by Liz Isaacson
Even after he’d ducked down and given her a thumbs up, after they’d all disappeared inside, and the bright red door which she’d painted herself one cold Valentine’s Day six years ago had closed, she sat in the car.
The drive back to Brush Creek took a very long time. At least it seemed that way to Erin. She may have cried at some point. Her face felt stretched tight and crusty when she showed up at the bakery. It was well past noon, so the parking lot was empty and she would be able to get upstairs without seeing anyone.
She pulled around the back of the building, almost smashing into a pickup truck already parked there. Though she’d only seen the truck a couple of times, she recognized it as Blake’s. Her soul split. Part of her wanted to see Blake, tell him all about who she’d seen at Jeremy’s, get his reassurances. Another part wanted to slip upstairs undetected, step into the shower, and find as much ice cream as possible. And a third part wanted to back onto the road and keep driving until she ran out of gas.
Several seconds went by while she made her decision. She got out of the car and went inside. She paused at the bottom of the stairs, and looked up. She could go straight up and lock the door behind her. Or she could walk into the kitchen, where a low radio played and a tenor voice sang along with it, missing about every third word.
A smile ghosted across her face, and she stepped into the kitchen. As she leaned into the doorframe, she said, “Hey, stranger.”
Blake spun, the hope bright on his features. He grinned and strode toward her. She laughed as he caught her up in his strong arms and kissed her.
“Hey, yourself.” He set her down and touched his forehead to hers. “You get the kids dropped off okay?”
She nodded, her words stuck behind the lump in her throat. She pressed her face into the hollow of his neck, inhaling the sexy scent of his skin. Aftershave and sweat and everything that got her pulse pounding.
“How long will you be here?” she asked.
“Well, I have the water turned off in the building, so I need to patch up everything around the pipes.” He glanced over his shoulder toward the corner where he’d been working. “I need to put in the insulation and patch the sheetrock.”
“Sounds like hours then.”
He chuckled and drew his lips across her jaw. She trembled in his arms and gripped his shoulders as her strength flew from her. “Probably a couple of hours, yeah.” He touched his lips to hers and pulled away.
“Are you saying I have no water in my apartment?” Her hopes of a hot shower grew dim in her mind.
“That’s what I’m sayin’, yeah.” He covered her mouth with his this time, and kissed her properly. She sighed into him and released her worries. Her kids weren’t here, would be gone for six full weeks. She could really get to know Blake Gibbons in that amount of time without risking any harm to the children.
As she lost herself to his heated touch, she knew she was only risking her heart.
The following weekend, she sucked in a breath and held it as she watched the timer she’d set for the six pie crusts she had in the oven. Aunt Shirley busied herself with tart pans, seemingly unconcerned, but the tension in the air was a palpable being.
The buzzer went off, and even though Erin had been staring at the timer, she still jumped. She snatched the towels off the counter and pulled open the oven. She searched the tins, her heart leaping against her breastbone.
“They look brown,” she said. She reached for one, careful to not disturb the flaky pastry she’d so delicately pinched into a pattern along the edge. Erin slowly slid the tin onto the counter, the way she’d seen Aunt Shirley do. After she retrieved all six piecrusts, she beamed at them like they were her babies.
“They look beautiful,” Aunt Shirley said. “In go the next ones.”
Erin startled. “Right.” She collected the next six piecrusts from the fridge and got them in the oven. She twisted the timer, an extraordinary sense of pride filling her. She hadn’t felt like this in a long time. Everything in her life had been coming up as a failure for years, and while something as simple as a piecrust shouldn’t make her so happy, those six, golden pastries brought her inexplicable joy.
“No time for staring. You’ve got fillings to make.” Aunt Shirley laughed, and Erin joined in. She reached for the recipe for lemon curd, the first pie her aunt was trusting her with. Seemed like a lot of whisking.
