Cat had come in and shut the door behind her. She hovered near the stove, rubbing her hands. “This is great. It’s a place set apart from the rest of the world.”
“Thanks.”
She nodded towards the wall across from her. “You could knock out part of that wall and add a bedroom or two.”
A silly little thrill ran through Sam’s stomach at the thought of him and Cat knocking out the logs and building a place together. She would be so much fun to create something with. A room … a shed … a family.
Wish there was an antidote for wedding fever. Sam realized too late that he’d caught the bug. His case was bad and getting worse with every moment Cat was in his home. “I guess.” He handed her the gear, wishing his mind could fight off those kinds of thoughts before he was made aware of them. “I’ll start the snowmobile and bring it around front.”
Cat’s eyes lit up. “I’ve never been on a snowmobile before.” She took off her sneakers, or as she liked to call them, bobos. He never knew why, but he liked it because it was unique to Cat. She had her own way of doing things—ways that didn’t make sense and yet were just right on her.
“You haven’t?”
“No, but this would be great book fodder.”
“Book fodder?”
“Yeah, I like to do the stuff in my books before I write them.”
“Don’t you write romances?” From what Sam knew of romance novels, they involved half-naked people on the covers in suggestive poses. “You don’t …” He cleared his throat. “Um … try everything, do you?”
Her cheeks turned pink. “I write Christian romance.”
He held up both hands. “No kissing?”
“There’s kissing.”
“So …?”
Cat laughed as she swatted him with a glove. “Stop watching me get dressed and go get a snowmobile.”
Sam grinned. “Yes, ma’am.” He gave her a mock salute and used the back door to go to the garage. The minute he stepped outside, the sense of ease he’d felt in Cat’s presence evaporated with his breath in a puff of air.
Being near her, teasing her, laughing, was all so easy. Too easy for a guy who was trying to reprogram his way of thinking about women and learn how to play hard to get. With Cat, it didn’t feel like a game, and he couldn’t figure out why.
Was it her?
Was it because they were friends?
Was it because the moment she stepped across the threshold, she’d become a part of the home? He could easily picture her on the couch, pecking away at her latest Christian romance, while he made grilled peanut butter and honey sandwiches. Then they could work together on those kissing scenes.
Yanking the pull cord on his thoughts, he fired up the snowmobile.
He needed a distraction. No, he needed to change his focus. Focus on the land. Focus on building a business. Then maybe, one day, he could find a woman like Cat. Except he didn’t want a woman like Cat; he wanted Cat.
Darn that stupid wedding fever.
Chapter 9
Cat threw her arms around her sister. “You jerk—don’t ever get married again!”
“Hey,” Chet called from his home office. “I can still hear you.” He poked his head out of the door.
“I didn’t mean that I don’t like you!” Cat laughed. Chet, though shy, was much easier to talk to once he’d accepted her as a sister. Well, sister-in-law, but she and Mercedes were so close that he had to throw out the “in-law” part or suffer the consequences.
The happy couple had returned from their honeymoon a few days ago, but Cat promised herself she’d give them time to settle in and hadn’t called. It had been torture not to have Mercedes to talk to on a daily basis, and she was giddy with the reunion.
Chet disappeared again, and Cat picked up a ball of lumpy dough and began kneading it with practiced movements.
“I’ve already done that.” Mercedes tipped her head towards the countertop. She poured a cup of sugar into a bowl and measured out a third of a cup of cinnamon to mix in. They were making pull-apart bread—one of Chet’s favorites.
“That explains a lot,” Cat teased.
Mercedes groaned. “I’ll never get this bread thing down. I’m going to stick to chicken farming.”
“You do that—I almost lost an eye to your dumb birds.”
It was Mercedes’s turn to laugh. “You have to treat them like queens.”
“Ha—dragon queens.” Cat smiled, thinking of Sam taking on Bessie. Like a knight in dingy work clothes, he’d faced the evil Bessie and come off conquering—winning the kingdom and a place in her heart forever. Her hands stilled. Maybe more than just a place in her heart—maybe her whole heart. She was having a hard time getting Sam off her mind.
