Sweetbriar Cottage

by Denise Hunter

  She crossed her arms over her chest.

  “Did it ever occur to you that a bearproof trash can isn’t bearproof without the lid?”

  “Bears . . .”

  “Yes, bears, Josephine. We’re in the north Georgia mountains, remember?”

  “Bears . . . bears hibernate.”

  “Bears don’t hibernate. Not in the truest sense of the word.”

  “But—but there’s snow on the ground.”

  “It’s early spring and food is scarce.” He clamped his jaw shut, started pulling off his boots.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t know. Are the horses okay?”

  He pulled off his second boot, dropping it beside the first.

  She wondered if he was going to answer her. Surely a bear hadn’t gotten one of the horses. Her stomach rolled at the thought of one of those beautiful creatures lying dead on the ground. But a bear couldn’t get into the corral, could it?

  “Kismet got spooked and busted through the gate.”

  “Oh no. Is he okay?”

  “I don’t know. I can’t find him. But he’s bleeding.”

  Good job, Josephine. She was so stupid. Why had she left the lid off the can?

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Wait till daylight and go back out.” He nailed her with a look. “I can’t take you back until I find him.”

  “Of course.” Now she knew what was really bothering him. Another night stuck with her.

  She grabbed the kettle from the hook over the fire and took it into the kitchen. She made him a cup of coffee and brought it back into the living room.

  “It’s decaf,” she said, extending the mug.

  He silently took her peace offering—such as it was. The ice had thawed from his brows and eyelashes. But not from his eyes.

  “I’m awful sorry, Noah. I wasn’t thinking.”

  He gave a sharp nod.

  But sorry didn’t bring Kismet back. It didn’t mend a shattered heart or heal a broken marriage. It didn’t even begin to soothe the sting of guilt.

  Josephine fixed supper, and they ate in silence, then turned in early. She lay on the couch, fretting. She closed her eyes and tried to sleep, but she was too wound up. Somewhere out there a horse was lost and hurt, and it was all her fault.

  By the time the gray light of morning filtered into the living room she’d had plenty of time to think and plan. Noah stirred in the corner, the recliner creaking softly. He got up and hung a kettle of water over the fire, moving quietly. The plastic sheet crinkled as he slipped into the kitchen. She heard him filling Shadow’s dishes with food and water, then she closed her eyes as he returned, continuing toward the bathroom.

  While he was in the bathroom she crept from her makeshift bed and made a large thermos of coffee, adding it to the other things she’d packed in a backpack she’d found in a closet during the night.

  By the time Noah came back into the living room, Josephine was suited up in her borrowed winter gear, the backpack hanging from her shoulder.

  Noah stopped. “What are you doing?” Sleep hadn’t helped his disposition any.

  Too bad. “I’m going with you.”

  “No, you’re not.”

  She notched her chin a few degrees higher. “I sure enough am. This is my fault, my mistake, and I aim to help rectify it.”

  “It’s cold out there, Josephine. And there’s nothing you can do.”

  “I’m not a fragile flower. And two sets of eyes are better than one. I can be looking while you’re driving.”

  “I have no idea how long I’ll be out there. It could take the better part of the day.” His voice was tight.

  She hitched the backpack higher. “That’s why I packed some food and supplies. Besides, how are you going to get the snowmobile back if you have a horse to lead?”

  Their gazes clashed. She’d made some headway with that bit of reality.

  “I’ll help feed the horses,” she said. “The sooner that’s done, the sooner we can get started, and the longer we stand here fussing, the longer Kismet’s out there lost.”

  She refused to wither under his sour look. She was going to do this. Let him try and stop her.

  She could tell she was winning when he let out a long breath. “Have it your way, Josephine. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  Chapter 20

  Copper Creek, Georgia

  Three and a half years ago

  Josephine ran her roller through the paint and smoothed it onto the wall, the paint sucking and slurping. She’d chosen a shade of brown so muted it was almost gray. She stepped back, tilting her head, appraising the color.

