Marti looked up from peeling and smiled. “Yeah, and you always pretended I was in the way.”
“Well, you weren’t. As a matter of fact, that’s what I missed more than anything when you left.”
Sadness rounded Marti’s eyes, and they filled with tears.
“I’m sorry, hon. I didn’t mean to make you cry. I just wanted you to know how much I missed your sweet face around here.”
Marti nodded and smiled through her tears. “Thanks, Stella. That means a lot.”
When all of the peaches were peeled, Stella told Marti, “Now we need to cut the peaches into thin slices. Then I’ll let you mix everything together.”
They worked together for a couple more minutes, and finally, Stella pushed the rest of the ingredients toward Marti.
“First, you mix the flour, sugar, milk, and peaches together, and then pour it all into the melted butter. This is the simplest recipe you’ll ever find, but since we’re cookin’ for a passel of folks today, we have to make more than usual. Remember that if you ever decide to cook it just for yourself. Today, we’re gonna double the recipe. Mix two cups each of flour, sugar, and milk into this big bowl.”
Marti measured out two cups of each ingredient and stirred it together with a wire whisk.
“Do you have to use fresh peaches?”
“Oh no, you can use canned peaches if you like, but they’re not quite as fresh. Make sure, if you buy fresh peaches, you get ones that are good and ripe. If they’re hard, they won’t cook soft enough or have enough juice to make that wonderful flavor.”
She watched as Marti mixed the ingredients together.
“Now we just pour the peaches into the sugar mixture and stir it all up.”
Stella pulled the pan of melted butter out of the oven, set it on the counter, and watched as Marti poured the peach and sugar mixture into the middle of the butter. “Now, take a spoon and sort of scoop some of the butter in the corners of the pan up onto the middle of the peach mixture.”
When they were done, Stella took the roast beef out of the oven, and put the cobbler on the top rack. “Now we’ll let it cook for an hour—on three hundred and fifty degrees.”
“Wow, that was easy. I wish I’d let you teach me how to cook years ago. Who knows? I could be a famous chef by now.”
They both laughed.
Stella heard a strangled “humph” from the doorway, and she turned to see Anita standing inside the door.
“Come on in, Anita. Did you need something?”
Anita turned a wary look in Marti’s direction and walked over to the cabinet beside the refrigerator. “I just came to get my iron tablets.”
Marti seemed to shrink in the seat, and it irritated Stella that Anita acted so ugly. “Anita, would you like to stay and help us set out the good china for supper?”
Marti looked up—surprised. Stella winked.
“Uh, no, thank you. Parker and I have work to do.” Anita’s emphasis on the word work made it clear she thought they were socializing instead of getting supper on the table. “Besides, I don’t think Mr. Gerald would appreciate using the good china without a special occasion.” She gave Marti a snide look that roamed from her head to her toes.
Marti turned her head and looked out the window.
Stella gave Anita a reproving look. “We do have a special occasion—Marti’s visiting.”
“I hardly think a visit from Marti is something the whole family thinks is a special occasion. Besides, I happen to know that Veronica will also be here tonight. How do you think Mr. Daniel’s fiancée will like having his ex-wife here in the same house?”
“Anita!” Stella voice held a touch of censure.
“I’m just saying—Mr. Rushing invited her here, not Daniel. And I don’t think Daniel will be at all happy when he finds out who she really is. If I hadn’t been ordered by Mr. Gerald not to say anything, I’d have told him already.”
She huffed out of the room, and Stella saw the stricken look on Marti’s face. “Don’t you mind her, child. She’s always in a snippy mood lately. Now come on and let’s get that china out of the hutch. Tonight we’re going to celebrate.”
“That’s okay, Stella. I think I’ll just have supper in my room tonight, like I did last night. It would be better all around.” She put her hand on Stella’s arm and looked her straight in the eyes. “But, thank you for teaching me how to make the cobbler. I’m going straight upstairs and writing down the recipe. I hope mine tastes half as good as yours when I get up enough nerve to try it.”
