New Leaf

by Catherine Anderson

  “Long weekend?” he asked.

  • • •

  After leaving the party, Barney walked Taffeta to her apartment. She ached with exhaustion, but she still felt on edge about the rest of the evening. In reality, she and Barney were newly acquainted, and now she was about to move in with him. She felt edgy and wasn’t sure what to say or do next.

  He’d parked his truck in front of her shop. She unlocked the street door and led the way upstairs. Barney went directly to her bedroom, grabbing the heavy box first. Carrying one of the suitcases, she followed him back down to the truck. He put the carton on the backseat and the suitcase on the floorboard.

  They reentered the flat moments later. Barney fetched the second piece of luggage and carried it out for her. Taffeta started to follow him, but she paused in the doorway first to look at her living quarters. She had called this tiny flat home since moving to Mystic Creek, and she’d tried her best to be happy here, but the early days had been unpleasant considering she had just recently lost custody of her little girl. She’d felt so lost, alone, and angry. How many nights had she been unable to sleep? Her only escape from the depression had been to throw herself into building her business and indulging herself once a week with dressing normally to dance and dream about a sexy lawman. She’d clung to the hope that if she made a home here in this town, she might someday have Sarah with her again.

  Now Barney had entered her life, and for the first time, her wishful thinking seemed like a real possibility. Tears stung her eyes.

  She jumped with a start when his warm, heavy hand curled over her shoulder. “What’s wrong, Taffy? You having second thoughts?”

  Taffeta swallowed hard and blinked. “Nothing’s wrong.” She sighed and turned to look up at him. “I’m just so grateful to you for supporting me this way. Whether you realize it or not, you’ve given me a precious gift, a real hope that I may be able to get my little girl back.”

  Barney drew her into his arms and rested his lean cheek against her hair. “I can’t promise you anything. But Bryan Vorch is a good lawyer, and if he thinks you have a fighting chance, then you have a fighting chance. You need to hold that thought close while we ride this out.”

  “I wonder how long that may take. I’m so worried about Sarah. Heaven only knows who Phillip left her with tonight.”

  He smoothed her hair. “We made good headway at the reception,” he assured her. “You have to be patient.” He set her gently away from him. “We’re going to be out in public every damned night, whispering to each other, gazing into each other’s eyes, and smooching up a storm. Give it a month, Taffy, and then we’ll head for Erickson. It’d be better if we had a year of marriage under our belts, but we don’t. We can only hope that a judge doesn’t get hung up on details.”

  Taffeta nodded and closed the apartment door. Side by side, they descended the stairs. When they reached the bottom step, she couldn’t help wishing that their marriage were the forever kind and that tonight was the beginning of the rest of their lives.

  Chapter Eleven

  Barney’s house sat in a grove of pine trees. In the wash of the truck’s headlights, Taffeta saw that it was a large one-level structure, painted smoke blue with white trim. A charming wraparound veranda sported Adirondack chairs and hanging flowerpots that would be empty until the weather warmed. It was a home that greeted you with a friendly welcome and made you yearn to go inside. She envisioned herself and Barney lounging on the porch on summer evenings to watch the sunset, chat, and gaze off at nothing.

  “Oh, Barney, your place is darling.”

  “When I first got it, it was a mess. I’ve done a lot of work on it.” He opened the driver door and exited the truck. Taffeta got out and circled the pickup bed to help carry her things inside. “I can get this,” he said. “Go on in. The door isn’t locked.”

  She shook her head. “I can help. I’m not that tired.” With a questioning look, she added, “A lawman who doesn’t lock his house. Surely that isn’t wise, Barney, not even in Mystic Creek.”

  “We have very little hard-core crime in this town,” he assured her. “I think that’s because everybody knows everybody else. It’s one thing to damage or steal a stranger’s property, and it’s quite another to wrong a friend. Besides, a determined burglar will get in, one way or another. Locked doors get kicked out of their framework. Unlocked doors sustain no damage.”

