A Cowboy For The Twins
Carolyne Aarsen
Cowboy DaddyShauntelle Dexter's twin girls think they've found their perfect new dad in cowboy Noah Cosgrove. But how could she ever be interested in the man her family believes responsible for her brother's death? Besides, while she's putting down roots in Cedar Ridge, the big-city contractor will soon be hitting the highway straight out of town—until he's roped into building Shauntelle's dream restaurant. Working beside her reopens old wounds Noah would rather forget. But he doesn't know real trouble until his mother and the twins join forces. One wily matchmaker, two precocious little girls and one beautiful woman may be more than a reluctant cowboy can resist.Cowboys of Cedar Ridge: Rugged ranchers seek their perfect match.
Cowboy Daddy
Shauntelle Dexter’s twin girls think they’ve found their perfect new dad in cowboy Noah Cosgrove. But how could she ever be interested in the man her family believes responsible for her brother’s death? Besides, while she’s putting down roots in Cedar Ridge, the big-city contractor will soon be hitting the highway straight out of town—until he’s roped into building Shauntelle’s dream restaurant. Working beside her reopens old wounds Noah would rather forget. But he doesn’t know real trouble until his mother and the twins join forces. One wily matchmaker, two precocious little girls and one beautiful woman may be more than a reluctant cowboy can resist.
CAROLYNE AARSEN and her husband, Richard, live on a small ranch in northern Alberta, where they have raised four children and numerous foster children and are still raising cattle. Carolyne crafts her stories in an office with a large west-facing window, through which she can watch the changing seasons while struggling to make her words obey. Visit her website at carolyneaarsen.com (http://www.carolyneaarsen.com).
Also By Carolyne Aarsen
Cowboys of Cedar Ridge
Courting the Cowboy
Second-Chance Cowboy
The Cowboy’s Family Christmas
A Cowboy for the Twins
Big Sky Cowboys
Wrangling the Cowboy’s Heart
Trusting the Cowboy
The Cowboy’s Christmas Baby
Lone Star Cowboy League
A Family for the Soldier
Refuge Ranch
Her Cowboy Hero
Reunited with the Cowboy
The Cowboy’s Homecoming
Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk).
A Cowboy for the Twins
Carolyne Aarsen
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ISBN: 978-1-474-08029-3
A COWBOY FOR THE TWINS
© 2018 Carolyne Aarsen
Published in Great Britain 2018
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
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www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
She needed to get away.
But no sooner had she stood when her daughters left her side and went straight to the man she wanted to avoid.
When she caught up to them, the girls were chatting away with Noah and his mother.
“Millie, Margaret, don’t be pests,” Shauntelle said.
“She invited us over,” Millie told Shauntelle, as she pointed at Noah’s mother. “Can we go ride the horses?”
“I don’t think so.” She gave her daughter a gentle tug, but Millie pulled away, throwing Shauntelle off balance. As she began to fall, a strong arm snaked around her waist.
Noah held her closer than she liked, creating a curious mix of discomfort and assurance. “Are you okay?”
“I— Yes. Thank you.” She looked up at him, ready to pull away. But then their eyes met and in their depths she saw an indefinable emotion. Regret? Sorrow?
She found herself unable to look anywhere but at him. Her heart rolled over in her chest as the warmth of his arm registered. Even as one thought echoed in her brain.
This man is responsible for your brother’s death.
Dear Reader (#u09810d03-a253-5da1-8a3e-838b2cc487a9),
Grief hits us all in ways unique to each of us. A loss in the family is handled differently by each person.
In this book, Shauntelle was dealing with several varieties of grief. The loss of her husband, followed by the loss of her brother. On top of that, she was living with her parents, who were dealing with their own grief. When Noah comes to town, she has an easy target for the anger portion of grief that is often woven into sorrow.
Noah is struggling with his own guilt over the death of Shauntelle’s brother, and seeing Shauntelle and her family’s reaction to his presence in town only underscores that guilt. He didn’t really want to come back to town, but obligation and the need to see his mother brought him there.
However, Noah has his own past and his own pain to deal with. His sorrow is connected to dark memories, hard work and a bad relationship with his father. He has to learn to separate past from present, which is the same lesson that Shauntelle and her family have to learn.
I hope you enjoyed reading the journey of Noah and Shauntelle as they learn to place their life in God’s hands. As they learn to accept healing from the past. As they go forward into a new future together.
This is the last of the Cedar Ridge stories, and I hope you enjoyed your time here.
If you want to find out more about my books, check out my website at carolyneaarsen.com (http://www.carolyneaarsen.com), plus you can write me any time at caarsen@xplornet.com. I love to hear from my readers!
Blessings,
Carolyne
And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes;
and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow,
nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain:
for the former things are passed away.
—Revelation 21:4
For my beloved father,
whose life was a reflection of his faith.
Contents
Cover (#u7ab7ed47-4a94-58a7-a467-29aac20d9efe)
Back Cover Text (#ua4acef88-17dd-5acf-9c6e-056a69a9aaaf)
About the Author (#u74e894e2-68ee-5f84-bf52-396b2f79f9de)
Booklist (#ud8575b10-41e6-5d28-b934-3315b006d5bd)
Title Page (#u38ed7238-420d-5699-b9e0-9a33a211cd9b)
Copyright (#u5dad3417-31d3-5a24-ba74-df063f7a6760)
Introduction (#u26fe20d2-91e9-507b-8489-392adc385990)
Dear Reader (#uc4538fcc-1da7-54fa-9806-6f7dd6a7a42f)
Bible Verse (#uc0cbcc58-7ba0-5d68-b07b-e2a9571b6cb2)
Dedication (#uf5ad634e-2aed-5eb7-a587-b766bbb261b2)
Chapter One (#u76e85d69-84c1-5109-b5f1-c967028d1608)
Chapter Two (#u71b12cbd-3bbe-55a2-b56c-13251189ed4d)
Chapter Three (#uf412a359-12f4-5913-921e-77e80f8aa418)
Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#u09810d03-a253-5da1-8a3e-838b2cc487a9)
That did not sound good.
Shauntelle’s hands tightened on the steering wheel of her car as the engine’s whining grew louder. She eased off the gas and the ominous racket quieted, but as soon as she accelerated, it got worse.
Definitely not good.
“What’s that noise?” Millie called out from the back seat of the car.
“I think it’s the sound of trouble,” Shauntelle muttered.
And that’s when smoke streamed out from under the hood.
Shauntelle braked, pulling over as far as she dared to the side of the road as the cloud grew. The scent of coolant leaking assaulted her nose.
“What’s going on?” Millie released her seat belt and hung over the front seat of Shauntelle’s subcompact vehicle.
“Why did you stop?” Margaret echoed her sister’s concern, but she stayed obediently buckled up as she looked up from the book she’d been reading.
“My car is not cooperating with my well-laid plans,” was all she said, turning the engine off at once.
Shauntelle hid her frustration from her seven-year-old daughters. According to her budget, this little car needed to last her at least another year. She had bigger priorities.
After her husband Roger’s death in a car bombing in Afghanistan two years ago, Shauntelle had grieved, railed against life and, to her shame, Roger. He was doing a temporary job, working for Doctors Without Borders, a dream of his since he had graduated med school.
He had died on one of those trips.
Shauntelle couldn’t afford to stay in Vancouver and because she couldn’t rent, let alone buy, a place of her own, she moved in with her parents in Cedar Ridge, Alberta. The girls settled into school, and at her brother Josiah’s urging, she started making plans for a restaurant in Cedar Ridge. It had been a lifelong dream of hers, and things were finally coming together.
However, the dream did not include a car breakdown. Especially not when it was full of baking deliveries she needed to finish by the end of the day.
She clutched the steering wheel as she inhaled, practicing what her grief counselor had told her. Pull back. Let go. Focus on the next thing you can do.
And commit everything to the Lord.
Since Roger’s death, Shauntelle had struggled with God. When Josiah died in a construction accident only a year ago, she really felt betrayed by Him.
But she knew she had nowhere else to go, and so she slowly found her way back to God. After the major things she’d dealt with, however, she didn’t think it proper to pray for a car.
She pulled in another breath, a tiny curl of panic starting in her belly.
She opened the hood, then coughed on the acrid smoke billowing out of the engine.
“What are you going to do?” Millie asked, hanging out of the back passenger window.
“Push this car off a cliff,” Shauntelle muttered as she pulled up the strut that supported the car hood and stood back, her arms crossed over her chest as she fought down the panic.
