Small-Town Hearts

by Ruth Logan Herne

  Crystal grimaced. “I could try, but…”

  “We’ll worry about this when we get back,” Danny told them both. “Let’s get to the hospital, find out how bad it is and then we’ll attack the work schedule. Hannah’s working tonight, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “And your parents are both at work.”

  She nodded, biting her lip to stave off tears, the pain in her arm shooting upward. “Yes.”

  “Well, then it’s lucky you’ve got Crystal and me.”

  Right then Meg wasn’t feeling all that lucky. Her right arm throbbed in protest as she lowered herself into his car.

  But she couldn’t deny how good it felt to have Danny run to her rescue, take charge, hold her and help her. Jane Austen couldn’t have scripted this better, so she’d have to work double time to remember why falling for Danny was a bad idea.

  Right now he was a dream come true, his gaze focused on the road before them when he wasn’t casting concerned glances her way with every bump and wiggle. “You’re doing okay?”

  “Fine.”

  She wasn’t close to fine, the pain a fiery torment even with her left hand cushioning her right arm from movement. Glancing down, she prayed it wasn’t broken, maybe twisted or sprained, a setback of a couple of days, a week maximum.

  The remembered snap of bone said she was wrong.

  She prayed she was right, because if her arm was broken, she’d have to pay someone else to help with production. That option would just about erase her winter cushion of funds.

  Morning traffic and a construction project on Route 19 slowed their progress. Danny glared at a red light in a small town, his fingers tapping the steering column, annoyed. Meg swept the drumming fingers a pointed glance. “Are you this impatient when you drive in New York? Or Philly?”

  He sent her a little smile as if appreciating the change of subject. “No. Yes. Maybe. I’m not usually taking a beautiful girl to the emergency room, so comparisons are unfair.”

  “Thank you.”

  He arched a brow, inquisitive, his gaze on the road, the traffic commanding his attention.

  “For saying I’m beautiful.”

  He smiled. “Nothing the mirror doesn’t tell you every day.”

  “Mirrors are tricky things.”

  “Not in your case, Megs.”

  The sincerity in his voice bathed her. His calm, take-charge attitude allowed her to see a different side to him. This Danny wasn’t schmoozing, placating or working a deal to his advantage. He was doing what a good executive did: assessing and dealing with whatever came his way.

  He pulled into the emergency lot, parked the car and hurried around back to help her out. “Easy now. You want a wheel chair?”

  “For my arm?”

  Worry darkened his features before he nodded and shrugged. “Sorry.”

  “I’m not.” A little shy, she tipped her gaze up to his, relieved that treatment was steps away, her words triggered by his obvious concern. “I’m glad you found me.”

  He met her gaze and couldn’t help himself. He leaned down, feathered her lips a kiss and slipped his arm around her waist while she balanced her bad arm with her good one. “Me, too. Although I was pretty mad at you an hour ago.”

  She flushed, embarrassed.

  His hand around her waist offering a comforting squeeze. “Let’s go get that arm fixed, okay?”

  “You don’t think it’s really broken, do you?”

  “Yup.”

  “And your medical degree is from?”

  “Experience. I broke mine in freshman soccer. Six weeks in a cast, missed most of the season. It was not a good year.”

  “Six weeks?”

  He led her toward the pleasant-looking woman in the triage area. “Yes.”

  “You’ve got to be wrong. There’s no way I can have my right arm in a cast during the six busiest weeks of my summer. It’s impossible.”

  He leaned a little closer. “Wasn’t it you who told me that with God, all things are possible?”

  She sputtered. “I didn’t for the life of me think you were listening.”

  “And yet, I was.”

  The nurse halted their conversation by going through preliminaries with Meg, a step that seemed way too long for Danny’s peace of mind, but when they got to the insurance information, he scowled at the card she handed over. “That’s your plan?”

  “High deductibles increase affordability,” she told him. “Insurance is crazy expensive when you’re in business on your own. I went five years without it until I felt financially sound enough to buy this.”