  He carried the box. Taffeta grabbed a suitcase. Following him through the darkness toward the house, she said, “You could come home sometime and surprise an intruder.”

  He laughed as they climbed the veranda steps. “In which case, I’ll do my damnedest to kick some ass. But I don’t really worry about it. I’m a lawman here, remember. Over the last month, the most exciting thing I had to investigate was a complaint that a pretty lady was entertaining her East Main neighbors with a sexy shadow dance.”

  “Will you ever let me live that down?”

  “Probably not,” he confessed.

  She followed him inside. When he flipped on an overhead light, she took an appreciative breath of surprise. She’d been expecting a typical bachelor pad, but instead she saw country charm. An old brick fireplace held court along the far wall of the living room, which had been done in a sunny yellow, perfect for a farmhouse. He had paired the brick with beautiful, barn-plank flooring. Above the mantel hung a gorgeous painting of a tree-lined mountain stream. Burgundy throw pillows on the brown sofa matched the recliner near the hearth. She instantly pictured Barney sitting there to read.

  “The bedrooms are all in back,” he said.

  Taffeta followed him through the dining room. A western-style table, easily big enough to accommodate a large family, and matching chairs, carved along the edges to resemble rope, sat in front of a complementary hutch filled with red Fiesta dinnerware. The table centerpiece, unlike any she’d ever seen, consisted of an old riding boot, painted with clear satin varnish and filled with greenery. It sat at the center of a horseshoe wreath.

  “I had no idea you were so clever at decorating,” she exclaimed. “Where did you get the idea to weld horseshoes together?”

  He paused in an archway to grin at her. “My mom designed it, and I did the torch work. And for the record, I didn’t do the decorating. She and my sisters did.”

  After moving through the archway into the kitchen, he turned right into a long, wide hallway. Taffeta trailed behind him, trying to feast her eyes on the interior of the house, but he covered ground too quickly for her to see much more than a blur. The faint scent of what smelled like homemade bread and oranges wafted around her. In the hallway, she smelled the delicate essence of spring wildflowers, which hinted that he used plug-in deodorizers in the bedrooms paralleling sunny yellow walls with white trim. A group of framed family photos graced one section of wall, but she had no time to study any of the images.

  “Supposedly they decorated to reflect my personality,” he said over his shoulder. “I guess that means I’m a horsey, countrified, doggy kind of guy who likes my family, guns, lassos, equine tack, and antiques. All the antiques are replicas. I can’t afford any real ones. My sister Adriel found a genuine antique coat tree, the kind built like a chair with a mirrored back, but it cost eleven hundred! She said it was a steal, and I retorted that it definitely was highway robbery, straight out of my wallet. I sent it back and got a refund.” He veered left into a spacious bedroom. “This one has an adjoining bath. The other two spare rooms don’t. People who overnight in them have to use the main bath—or the guest bath and powder room, as my mom calls it.”

  Taffeta couldn’t help grinning. Barney didn’t put on airs. With only a few words, he’d let her know that his discretionary funds were limited and that he wasn’t keen on fancy terms for ordinary things. As she set down the suitcase, she trailed her fingertips over a colorful wedding ring quilt.

  “No,” he said with a laugh, “I didn’t
make it.”

  “Your mom again?”

  “She’s a lady with many talents. My idea of decorating is to hang my hats on nails. I might even tack up a calendar. That said, I like the look that they came up with. The house is a lot homier than it would have been if left up to me.” He stepped over to the doorway. “Go ahead and start getting settled in. I’ll bring in the other suitcase.”

  After he left, she heard a horse whinny somewhere outside. The sound startled her. She’d never been around many animals. She opened the top drawer of an old oak dresser and found it empty. The closet stood empty as well. She would have plenty of room to put her things away, although she doubted that she’d do anything tonight. She would just unearth her pajamas. Her toiletries would be easy to find. They were in the small bag that she’d taken to Reno and forgotten in the pickup.

  When she stepped out into the hall to go get it, she saw Barney round the corner, carrying the bag in one hand and her second suitcase in the other. He deposited both in her room at the foot of the bed.