Marti smiled, but the glow was gone from her eyes. Stella knew why Marti was here, and she was hoping with everything inside her that Mr. Gerald’s plan worked. But from the stricken look on Marti’s face, Stella could tell Marti had no hope whatsoever.
TWENTY-EIGHT
THE NEXT MORNING MARTI CHECKED her image once more in the mirror beside the door and smoothed her powder blue, sleeveless top. The soft collar angled gently to end at the tan buttons down the front of her blouse, and the waistline of the blouse fell just above the identical blue buttons on the pockets of her khaki capris.
She tugged at the band on the capris and adjusted the seams. It was a little big, but it had a special meaning and was perfect for the situation. Daniel gave her this outfit on her twenty-third birthday—the year she left the house. He said he’d searched for the perfect color to match her eyes. It was the best birthday of her entire life. He took her horseback riding to the waterfalls at the back of the property joining the mountain range, and they enjoyed a wonderful day—picking flowers, eating the picnic lunch Stella prepared, and bass fishing in the ten-acre pond.
She sighed. “Maybe, just maybe, this outfit will stir up some of those memories.”
Pushing the soft auburn curls behind her ears, she applied extra concealer to the dark circles under her eyes and took a deep calming breath.
“May as well start the day,” she said as she headed out her bedroom door and into the light and airy studio.
A few butterflies fluttered in the pit of her stomach as they always did when she contemplated starting a new portrait commission. On one hand, she was itching to get started, but on the other, this portrait would be harder than all the rest.
This was Daniel she’d be painting.
The butterflies became bats, and she clutched her stomach when Daniel’s big brown eyes came to mind. The details of this painting would affect her like none she’d ever done.
She walked over to the tall double-paned windows and begged the blue mountains to calm her heart. The sun’s rays filtering through the pines vibrated on the red tin of the gambrel stable roof and mocked the peace she was searching for. She turned to the floor-length mirror hanging on one side of the tall windows and noticed the pallor of her skin.
“This not sleeping for a week is for the birds, and it’s murder on the makeup.” Her nervous laugh frightened even herself. “What am I doing here? This is crazy!” she whispered. “Hashtag: ludicrous.”
“Talking to yourself?” Daniel’s voice boomed behind her.
Marti jumped and turned. “Oh, you scared me.”
Daniel laughed. “I have a habit of doing that, it seems. Did I hear you say something about a hashtag? Do you tweet?”
She grimaced. “I write tweets for the gallery in Landeville. My boss got me started.”
Daniel smiled. “I’ve heard it’s good business practice for retailers.”
Marti shrugged. “It keeps your name out there.”
Daniel smiled. “So, are you ready to do this thing?”
“The portrait, you mean?”
He nodded.
“As ready as I’ll ever be . . . I mean, I’m always ready to start a new painting.”
“How about we eat before we get started? I heard Stella’s making pancakes this morning.” His smile transformed the whole room into a ray of light.
“I can see pancakes are your favorite.”
“Stella can make cardboard taste good.”
She laughed, but her body felt as tight as a drum. Forcing her muscles to relax, she nodded.
He glanced at her attire and turned back toward the hall without making a comment. The hope that he’d recognize the matching outfit vanished into thin air like fog on the mountain when the sun pops out from behind the clouds. Her heart took a tumble but slowly rejuvenated. She hadn’t lost the war, only one battle.
He must have noticed her silence because he said, “If you don’t like pancakes, you could probably get her to whip up about anything that suits your fancy. I don’t know of one thing Stella can’t cook.”
The smile still clung to his features, and she couldn’t help smiling back. “Pancakes are fine, but I’m hoping she’ll make triple chocolate gravy and biscuits sometime while I’m here.”
Daniel stopped dead in his tracks and turned to her. “What did you say?”
Marti gulped. Should she have mentioned the chocolate gravy and biscuits? It was something Daniel had taught her to love.