  It wasn’t great coverage. Danny recognized the company as one who provided significant help only in catastrophic cases. Simple things like E.R. visits, well visits, painful broken bones?

  Meg would pay most of the cost out of pocket, and that angered him. He really had little idea what a small business owner went through because he’d been able to skip that part of the journey, his path prepaved.

  She’d been wrong about his elevated status but correct in her assumption that he’d never had to travel her road except in theory, which meant little in the book of life.

  “It’s a clean break and we’ve reduced the bend in the radius, but it won’t be a fast fix,” the E.R. doctor explained nearly an hour later. “Sorry.” She added the last in response to Meg’s chagrined expression.

  “Is there an arm version of a walking cast?”

  The doctor shook her head. “Afraid not. I’ve correctly positioned the break and applied the temporary splint. We’re going to sling it for you and I’ve sent a prescription to the pharmacy for pain. Here’s the card for Southern Tier Orthopedics—you’ll need to call them and set up an appointment for Wednesday or Thursday. They’ll set the bone and apply a long-term cast.”

  “Long term as in…?”

  “Six weeks, more or less.”

  Meg grimaced, an act that brought Danny to her side. “Are you in pain?”

  “Mad.”

  “Ah.” He bent and met her gaze. “It’s not the end of the world, you know.”

  “No?” She sat up straighter and faced him while the doctor stepped out to confer with a nurse, needing Danny to see reality from her point of view. “This is my busy season, my bottom line. A small business like mine depends on regular customers and the tourist trade. If I can’t produce goods to sell, I’ve got nothing.”

  “You’ve got friends.” He maintained a steadfast look, unfazed, unflappable, bordering on annoying. “There are people here who will help. You know that.”

  “They’ve got lives of their own, Danny.”

  “True, but—”

  “Hannah’s a great help, but she’s running the library so she’s only available part-time. Crystal’s a sweetheart but she knows nothing about the candy-making or cookie-baking side of things. She’s a counter girl who also works at the Tops Market in Wellsville. I’m lucky if she can give me twenty hours a week, and that’s only because she’s desperate for college money and loves to work. The festival girls work full-time and man the weekend booths to make extra tuition money.”

  “And then there’s me.”

  “You?”

  He splayed his hands as if the answer was obvious. “I’m available for the next four weeks at least.”

  “Get help from the competition?”

  A tiny smile, half smirk, half teasing, brightened his gaze. “This way I can glean insider information, see what makes Colonial Candy Kitchen tick. Besides the beautiful owner, of course.”

  The doctor returned, handed Meg instructions and then swept the arm a glance, her tone stern. “And don’t think you can use it just because it’s not hurting as much. Keep it immobile until you see the orthopedist. No funny stuff. Got it?”

  “We’ll make sure of it, Doctor.” Danny reached out an arm to brace Meg as she slid off the table. She winced when her feet touched the floor. He bent again, anxious. “Are you okay?”

  “Aggravated.”


  “In other words, normal.”

  “Basically.” She thanked the doctor and said goodbye before pulling her attention back to Danny. “Did you mean what you said?”

  “Which time?”

  “Ha-ha.”

  “About helping you?” Danny stretched his arms out, flexed his shoulders, a move that made her remember just how good it felt to be sheltered in those arms, held against that chest a couple of hours ago, a totally stellar experience other than the pulsating pain in her broken arm.

  Danny held the door open, then did the same when they got to the car. He leaned in, tugged her seat belt into place and kissed her mouth, a gesture so sweet, so beautifully natural. He tapped her nose with his finger, grinned and went back to their conversation once he’d circled the car and climbed in. “Yes. I can oversee things here. My parents have the company well in hand and expected me to be tied up getting Grandma’s store set, so I’m available. For work, that is.”

  “Don’t think for one minute I was considering anything else.” Meg shot him a look of warning that melted into a smile when he reached across the seat and touched her face, her cheek, her hair.