“You seemed to come out of it okay.”
“Only because Sam saved me.”
“Sam?” Mercedes asked with an air of mock indifference. “Sam Miller?”
“Yes.” Cat was dying to talk to Mercedes about her not-so-mixed-up feelings for Sam, but Chet had already made it clear he was eavesdropping. Instead, she decided to talk about the other big news. “Dad called a few days ago. He offered me a position in his department teaching adjunct.”
Mercedes spoon paused mid-stir. “In Boston?”
Cat rolled her eyes. “No, they’re opening a remote location in Snow Valley.”
“Shut up.” Mercedes smacked her shoulder. “Are you going to take it?” She finished with the cinnamon-sugar and found a stick of butter in the fridge to melt.
“I accepted.”
“What a great opportunity. You’ve already got your bachelor’s in education. You could get your doctorate while you teach nights and then move into a full-time position.”
“Yeah.” Cat set the dough in a greased bowl, flipped it once, and then covered it with a damp cloth. She put the bowl near the wood-burning stove to rise. The room was quite warm, so it should only take half an hour. “I like the idea of becoming a professor. I just …” She paused, unable to put into words how conflicted she felt about all this. Taking the job was a calculated move to build a career she could be proud of. And, she’d be closer to her parents. Still, she hesitated.
“Is it your writing? Couldn’t you keep doing that?” asked Mercedes.
“I wouldn’t have as much time if I were going to school and teaching.”
“So you take fewer classes and do it in four years instead of two.”
Cat had already thought of that—in between remembering how great it felt to ride the snowmobile with her arms around Sam’s middle. She’d squeezed tight at first so she wouldn’t fall off the back. Then she’d held tight because she’d liked having him close. She liked so many things about him. The way his winter clothes smelled of laundry soap and him. His enthusiasm for what he did. Sam loved farming, or orcharding, or whatever it was called. He loved it as much as she loved writing. The idea of leaving him behind in just a few short days was eating away at her resolve. The land coursed through his veins. She got it, she really did, because she felt compelled to write the stories in her heart. And she could never ask him to leave Snow Valley. To even pose the question would be offensive—like asking him to remove an organ.
“I know it’s possible. I’m just—” She glanced at the open office door, wishing she could lay her heart open for Mercedes to see instead of voicing her feelings. Dad was right, things were changing now that Mercedes was married. She wasn’t just her anymore—she was her and her other half.
“What about Grandpa?” She washed the flour and dough off her hands as she talked. “He’s not getting younger. He groans all the time, and I know his knees bother him. If I go, he’ll be alone.”
Mercedes leaned against the counter. “Chet and I are here. And Whitney is right up the road.”
“It’s not the same as having someone in the house. He could fall down the stairs or slip in the shower—”
Mercedes put her arm around Cat’s shoulders. “And a meteor could hit the earth tom
orrow.”
“Aliens could land in our field,” Chet called from the office.
“Good point, sweetheart.” Mercedes exchanged a look with Cat, and they burst into giggles.
The laughter dissipated the gloomy mood. “We’ll take care of Grandpa. You came to Snow Valley with me so I could fulfill my dream of living in the country. It’s your turn to chase your dream.”
“Don’t forget marrying a cowboy,” Chet called.
“A hot cowboy!” Mercedes called back.
“Do you two want to be alone?” Cat asked.
“Yes!” yelled Chet.
“No,” replied Mercedes at the same time.
Cat lifted her eyebrows.
“Ignore him,” Mercedes admonished her.
“And so it begins,” said Chet, laughing.
Cat laughed, too. She’d missed their easy banter. Although when she was around Sam, she hadn’t missed them as much. Stepping into his house was like walking into her bedroom, familiar and true to something inside of her. She’d loved the rustic décor—like the writer’s cottage she’d pictured in her mind, right down to the plaid couch. Although in her head, the rug was a plush, heavy pile, oatmeal-colored thing she could sprawl out on as needed. Would Sam be open to the change?