“You can’t do that, Mommy.” Margaret sounded frightened.
“Just having an automotive temper tantrum, honey,” Shauntelle assured her very sensitive daughter. “I’m not driving it anywhere. Besides, there’s no cliff handy.” The road they were on had only three people living on it. An older couple from Calgary only used their summer house from June to September. Carmen Fisher, the manager of Walsh’s Hardware and the T Bar C, was another resident, and then there was the Cosgrove Ranch.
Carmen was working today, so she wasn’t home. And it was the end of April, which meant no one would be at the other house either.
That left the Cosgrove Ranch, a couple of miles down the road.
Not an option.
“Call Grandpa,” Margaret suggested, getting out of the car and walking around to the front to join her mother.
“Grandpa and Gramma are working.” And she was not putting any extra pressure on them.
She didn’t have any cousins or relatives she felt comfortable calling out to the back of the beyond. Nor did she have AMA, so phoning a tow truck meant she had to pay for it herself. And what would that cost?
“Guess we’ll have to walk to the highway,” she said. Some of the deliveries consisted of meat pies, and though they were in a cooler with ice, she didn’t know how long they would stay fresh.
“Will we have to hitchhike?” Millie asked.
“At least it’s not hot today,” Margaret, ever the practical one, said. “So we won’t get too thirsty.”
Her daughter was right. A soft breeze swirled past them, tossing up stray leaves and pushing away the stinky smoke still drifting from the engine. A few geese honked overhead, the first harbingers of spring. Shauntelle shivered, pulling her sweater closer around her as she weighed her options. The highway was a few miles back, and neither she nor the girls had adequate footwear. They were all so excited for spring that they had put on flip-flops.
“I hear someone coming!” Margaret called out, shading her eyes against the midafternoon sun.
Hope rose in Shauntelle’s heart as she heard the muted rumble of a vehicle. Maybe it was Carmen Fisher.
“They might stop,” Margaret said.
“I sure hope so,” Shauntelle said.
The sound of the vehicle grew louder, and then a large, jacked-up, cherry-red pickup truck crested the hill and came swooping down toward them.
Obviously not Carmen Fisher.
“I hope the driver sees us,” Millie muttered, stepping closer to her mother’s car.
Shauntelle hoped so too.
And then, thankfully, the truck slowed, geared down and coasted to a halt right behind her car. Shauntelle eased out a sigh of relief, but behind that came a niggle of unease. This didn’t look like the kind of vehicle an elderly couple would drive.
Then she saw the driver, and her unease morphed into fury.
Noah Cosgrove stepped out of that ridiculously fancy truck, the sun glinting off his collar-length dark hair, his eyes narrowed, a leather jacket hanging on his broad shoulders and dark jeans hugging narrow hips. He looked dangerous and threatening.
Shauntelle took a step back, shielding herself with the hood of the car, her growing rage boiling up in her soul. Noah was the last person she wanted to see.
Because of Noah Cosgrove, her brother had died.
* * *
“Hey there. What’s happened to your car?” Noah grinned at the twin girls who stood beside the obviously broken-down vehicle. They were thin, gangly and utterly adorable with their high ponytails, matching pink T-shirts and black leggings.
“It’s smoking,” one said, her eyes wide. “And Mom is trying to fix it.”
“I don’t think she knows how,” the other said in a matter-of-fact voice. “Do you think you can?”
“Maybe.” As he looked at the girls, a memory rose to the surface. Twins in Cedar Ridge were not common.
And then his heart thudded in his chest.
Of all the people to run into on the road to his mother’s place, why did it have to be Shauntelle Dexter, Josiah Rodriguez’s sister?
He gave himself a moment to fight the too-familiar guilt, straightened his shoulders and walked around the car. Shauntelle stood by the hood, arms clasped tightly over her chest, head held high, her brown hair drifting over her shoulders. Her flush-stained cheeks were sprinkled with freckles, and her blue eyes were narrow with anger. Clearly she knew precisely who he was.
“Hey, Shauntelle,” he said, keeping his voice quiet. Nonthreatening. So far her reaction was the same as the one he had received only half an hour ago from Shauntelle’s parents at the Shop Easy when he stopped there for gas and some pop. They were both working today, and while Selena Rodriguez acted reasonably civil, it wasn’t hard to see Andy’s fury.
“Hey, yourself,” was all she said, her tone abrupt.
“So. Car trouble.” He sucked in a quick breath and looked into the engine, the acrid smoke telling him everything he needed to know.
“Yes” was her clipped reply.
He gave her a cursory glance, but she was glaring at the engine ticking loudly in the ensuing silence.
“So what happened?”
“It started making a clunking noise and then it got louder.”
“Can you fix it?” one of the girls asked, poking her head around the hood.
Noah shook his head. “Not with what I’ve got in my toolbox. I’m guessing the engine seized up.”
“That sounds bad,” the other girl said with a frown.
Noah took a closer look at the girls, surprised he hadn’t seen the similarity between them and their mother previously. Of course, he’d had no reference point until he realized they were Shauntelle’s daughters.
“It is. But let me see for sure.” He flashed them a grin, then looked more closely at the engine. That’s when he saw the quarter-sized hole in the engine block. He shook his head in dismay. “Sorry. It looks like a rod went through your engine. It’s toast.”
“So it’s done?”
The rusted-out car looked like it had many better days behind it and none ahead. “Probably,” he said, wishing he could give her better news.
Shauntelle pressed her hands to her mouth, and for a moment he thought she was going to cry. Not that he blamed her. From what he knew about her, she’d had a lot to deal with.
In the past two years she’d lost her husband, moved in with her parents and then, to bring it all to a tragic trifecta, lost her brother only a year ago.
Noah shoved that memory down. Josiah Rodriguez had been working for him when he fell to his death off a scaffold. And no matter how many times Noah went over the situation, how many times he tried to remind himself he wasn’t to blame, he still felt at fault. He should have trained Josiah better. He should have been at the job site that day instead of chasing that other job, trying to make a few more bucks and keep his huge crew of guys busy.
“So where were you headed?” he asked, fighting the blame and self-loathing that always accompanied thoughts of Josiah. “Can I give you a ride?”
“That would be awesome,” one of the twins piped up. “We’re doing deliveries.”
“Of what?”
“Baking and stuff,” the other one put in. “My mom makes bread and buns and all kinds of goodies for the Farmer’s Market. We go every Saturday, but Mrs. Fisher is in Calgary and my mom promised her and some of her other customers that she would get their stuff to them.”
“I’m sure Mr. Cosgrove has other things he needs to do,” Shauntelle said, a sharp tone to her voice. It wasn’t hard to see she preferred he be anywhere but here.
“But he’s the only one who stopped.”
“Millie.” The tone grew harsher as Shauntelle shot her daughter a look of warning.
Millie glanced away, her hands fiddling with the bottom of her T-shirt as she pouted.
“I’m calling a tow truck,” Shauntelle said, pulling a phone out of her pocket.
While she did that, Noah took another look at the car in the faint hope he had misdiagnosed the problem. He turned on the flashlight function of his cell phone, but it only showed him the full extent of the irreparable damage.
“Is it bad?” the one named Millie asked.
He gave her an apologetic glance and nodded. “I’m afraid so.”
“My mom always said this car was a beater. I thought she meant like a mixer, but my grandpa said that it meant it wasn’t reliable. My grandpa is kind of smart. Just like my dad was.” Millie sighed and gave Noah a wistful look. “My dad is dead. He died in the overseas. Two years ago.”
“Two and a half,” her sister corrected, her mouth pursed as she clutched her book. “And it’s not in the overseas, it’s just overseas. It was in Afghanistan. He was a doctor without borders. We used to be sad, but now we’re not so sad anymore. My name is Margaret and my sister’s name is Millie.”
“I’m sorry for you,” Noah said. He’d heard bits and pieces about Roger Dexter from Josiah whenever Noah stopped by the work site. Josiah had been proud of Roger, and when he was killed, Josiah was devastated. Noah gave him a week off to be with his parents and sister.
Now Josiah was gone as well.
Noah wondered again about the wisdom of coming back to Cedar Ridge. But he had made a promise to his mother and his cousin Cord, whose wedding he had come to attend, and he couldn’t back out now.
“My daddy was a hero,” Millie put in. “That’s what my grandpa says. A genuine hero.”