  His look spoke volumes, his deep gray eyes reflecting his concern, his affection. “Honey, if I don’t have you considering something else after four weeks of working side by side, then I need a refresher course in romance. Did they have that at Alfred, Megs?”

  “My track record indicates I either flunked the course or skipped it entirely.”

  He laughed. “Good point. So we’re going to do a little role reversal. I’m the student. You’re the teacher.”

  “I’m going to show the vice president of Grandma Mary’s how to make candy? And cookies?”

  “Exactly. You made a good point earlier.”

  She flushed from within, heat spreading up her neck to her face. “Listen, I—”

  “Don’t apologize again. I get that you were venting, and I probably appear to be a silver spoon. I’m not, but I realized today I’m not experienced in the day-to-day grind of a small business because our company was large before I was born. And even helping set up our franchise operations, I’m not involved in the constant push to make a store successful, to pay the bills. Consider this a favor to me, a crash course in small business with no tuition.”

  “You don’t mind helping? Really?”

  Right now, glancing right, seeing the look of hope tinged with discomfort, he not only didn’t mind helping, there was nothing in the world that would stop him. She needed him, he’d be there.

  A warm, sweet feeling of being in the right place at the right time, a gentle God moment, made him feel…good. Peaceful. At one with the world.

  Was that silly?

  He’d help her. Take time with her. She was hurt, he was available, an easy equation with no underlying goals messing it up. But the thought of working side by side with Meg for the next month made his heart pump faster in anticipation. For this four weeks, give or take, she was his.

  And he liked that. A lot.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “I’ll preheat the oven,” Meg announced, as they entered her store kitchen through the back door.

  “You’ll sit.” The look on Danny’s face broached no argument. Meg rolled her eyes.

  “I can manage turning a knob with my left hand.” She waved her left hand in the air, demonstrating its usefulness.

  “Then you can manage sitting and telling me how to set the oven. It’s not rocket science, right?” He crossed the kitchen after plunking her into a chair and eyed the oven. “What temperature?”

  “Three-fifty.”

  “Convection?”

  “Yes.”

  “Which means what?”

  “The internal fan blows to keep the heat evenly circulated for multiple trays of cookies.”

  He nodded, adjusted the temperature setting, then stepped back. “Isn’t this oven small for your volume?”

  She shrugged, wondering how anyone could feel this good with a yet-to-be-set broken arm, and pretty sure the euphoria was inspired by the really cute guy in her kitchen and not the mild pain pill. “Yes. I do the cookies as a side, kind of like an all-season ice cream stand. Cookies do steady volume all twelve months, and they freeze well, so that’s an advantage. Stand-up rack ovens are crazy expensive, but I hope to install one in two to three years. Then I can approach bigger venues like the schools and hospital about supplying them daily.”

  “Good plan,” Danny agreed. “So.” He turned, eyed the mixer, and shifted up a brow. “What’s first?”

  Meg talked him through detaching the big mixing bowl, emptying it, washing it and replacing it on the industrial mixer chassis. “While this new batch mixes, you can fill two trays of molasses cookies and slide them into the oven once the temperature gets to three-fifty.”

  “I’m on it.”

  Crystal came around from the front just then, swooped in and gave Meg a gentle hug. “Are you okay?”

  Meg grimaced. “I’m broken. I get to see the orthopedist for a cast in two days.”

  “Oh, Meg.”

  “She’ll be fine.” Danny grabbed a gold and brown floral calico apron, slipped it over his head and tied it in back, the move making both girls smile. “This way she gets to teach me the ins and outs of small-scale production.”

  “Grandma Mary’s ads say they make small-batch candy, just like Grandma used to,” Meg reminded him. “Are you saying they don’t?”

  Danny sent a look around the diminutive kitchen. “Size is relative, and I just signed on to take a crash course in candy making, Meg-style. Oven’s ready. What’s next?”

  “The cookie sheets are hanging on the wall behind you. Each one holds nine cookies.”