  As he emerged into the hallway again, he gave her an apologetic look. “I have to go feed the animals. My poor horses are telling me that they’re starving.”

  “I heard one of them a minute ago. Please, Barney, don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.”

  He started to walk around her and then stopped. “Would you like to bundle up and go out with me? I can turn the yard light on so you can see my quarter horses. It’s too late for you to meet my other critters.”

  Taffeta was tired, but not so drained of energy that she could pass on an invitation like that. All her life, she’d yearned for a pet. Horses were a bit large to qualify, but she’d always been fascinated by them. “I’d love to see them.”

  He led the way to the kitchen. Gleaming granite counters topped distressed cabinets that had been stained a dark honey and then washed in black to highlight the imperfections. A huge stainless steel side-by-side refrigerator and freezer had been built in along the left wall. Over the kitchen sink, also stainless steel, a window draped in tied-back tiers of white eyelet displayed knickknacks on the sill. White eyelet? Barney wasn’t a frilly sort, so she assumed his mother had been in charge of the curtains.

  He stepped over to a coat tree in one corner of the room and handed her a slick nylon parka. “You don’t want to wear your own jacket,” he said. “It’ll never be the same.”

  He grabbed the ugliest, most hay-covered wool coat that she’d ever seen and shrugged into it. Under all the hay, it was a red-and-black plaid. “Hay sticks to wool,” he explained. “That’s why I wear this. I get less junk under my collar.”

  Taffeta changed jackets and followed him outside. Crisp cold air greeted them. On the breeze, she caught whiffs of horse odors—manure, alfalfa, and a sweet smell that she suspected came from grain. She found it an oddly pleasant blend of scents.

  As they crossed the backyard to reach the barn, he said, “I hired Devon Penny to feed for me mornings and evenings while I was gone, but tonight, dinner is all on me. I feel bad for letting them go this long without eating.”

  He stepped over to a post, and light suddenly bathed the area. Taffeta saw two horses standing on the opposite side of a rail fence. One was a palomino. Even she knew that much. The other one was a reddish brown fellow with a blondish mane. “Oh, Barney, they’re gorgeous.”

  “I got them in Montana. They’re heritage quarter horses. That essentially means that the breeder’s remuda must consist of registered quarter horses that have been used mostly for working ranch cattle, and the rancher must have been in operation for at least ten years. Well, I think it’s ten years. These boys have good heads on their shoulders and are rock-solid for trail riding. Not much startles them. They’re both seven and got trained doing all manner of ranch work.”

  Taffeta could hear in his voice that he was very proud of the geldings. “I know next to nothing about horses—or any other kind of animal. As a kid, I never had pets.”

  “Uh-oh,” he said. “Is that resentment I detect in your voice again?”

  “I always wanted a dog, but it wasn’t allowed because I might not have been able to take it with me to the next foster home. I’ve seen horses only from afar. I’ve always thought they are beautiful, though.”

  “Well, now you can get up close.”

  He reached in his pocket and drew out several molasses-brown cookies. “Horse treats. My mom makes them. Would you like to give them to my fellas?” He stepped close to the fence and started petting the thick, arched neck of the palomino. “This is Beau. The red roan is Shiner.”

  Taffeta stepped up beside Barney. “Will he bite?”

  Barney laughed. “They’re both perfect gentlemen. They might bite accidentally when you’re feeding them from your hand, but they’d never do it intentionally.”

  “I’ll pass on giving them the cookies, then.”

  His next laugh rang deep and rich. “There’s a trick to it, Taffy. I won’t let you do anything that might get you hurt. Cup your hands.”

  With the palms of her hands, she made a bowl, and Barney dumped the cookies into it. “Slip all but two in your pocket.”

  She did as he told her. Then Barney grasped her right wrist. Her skin tingled where his fingers pressed. “Okay, flatten your hand out and set a cookie on it.” When she’d done that, he lifted her palm toward Beau’s nose. “Keep your fingers straight. It’s important. He won’t accidentally bite you that way.”