“And these go on the cooling rack,” Aunt Shirley said as she passed with a tray of tart shells. She stuck them in the bottom oven and helped Erin get the piecrusts where they belonged. Erin had no idea pastry could sweat, and she didn’t want to ruin what she’d worked so hard to achieve.
Nothing could dampen her mood that day, and the hours selling doughnuts, rolls, bread, and cookies passed in a blink of an eye. She headed upstairs, where her routine had really started to get into her blood. Shower. Eat lunch. Take a nap. In the late afternoon, when she woke, she wandered through Oxbow Park behind her house. She’d found a footbridge about a half a block down from the bakery that led across the stream, and though she’d been visiting for a few days, the park was so large that she hadn’t explored all of it yet.
She always returned to her apartment by five o’clock, hoping to see Blake, but he hadn’t come all week. He’d been texting her, and she’d learned that he wasn’t one for phone conversations. The one she’d tried to engage him in had gone poorly and lasted for only three minutes and twelve seconds.
She smiled just thinking about him. If he didn’t come down to the bakery tonight, she was planning to get in her car and get herself up the canyon. The road went both ways, and if he was too busy or too tired to come work on the bakery, she thought she could sit…wherever it was he worked and keep him company.
When she woke from her siesta, her phone flashed. Blake had texted. Dinner tonight? Let’s get out of Brush Creek.
Out of Brush Creek sounded wonderful, and she told him so. A meal she didn’t have to make sounded like a little slice of heaven. She slipped into a red and black sundress only moments before Blake texted to say he was pulling in.
Her heart blipped. She grabbed her purse, ran her fingers through her hair, and skipped down the steps. Blake met her just outside the doorway. “Whoa,” he said, adding a laugh. “Slow down, sweetheart. You’re always tryin’ to run me over.” He slipped his hand into hers and let his gaze slide down her body. “Nice boots.”
She lifted her heel and twisted her ankle to show off the red and brown cowgirl boots that matched her dress perfectly. “Thanks. I ordered them for my birthday.”
“Your birthday?” His deep voice rumbled from his chest and into hers. “When’s that?”
“Wednesday.” She turned toward his truck and swung their hands as they walked in that direction.
“And I’m just hearing about it now?” He opened the door for her, his hand lingering on her waist as she climbed in. “You don’t give a man much time to prepare.”
She gazed at him, the slightest bit of dread coiling in her bloodstream. “You don’t need to do anything.”
He scoffed and leaned into the cab. “Right. Like I’m not going to do anything for my girlfriend’s birthday.” He chuckled and closed the door. She watched him round the front of the truck, muttering to himself.
Girlfriend rang through her head. She hadn’t been anyone’s girlfriend in a very long time. A decade. She rather liked the sound of it, especially from Blake.
“Seriously,” she said when he got in. She slid across the seat and tucked her hand into his. “This dinner can count. I know how busy you are during the week.”
“This dinner doesn’t count.” He gave her a disgruntled look and put the truck in reverse. “We’re not eating tacos for a birthday dinner.”
“I like tacos.”
“Erin.”
“What?”
“Why don’t you want me to do anything for your birthday?”
She sighed. “It’s just…I’m getting older now. I don’t need fanfare.”
“Rubbish,” he said. “You made it through another year.” He glanced at her and squeezed her hand. “And it was a hard year, don’t try to deny it.”
Emotion worked its way up her throat. It had been a hard year. She nodded as a tear splashed her cheek. She made to swipe it away quickly. “Dinner and a movie would be lovely. Sometime next week?”
“You want to come up to my cabin on Wednesday after you get done at the bakery?”
She faced him now. “I get off at noon.”
“I work seven days a week,” he said. “I can take half a day off. I have one of those hot air poppers…I’ll make your popcorn as buttery as you’d like.”
“Sounds wonderful.”
“I’m not the greatest cook, but I can probably put something together. What do you like?”
“Hmm.” She exhaled. “My mother used to make the best meatloaf ever. It had these little chunks of red peppers and this gravy….” Her mouth watered.
