baked goods, she wouldn’t have any logical reason not to keep doing so on a regular basis.
Not that the reason she hadn’t taken the plunge b
efore now had ever been sensible to begin with. But it was the only thing she felt more deeply than her ingrained sense of practicality. The only thing that followed her like a shadow, just waiting for the darkness to settle in so it could become stronger, growing teeth and claws that sliced to the bone.
Jesus, Cate! You’re putting your hobby in front of our kid?
Oh, God, what was she doing? This dream wasn’t for her. It couldn’t be. Not now. Not ever.
The ache she’d felt for far too long thudded hollowly through her veins, and, for a slice of a second, she nearly gave in to the deep temptation to run. Owen’s voice stopped her in her tracks, though, filtering in from the spot where he now stood a few paces away. His back was fully to her, and she edged closer on legs that weren’t quite under her command.
“Ah, that fennel is a good choice. It’s coming in even better than last year,” he said to Jenny Porter, whose back was also mostly to her as well. “We’ve got some great-looking rosemary, too.”
“Oooh, rosemary,” Jenny gushed. “My favorite. I’d put it in everything if Mike wouldn’t make fun of me for it.”
“Bet you’d love Cate’s rosemary and cheddar scones, then.” Owen pointed to the package sitting on top of the wooden crate full of assorted herbs in front of them, and Cate’s heart pounded against her rib cage so hard, she was sure the sound of it would give her away.
“Scones, huh?” Jenny’s voice lilted higher in interest. “They look great.”
Owen’s dark hair brushed over the back of his neck as he nodded. “They are great. I had one of the bacon and chive ones for breakfast, myself.”
“Quite the seal of approval. I’m sold,” Jenny said, scooping up the package with one hand and a bunch of fresh rosemary with the other. Cate slipped back to the periphery of the tent just in time as Owen walked Jenny to the opposite side of the space so his father could ring her up, and she watched him covertly, replaying the conversation in her mind. For all of his sharp corners and rough edges, Owen was unapologetically himself. He worked honestly and hard, doing what he loved, and a spike of jealousy stuck between Cate’s ribs.
She’d wanted that once, so badly she’d been able to taste her ambition, spicy and deep like a hit of cinnamon.
It’s not for you.
But that’s stupid, came a whisper from somewhere in the back of her brain, in a voice that wasn’t hers, and her breath caught on the realization that it wasn’t wrong. Owen took his business seriously. He wouldn’t have hired her, and he definitely wouldn’t have said those things about her baking if he didn’t believe in her ability.
And as she watched him from across the tent, with his serious smile and unabashed dedication to the legacy that fit him like a fingerprint, Cate couldn’t help but wonder if she shouldn’t take a risk and start believing in it, too.
17
Owen made it exactly four minutes through the drive back to Millhaven before he couldn’t hold back any longer.
“Admit it,” he said, glancing sidelong at Cate from the driver’s seat of his truck. “You kicked ass today.”
She pressed her lips together, although it did damn little to kill her smile, and hah! He had her.
“It killed you to wait this long to say that, didn’t it?” she asked. “Like, I’m betting it caused you actual physical pain.”
“Brutal physical pain,” Owen corrected, even though he knew damned well he wasn’t so much pushing his luck as shoving it off a cliff. “Which is why I’m going to need to hear you say it out loud.”
Okay, so it wasn’t usually in his nature to gloat unless his brothers and some serious bragging rights were involved. But between the adrenaline-laced buzz of the start of the season, the upward trending success Cross Creek had seen over the past six months, and how thoroughly Cate’s sales had to have surpassed the profit threshold they’d calculated last night, he just couldn’t manage to rein himself in.
Which she must have sensed, because she laughed and said, “Fine. I sold a lot more than I expected to.”
Christ almighty, she was tough on herself. “We’re going to have to work on your confidence between now and when the storefront opens.”
“What about Cross Creek?” she asked after a beat, looking out the window. “You seemed to move a lot of produce today.”
A bit of an abrupt subject change, but not one Owen hated. “We did, actually. We’ll have to run the numbers and the inventory on Monday for exact counts, but at first blush, it looks like our best opening day in the last few years.”
“Sounds like I’m not the only one who should be singing her own praises,” Cate said, and despite only being able to spare her a quick glance because he was driving, he still caught her wry smile right in the solar plexus.
“Okay, okay, okay!” He lifted one hand off the steering wheel in concession, laughing along with her. “We both kicked ass today.”