  “You like it?” Noah asked from his knees where he was taping off the adjacent brick wall. “We can take it back if you don’t. Buddy’s really good about that.”

  “No, I think it’s just perfect.”

  “It’s a nice contrast with the brick.”

  “And masculine. I want men to feel welcome and comfortable here. Not like they have to turn in their man card to step foot inside, you know?”

  Noah chuckled. “I don’t think you have to worry about that, Josie.”

  She loved the way he shortened her name. She shot him a saucy look. “What do you mean?”

  He ripped off the tape and stood, smiling wryly. “I don’t think anyone could accuse you of being unwelcoming. You could probably paint the walls pink and butcher the hair of every man in Murray County, and they’d still be lining up at your door.”

  She tilted a smile at him. “I do believe there’s a compliment somewhere in there.”

  His lips twitched as he wetted his own roller, but he didn’t respond.

  It had been over a week since their first date. He hadn’t called her, much less asked her out again. She knew they’d agreed to just the one date, but she’d honestly expected him to ask anyway.

  She’d reviewed the evening so many times. Maybe she hadn’t lived up to his expectations. Maybe after spending more time with her he found her vain and shallow. The thought opened a hollow spot in the pit of her stomach.

  They’d worked together nearly every evening after the shop closed. It made for a long day on her feet, but it was worth it. He was doing the work for just over half of the bid she’d gotten from the other company. And if she were honest, she didn’t mind spending her evenings with him one bit.

  They talked about everything from their favorite movies and books to his family and upbringing. She’d skimmed over most of her childhood, somehow making it seem less wretched than it really was. She told him about going to meet her nana at Piney Acres only to find she had advanced Alzheimer’s.

  Noah was a good listener. Sympathetic and engaged. And he was fun. She loved to hear him laugh.

  A knock sounded on the door behind her, making her jump. A middle-aged woman stood on the other side of the glass door. She was short and plump, and her drab brown hair was in desperate need of good color.

  Sometimes Josephine fit in a female client if the Clip ’n’ Curl was closed. She missed styling women’s hair, and it brought in a few extra bucks.

  She unlocked the door and pulled it open. “I’m sorry; we’re closed. But if you want to stop by tomor—”

  “Was my husband in here this morning?”

  Josephine blinked. “What—who’s your husband?”

  The woman’s lips pinched together. “Allen Forsythe.”

  The woman’s strained tone and knotted brows made Josephine cautious. “I’m afraid my client schedule is a matter of privacy. I’m sure if you—”

  “Now you look here—”

  “Mrs. Forsythe . . .” Noah appeared at Josephine’s side, roller in hand. “Good to see you, ma’am. How’s your daddy faring? I heard he had to cancel his annual fishing trip.”

  “Don’t you go changing the subject, Noah Mitchell. This is no concern of yours.”

  Josephine tried again. “I’m sorry you’re upset, Mrs. Forsythe. Maybe if you simply ask your husband—”

&n
bsp; “Do you think I’m some kind of idiot, missy? That cheating scoundrel wouldn’t know the truth if it busted him in the jaw. I know he was here. His hair’s shorn, and Arlene from the beauty shop said he wasn’t in today.” She poked a finger in Josephine’s face. “I don’t want him coming in here again, you understand?”

  Josephine’s spine lengthened. “I’m afraid that’s not up to me.”

  “Well, I’ll have you know I’m a member of the women’s auxiliary, and I have a lot of influence around these parts. It’d be a real shame to see your new business go belly-up so quick.”

  Josephine gave her a thin smile. “I do hope that wasn’t a threat, Mrs. Forsythe.”

  The woman’s eyes raked over Josephine’s figure, making her mindful of her snug T-shirt and short cut-offs. She resisted the urge to give them a tug as a wave of shame washed over her.

  “Well, just look at you . . . dressing like that and tossing your head at every man like some kind of—”

  “Hey, now.” Noah stepped forward. “That’ll be enough of that.”

  Josephine’s heart stuttered before it raced ahead. Heat prickled her face, and her legs quaked under her.