“Well, uh, I can’t say I’ve ever made a meatloaf before.”
Erin giggled. “You can just order pizza. I like double pepperoni.”
“I’ll surprise you.”
She groaned. “I don’t like surprises.”
“Oh, be spontaneous.” He turned into the parking lot of a Mexican restaurant. Erin hadn’t realized they’d left Brush Creek, but she did recognize the hottest restaurant spots in a neighboring town.
She twisted and pressed her lips to his, taking him by surprise. “How’s this?” she asked, her mouth catching on the edge of his. “Spontaneous enough for you?”
He growled and kissed her back, leaving her breathless and giddy.
Chapter Nine
Blake took the whole day off on Wednesday. He woke at dawn, as usual, and he didn’t waste any time getting started on the cooking. He didn’t do a lot of actual recipe-reading to feed himself. In fact, he popped two toaster waffles in the toaster and smeared peanut butter on them to make a waffle sandwich for breakfast.
Then he smoothed out the piece of paper where he’d written down Erin’s mother’s recipe for meatloaf. He worried that she might flip out when she found out he’d called her mother in Vernal to get the recipe, but he really wanted to make her birthday something special.
He read the whole thing again, got out all the ingredients, lined them up on the counter. He set the oven temperature and followed the directions to get the meatloaf mixed and in a bread pan he’d had to buy along with all the groceries.
Whistling and quite proud of himself, he slid the loaf pan into the oven. “Now for the gravy….”
By one o’clock—when Erin said she’d arrive—Blake felt like he’d prepared an entire Thanksgiving Day dinner. Meatloaf, mashed potatoes, green peas with lots of butter. Her mom claimed those were Erin’s favorite. He’d asked her to bring a loaf of bread from the bakery, and he’d almost called Doug and ordered a cake.
“Here you go,” Tess said, banging the front door open with her foot. “I’m so sorry I’m so late. I checked, and I don’t see her car.” She hurried into the cabin and set a three-tiered chocolate cake on his counter. She sighed and wiped the back of her hand across her forehead. “Wow, look at this. You made all this?” The pure shock in her eyes wasn’t hard to find.
“I can read a recipe, Tess.”
“There’s a big difference between reading a recipe and actually cooking.” She grinned. “Can I send Walker over here when it’s my birthday?”
“Get out,” Blake said with a smile.
Tess laughed. “You’re welcome for the cake.”
“Thanks for the cake,” he called as she left.
He took stock of his preparations. The air popper sat on the counter by the stove, with a bag of kernels nearby. He’d called his mother to get her magic recipe for triple cheese popcorn. He’d found the cheddar cheese powder, Parmesan cheese, and buttermilk powder easily enough. But the nutritional yeast? He’d asked his mom if he really needed that, and she’d insisted he did. So he’d done what any good boyfriend would do: He marched himself across the street to the ranch owner’s wife, and asked her.
Megan had promptly pulled some from her pantry, but at least a dozen questions rode in her eyes. And Megan was just like every other woman on this ranch—she found out everything. If she didn’t know Blake was dating Erin Shields yet, she’d know by nightfall.
“Knock, knock.” Erin stepped into the cabin wearing a pair of tight jeans and a blue blouse that revealed one entire shoulder.
Blake forgot his own name. “Happy birthday!” He spread his arms wide to indicate everything he’d prepared.
She paused and drank it all in before her eyes came back to his. “What is this?”
“Your mother’s meatloaf.” He pointed to the pan he’d put in the warm oven to reheat the meatloaf. “Mashed potatoes—with cheese. Buttered green peas. All your favorites. Oh, and the cake. But I didn’t make the cake. Tess made the cake.” Blake snapped his mouth closed and watched Erin closely.
Her chin wobbled and her eyes turned glassy. “Don’t cry,” he said. Though he suspected they were happy tears, he didn’t know how to deal with them at all.
“This is wonderful,” she said. “Thank you.” She stepped into his arms and tipped her face back. She wore a smile as glorious as a summer sunrise.
