The Clause in Christmas
Page 5
In two days, Cassie had managed to make herself more or less at home. The only room in the house she hadn’t explored was her grandmother’s. For some reason, Cassie couldn’t even bring herself to crack open the door. Although the soft white paint and brass doorknob caught her eye every morning as she passed the narrow corridor off of the kitchen.
She would have avoided her mother’s room, too, but Cassie had no way of knowing which one belonged to Donna Hayward. Both upstairs bedrooms were practically identical, and neither showed any sign of a former teenage inhabitant. Almost as if her mother never existed.
Forcing out the unwanted air, Cassie rolled the top of the craft coffee bag down as far as it would go before securing it with a rubber band. Her heart sank, realizing she’d gone through her supply much quicker than she anticipated, prompting another trip to town in search of more.
Mac’s Mercantile sat on the corner of Main Street and Dandelion Drive, its expansive green awnings shading both streets. Stands of seasonal fruits and vegetables like hearty kale, nutty parsnips, and plump persimmons spilled onto the cobblestone sidewalk, intermixed with freshly bound bouquets of carnations, chrysanthemums, and holly berry. Wrought iron bistro sets studded the colorful display. Although the winter chill precluded most people from sitting outside, each table still offered a free copy of the Poppy Creek Press and a vase displaying a single Christmas rose.
Cassie brushed past the oak barrels of individually wrapped taffy candies and licorice shaped like lumps of coal to the back of the store, which catered to locals more than tourists. In between a row of baked beans and canned corn, Cassie stumbled upon a single can of ground coffee. Not one row. One can. Considering the odd assortment surrounding it, Cassie wondered if it had been misplaced.
“Hi!”
Still clutching the container of nondescript coffee, Cassie swiveled to see Eliza cradling a sack of flour nearly half her size, her dark eyes bright and cheerful.
“Hi.” Cassie returned Eliza’s smile, surprised to find herself happy to see her new acquaintance.
“Snatching the last can of coffee, I see,” Eliza teased.
“Actually, I was wondering if someone accidentally placed it on the wrong shelf. It doesn’t seem to belong here.” Cassie set the can back inline.
Eliza eyed the row of seemingly random items. “Nope. That’s right. Coffee. In between baked beans and canned corn.”
Cassie couldn’t hide her confusion, and Eliza shook so hard with laughter, Cassie feared she might drop the sack of flour, turning the entire aisle into the scene of an avalanche.
“Mac likes to organize things alphabetically, not by like items,” Eliza explained when she finally caught her breath.
At Cassie’s horrified expression, Eliza grinned. “Don’t worry. You’ll get used to it.”
Cassie doubted it but kept the thought to herself. “What I can’t get used to is being without good coffee.”
Eliza’s features softened in sympathy. “Wish I could help you, but Poppy Creek is a little behind the times when it comes to coffee.”
“Only coffee?” Cassie raised her eyebrows, her green eyes twinkling playfully.
“Okay, we’re behind in a lot of things,” Eliza admitted with a giggle, adding, “There’s only one place in town to get coffee that isn’t”—she wrinkled her nose as she pointed toward the can—“that stuff.”
Cassie’s pulse quickened with an inkling of hope. “And where’s that?”
“Oh, trust me. You don’t want to go there.”
Clearly, Eliza didn’t understand how seriously Cassie took her coffee. “Please. I’m desperate. I only have half a pound left.”
Eliza tilted her head, studying her a moment. “Okay,” she said slowly. “I have the day off, so I can take you. If you’re sure you want to go. I just have to drop this sack of flour at Maggie’s first.”
Cassie exhaled in relief. “Thank you. I owe you one.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” Eliza said mysteriously, sweeping past her toward the single register.
Wavering only an instant, Cassie followed, relishing the tiny twinge of excitement setting her nerves on edge. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d experienced a true adventure. Now, nearly every day was filled with something new and unexplored.