Noah experienced a tinge of melancholy at the girl’s admiring words. A doctor working selflessly for other people. That was the very definition of hero. “He sure was,” he agreed.
“Not for two hours?” Shauntelle’s annoyed cry broke into the conversation. She clutched her cell phone in one hand, the other grabbing her head. “Okay. I guess I don’t have a choice.”
She slid her phone in the back pocket of her blue jeans, her hands clasped around the back of her neck. It wasn’t hard to read the frustration on her face.
“That’s a long wait,” Noah said.
“Yep.” Shauntelle massaged her neck with her hands, then dropped them on her hips. “Well, girls, guess we’re stuck here for a while.”
An awkward silence fell at that. Noah knew he couldn’t leave Shauntelle here. The road dead-ended at his mother’s ranch. If Carmen Fisher was in Calgary, she wouldn’t be back for a couple of hours. There was only one other family who lived down this road.
“Do you know if Mr. and Mrs. Anderson are home?” he asked.
“They only come in the summer,” the other twin said with a tone of resignation. “No one else will come down this road.”
And his mother couldn’t help them out either. She hadn’t been feeling well the past few weeks, which was one of the reasons he’d made the trip back to Cedar Ridge. She hadn’t been diagnosed with anything specific. Some vertigo, some headaches, low iron. Just worn and weary, was all she would tell him.
“Can you help us do deliveries?” Millie asked. “You have a big truck.”
“Mr. Cosgrove is probably busy.” Shauntelle’s voice held an undertone of condemnation. “I’ll try Leanne. Maybe she can help. She’s got a big SUV.”
She punched in another set of numbers, which was followed by a few seconds of silence. Guess that was a no-go too. He saw the battle on Shauntelle’s face, and he knew she fought her anger with him and the reality of her situation.
“I don’t mind helping,” he said.
“Okay. Fine.” She tossed out the words like they were poison. “I need to make a delivery to Mrs. Fisher’s place. If you could bring me back to my parents’ house after, that would be great.”
“But what about all the other stuff?” Millie put in. “You said we need to deliver them to get enough money for the eggs in your nest.”
Noah repressed a grin at the mash-up of the term.
“Can you help us deliver those too?” Millie asked, turning to Noah and giving him a mournful look.
He shouldn’t give in. Shauntelle didn’t want to go with him any more than he wanted her to.
“If we don’t get them to the customers they’ll be no good,” the other twin said. “Some of them are perishable. Like the meat pies.”
“Mr. Cosgrove probably has far more important things to do.” Shauntelle spoke quietly, but there was enough of a sting in her voice to bother him. “And my nest can manage without the extra money.”
“But that would be wasteful,” Millie wailed.
“I’m just going to my mom’s place,” Noah said. “I don’t have much else planned.”
“Does your mom live just before Mrs. Fisher’s?” Millie asked, her eyes suddenly wide. “Does she own the place with the big gate?”
“That’s it. The T Bar C.” His father’s ranch. As a young man, he couldn’t leave it fast enough. He had returned from time to time but only for a quick visit. He hadn’t come back for the past year. Since Josiah Rodriguez died working for him, shame and guilt had kept him away from the ranch and Cedar Ridge.
But his cousin’s wedding had brought him back. He knew he couldn’t get out of that obligation. While here, he hoped to convince his mother to finally let go of the ranch. Sell it and move with him to Vancouver. After Josiah died on his job site, Noah had hung on to the business long enough to deal with the inquiries and inspections. Then he sold it. He currently had a line on a new business he wanted to start, a small trucking company. It would be a fresh start in a different business.
He knew his mother hoped he would come back to the ranch, take it over and keep the Cosgrove legacy going. That wasn’t happening. To him, the ranch had always been a symbol of relentless, backbreaking work, a demanding father who was never satisfied.
Cedar Ridge didn’t hold any special memories for him.
“That’s such an awesome place. I love it,” the little girl said excitedly.
“It is a nice place.” He was surprised to hear a faint note of melancholy in his voice as he looked at his childhood home through her eyes.
“So, can you help us out by driving us around?” Millie asked. “So we can get more money in our nest?”
He glanced Shauntelle’s way. He saw she wasn’t keen on the idea, but at the same time he didn’t feel right leaving her stranded here.
“Sure. I can help you out.”
“Well, what are we waiting for?” Millie said, shooting her mother an expectant look.
Shauntelle blew out a sigh of resignation. “I guess we don’t have much choice.”
“Just one thing, though,” Noah said. “I’d like to stop in and see my mother. Make sure she’s okay before we head out.”
“Of course,” Shauntelle said.
“So first off, let me know what you need from the car,” Noah said.
Shauntelle walked to the hatchback, yanked it open and pulled out one of the three coolers, indicating the other two with her chin. “I need all those, and there’s a carrier with muffins as well.”
Noah nodded and hefted one cooler out, set the second one on top and carried them both to his truck. “We can put them in the box or the back of the truck,” he said.
“Box is fine.”
“I’ll drive slow. That way you won’t have to worry about your baking getting squashed. Don’t want you to have to give anyone a discount.” He added a grin to show he was kidding, but she didn’t smile.
While he hadn’t been in the same grade as Shauntelle growing up, he knew enough about her. Knew that she had a keen sense of humor and was quick with a comeback.
But the weary-looking woman in front of him bore no resemblance to that fun, spunky girl. And he felt that he had contributed to the faint lines bracketing her cheeks and marring her forehead.
He set the coolers on the ground by the rear of the truck, popped open the tailgate and slid them all in. He hopped on board in one easy motion and pushed them to the front of the box. He shifted his heavy toolbox to keep two of them from sliding around, though he was sure they’d be okay.
Then he jumped down.
“You’re really good at that,” the other twin said, her voice full of admiration.
“Doesn’t take much skill,” he returned with a half smile. “But I’m used to climbing ladders and jumping off roofs.”
Millie frowned in confusion. “What do you do?”
“I’m a contractor. Carpenter,” he corrected.
Millie nodded, her frown deepening. “Our uncle Josiah was a carpenter too. But he died when he fell down. My mom said his boss was a greedy man, and that’s why my uncle died.”
Her innocent voice spelling out the reasons for Josiah’s death hit him like a sledgehammer to the chest.
“I’m sorry about your uncle,” was all he said.
At that moment, he happened to glance at Shauntelle. The sorrow on her face was replaced by a tightening of her lips, a narrowing of her eyes.
He shouldn’t be surprised. During all the inquiries and investigations and follow-up by the various boards and organizations, he had occasionally run into Shauntelle’s parents and got a clear idea what they thought of him.
But Shauntelle’s reaction bothered him more.
He spun around and headed to the car to close the hatch just as Shauntelle walked in the same direction. They almost collided, and instinctively he reached out to steady her.
For a split second, she stayed still, getting her balance before jerking her arm away. She ducked inside the car, coming out with two booster seats.
“Do you want me to put those in the truck?” he asked.
Shaking her head, she walked back to his truck to do the job herself. A few minutes later the girls were buckled in, the car was locked up—even though Noah doubted anyone would steal it—and they were headed down the road to Mrs. Fisher’s.
The drive to Carmen’s place was quiet. What do you say when a young girl inadvertently accused you of being greedy and the cause of her uncle’s death? Trouble was, he felt it was true in spite of what the reports had said.
Might-have-beens crowded into his mind, creating their own regret and pain.
He eased out a breath, trying to ignore the woman on the seat beside him. Shauntelle sat as close to the door as physically possible, as if giving herself maximum distance between them.
“This is a really nice truck,” Millie said from the back seat of the crew cab. “Lots of room.”
“I like the color,” the other twin said.
“Red is Margaret’s favorite color,” Millie put in authoritatively. “She wants to paint her room red when we get our own house. But Mom said we can’t until the restaurant is finished and it starts making money. I want to paint my room pink.”
“That sounds nice,” Noah said, going along with the conversation. Anything to break the awkward silence between him and Shauntelle.
“So are you Mrs. Cosgrove’s son?” Millie asked.
“Yes I am.”
“Are you Noah Cosgrove?”
“Guilty as charged,” he returned, then realized how that sounded. Too on the nose, he thought.
Another beat of silence followed his comment.
“Our uncle Josiah worked for you.” This came out sounding like an accusation.
“Yes. He did.” Noah shot a quick glance in the rearview mirror at Millie, who sat behind her mother.
She frowned, as if absorbing this information. Then she looked over at Noah. “You don’t look like an evil man.”