“Happy birthday, beautiful.” He kissed her, glad he could provide this one day of happiness for her.
Weeks passed in a couple of blinks for Blake. He worked the fields, worked at the bakery, worked to find time to spend with Erin. When he went down to the bakery on Friday and Saturday evenings, he ended up falling asleep on her couch. He then saw her at church on Sunday mornings. He always brought her back to the ranch after church.
They’d eaten a few times with Megan and Landon. Sometimes he managed to put together something she would eat, and once, she’d brought the ingredients she needed to make smothered pork chops and asparagus.
Blake liked having Erin at his cabin. It felt natural to see her move around the kitchen, looking for silverware and a cutting board. Rosco seemed to like her just fine, even if she wasn’t very fond of him.
“So the kids are coming home next Saturday, right?” he asked as they walked out of the church building together.
“Right.”
“And have you decided if I get to go with you?”
She sighed and stopped right in the middle of the sidewalk. “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”
“Why not?” He’d tried to understand how Erin felt, tried to put himself in her position and what he might do to protect his three children. But first and foremost, he wanted to support Erin, and he knew driving eight hours in one day would tax her. Seeing her kids after six weeks would likely make her emotional. “I want to be there with you.”
“And I need to talk to my kids about us first.” She started walking again.
Frustration drove him to continue. “Couldn’t you just say you brought me along as a second driver?”
“Blake.” She shot him an annoyed look. “I just don’t think it’s a good idea.”
He stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Fine.”
“Don’t be mad.”
“I’m not mad.”
“You’ll have plenty of time to get to know them.” She wrapped her arms around him, but he remained still, unyielding. “Blake.” She pouted, and Blake tilted his head to look down at her.
“Am I stupid if I say I’m scared?” he asked.
She fell back like he’d struck her, her mouth working but no sound coming out. “Of my kids?”
He focused on the brilliant blue sky around them. “Yes. Of you being someone different because they’re back.” He sighed, feeling like the most selfish man on the planet. Of course Erin would be someone different when her kids were back. She was their mother—and she acted like it. Without them, he’d started to fall for the flirty, fun woman who wore red cowboy boots and skin-tight jeans. Who held his hand whenever they went out. Who sat
with him while he patched walls and tore out diseased bricks. Who kissed him like she was falling for him too.
And yes, he was afraid that woman would disappear. That all her guards would come flying back into place, that he’d have to fall in love with a different woman if he wanted to keep her in his life.
He realized she no longer stood in front of him but had continued down the sidewalk toward the bakery. She was almost to it now, and she didn’t look back as she wrenched open the door and disappeared inside.
So it was happening already. Blake sighed and twisted back the way he’d come, squinting into the sunlight. The red brick church beckoned to him, and he had to admit he didn’t mind the time he spent there. The preacher had a way with words, and Blake had felt safe and happy inside that building.
He faced the bakery again, and out of the two, he needed the peace and comfort of the church. So he headed back the way he’d come, a prayer entering his heart without a conscious thought from him.
Blake didn’t see Erin again until the following Friday, as had become their usual schedule. He’d texted her throughout the week—also their normal routine—and while she’d responded, he’d thought her answers were a bit shorter and definitely less enthusiastic than they had been previously.
He would be finishing the bottom corner of the bakery that night. The brickwork had been completed last week, and the foundation repair the month before that. Tonight, he’d be texturing the new sheetrock and painting the interior of the kitchen, making it match up with what already existed there.
The yellow bricks on the exterior of the building were brighter than the others, but he’d suggested to Doug that he rent a power washer and give the whole bakery a shine.
Nerves assaulted him on the drive down the canyon. His stomach hurt like he hadn’t eaten in days, and he couldn’t swallow the lump in his throat no matter how hard he tried.
In the past, Erin had been waiting for him in the kitchen, and he really wanted her to be there tonight too. Thankfully, she was. Sitting on the bottom step, flipping her phone over and over.