“I said I love triple chocolate gravy and biscuits. You know . . . chocolate sauce made into good, thick gravy and poured over hot buttered biscuits. Mmm . . . Hashtag: delectable. The best breakfast in the world—and one of the most fattening too—even if you do eat it with fruit.” Her nervous laughter filled the hallway.
Daniel’s eyes sought hers and crinkled. “You know, I didn’t know anyone else but my family even knew about that recipe. Stella started making it when I was very small. I thought it was one of her own concoctions. Who introduced it to you?”
Marti looked at him out the corner of her eyes. “Uh . . . my ex-husband used to eat it when he was growing up.”
Daniel stopped and looked at her. “You were married before?”
She nodded silently, not looking at him.
Daniel stood perfectly still. “I was married before too, but she’s been gone three years now.” He shrugged. “I can’t remember her at all. Of course, that’s not saying much.” He grinned. “I can’t remember anything else either.” He raised his arm and motioned toward the kitchen door, indicating she should enter through the open archway.
“Watch out for the wheelchair. My dad bought it for one of the neighbors down the road, I think.”
A smile formed inside Marti. She’d thought it was for Daniel.
Daniel led her into the kitchen where she’d spent time with Stella the day before making peach cobbler. She stood just inside the door, noting some of the changes in the room she’d overlooked while cooking the night before.
Everything in the room had been modernized and expanded. State-of-the-art, stainless steel appliances formed a comfortable, triangular work space. And, how had she missed the cute little breakfast nook hiding over in the corner? Pastel blue curtains stretched across the top of the airy space, and comfortable cushions covered a café-style bench seat and several matching chairs.
Stretched out on the bench seat was a white and chocolate colored Snowshoe cat. When Marti walked by the table, the cat scrambled up with a loud meow and launched herself into Marti’s arms.
“Princess!” Marti buried her chin into the cat’s neck and rubbed the soft fur. Musical purring filled the room as the cat rubbed her head against Marti’s neck and curled into the crook of her arm, squirming for more attention.
Daniel stopped, stunned. “How odd. She hates strangers. Sometimes she hibernates for days when we have company, and usually she growls or hisses when anyone gets close. She only barely tolerates me touching her.” He paused. “Did I hear you call her Princess? How do you know her name?”
Too late once again, Marti realized her mistake. “I’ve seen her before,” she answered truthfully.
Daniel shrugged, obviously satisfied she’d been introduced to the cat when she arrived and the cat had taken a liking to the visiting artist. “That’s amazing. She must sense you like animals.”
Daniel motioned to a breakfast bar loaded down with pancakes, syrup, muffins, and several different kinds of fruit. “Go ahead and fix yourself a plate. I’ll get us some coffee.”
Marti washed her hands in the kitchen sink and picked up a plate from the breakfast bar. As she began filling it with homemade pancakes, she watched Daniel fill two cups with coffee before he picked up the sugar spoon. She inhaled sharply when he dumped two scoops of sugar in one cup and enough cream to make the coffee white.
He remembered how she liked her coffee? Would this be the moment he remembered everything else?
Daniel remembering that tidbit from their past had both panic and elation battling inside her. She sat down at the table and waited for him to bring the coffee, barely breathing as she stared at him.
When he turned toward the table, a sudden look of bewilderment filled his eyes, and he looked in a daze down at the cups in his hand.
“What in the world?” he murmured.
Marti held her breath and tried not to move when he looked toward her.
“Did you tell me how you like your coffee?”
Marti’s throat was dry so she just shook her head.
“That’s weird. For some reason . . .” Daniel sat the coffee down in front of her and looked deep into her eyes. “Are you sure we’ve never met before?”
Daniel gawked at her—waiting for an answer. She could only stare, hypnotized by the yearning in his eyes. When the cat jumped in her lap for more attention, Marti looked away. She put the cat down, picked up the cup of coffee, and touched it to her lips. “This is perfect. Just the way I like it.”
He shook his head. “I don’t understand . . .”
Marti looked at him out of the corner of her eyes and grinned. “Hashtag: weird.”
He laughed and filled his plate before he joined her. “I must be clairvoyant.”