“So.” She gestured to the mid-afternoon scenery flying past the windows, all bathed in muted sunlight. “Are we officially off the clock, then?”
Owen nodded. She was probably dying for a break, with how hard she’d worked over the past three days. “Yes, ma’am. It seems we are.”
“Excellent. How do you feel about sex?”
His heart boomeranged through his chest. “I’m…sorry?” he sputtered. Certainly, he was hearing things. Because no way in hell had Cate just asked—
“How do you feel about sex? Specifically, having sex with me.”
Holy shit, she had. “I, ah. Should probably buy you dinner first.”
Cate met his weak attempt at humor with a shake of her head. “You could, but it’s really not necessary. Look, you said the ball was in my court, right?”
“I did,” Owen said slowly, still trying to get his brain around the conversation.
Cate, however? Seemed to have no problem whatsoever in that department as she continued, “And we’re two consenting adults who are attracted to each other.”
Fuck, yeah we are! Stop overthinking this and take off your pants! his libido screamed, but he managed to go with a slightly more subdued, “Yes.”
“Okay, then. I’m free tonight, if that works for you.”
Owen laughed, because the alternative was to pull over and take her up on her proposition right there on the side of the goddamn road. “You really do get right to it, don’t you?”
“I don’t see any reason not to,” Cate said, her voice hitching by the slightest degree when she added, “Unless you’re not interested.”
“Oh, believe me. I’m interested.” The words came out low and covered in gravel, and Owen swallowed to regain his steadiness. “But, see, I’ve got these pesky manners, so I’m going to have to insist on that dinner.”
She made a sound that was some cross between an exhale and a chuff of laughter. “That’s sweet of you, but I really don’t need that.”
“Maybe not, but I do.”
Owen caught the look of shock that crossed her face a heartbeat later, and it prompted a smile over his lips. “What? You thought this was going to be all about what you need? I mean, I’m happy to oblige.” Okay, so happy didn’t even begin to cover it, but now wasn’t the time to fuss over semantics. “But if you want to have sex with me, you’re going to have to meet me halfway.”
“Alright,” Cate said, her seat belt shushing softly over her T-shirt as she turned toward him more fully from the passenger seat. “Name your stipulations.”
Well, at least the first one would be easy. “One, we’re not talking about sex like it’s a business transaction. I get that you like everything on the table, but I’m making requests, not rules.”
“Okay. I guess I got carried away with ‘stipulations’.” She bit her lip, and Owen forced himself to focus on the road.
“Request number two, you let me feed you dinner. And, no,” he said in a pre-emptive strike, “driving through at a fast food place or throwing back three bites of something doesn’t count.”
Cate’s laugh came
out edged in guilt. “That’s fair. We haven’t really had a proper meal today. Anything else?”
Owen paused. This would be the kicker, he knew, but it didn’t stop him from saying, “Just one more thing. If we do this, I want you to stay the night.”
“Owen—”
“Hear me out,” he said gently, even though his pulse was rattling through him like a freight train. He might be gruff with her over a lot of things, and he might tease her about some others, but this had to be straight-up. “I know what you’re asking me for, here, and, more importantly, what you’re not asking me for. We’re on the same page. But this one’s a deal-breaker for me, Cate. We don’t have to put any strings on the sex, but if we spend tonight in bed together, that’s where I want us to wake up. After that, what you do is up to you.”
A minute passed with nothing but the white noise of the road whooshing by around them. Just when Owen started to think he’d pushed too hard, Cate gave up an almost imperceptible nod.
“That’s not unreasonable.”
“Okay,” he said, his heart beating faster for a whole new reason. “So, dinner tonight at my place. How does six thirty sound?”
He looked over just in time to catch her cat-in-cream grin, and damn, the next couple of hours couldn’t go fast enough.
“Six thirty sounds great. I’ll be sure to bring dessert.”
True to Owen’s suspicions, the time that had passed from their ride back to Millhaven and the minute the clock on his microwave struck six thirty had moved at a glacial pace. Not that he hadn’t had plenty of things to keep him busy—taking a shower had been a definite must, as had putting clean sheets on his bed, making triple-sure he had plenty of condoms, and assembling everything he needed to make his signature spaghetti and meatballs for dinner. Even with his trip into town to grab a bottle of pinot noir from The Corner Market, he’d still ended up counting nearly every one of the last thirty minutes.
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