When Eliza parked in a patch of dirt off the main road and pointed toward a driveway crowded by overgrown weeds, Cassie’s bravery faltered. Deciduous trees clothed in mistletoe drooped over the eerie entrance like ghouls guarding an evil sorcerer’s castle.
“Welcome to Frank Barrie’s place. Home to Poppy Creek’s very own Grinch.” Eliza drew out each syllable for dramatic emphasis.
“When you said his place was creepy, you weren’t exaggerating.” Cassie shivered even though they were cocooned in the warmth of Eliza’s car.
“We used to come out here as kids, daring each other to get as close to the house as possible. Luke’s brother, Colt, made it the furthest. That’s when he saw Frank roasting coffee in his barn.”
“Did Luke’s brother get caught?”
Eliza’s lips quirked at the memory. “Almost. I’d never seen Colt run so fast in his life. And he was Poppy Creek High’s star athlete!” Leaning across the console, Eliza lowered her voice just above a whisper. “Rumor has it, Frank used to be in the military and still has a stockpile of rifles. Back here in the woods, the only trespassing law is shoot on sight.”
Cassie’s heart pounded in her ears, but she forced a shaky smile. “You’re teasing.”
Eliza shrugged. “Believe that if it makes you feel better.” Pushing the door open, she glanced over her shoulder and asked, “Are you sure you want to do this?”
Cassie nodded, ignoring her clammy palms as she struggled with the release button on her seat belt. “You don’t have to come with me.”
“Are you kidding? I’m the Black Widow to your Captain Marvel.” Eliza climbed out of the driver’s seat and stretched her five-foot-four frame as tall as it would reach. “How should we do this? I take the front, and you go around the back?”
Cassie shook her head in bemusement. “We’re not ambushing the man. Think of us as reverse Girl Scouts. Instead of selling something, we’re looking to buy.”
Eliza’s shoulders drooped with a disappointed sigh. “Fine, but I was already channeling Scarlett Johansson.”
Cassie giggled, her footsteps feeling lighter as they made their way down the gravel drive, sidestepping potholes.
As Frank’s home came into view, Cassie’s breath caught in her throat. The weather-beaten farmhouse had seen better days. Moss-green paint, now chipped and peeling, hid behind invasive ivy that seemed to swallow the house whole. Crooked shutters dangled from window frames haphazardly, and the palatial front porch looked so barren and forlorn with only a single rocking chair to fill the expansive space, Cassie’s heart nearly broke.
“Yikes.” Eliza whistled under her breath. “I haven’t been out here in years, but I don’t remember it looking this bad. I’d suggest knocking on the front door, but it might fall over.”
As Cassie deliberated their next move, a familiar aroma flooded her senses—the thick, heady fragrance of freshly roasted coffee. She looked past the roofline to see puffy billows of smoke rising from somewhere behind the house.
Following the scent, they rounded the corner of the dilapidated building, stumbling into one another as they halted abruptly.
Cassie watched, awestruck, as a lithe, elderly man released the lever of a ten-pound capacity air roaster and a rush of dark, crackling coffee beans spilled from the machine into a perforated cylindrical drum. After securing a lid on the drum, the man wheeled it out of the barn and into the open air. Turning a crank, the metal cylinder began to spin on its axis, aromatic smoke escaping through the perforations, accumulating in a thick cloud that rose into the somber gray sky.
“Do you know what we’re witnessing?” Cassie whispered, unable to tear her gaze from the man she assumed was Frank Barrie.
“No clue,” Eliza murmured in a hushed tone.
Cassie didn’t respond right away, barely able to believe her own eyes. She’d visited dozens of artisan roasters in her lifetime, several of whom attempted to mimic the world-renowned Mariposa Method of coffee roasting. But none had ever been able to master it quite like Frank Barrie, who executed each step of the process effortlessly, as though they were as second nature as breathing. Cassie, like any die-hard coffee enthusiast, had studied the method, reading the groundbreaking book by the enigmatic inventor, Richard Stanton, from cover to cover several times. But never in a million years did she expect someone in Poppy Creek to know about it. Let alone a strange recluse like Frank Barrie.