“Millie, that’s enough,” Shauntelle said quietly.
“But he doesn’t. He looks like a nice man and he’s helping us.”
Shauntelle turned to the girls, and Noah caught a warning glance sent her daughter’s way. Millie got the hint and looked out the window.
They pulled up to Carmen’s place and Noah got out, the girls’ innocent words hounding him. “What do you need?” he asked.
“I’ll get it myself.” She sounded tired, so instead of listening to her, he got out of the truck as well and climbed up into the box.
“Tell me what I should grab,” he asked, opening the coolers.
“The muffins and the two loaves of bread from the box and the meat pie from the cooler. They’re marked with Carmen’s name.”
Noah found what she described and handed them to her.
Taking them, she turned and walked away. Noah got out of the truck box and watched her as she strode up the graveled path to Carmen Fisher’s house, her thick brown hair shifting and bouncing on her shoulders. She had an easy grace and presence. He remembered being vaguely aware of her in school.
And then, one summer, it was as if she had blossomed, and she had really caught his attention.
Trouble was he was dating Trista Herne, and Shauntelle was four years younger than he was. While that meant little now, in high school it was a vast gulf he couldn’t breach. So he kept his distance. And then, as soon as he had the diploma in his hand, he left. The first time he had come back was for his father’s funeral six years later. By that time, Shauntelle was gone.
“That’s a cute house too,” Millie said, hanging out the window she had opened. Clearly she didn’t mind that he was “an evil man.”
“It is,” Noah agreed. “It’s part of the T Bar C. The ranch foreman used to live there.” Noah adjusted his hat, dropping his hands on his hips as his mind shifted back to times he had tried to erase from his memory. Long days and nights working until he could barely stand. Fencing, building sheds, herding cows, baling hay and stacking bales. There was always work to do.
He remembered one evening he had been baling in a field just past this house. The tractor broke down at the far end of the field. Terrified of what his father would say, he stayed with the tractor. Then Doug and Julie had come home early from their outing. They brought him supper, and while he ate, Doug repaired the tractor. Then he sent Noah home and finished the baling himself. His father, however, was furious that he had made Doug work on his day off.
“Why doesn’t the foreman live there now?”
“My mother doesn’t need a ranch foreman,” he said as he got back into the truck.
“Why not?”
“The ranch doesn’t have as many cows as it used to.” He wished his mother would sell them. She had to hire someone to feed the cows and the horses that she wouldn’t sell either.
Noah suspected it was a way of recognizing the hard work his father had done to make up for the way Noah’s grandfather ran the T Bar C into the ground with his poor management. Though his father had struggled to bring it back to its former glory, low commodity prices had made it almost impossible. He worked like a dog and made sure Noah did as well. He’d died from a heart attack when he was feeding the cows. Noah often felt that the hard work, stress and his father’s personality had combined to cause his death.
Shauntelle came back and got into the truck, giving him a tight nod. “Thanks.”
“So you’re okay with stopping to see my mom?” Noah asked.
“I can hardly complain,” Shauntelle said with a note of asperity.
He sensed it was difficult for her to spend time with him, but she had no choice.
They drove just half a kilometer back down the road and under the imposing gate of the T Bar C.
“That’s an awesome gate,” Millie said, craning her head to get a better look.
“It should be,” Noah said. “I helped build it.”
“Really?”
“Yep. Took me and my dad two days and a lot of stress to get it up.”
He stopped as he heard the bitter note that entered his voice. Too well, he remembered being perched on the top of the upright, reaching for the cross beam his father was raising with the tractor. The near miss as the beam swayed and almost knocked him off. The anger his father spewed at him even though it wasn’t his fault.
No, the T Bar C held no memories he wanted to nurture.
They drove down the winding drive lined with elm trees his great-grandmother had planted in a fit of optimism. To everyone’s surprise, they flourished and now created a canopy of shifting shadows that teased the sunshine filtering through.
“Wow. This is beautiful,” the girls breathed.
Then they turned a corner, and the log ranch house came into view.
It was perched on a hill with a small creek flowing in front of it. A wooden bridge arched over it. Flower beds, in various states of neglect, stair-stepped up the side of the hill toward the imposing log house.
“That’s the coolest house ever,” Margaret breathed, unbuckling and leaning over the seat.
“Did you build it?” Millie asked.
“No. My grandfather did. He was a carpenter as well as a rancher.” Noah shot a sidelong glance at Shauntelle to gauge her reaction. Though she had lived here most of her life, she had never been on the ranch, to his knowledge.
Her eyes were wide and her mouth formed an O of surprise. Then, as quickly as that came, her features shuttered and her lips pressed together.
He guessed she was comparing his place with her parents’, a place he had seen from time to time.
And though his parents’ financial circumstances had nothing to do with him, he couldn’t get rid of a sense of shame.
And, even worse, guilt.
Chapter Two (#u09810d03-a253-5da1-8a3e-838b2cc487a9)
“Who all lives in that fancy house now?” Margaret asked, hanging over the front seat of Noah’s truck.
“Just my mom,” Noah said.
“That’s a big house for one person,” Millie said. “She must rattle around in it. That’s what my mom always says when she sees big houses.”
Shauntelle wanted to reprimand Millie, but it would only draw more attention to her comment. Right about now Shauntelle was having a hard enough time stifling her own reaction to Noah’s place and his presence. She struggled with a mixture of frustrated fury with him and an older, traitorous attraction.
Noah Cosgrove had always been one to make young girls’ hearts beat faster. At one time, so had hers.
But he was older. Then he’d left, and her life moved on.
Now here she was, a widow responsible for two children and full of plans for a future of her own. Roger had been a good man, but it seemed they spent most of their married life chasing after his dreams and plans, to the detriment of their family life and finances.
She learned the hard way that it was up to her to make something of her life. She couldn’t count on anyone else’s help. Now she was determined to make a future for herself and her daughters by way of her restaurant. This would require all her energy and concentration.
Besides, after what happened to Josiah, Noah was so far off her radar he may as well be in another solar system.
Noah pulled the truck up in front of a double garage. “Home sweet home,” he said, but Shauntelle heard a puzzling tone in his voice. Sarcastic almost.
“I’ll just be a minute,” he said, walking to the door.
Millie was about to get out to follow him when Shauntelle caught her by the arm. “Stay here. Mr. Cosgrove just wants to say hello to his mother, and we should let them do that alone.”
“But I want to see the house,” her daughter cried.
“Doesn’t matter. Stay put.”
“I want to see it too,” Margaret added.
“Learn to live with disappointment,” Shauntelle said in a wry tone, though she was talking as much to herself as she was to her daughter.
Part of her would have loved to see the inside of this very impressive home. She was always interested in floor plans and the layout of rooms. Someday she hoped to build her own house, though it would never approach the size of this place.
She looked over the massive expanse of lawn that needed mowing spread out in front of the house, the flower beds that had seen better days and the older hip roof barn beside them. Beyond that were rail fences and pastures all flowing toward the mountains guarding the valley where the house was situated.
It was a showpiece, that was for sure. However, no swing sets stood in the yard, no play center or sandbox. No sign that, at one time, a young boy had lived here. She knew Noah had been an only child, but still.
Her parents’ yard still had the old tractor tire sandbox she and Josiah had played in, as well as the rickety swing set the girls liked to play on.
But nothing here.
A few moments later the door of the house opened, and to Shauntelle’s surprise, Noah and Mrs. Cosgrove came out.
She looked tired and frail. Her once-dark hair hung in a gray bob. The gray-and-pink-striped tunic she wore over leggings seemed to hang on her narrow frame. Shauntelle had seen Mrs. Cosgrove in town from time to time and at church once in a while. Though she couldn’t be more than sixty, she looked far older.
“I told my son I wanted to say hello to you,” Mrs. Cosgrove said, waving at them as they came nearer. “He said he was helping you make deliveries.”
“My mom’s car broke down,” Millie announced, clambering out of the truck before Shauntelle could stop her. And where Millie went, Margaret followed.
They gathered around Mrs. Cosgrove, looking all demure and sweet. It would be rude if she stayed in the truck, so Shauntelle came to join them as well.
Mrs. Cosgrove gave her a gentle smile, holding her hand out to her. “And how are you doing, my dear? You have been through a lot. First your husband and then your brother.”
Shauntelle was surprised Mrs. Cosgrove mentioned Josiah in front of Noah. But she swallowed an unwelcome knot of sorrow and gave her a faint smile.