Gerald walked into the room and plopped a black leather-bound Bible on the table. The gleam in his eyes was proof he’d heard their conversation. Picking up a plate at the breakfast bar, he began stabbing pancakes with the fork. The smile he gave Marti was a little like the cat who swallowed the canary—a bit too jubilant. He looked at Daniel as he poured honey on top of his pancakes. “I talked to Max this morning, and he said Abigail’s about ready to be exercised. She’s probably well enough for a good run. Maybe Marti would like to take her out for a ride.” He glanced at Marti and winked.
Daniel looked at Marti with a question in his eyes. “Do you ride, Marti?”
Marti nodded and glanced at Gerald. “I used to ride quite a bit, but I haven’t in a while.”
Daniel nodded. “Okay. Maybe tomorrow when you get tired of working in the studio, you can come down to the stable and we’ll get you fixed up.”
Gerald suddenly seemed excited. “That sounds like a great idea, Marti. You should get Daniel to show you the waterfall on the west forty acres. It’s a good place to gather inspiration.” His smile held worlds of meaning.
She didn’t answer but ducked her head. Things were spiraling completely out of her comfort zone. How in the world did she get herself into such a mess?
TWENTY-NINE
ZACH PARSONS SAT ON AN old stump behind the Rushing barn and took a puff. Smoke curled above his blond hair and disappeared into the tree branches overhead. If he could stay hidden for a few more minutes, Max wouldn’t know he’d been gone. The stable manager was a stickler for not goofing off. Even though it wasn’t time for a break, Zach had to have a smoke. He’d been smoking since high school, and after ten years, smoking was as much a part of his life as breathing. Cigarettes would probably kill him one day, but right now, they sure did scratch an itch.
He took another puff, laid the cigarette on the edge of the stump beside his set of work keys, and pulled out his new pocket knife.
Max had assigned him another job on top of his daily chores. Anger bubbled up inside of him when he thought about the “easy” job the stable manager wanted done. Max obviously thought his day wasn’t complete unless he assigned Zach an added chore—as if he thought Zach’s day wasn’t long enough.
According to Max, one of the halters Daniel used in training was too large for the smallest of the colts. He was supposed to punch another hole in the leather to make it smaller. It was just his luck he’d lost the leather punch the day before.
He opened his new Victorinox knife and searched for the right tool. The knife was a new toy. It had thirty different tools attached—anything from a blade to a pair of scissors—and the shiny red handle had a gold and yellow flame embossed on the side.
He pulled out the reamer tool and pushed the tip through the leather. Once the tip poked through on the other side, he gave it several twists until the hole opened up and enlarged to the right size.
He twisted the knife out of the oiled leather and stuck the knife blade into the old stump. The prong of the halter buckle slipped into the hole he’d made and held tight. Perfect. Maybe this would get Max off his back.
He picked up the cigarette and took another puff, then glanced around the edge of the barn to see if Max had missed him yet. He didn’t see Max, but he did see a tall man walking over from the house garage.
He’d recognize that walk anywhere. Jordan Welsh. Vinny’s father. Years ago, Vinny drove a car in the NASCAR circuit, and Zach had been one of his on-the-road truck drivers. Jordan hung around the track making his son miserable—and everyone else as well—until Vinny made him leave. Sympathy surged through Zach for the way Vinny had publicly evicted his father. No one deserved to be humiliated in such a public way.
Zach stubbed out the cigarette in the dirt and rounded the corner of the barn where he stood with hands thrust in his pockets. When Jordan saw Zach hovering around the barn, he walked toward him.
“Zach, what are you doin’ here?”
“Workin’.”
“I can see. I guess you gave up following the circuit around and found a job you could handle.”
Zach bristled for a second. “I did okay working for Vince at NASCAR. Better than some.”
It was Jordan’s turn to bristle. Zach’s jab hit home. Vinny had thrown his father out of the pit before the last race of Vinny’s racing career. Jordan had been livid. Vinny yelled at the top of his lungs, “We only need one boss around here, and I’m him. Now, get out!”
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