Cassie noted the way his thin yet muscular forearms flexed under the labor as he scooped the beans into five-gallon glass mason jars. The man had to be at least in his early eighties. His silver hair and deep-set wrinkles depicted a hard life as well as his advanced years. Still, Frank Barrie was a handsome man in spite of his gruff exterior.
For a moment, the scene played out before her as though she were watching a documentary. Then, as she was about to clue in Eliza on what she knew, Frank glanced up, his dark eyes narrowing as his thick peppery eyebrows lowered over them.
They’d been spotted.
Cassie heard Eliza’s sharp intake of breath by her side.
“Get off my property,” Frank growled, taking a threatening step toward them.
Knees trembling, Cassie stood her ground, swallowing the fear that rose in her throat. “I’m sorry, we’re not here to bother you, but—”
“Then don’t,” he barked, stomping toward the back porch.
Cassie felt Eliza’s hand wrap around her forearm, squeezing hard.
For reasons beyond Cassie’s comprehension, she couldn’t give up yet. “I was wondering if—”
Her words were interrupted by a loud slam as Frank disappeared inside, jerking the door shut behind him.
Eliza tugged on Cassie’s arm, her voice strained as she murmured, “Let’s go. He might be back with some buckshot.”
Cassie followed Eliza’s hurried footsteps to the car, but something compelled her to glance back.
Fortunately, Frank hadn’t followed them with military-level artillery, but a sudden movement in the front window caught her eye.
The faded brocade curtains were drawn hastily.
What exactly was Frank Barrie hiding?
Luke glanced at the grandfather clock in the corner of his office, a move which didn’t go unnoticed by his friend Jack Gardner.
“Man, you’ve got it bad.” Jack’s cornflower-blue eyes crinkled in the corners as he rumbled with laughter.
Clearing his throat, Luke focused his attention on the licensing agreement spread out in front of them. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Classic rebuttal.” Jack snorted, crossing his arms in front of his broad chest as he leaned against the back of the club chair. “You haven’t stopped looking at the clock since I got here. I’d be offended, except I’m sure my company isn’t as desirable as a certain brunette I’ve seen around town.”
Luke’s stomach clenched. So, Jack had noticed Cassie, too, huh? Well, of course he had. What man in town hadn’t? Luke drew in a calming breath. It wasn’t a competition. There was no future with Cassie, anyway. She’d be leaving town in a few weeks. All feelings that may or may not be culminating were moot.
“I can see the wheels turning in that lawyer brain of yours,” Jack said with a knowing grin. “You’re convincing yourself there’s no point in pursuing a relationship with her.” Leaning forward, Jack rested his bulky forearms on the desk. “But you’d be wrong.”
Luke suppressed a groan. There were definite disadvantages to growing up in a small town where people have known you your entire life. Mind reading, for one. “Should we focus on this licensing agreement for your barbecue sauce?”
Jack grabbed a pen off the desk and twirled it between his calloused fingers. “Okay, counselor. Let’s hear your argument against the defendant. Why can’t you date Cassie Hayward?”
This time Luke didn’t hold back his groan and paired it with a blatant eye roll. “You sound ridiculous. You know that, right?”
Jack ignored him. “Please approach the bench, counselor. And state your case.”
Luke sighed. Loudly. “For one, she doesn’t even live here.”
Jack waved his hand dismissively, still spinning the pen. “Minor details. Is she taken?”
Heat spread across Luke’s body as he recalled Cassie’s words from the previous night. I don’t have a boyfriend, by the way.
“Aha!” Jack slammed the pen on the desk, startling Luke out of his reverie. “She’s single! I knew it.”
Luke opened his mouth to ask how he could tell, but Jack beat him to it.
“You got this goofy grin on your face.” Jack chuckled, then resumed his pen twirling. “Carry on, counselor.”
Luke cleared his throat again, gathering his thoughts. “Truthfully, I don’t have time to date right now.”