“It’s been difficult,” she said. “But I have my girls and the community, and I’ve gotten a lot of support from my parents as well.”
“They are good people and I’m so sorry for their loss, and yours as well when your brother died.” Mrs. Cosgrove took her hand in both of hers, looking into her eyes.
Her sympathy was almost Shauntelle’s undoing, but she kept it together. She did not want to cry in front of Noah and his mother.
“My gramma said that Uncle Josiah worked for an evil man,” Millie put in, shattering the mood and moment. “That’s why he died. But Mr. Cosgrove doesn’t look that evil.”
Shauntelle felt like grabbing her dear daughter and covering her mouth, but it was too late.
Again she saw pain and anger flit over Noah’s face. Again she wondered how much he took to heart.
Mrs. Cosgrove looked from Millie to Noah, her own features twisted as she withdrew her hand.
“Sometimes we only know part of the story,” she said. “But I won’t keep you long. I understand you have lots of deliveries to do. I wanted to say hello. I hope to see you tomorrow at the Farmer’s Market. You will have a table there, won’t you?” she asked Shauntelle.
“Yes. I will. If you have anything specific you want me to make, you are more than welcome to put in an order.”
“That’s fine, my dear. Maybe I’ll let Noah pick something out. He’s especially fond of chocolate cake.”
“I’m fond of your chocolate cake,” Noah corrected.
His mother gave him a gentle tick with her fingers. “You never say that in front of another woman,” she said.
“Sorry. Forgot about the female code.” Noah’s smile held a touch of melancholy, and Shauntelle thought it must be difficult for him to see his mother like this. “But you better get back to your easy chair, and we better get going.” Noah motioned with his head to the house.
Mrs. Cosgrove glanced over at Shauntelle. “He makes me sound like I’ve got one foot in the grave. Which is quite a physical feat, considering the graveyard is about ten miles away.”
Shauntelle chuckled at that, but she could see from the puzzlement on Millie’s and Margaret’s faces that she would be in for several questions from them about that phrase.
“You run on now and take care of those meat pies,” Mrs. Cosgrove said, holding her cheek up to Noah for a kiss. “I’ll see you later.”
And before Noah could protest, she turned and walked back to the house.
Noah watched her go, and Shauntelle could see that he was torn.
“We don’t have to do this,” she said. “You can bring me straight to my parents’ place, and then come back sooner.”
He turned to her with a wry smile. “She’d never let me come back until I was done helping you, so we may as well carry on.”
His smile made him look more approachable. And his attitude around his mother generated a rift in her own feelings toward him.
But she shook that off. She couldn’t afford to let herself get soft around him.
She had her children to think of, her business to plan and her parents to comfort and support.
Besides, she heard he was only in Cedar Ridge for his cousin’s wedding, and then he would be gone again. Which worked out well. She didn’t think she could be around him any longer than that.
* * *
“I can’t believe you let that man take you on your deliveries.” Selena Rodriguez’s pinched and lined lips and narrowed eyes made a far more eloquent statement than her clipped sentence.
“I didn’t have much choice, Mom,” Shauntelle said as she loaded the dishwasher. “The ice in the coolers holding the meat pies was already half-melted. By the time the tow truck came, I wouldn’t have felt right about delivering them. And that would have been a waste, and I would have had unhappy customers.” Besides, she’d sensed Noah would not have let it go.
It had made for an extremely uncomfortable situation. Trying to keep her anger at him under control while appreciating what he was doing for her.
She was trying as hard as she could to develop a good reputation, both for her food and her delivery service. She wanted customers to know she was dependable and trustworthy. She hoped building up all this goodwill would keep her in good stead when it came time to open her restaurant.
“You could have called us,” Selena muttered, rinsing out a rag and wiping down the counters.
“I tried, but there was no answer. Dad must have been out pumping gas, and you were probably busy somewhere else. Besides, I didn’t like the idea of making you take time out of your workday to come and rescue me.”
“I would have come for sure if I’d known Noah Cosgrove picking you up was the alternative.” Her mother’s voice broke, and Shauntelle once again struggled with her own variable emotions.
The name Noah Cosgrove always engendered an unhealthy indignation in the Rodriguez household. Noah had been Josiah’s boss, and her brother died while working for him. Josiah had often complained that Noah pushed everyone too hard.
After Josiah’s death, there had been inquiries and phone calls and meetings, and it was as if they relived his death again and again.
Noah was exonerated, but Shauntelle still struggled with forgiveness and anger. Had he not worked her brother so hard, Josiah might still be alive.
“Well, they’re done.”
As for her girls, all was right in their world in spite of the emotions swirling around their heads.
Supper was over and her father sat in the living room reading one of his favorite Thornton Burgess books to the girls. Though she doubted they were that terribly interested in the adventures of Reddy Fox, they were too polite to say any different. And it kept them busy while her mother fussed.
“I’m thankful Dad could take care of the car,” Shauntelle said. He had arranged for a friend to pick it up and bring it to the wrecker. “I should have brought it in to the mechanic when I had the chance. Dad’s been warning me for months to get it fixed.”
Though part of the problem was she hadn’t had time to bring it to the mechanic. Between juggling her part-time job at the bank, baking and gardening for the Farmer’s Market and her work to get the restaurant going, extra time was hard to find. And next week she would be even busier working with the contractor who was finishing the arena.
The restaurant she wanted added had never been in the original plans. She had her own blueprints drawn up at great expense, which meant she would have to work closely in the next few weeks with the contractor to make sure everything meshed.
“You could have bought a new car with that money you got from when Roger passed away.”
“You know I need that money for my restaurant and eventually my own place.” She gave her mother a teasing grin as she put the containers holding leftovers in the refrigerator. “I’m sure you don’t want me and the girls staying here forever. Kind of cramps Dad’s and your style.”
“You know we enjoy having you around,” her mother said with a gentle smile. “If you’d had a new car you wouldn’t have had to get a ride with...Noah Cosgrove,” her mother added.
The evil man.
Millie’s words still made Shauntelle squirm. She would have to make a note to discuss with her mother how she talked about Noah. The girls didn’t need to get pulled into the drama and emotions surrounding her brother’s death.
“It was okay, Mother,” she said, trying to keep her tone light. She knew she would run into Noah sooner or later, so maybe it was just as well she got it over and done with.
Though she was still surprised at how difficult it had been to be around him. She couldn’t keep the image of her brother’s coffin out of her mind. The searing pain of lowering her brother down into the ground. The loss of her own dreams and plans.
She and Josiah had talked of starting the restaurant together, and he had promised once he was done working for Noah, he would come on board. Now that dream was gone too.
“I can’t believe he’s back. Acting as if nothing has happened.” Her mother’s voice broke as she folded her arms over her stomach, leaning back against the kitchen counter. Shauntelle felt the usual sympathy blended with her own grief. “He came around the store today to get gas, if you can imagine.”
“Maybe it was the closest place,” Shauntelle suggested, trying to rise above her own reactions. Sometimes she was tired of how much they had ruled her life recently.
Her mother harrumphed. “He could have gone to the Petro Pumps. It’s just down the road.”
“Or he could’ve just been trying to give you some business.”
Her mother frowned at her. “And why are you defending him? Josiah was your brother. If it wasn’t for Noah, he’d be still alive.”
Shauntelle knew this was her cue to stoke the fires of her mother’s anger, and normally it wasn’t difficult to do. But today she was bone weary and simply didn’t have the energy.
“I know,” was all she said.
“Are you okay, honey?” her mother asked, her voice still thick with emotion. “Are you thinking of Josiah too?”
“I sometimes wonder what he would be doing right now.” She easily slipped into one of her mother’s favorite conversations—imagining a life for Josiah had he not died.
“Probably working for your father. Maybe taking over the gas station.”
Shauntelle doubted that. One of the reasons Josiah had originally talked about working with her on a restaurant was to avoid exactly that scenario.
“He’d probably be traveling,” she said. “Where do you think he would go?”
Her mother said nothing for a moment, then looked back at her, her eyes dull. “Doesn’t matter, does it? He’s gone. And Noah is here. I don’t know how I’m going to handle that.”
The sorrow in her voice was Shauntelle’s undoing, and she hurried over to her mother’s side and pulled her into her arms. “You can pray about it, Mother. You’ve always said you receive your strength from the Lord.”