  Taffeta’s pulse kicked as Beau took the cookie with a tickling flutter of his lips. An instant later, she heard his powerful jaws and teeth crunching the treat. “He really likes them.”

  “Oh yeah.” Barney released his grip on her arm. “Now pet him. It goes with the treats, the petting. I always like to scratch them behind the ears. Someone eared both of them pretty hard before I bought them. I want them to know it’ll never happen to them here.”

  “Eared? What’s that mean?” Taffeta reached up to scratch behind the horse’s ear. He threw his head high and snorted, startling her. “He doesn’t want me to touch him.”

  “What he wants is another cookie, but he knows the drill. His payback for the cookie is to let me scratch behind his ears. Once I start, he likes it. You just need to take a slower approach.” Barney ran a hand under the horse’s mane at the arch of its neck and began scratching as he moved upward to give Beau a brisk ear rub. “See there? His bottom lip is relaxed, and look at his eyes. You see no white around the irises. You can tell a horse’s mood by looking at him.” He ran his hand along the ridge of the animal’s neck and gave it a massage. “See how loose his poll is? That’s another sign of a relaxed horse.”

  Shiner bumped Taffeta’s shoulder with his nose and chuffed at her. She nearly lost her balance. She laughed and put a cookie on her flattened hand. “Here’s yours, Shiner.” The horse grabbed the treat. She stroked the arch of his neck and then reached up to scratch behind his ear while he chewed. “I did it!” she exclaimed. “You still haven’t told me what ‘eared’ means.”

  “To control a horse, some people grab its ears and twist them. It hurts like the very devil and can make horses head-shy. I don’t like to hurt my animals, so I don’t approve of the tactic. I also want to halter my horses without a big to-do, and a head-shy horse can make haltering difficult. That’s why I make a point of the ear scratching a couple of times a day.”

  “Why would anyone want to twist on their ears? How mean.”

  “They’re huge, powerful animals, and sometimes that’s the only way someone can control them.”

  Taffeta gave the horses what remained of the treats and rewarded them with ear scratches after each serving.

  “Look at you. You’re a natural.” Barney hooked up a hose to a faucet that stood two feet up from the ground on a vertical water pipe.

  “Why is the pipe so tall?” she asked.

  “It’s
a frost-free faucet. I think most of them are tall.”

  He lifted the lever handle and poked the hose between the fence rails into a black, rubbery-looking trough. “I need to get more hay out of the barn,” he said. “I’ll be right back. If you pet them now, make sure they see that your hands are empty.”

  Taffeta had heard the crunching power of the horses’ jaws and decided to err on the side of caution. She wrapped her arms around her waist. Barney returned, hefting a huge bale of green stuff. It was bound together with bright blue nylon twine. He found another length of twine on the ground, slipped it under the binding, and pulled back and forth until the friction cut through the braid. He tossed two sections of hay over the fence for each gelding. Then he carried more beyond the reach of the light to feed an animal she couldn’t see.

  “Those are called flakes,” he told her when he returned, inclining his head at the sections of hay his horses were eating.

  Taffeta nodded. He rested one arm on the top rail of the fence while they waited for the trough to fill.

  “You do this morning and night?”

  “Yep. Usually like clockwork. They aren’t accustomed to getting fed late. That’s why I wanted to leave Reno fairly early this morning.”

  He turned off the water, disconnected the hose, and then walked with it draped over his shoulder to drain out the water. “Sorry. In this country, the hoses can freeze if you leave water in them. I’ve forgotten a few times. Worst-case scenario, the hose ruptures. Pain-in-the-ass scenario, no water passes through the next day because the hose is plugged with ice.”

  On the way back to the house, Barney turned off the yard light. Taffeta leaned back her head.

  “Would you look at that sky? The stars never seem so bright in town,” she said.

  “Out here, it’s darker because there’s not as much artificial lighting.”

  “What road is your house on? I didn’t think to look at the sign as we drove here.”