  Still, she shouldered right past Noah, her chin thrust out. “Now, you listen here. I run a barbershop, not a bordello. And if a man wants a haircut I aim to give him one. No more, no less. If you have a problem with your husband coming here, I suggest you work that out with him and leave me out of it. You have a good evening now.”

  Mrs. Forsythe sputtered as Josephine shut the door and locked it in one smooth motion.

  Her face tingled with heat and her hand shook as she bent to drag the roller through the tray. She couldn’t even look at Noah. She felt exposed and raw. She was right back in high school, those words splashed boldly across her locker. Eyes prying, tongues wagging. She wished she could run upstairs to the safety of her apartment and hide.

  You should be used to this by now, Josephine.

  Outside an engine fired up. Tires squealed as the car pulled away.

  She’d just started to feel settled. Like part of the community. Accepted. Included. Would all that be ruined now?

  Noah eased the roller from her tight grip, and she realized she’d been laying the paint on the wall in short, sloppy strokes. “Sorry.”

  He set the roller in the tray, his eyes searching hers. “You okay?”

  Josephine drew a long, slow breath and gave a smile that felt strained. “I’m just fine.”

  “Is that right? ’Cause your hands are shaking and you look like you’ve just seen a ghost.”

  Josephine gave a sharp laugh.

  “You didn’t do anything wrong, Josie.”

  How was it he knew exactly what she was feeling? She swallowed against the lump in her throat. “She’s going to bad-mouth my business.”

  “She doesn’t have the kind of influence she thinks she does. Everyone knows Allen’s a cheat. She’s just jealous and hurt, and looking to control everyone else ’cause she can’t control her husband.”

  Josephine winced. “I almost feel sorry for her.”

  “Everyone does. I don’t imagine she likes that much either. Try not to take it personally. Last spring she went on a rampage in the Rusty Nail over some waitress her husband was making eyes at.”

  “Why on earth doesn’t she just leave him?”

  “Beats me. You’d think she’d be happier alone.”

  “I hope she doesn’t come back when I have customers.” Bad enough Noah had been here. Worse, actually, now that she thought on it. She cared more about his opinion than that of a whole shop full of clients.

  “Did Allen really come in this morning?” he asked.

  She nodded. He had flirted with her, but she hadn’t thought much of it. “I think I’ll be a mite less friendly if he comes back. Hopefully he’ll stop coming in altogether.”

  “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

  She quirked a brow. “And how do you know that?”

  He gave her a little smile, and his gaze seemed to dig right down to the secret corners inside. “I know you better than you think, Josie. You may be friendly, but you don’t cross the line.”

  The vote of confidence soothed a place deep inside her. Made her want to live up to his expectations. She got lost in his honey-colored eyes. Couldn’t have dragged hers away if she’d wanted.

  His gaze traveled over her face, and her breath hitched. Have mercy, he was a beautiful man. That thick black hair. Those long eyelashes. He currently sported a five o’clock shadow, and it was making her want to whisk him right over to her bowl. Not that he wasn’t as handsome as sin with that dark stubble.

  Her fingers tingled with the need to touch his face. She curled them into her palms until her nails bit the flesh. She didn’t need to touch him. She needed to gather her wits, that’s what she needed.

  Falling back on the persona that was like a second skin, she gave him a cheeky grin. “If you think so highly of me, Noah Mitchell, why is it you haven’t even asked me for a second date? Hmm?”

  His lips twitched as he stared steadily at her, and his eyes danced with humor. “Because, Josephine . . . you’d only tell me no.”

  She reared back slightly, feeling her smile waver. His ability to read her mind was a bit unsettling. “Oh, you know that, now, do you?”

  “I believe I do.”

  She tossed her hair, forgetting for the moment it was tied back in a stumpy ponytail. “And so you’re gonna just give up so easily? I didn’t take you for a quitter, honey.”

  His eyes traveled over her face with the weight of a touch. Her heart skittered across her chest, and a flush of heat flooded through her, making her skin tingle.