Her mother sniffed, nodded, and then pulled back. “Yes. If it wasn’t for my faith, I don’t know how I would have gotten through this dark time.” She tugged a tissue out of the box close at hand and dabbed at her eyes. “But I just hope Noah is only here for a short while. I’m not ready to face him for too long.”
Shauntelle knew she wasn’t either. Seeing Noah had been a shock on so many levels. He’d always been the boogey man. The “evil” man. The man who could create a twist in her stomach at the sheer mention of his name.
But even before that, he’d been someone who intrigued her. Someone she, at one time, had spun futile dreams around.
She shook the emotions off. He wasn’t for her, and she didn’t have room for him. She was being utterly foolish giving him even one second of her thoughts.
Chapter Three (#u09810d03-a253-5da1-8a3e-838b2cc487a9)
“Think you’ll sleep okay tonight?” Noah bent over his mother and brushed a kiss across her forehead.
She sat up in her bed, propped against a ridiculous number of pillows with an equally ridiculous number of books stacked on her bedside table and the floor beside it. A small diffuser steamed beside her bed, filling the room with the rich aroma of one of the many oils she had lined up in front of it.
“Of course I will,” she said with a smile, setting aside her book. “Thanks again for dinner. It was very good.”
“Takeout from the Brand and Grill,” he said with a grin as he perched on the edge of her bed. “Dining at its finest.”
“I enjoyed it. I enjoy anything I don’t have to make myself.”
Noah glanced around the room, unable to quash the feeling that he was invading his mother’s privacy. His parents’ bedroom was the one room in the house that was off-limits to him, and he was only allowed in by invitation.
“Too bad I came back so late. We could have gone out for a walk after supper,” he said.
“That’s okay. I’m looking forward to our trip to the Farmer’s Market.” She gave him a sly smile. “Maybe Shauntelle made some chocolate cake after you said it was your favorite.”
“I highly doubt Shauntelle cares one way or the other that I like chocolate cake.”
His mother’s expression grew serious. “I know that family doesn’t think highly of you, but I’m sure Shauntelle knows better.”
Noah thought of the “evil man” comment Millie had made, and the anger simmering in Shauntelle’s eyes. “I’m not so sure. Besides, it doesn’t matter what she thinks.”
“I’m glad you could help her get all her deliveries done though.”
He should have known that his mother wasn’t going to leave the subject of Shauntelle alone. To his surprise, they hadn’t talked about her at suppertime. Instead, his mother had brought him up-to-date on all the comings and goings of the Walsh clan. Cord’s wedding and Morgan’s future one, and now his other cousin, Nathan, was engaged as well. All this was delivered with a careful sigh directed to Noah.
He easily read the subtext. When would he get married?
“I’m glad I could too,” he said, keeping his tone casual. “And the entire time I got a running commentary from Millie about all the people we brought the baking to.”
His mother chuckled. “Those girls are quite the pair. For twins, they sure are different though. Millie is such a pistol, and Margaret is so quiet.” Then she grew serious, her dark eyes suddenly intent. “And how was Shauntelle with you?”
Noah held her gaze for a few beats, then sighed and looked away, knowing what she was referring to. “Uptight. Tense. Angry. I think she would have preferred not to accept my help, but she was stuck.”
His mother covered his hand with hers, squeezing lightly. “Don’t take it personal, son. She’s had a lot to deal with recently. It has to be hard being a widow and taking care of her children. Roger Dexter was a good man, and I’m sure she misses him.”
He noticed that she deliberately left Josiah out of the conversation. As if she wasn’t sure where to put the death of Shauntelle’s brother either.
“Roger died in Afghanistan, didn’t he?” Noah continued, sticking with an easier topic.
His mother nodded. “He often worked overseas. In fact, he was working with Doctors Without Borders when he was killed. He wasn’t military, but in my mind he was a real hero.”
“Sounds like it,” Noah said, though even as he spoke the words a small part of him wondered why anyone would want to leave a wife and twin girls behind. If he had a family, he would never stay far away from them. He’d keep them close.
If.
The closest he had come to settling down was with Holly, his former fiancée. But somehow, after he proposed, things changed. She became more demanding of him and his time. Which made him wonder what would have happened on the job site that day if he hadn’t given in to her constant pleas to be doing something, going somewhere. Would that have stopped Josiah from going up on that man lift? Would he have maybe given him yet another safety lesson just to make sure?
“You look pensive,” his mother said, poking him gently.
“I do that to put people off,” he said, once again pushing his memories down. “My dark hair and glowering eyes keep people away.”
“You shouldn’t do that, you know.” She spoke quietly, smiling, but Noah heard the faint warning in her voice. “Keep people away. I know that Josiah’s death has affected you more than you admit, but you weren’t found to be at fault.”
Maybe not, but that didn’t stop him from feeling guilty that he hadn’t been there. He caught her concerned look again and forced a smile. “I know. But that doesn’t change what happened to him. Or how his family feels.”
Shauntelle’s strong reaction to him earlier still stung.
“They just need time.” She patted his arm. “So how long are you sticking around?”
He held her yearning gaze, feeling the weight of all the years he had stayed away dropping on his shoulders. “I had figured on staying until Cord’s wedding. Then I’m off to Vancouver to see about a new business.” He hadn’t made a final commitment yet, but his mother didn’t need to know that.
She gave him another one of her pensive looks. “I wish I could think of something that could make you consider staying. Permanently.”
Another picture of Shauntelle flashed into his thoughts. She had always been attractive, but she was older now, and even though life had dealt her some harsh blows she was, if possible, even more beautiful than she had been when he left Cedar Ridge.
As quickly as the memory came, he dismissed it. Shauntelle, with her hero husband and banked anger, was out of reach.
“You know Cedar Ridge doesn’t hold a lot of good memories for me,” he said. “Neither past nor present. I have no intention of sticking around here longer than I have to.”
Too late, he realized how harsh that sounded. He tempered his comments with a smile. “We’ll have fun together, and once you move to Vancouver, then we’ll spend a whole lot more time together,” he said. “It’s a beautiful city, and the winters are much milder than our Alberta winters.”
“We’ll see.” She gave him a sorrowful smile, and he could tell he hadn’t convinced her to leave yet. “I know you want me to sell the place. It’s too hard to run with hired help.” She waited a moment, holding his gaze with hers. “I guess I had always hoped you would come back,” she continued, sounding wistful. “And maybe now that you’re here...”
“Please don’t,” he said, interrupting her hopeful words. “Cedar Ridge hasn’t been my home for a while, and certainly can’t be now.”
“Does your father still have such a strong hold over you?”
His mother’s mournful voice created a mixture of feelings. Resentment that she should ask when she knew precisely what he had gone through, blended with emotions he had struggled against for most of his life. Where had she been while his father was being so hard on him? Why hadn’t she stood up for him? Taken his side?
“You haven’t forgiven him, have you?” she continued.
Noah pulled in a deep breath and shrugged his shoulders, trying to settle the sorrow he knew he should have been done with long ago.
“He’s not around to forgive, so it doesn’t really matter anymore does it? Besides, it’s memories too.” He gave his mother an apologetic smile.
“I pray for you every day,” she said. “That you can find it in your heart to forgive your father. I think when you do, you will find your way back to your other Father. The one who loves you perfectly. His love will give you real peace.”
“You don’t have to worry about my faith life,” he said finally, pushing down the wavering emotions his mother’s words created. For the past few years he and God had had an understanding. Noah wouldn’t bother God, and God wouldn’t bother him.
Besides, God wouldn’t want to have much to do with someone who couldn’t even take care of his own employee.
Someone who would never, ever be referred to as a hero.
Like Shauntelle’s husband was.
* * *
“Mom, can I put those out?” Millie pointed to the cooler holding the layer cakes Shauntelle had spent hours baking last night and icing this morning. Her mother had let her use her car until she figured out what to do about transportation, but it was tiny and Shauntelle had worried about how the cakes would travel in the little hatchback.
“I’ll take care of them, honey,” Shauntelle said, hurrying over. There was no way she was letting anything happen to those cakes after all the work she’d put into them.
She had found the cakes while she was on Pinterest and plunged down the rabbit hole that is the internet. When she read the recipes, she was intrigued. If people liked them, they could be potential dessert menu items for her restaurant.
“How long do we have to stay here?” Margaret asked, shivering as she pulled her jacket closer around her. “And why couldn’t we be inside today?”
“Just a few weeks ago you were wishing we could be outside.” Shauntelle tapped her daughter playfully on her nose.