  “I love huge cookies.”

  The little boy appreciation in his voice made Meg grin. “Everyone does. Use the one-third cup scoop measure that’s…” She laughed when he brandished the scoop aloft, an apron-wearing, modern-day Zorro, the apron not diminishing the good-looking man behind it in the least. And the stainless-steel-measuring-cup sword?

  Delightful.

  “You fenced?”

  He made a face. “Nope. Soccer and track during high school. I wasn’t solid enough to make the Penn teams. But I worked during high school, too. I actually ran the counter at the Williamsville store.”

  “Williamsville?”

  He dipped the measuring cup into the molasses cookie dough and lifted it. “Yes, Williamsville. That’s where I’m from. Like this?”

  “Exactly. You catch on fast.”

  He glanced around before transferring his gaze to her. “Once again, not rocket science.”

  “Domestic science.”

  He scooped the dough a touch awkwardly at first, but had the swing of it by tray two. Once he had those in the oven, he shifted a brow to Meg. “Time?”

  “Fourteen minutes.”

  “Got it. Now what?”

  “We make chocolate chip dough.”

  “And we sample it?”

  She laughed, his hopeful look putting her in mind of sweet little boys with cookie-dough faces, mops of curls and cool little shirts covered with dinosaurs and trucks. She sent him a scolding look. “Not ’til it’s done. And should I lecture you on the dangers of raw egg?”

  “Not to a guy who loves Caesar salad, steak tartare and French silk frosting. I don’t listen to any of that stuff anyway. They change their minds every week. So, the recipe?”

  “Right here.” Meg tapped her head.

  “Well, for this little partnership to work, Megs, we’re going to write these down so I have them available. If you’re napping or resting or at a doctor’s appointment, I don’t want to be wasting time wondering what to do because I don’t have recipes on hand.”

  “They’re secret.” Her expression said she wasn’t messing around.

  He nodded, gravely. “Your secret’s safe with me, ma’am.”

  Crystal appeared with coffee for both of them, the delicious scent
of vanilla mingling with the spiced aroma of heated molasses. Danny drew a deep breath of appreciation that made Meg laugh. “Doesn’t that smell just pull you in?”

  “I can’t imagine why you don’t weigh considerably more than you do,” he told her, as he wheeled out the flour and sugar bins. “I expect you’re good at skipping meals.”

  “Around here, two cookies is a meal,” Crystal informed him. “Flour, eggs, butter. Why, it’s almost a pancake. Right, Meg?” She flashed wide-eyed innocence his way before turning to Meg for confirmation.

  “Exactly.” Meg beamed agreement. “You’re learning, Crystal.” As Crystal headed back to the front of the store, Meg shifted right, forgetting to buttress her right arm before moving. “Ouch.”

  Danny moved to her side in a heartbeat, concern shading his features. “Did you bump it? Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. I just forgot it needed a little support.” He bent low, putting him way too close for comfort, too close to imagine anything but gazing into those gentle gray eyes the rest of her life.

  She was slated to have a rough four weeks. Returning his look, smelling the hint of morning aftershave mixed with molasses and vanilla, provided a sensory overload of the very best kind—but it was a delight she needed to avoid, right?

  “You’re sure?” He leaned forward, looked like he was going to kiss her, right before he shifted back, teasing. “Ground rule number one— No kissing until the work is done.”

  “How about no kissing at all?” she retorted, somewhat frustrated by the near kiss that turned into a total miss. “That’s better yet.”

  “Naw, it’s not, but if I start kissing you I might not want to stop and this timer says I’ve got four minutes to work on chocolate chip cookie dough before I take the molasses cookies out of the oven. Work first.”

  The fact that he was right tweaked her more. Overbearing and bossy, that’s what he was. But she was having fun nevertheless.

  That should have scared her, but instead it enchanted her.

  She talked him through the recipe step by step. He fumbled a little but seemed to have found his rhythm by the time they got to Snickerdoodles later in the day.