  “Who said I’m giving up?” His low voice scraped across the corners of her heart, nicking it good.

  He reached out and brushed her cheek with the back of his knuckles. Every neuron fired up, leaving a trail of heat in its wake. She couldn’t have drawn a breath if she’d tried.

  He lowered his head and gave her lips a slow, gentle brush. It was warm. Delicious. Heaven. Her heart didn’t dare to beat.

  But it was over almost as soon as it had begun. He backed away, and her eyes fluttered open. Her body hummed like a live wire. She was the very opposite of numb.

  His eyes locked on hers, steady and intense. “That was your last first kiss, Josephine Dupree,” he said softly.

  The words made her chest tighten. She choked off a strangled sound that threatened to escape and gave a saucy smile instead. “You’re a funny guy, Noah Mitchell.”

  She retrieved her roller and worked hard to affect a casual manner. To steady the tremor in her hand. To quell the fear that had struck hard.

  A moment later Noah picked up his roller and began working the wall beside her in long, steady strokes. He brought the conversation back to safer topics: the town’s new council, their favorite pastries at the bakery, the pros and cons of social media.

  It was all she could do to make casual conversation when all she wanted to do was escape Noah’s magnetizing presence. Either that or kiss him senseless.

  She gave her thoughts a mental shake. She’d known he was trouble. Had known it from the first time she’d laid eyes on him. Because as much as she feared letting him into her heart, he somehow made her want it too.

  She made it through the rest of the evening, claiming fatigue and calling it quits a little early. They wrapped the rollers and put away the supplies, and Noah confirmed he’d be back the next evening. She could hardly wait.

  “Night, Josie,” he said at the door.

  “Good night.”

  “Lock up behind me.” He gave her a toe-curling smile as he slipped through the door.

  “I will.”

  The kiss was nothing, she told herself as she walked up to her apartment, her legs trembling beneath her. Hardly more than a peck. Downright chaste, really. But she couldn’t deny that it had left her wanting more. Or that it had stirred her up more than all the kisses s
he’d had before combined.

  Chapter 21

  North Georgia Mountains

  Present day

  Noah gave the snowmobile some gas as he took the incline in the road. The droning buzz of the machine shattered the silence. They’d been trailing Kismet’s prints farther into the mountains for the past half hour. So far the horse had stayed on the main road, and there had been no more traces of blood.

  As they took a corner Josie leaned into his back, and he steeled himself against the feelings her nearness provoked.

  He wasn’t one bit happy about having her along. He’d more or less agreed only to make her suffer. If she thought the house was cold, she was in for a rude awakening. A few hours with the wind blasting her face would teach her to heed his advice.

  He felt a prick of guilt. She needed a helmet and something warmer than his work gloves, and he knew just where to get them. He took the next fork in the road, though Kismet’s prints went on straight.

  “Where are we going?”

  “To Mary Beth’s.” It would take them ten minutes out of their way, but he wanted to check on his friend anyway. He’d also brought his phone and charger in case she still had power. It was a long shot, but if she did, he could pick up his charged phone on the way back home.

  Josie had gone silent behind him, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

  Several minutes later he pulled into the drive. He drove through the orchard of dormant peach trees and stopped beside the small red-roofed cottage. A wisp of smoke escaped the chimney.

  He got off the machine, pulling off his helmet, but Josie didn’t budge. “Aren’t you coming?” He’d figured she’d want to warm up, if nothing else.

  She leaned against the spare gas container he’d clipped onto the back. “I’ll wait here.”

  He noted the stubborn tilt of her chin. “Suit yourself.”

  Josephine knew she was being plain silly, but no amount of cold was making her go inside that house. She didn’t want to watch Noah embrace Mary Beth or worse yet, give her a big old smooch on the lips.

  She shook the image from her head. She refused to think about what Noah and Mary Beth might be doing inside. As Callie was fond of saying, “You can’t keep birds from flying over your head, but you can sure keep them from building a nest in your hair.”