Though she found the weather a bit cool herself, she was still glad to be outdoors. Last week they had set up in the multipurpose room of the old arena, stuck in a damp, echoing space that was always too noisy and cramped.
The new arena couldn’t be completed soon enough, for the other members of the Farmer’s Market or her. Next week she could finally implement all the ideas roiling around in her head ever since she’d come up with her plan for a restaurant and snack bar.
For a moment she felt a shiver of panic. What if all her plans for her own business were a waste of time and money? What if she was fooling herself, thinking people would want to come to her restaurant for dinner? Cedar Ridge already had the Brand and Grill in town, plus Angelo’s, and she heard the bakery had just set up a bistro.
Was there room for her restaurant? Would she make enough to take care of herself and her daughters?
She struggled to fight down the anxiety she always felt when doubts about her decision attacked her. And lately they’d been coming harder the closer she came to implementing them.
But she wasn’t a quitter. She’d put her husband through med school, raised the girls on her bank salary while Roger pursued his dream and vision during his internship. She put in long hours to make sure they had the basics in life. And after Roger died, she dug back into her emotional reserve and carried on. She fought her own sorrow and put on a brave face for her daughters while her own heart was breaking. And now she was supporting her parents through their own grief over the loss of their son and her brother.
As well as dealing with her own grief and anger.
She hadn’t quit then, and she wasn’t about to quit now. Through it all she had depended on her Lord to give her the strength she needed, and He hadn’t failed her yet. Come what may, she knew she always had her faith.
“That looks really nice, Mommy,” Margaret said, full of admiration as Shauntelle set out the third fancy layer cake.
“I thought they turned out well,” she said, with a touch of pride, as she shifted the one chocolate cake with its fancy trimming to show it off the best. While she did, she imagined cakes, cheesecakes, pies and fancy squares lined up on shelves in a glass case at the entrance of her new restaurant, tempting the patrons even before they sat down to order dinner.
She’d set up far too many boards on Pinterest with ideas for decor, layout, furniture and menus. It was endless, and she often had to stop and prioritize.
“Sweetheart, can you set out the muffins?” she asked Millie as she set some loaves of bread on the shelf in front and to one side of her table.
“I want to see what Rory has,” she grumbled. “She told me she would have some new jewelry when she came this week.”
“I want to see too,” Margaret chimed in, abandoning her job.
“Later. The market will be open in ten minutes and I want to be ready.”
“Hey, girls!” Sonya called out, dragging two rolling suitcases past Shauntelle’s table. Sonya DeBree was short and heavyset, her dyed black hair worn in a perpetual braid down her back. The young woman stopped and whistled loudly. “Wow, those cakes turned out fantastic. I’d ask you to save one for me, but I think I’ve got enough cake stored up in me to last me until I die.” She massaged her protruding belly, laughing as she did so. “Once you start that restaurant I’m going to be in such trouble.”
“I hope so,” Shauntelle said with a wry look.
Sonya must have caught the hint of concern in her voice. “It will be just fine. Here’s hoping those construction people can get the arena done in time though. Heard things were slowing down.” Then, before Shauntelle could ask her what exactly she meant by those unsettling comments, she swished her long skirts and headed off to her table to set up her spices, homemade jam and condiments on her table.
Shauntelle felt a tremor of unease at her comment, but then shrugged it off as Farmer’s Market gossip. The usual chitchat of people who had time on their hands and a listening ear.
She turned her attention to getting the last of her baking set out. Ten minutes later everything was ready, and people were already drifting into the parking lot where they were set up, wandering around the tables.
A few people came directly to her table. These were her regulars who showed up every Saturday to pick up preorders that she couldn’t deliver.
“Thanks so much, Mrs. Michaels,” Shauntelle said as she handed the elderly woman the tray of muffins and cookies she had just bought. “Are you sure I can’t tempt you with a hazelnut torte cake?”
The tiny, bird-like woman just laughed, showing her crooked teeth as she hooked the bag over her walker. “Sugarplum, if I bought that I would eat it all myself and end up fatter than I already am.”
Considering she couldn’t weigh more than ninety pounds, even with her walker, Shauntelle thought that highly unlikely.
“I might be tempted to buy one.”
Shauntelle looked over at her newest customer, and there was Mrs. Cosgrove. Then her heart plunged when she saw Noah join her.
His dark hair and equally dark eyebrows arching over hidden, deep-set brown eyes could have given him a menacing look, but she remembered that melancholy smile of his yesterday. In spite of how bitter she was over what happened to Josiah because of him, seeing Noah face-to-face made it difficult to know exactly what to do with her anger.
“I thought my son should find out firsthand how good the baking that he delivered yesterday actually is,” Mrs. Cosgrove said.
Shauntelle dragged her attention away from Noah, granting Mrs. Cosgrove a more genuine smile. Fay Cosgrove was a loving, caring woman who, when Shauntelle had come here, had gone out of her way to support and encourage her. It wasn’t hard to separate her feelings for Noah from this woman.
“I’m glad you came. I hope you can find something.”
“I’m sure I can.” Mrs. Cosgrove’s smile grew but then she seemed to wince and shook her head. “Sorry. Feeling a bit punk yet.”
“Should we go home?” Noah asked.
“I’m fine. Just a bit tired.” Mrs. Cosgrove waved off his concern. “I’m tempted to get one of those cakes, though Noah will have to step up and do his part to finish it.”
“I don’t think that will be much of a hardship.” He turned to Shauntelle again. “Do you have any meat pies today? I know when we were delivering them, they looked and smelled pretty tasty.”
“I have a few,” she said, disappointed at the flush his compliment gave her. It felt wrong.
“My mommy just made these cakes.” Millie walked over to where Noah was standing, and to Shauntelle’s embarrassment, grabbed his hand, dragging him closer to the table and directly in front of Shauntelle. “She said they were an experiment, but I think they look awesome.”
“More of a trial run,” Shauntelle hastened to explain, far too aware of his towering presence. “For the restaurant. Thought I could offer them as desserts.”
“They look really nice, Millie,” he said, addressing her daughter instead of her. For some reason that bothered her.
“I helped my mom bake them,” Millie said, folding her hands in front of her and rocking back and forth, obviously pleased with Noah’s attention.
Yeah, he had that effect on women and girls of all ages, Shauntelle thought, remembering how she, too, had once admired him from afar.
“You didn’t help that much,” Margaret put in, coming to join them, clearly not too happy with the compliment Millie had received. “I did more.”
“No you did not,” Millie grumbled. “You were busy reading your book. I helped Mom mix the dough and set the timer—”
“But I mixed the icing and helped her put the cakes together.”
And why did they have to pick a fight right here and now in front of the Cosgroves? In spite of their bickering, people walking past them slowed and smiled at the girls.
Every time she took the twins out, people seemed drawn to them. Though Shauntelle let them choose their own clothes and encouraged them to develop their own style, they always picked matching outfits and accessories.
Today they wore green-and-yellow-striped sweaters and hot pink leggings. If only one of them wore this outfit, they would stand out.
But the two of them, bickering and picking at each other, their ponytails bobbing, drew unwelcome attention this time.
“I don’t think we need to talk about who did what,” Shauntelle said with a forced smile, coming around the table and laying a warning hand on each of their shoulders. “You both helped.”
“And you both did an amazing job,” Noah said, crouching down to get to their level.
Which put him below hers. She could see the top of his head, the thick wave of his hair. She caught herself, frustrated at her reaction to him. She was as bad as her daughters.
“And you girls both did a great job yesterday too,” Noah said, piling compliment on compliment.
Immediately the girls quit their squabbling, both looking rather smug at Noah’s praise.
“So now you have to help me pick out a cake for my mother,” he continued.
As Noah stood, his gaze drifted up and snagged hers. His smile slowly faded, and the serious and somber look that replaced it sent a shiver down her spine. What was he thinking when he looked at her?
Pulling her gaze away, she fiddled with the arrangement of the cakes, straightened a package of cinnamon rolls. Anything to avoid looking at Noah again. When she saw him yesterday, her anger had simmered hard, but today, after she had spent the afternoon with him, she found it had dissipated.
Until she saw her parents. Then it had returned full force.
“What do you think, Noah? Should we buy one of those?” Fay was asking.
“I think we should, but then we need to get going,” Noah said to his mother. “You’re still not feeling well.”
The concern in his voice and the tender way he laid his hand on his mother’s shoulder created battling emotions inside Shauntelle.