The pen slipped from Jack’s fingers, clattering to the pinewood floor. “I should have you dragged away in contempt of court. That’s the lamest excuse I’ve ever heard.”
“Just so you know,” Luke told him, “you’re not using any of the legalese correctly.”
“Whatever,” Jack quipped. “Stop avoiding the subject. You may be busy, but that’s not a good reason to be a coward. If you like her, ask her out. You can figure the rest out later.”
Luke opened his mouth to protest, but Jack stood abruptly, the legs of the chair scraping against the floor. “I’m your last client of the day. So, when I call your office from the diner in a few minutes, I’d better hear from Dolores that you’re on your way to a certain white cottage.”
Rising to stand opposite his friend, Luke couldn’t help a grin. “Maybe you should have been a lawyer. You’re bullheaded enough.”
“The world’s got enough lawyers,” Jack said, returning the pen to the desk. “But good barbecue… Now, there’s a serious shortage. But thanks for admitting I’m right.”
Luke shook his head, chuckling under his breath as Jack strode out of his office. He had to hand it to his friend… he presented a strong case.
Maybe he should put his concerns aside and see what happens.
Chapter 7
Cassie’s palm rested on the open page of December 3 on the Christmas Calendar, but her thoughts were far from the day’s activity. How could she concentrate on decorating the Christmas tree when she could still smell the intoxicating aroma of freshly roasted coffee from earlier that morning?
She craved a cup of the velvety beans she’d watched tumble from the roasting machine, knowing they would taste like heaven itself. What did Frank Barrie do with all of that coffee if he didn’t sell it somewhere in town?
Cassie’s thoughts were interrupted by a jarring knock on the front door. Her eyelashes fluttered as she took a few moments to settle back into reality. Who would be visiting at… she glanced at the time on her phone… seven o’clock in the evening? Her heart undulated as Luke’s magnetic smile sprang to mind.
Quickly running her fingers through her loose curls, she headed for the source of the impatient hammering.
A smile already formed on her lips, Cassie swung open the front door, ready to welcome her guest. But her greeting fell short in her surprise, stalling on the tip of her tongue.
Ben beamed at her, both fists poised midair.
“Sorry,” Eliza said sheepishly from directly behind her son. “I asked Ben to knock since my hands are full.”
Cassie’s focus drifted past Ben’s boyish grin to Eliza, who gripped a wooden crate fi
lled with baking supplies.
“We’re here to bake cookies!” Ben chirped brightly.
“And help decorate the tree. If you haven’t already.” Luke bounded up the front steps, stopping beside Eliza. His sapphire-blue sweater brought out the subtle jeweled-undertones in his eyes and for a moment, Cassie was too distracted to speak.
“Can we come inside before our shoes freeze to your front porch?” Eliza teased, shifting the heavy crate in her arms.
“Of course!” Cassie stepped to the side, avoiding Luke’s gaze as he brushed past her, flooding her senses with a heady scent of cedar and cloves.
Taking a deep breath, she pushed the door closed until she heard the latch click, admonishing herself to get a grip. So what if Luke smelled better than a gingerbread latte? Cassie wasn’t the type to swoon. At least, not anymore.
“I see you haven’t started yet.” Luke’s attention flickered from the bare fir tree centered in front of the enormous bay window to the boxes of ornaments stacked on the floor.
“I was sidetracked,” Cassie admitted.
“I took her to Frank Barrie’s place,” Eliza shouted from the kitchen.
Cassie and Luke joined her around the island, where she unloaded her box of baking supplies. Ben sat at the antique butterfly table, flipping through the Christmas Calendar, oblivious to their conversation.
“Why would you take her there?” A protective edge crept into Luke’s tone, causing Cassie’s heartbeat to quicken involuntarily.
Eliza rolled her eyes. “Calm down. We’re perfectly fine.” She set a ball of chilled cookie dough wrapped in cellophane on the counter. “Cassie wanted to see if she could buy some of Frank’s coffee beans.”