“Cat?” Mercedes waved her hand. “Write your romance later. This dough is ready and I have no idea what I’m doing.”
Relieved that Mercedes thought she’d gotten caught up in a plotline and not rolling out carpet in Sam’s living room, she dusted her hands with flour and lifted the cloth off the bowl. The dough had doubled in size sitting next to the warm stove. Perfect. She punched it down and then pinched off a golf-ball-sized piece. “First dip it into the butter, then roll it in the cinnamon-sugar.” She demonstrated. “Then drop it into the bread pan. We only need to fill it halfway because it will rise again before we cook it.”
Mercedes’ forehead wrinkled as she concentrated on the task. After the first few balls of dough were in the pan, she bumped Cat’s hip with her own. “So,” she spoke low enough Chet might not have heard, “Sam?”
Cat couldn’t help the heat that crawled up her neck and dusted her ears pink.
“I thought so.”
“Shh.” Cat jerked her head towards the open office door.
Mercedes pressed her lips together, stifling her giggles. “Do you remember when we first moved here and he cornered me at IFA?”
Cat nodded. They were drawing all sorts of attention from the local cowboys. Sam had asked Mercedes out—more like insisted she accompany him to Big C’s. City girl instincts kicked in and they both went running scared. “We were so dumb.”
Mercedes laughed. “I know. And I was so flustered I left the bucket behind.”
“Thank goodness—for Chet’s sake.” Cat grinned as Mercedes flushed. She’d had to borrow a bucket from Chet to finish stripping the wallpaper in the front room. One thing led to another, and now they were in his kitchen making him cinnamon bread, and Mercedes wore his great-grandmother’s ring on her left hand.
“My point is—” Mercedes’ voice dropped even lower, and Cat had to lean in to hear her. “Sam isn’t what we thought.”
“I know.” Cat moved the second bread pan closer and put a ball of dough inside. “He’s sweet, and kind, and—”
“Handsome?” Mercedes filled in.
“Maybe.” Cat dropped her dough onto the counter.
“You know what I think?” Mercedes rolled her dough around in the cinnamon-sugar. “I think you aren’t thinking about accepting the position. I think you’re thinking about Sam.”
Cat pressed her lips together. “Maybe,” she admitted.
“Just be careful.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, you’ve been writing perfect guys for so long, I’m afraid no one will measure up.”
“Oh.” The statement bothered Cat on two levels. One, she worried that her perception of men might be off. Did she expect too much out of them—for them to be more like her characters than like themselves? The other worry came because Mercedes was her best editor. “Are my male characters that predictable?” she asked.
Mercedes rolled her eyes. “No. They’re fine.” She rinsed her hands in the sink. “I’m just saying, tread with caution, and don’t throw away a guy because he isn’t perfect.”
“They can’t all be as good as me.” Chet wandered into the kitchen.
Both Cat and Mercedes rolled their eyes.
“You know, your ego is a lot bigger since you married my sister.” Cat finished the last of the dough and began wiping off the counter.
“Don’t worry. I’m sure you’ll keep me from getting a big head.” Chet folded his arms and leaned against the counter.
“What are sisters for?”
“I haven’t figured that out yet.”
“Hey!” Mercedes threw a dish towel at him. “Mind your manners, Chet Bauer.” Even though there was a warning in her voice, Mercedes had nothing but love in her eyes.
Turning away from a scene that had become much to tender too share, Cat scrubbed a spot on the counter. Her mind drifted to the manuscript she’d pounded out over the last few late nights. Sam starred on every page. Perhaps, in her head, she’d turned him into the man she’d written. The feelings she had for him, however strong they were, could be figments of her imagination.
Throwing the dish cloth in the sink, she flipped around. “I have to go.”
“I didn’t mean that comment about sisters.” Chet looked at his wife, as if he’d be sleeping in the barn for scaring off Cat.