In spite of that, she couldn’t forget the texts her brother sent her.
Texts complaining about how hard he had to work. What a slave driver Noah was. Money-hungry and pushy. Even given her brother’s tendency to exaggerate, Noah still came across in those texts as a hard-nosed businessman concerned only with the bottom line.
Then her brother had died, and once again the bottom fell out of her world. She swallowed down an unwelcome knot of pain.
“You’re probably right,” his mother said, then turned to Shauntelle. “I think we’ll take this chocolate one.”
“Good choice,” Shauntelle said, reaching for a box to put the cake in.
“And the meat pies,” Noah prompted.
“Right. Sorry. I forgot about them.” She boxed up the cake, disappointed to see her hands trembling as she closed the flaps. She wanted to show him that she was capable and in charge, unaffected by his presence, but the pounding of her heart made that impossible.
Seriously, she really had to get a handle on her emotions.
She tied a ribbon around the box and handed it to him with a forced smile. “That will be fifteen dollars.”
“And the meat pies?” he reminded her.
She did a mental facepalm. “Of course.” She boxed up a couple of pies and handed them to him as well, giving him the final total.
“That’s pretty cheap,” he said, taking them from her. “You might want to consider raising your prices.”
“I’m still trying things out.”
“For what?”
“The restaurant I want to start up.”
“Really? That’s ambitious. Where will it be?”
“It’s going to be part of the arena. I’ll be running a snack bar as one part of the operation with a restaurant attached to it. The contractor said he might put in a courtyard where I could have outdoor seating. People like to look at trees and flowers when they’re eating, I guess, and I’m not going to argue with that. I think it will look nice.” She stopped her babbling. He was making her uneasy, and she was doing that talking-too-much thing that she did when she was agitated.
He took the boxes from her, his own lips curving slightly. “Sounds like you have a good plan in place.”
“I work in a bank. The only way I’d get the money was if I had everything figured out down to how many teaspoons of baking powder I’ll need.”
He chuckled at that, and the shift in his expression was a surprise to her. He looked more approachable. More like the old Noah she remembered from school.
But right behind that came the memory of her brother.
“Enjoy the cake,” she said, looking away.
He didn’t leave, which made Shauntelle more uncomfortable.
“I know I should have said it earlier but I didn’t get a chance.” He took a breath, and she steeled herself for what he was going to say. “I’m sorry about your brother.”
The apology sounded heartfelt and it should have made Shauntelle feel better, but if anything, it brought back her anger.
Josiah was gone, and Noah was still alive. Her parents had lost a son and she a brother. A hole in their family that could never be filled.
She didn’t know what to say, so all she did was nod to acknowledge his apology. Then, as if sensing her pain and anger, Noah took a step back, turning to his mother.
“We should go, Mom. Time to get you home.”
“Did you get the meat pies?” Mrs. Cosgrove asked, looking from Noah to Shauntelle. “I thought we were getting some meat pies.”
“We did,” Noah muttered.
But just before they could leave, someone was calling out his name and Owen Herne joined them by Shauntelle’s table.
“Hey, Noah, good to see you again,” Owen said, clapping him on the shoulder. “How long you back for?”
“Just for Cord’s wedding, then back to Vancouver.”
“So a couple weeks?”
“Probably less.” He looked like he was trying to edge away, but Owen stood in front of him, blocking his way.
“Okay. I need to talk to Shauntelle and was hoping I could catch you too somewhere along the way.” Owen glanced over at Shauntelle, and the foreboding look on his face wasn’t encouraging. “Do you have time?” he asked Shauntelle.
“You want to talk to me here?”
He jerked his chin in the direction of the now-empty coffee table. “We could go over there.”
“Give me a minute?” she asked, wiping suddenly damp hands down the side of her pants. She shot a look over to Millie and Margaret, wondering if they should be here. “Girls, why don’t you go check out Rory’s booth? See if she has any new jewelry.”
“But I thought you said we had to stay and help,” Millie said, looking very interested in whatever Owen might say.
“We need to talk, and I’d like you to go,” she said.
Margaret looked like she was about to protest as well when Mrs. Cosgrove, sensing what Shauntelle wanted, walked over to the girls, taking their hands. “You know, I haven’t been to the Farmer’s Market in a while. Maybe you could show me around. Would that be okay?” she asked Shauntelle.
“Sure.” Everyone knew everyone here, and the layout wasn’t that large. Shauntelle could keep an eye on them.
“I’ll come with you,” Noah said.
“Actually, I wouldn’t mind if you stuck around too,” Owen said.
Noah frowned but nodded at his mother. “Go ahead. I’ll catch up. But be careful.”
“I’m not made of glass,” she said with a warning shake of her head. “Shall we go, girls?” she asked, and walked away.
Shauntelle watched a moment, but the girls seemed very comfortable with Noah’s mother, chattering as they walked alongside her, pointing out the various tables.
Owen led the way to the empty table, glancing around as he did, but no one was within earshot.
When they got there, Shauntelle turned back to Owen, her heart slowly increasing its tempo. “So what were you going to say?”
“The contractor bailed on us,” Owen said, dropping his hands on his hips. “Took his crew and left us in the lurch. It seems to be a recurring theme with this place. Anyhow, I thought I would tell you because you have a stake in the arena. I wanted to let you know in time so maybe you can make other plans.”
“But he was supposed to help me plan out my restaurant,” Shauntelle cried out. “We’re installing the doors in a week or so, getting the walls put up. He had plans for my benches. My furnishings. The decor.”
“Well he’s gone, which means that work on the arena has officially come to an end.”
And wasn’t that just typical, Shauntelle thought, fighting down a wave of anger and bitterness.
One more man she couldn’t count on.
* * *
Noah glanced over at Shauntelle as Owen delivered this piece of news.
Her face had gone white, and she looked like she was going to fall over. Instinctively he reached out to catch her by the arm and steady her.
To his surprise, she didn’t protest his holding her up.
All her attention was on Owen, and he found he wasn’t ready to let her go yet. He loosened his grip slightly, but kept his hand on her arm, supporting her.
“So what does this mean for us? What are we supposed to do? Will everything get put on hold?” She stopped there, pressing her free hand to her chest, glancing worriedly from Owen to Noah as if seeking answers from them.
He wanted to put his arm around her to console her, but he was fairly sure she wouldn’t appreciate it.
Owen rubbed his chin with the knuckles of one hand as he blew out his breath in a sigh. “Sorry for dropping this on you, but I just found out and I thought you should know. Seeing as how you have a pretty big stake in getting this arena done on time.”
“I was supposed to open in a month and a half,” she murmured. Then, as if she finally realized it, she glanced at Noah’s hand still holding her arm and she pulled away.
Not that he blamed her, Noah thought. He knew what she thought of him. Each time she had seen him, her expression held a mixture of contempt and anger, which always made him want to explain, to tell her his side of the story.
Trouble was, he wouldn’t be able to do a very convincing job of it. In spite of what had been reported, he still felt a wrench of guilt each time he thought of Josiah’s death.
“So now we need to find a new contractor,” Owen was saying. “The insurance policy we’ve got in place and the building permit require that the person overseeing the project have the proper qualifications.”
“What about you?” Noah asked Owen. “You’ve been working as a carpenter for a while.”
“I have, but I don’t have my Journeyman’s ticket, or enough experience to satisfy all the requirements.”
Owen’s intense gaze made Noah uncomfortable, and Noah guessed there was an underlying implication. But he wasn’t biting. His plans weren’t set in stone yet, but he wasn’t changing anything.
“There’s got to be someone around here who has his ticket or runs a company,” he said, trying to keep his tone conversational.
“This time of the year, they’re all booked up already. That’s why we went with this guy.”
“It’s like this arena is never meant to be finished,” Shauntelle said, wrapping her arms around her midsection. “What am I going to do about my restaurant?”
Noah felt a glimmer of sympathy for her. She’d had so many disappointments in her life already. Now this.
Don’t volunteer. Don’t volunteer.
Noah had to remind himself over and over not to try to fix this problem. He knew what Shauntelle and her family thought of him. There was no way he was putting himself through that every day.
“Couldn’t you consider it?” Owen asked finally, going exactly where Noah suspected he had been headed from the moment he joined them.
Noah looked over at Shauntelle in time to see the look of dismay flit over her face. She met his gaze and quickly looked away.
He knew why she felt the way she did, yet it still stung. It also underlined any idea he might entertain of staying longer.
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