Cat smiled. “I know. I’m good. No worries.” She snatched her coat off the back of the couch. “I have an idea for a book and I need to get it down.”
“Off with you.” Mercedes waved her arm. “Go create.”
Cat grinned. “I will.” She ran to the truck. I’ll create a guy so wonderful I’ll never think of Sam in that way again. And then, I’ll be free to think clearly about my future.
Cat didn’t like to admit it, but she’d always felt like she’d let her dad down by becoming an author instead of running the professor track he’d set her on early in life. Following through with this decision was important for their relationship.
With barely a hello to her grandpa as she ran through the front door, Cat opened her laptop and a new document. “Here we go,” she muttered as she began the outline. “Time to get Sam out of my head.”
Chapter 10
“Hello?” Sam set aside his grilled honey and peanut butter sandwich as he answered his cell phone.
While he had the sandwich, it was a small piece of a much bigger daydream. Cat wasn’t sitting next to him, her long hair flowing around her shoulders. Somehow, two slices of bread and some honey just weren’t enough, and he was ticked that he’d allowed Cat into his home—and his head. Everywhere he looked, she was there. He couldn’t even go out to his forty acres without remembering the way her arms felt around his middle and her laughter echoed across the valley. She brought a melody to his life that he wanted to hum over and over again.
“Sam, this is Timothy Snow at the bank.”
“Hi, Mr. Snow.”
“Your loan has been approved, and we’re ready to move forward.”
Sam pumped his fist. “That’s great—what’s the next step?”
“All that’s left is to have you and William sign the papers. Would Friday at 10 a.m. work for you?”
“I’ll be there.”
“Fantastic. I’ll see you then.”
They said goodbye and hung up the phone. Sam stared at his plate. He should be happy—darn it all, he should be ecstatic. And yet, there was a hollow feeling in his chest. He had the strangest feeling that he was chasing the wrong dream.
Getting up from the table, he slammed his black felt cowboy hat on his head and headed out for the truck. What he needed was a good dose of womanly wisdom.
His mom wasn’t in the kitchen when he arrived. His dad called out from th
e living room, “In here!”
Sam went through the swinging door and found his dad in the recliner with his feet propped up and the Bee Keeper Catalogue in his lap. “What brings you out this way?”
“I was hoping for some home cooking. Mom around?”
“Naw, she’s at something in town. Have a seat.” He kicked the couch next to him.
Sam pulled up a cushion, running his hands along the worn floral fabric. His mom had carte blanche when it came to decorating, and she made no excuses for adding feminine touches—everywhere. She claimed she needed all the girly things because she spent her days with grouchy men. Sam’s dad never complained. He said he could sit on a floral couch just as well as a leather one. Although his recliner was made from camel-colored leather, so maybe Mom let him pick that one.
“What’s eatin’ at you?”
Sam erased the frown on his face and smiled. “I just got the news that my loan went through. I sign the papers Friday.”
“That’s great. Just great. You’re doing yourself proud.”
“Thanks.”
His dad picked up the magazine and then set it down again. “I remember when I bought this place. I was scared to death. You’d just come along—and had a healthy appetite, I might add.”
Sam smiled.
“I wouldn’t have made it if not for your mother.”
“Really?”
Dad bobbed his head. “I could work myself to the bone knowing that when I walked through that door, I was her hero. The long hours and endless days weren’t … aren’t so bad with a woman like her on your side.”
Sam dropped his gaze to his socks.
His dad leaned over the armrest. “All the land in the world isn’t worth a dime if you don’t have someone to share it with.”
As if Sam hadn’t been looking. “I’m taking a break for a while.”
“Scamp! I saw you out riding with that Boston girl.”
Sam jerked his gaze off the floor and met his father’s dancing eyes.
“She’s got spunk, that one,” said his dad.
“That she does.” Sam let out a sigh. “But we’re just friends.”
Winter in Snow Valley (Snow Valley Romance) Page 7