Grace's Gold Page 4

  An odd sense of longing battled inside her as mud splattered her jeans and Brent’s breath puffed out in tense, white clouds that drifted around her.

  “It’s going to be OK,” she’d murmured, because she knew he needed to hear the words. “I promise…everything will be OK.” And she’d meant it—every syllable, every breath.

  “Grace?” Brent’s voice coaxed her back from the memory. He touched her shoulder and her eyes snapped open. “Are you OK?”

  “Y-yes.” Her breath came fast, and she wrapped her arms around herself to ward off the chill that rushed in.

  His gaze held hers, and he clenched a fist as the muscles in his neck grew taut. Maybe he recalled that day, too. They’d been friends for as long as she could remember…as long as she knew him. But something had changed the day of that ride. She sensed a restlessness in him, a need borne of some internal battle. He was as raw and powerful as the stallion, as desperate to run. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but even so…

  Brent unclenched his fist and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Oh, Grace.”

  Grace closed her eyes for a moment, lost in Brent’s gentle touch. Her breathing slowed, and the chill eased a bit. The room seemed to darken and sway as the years melted away. For a moment, she was a carefree teenager again.

  But when the room stilled and she opened her eyes once more, her reflection off the glass-encased photo told her she was no longer seventeen—and no longer carefree. Just days after that ride she’d run into Dan—literally—while jogging at the park. He might as well have been a freight train. Their relationship had come fast and hard, and there was no longer time for Brent and his horses…or for lazy days full of laughter or reckless rides down to the creek.

  Dan’s take-charge attitude was impossible to deny. It swept her up and carried her away to a place she’d never been—and had no idea how to handle. His attention brought excitement to a small town that seemed to have anything but. He was larger than life, yet she barely knew him—beyond the fact that he loved football and vintage rock music and could live on foot-long subs seven days a week—when they eloped.

  Now she was a widow, and a mother with a son who waited for her at home. “We should get going.” She stepped back and shook her head. “Show me where you and Logan plan to build the apartments.”

  He hesitated, then motioned to her and turned away. “Follow me.”

  ****

  Grace hasn’t forgotten how to coax a mare into trusting her. Brent listened to the soft murmur of Grace’s voice while she offered an apple slice to Rachel. The horse nickered and nudged as her mouth closed over the food. Grace laughed when the mare’s teeth nipped.

  “She’s beautiful.”

  “Yes.” He nodded. “I wish I had the chance to ride her more.”

  “Oh. Is she gentle?”

  “Very. She’s not a bit like Rocky. He’s quite…spirited.”

  “Do you think she’d let me ride her?”

  “She’d love it.” He grinned and stroked the mare’s sleek coat. “I’ll grab a saddle and we’ll give it a go.”

  The scent of the barn washed over him as he returned holding the saddle. Grace smooth a brush over the mare’s bristled mane. Dust motes drifted, but that didn’t seem to bother her in the least. She’d never been one of those fussy girls—the type who had to have perfect hair and manicured nails. Yet she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever laid eyes on—both inside and out. Maybe that’s what drew him to her. She had a kind of quiet confidence, and was comfortable in her own skin.

  “Here, let me.” He stepped beside her and eased a saddle blanket across the mare’s back before hoisting the saddle and carefully cinching it. “That looks good.”

  “I called Tessa to check on Adam,” Grace offered. “He just woke from a nap half an hour ago, and Tessa finished all the studying she’d planned to do, so they’re going to a later movie. I don’t have to rush home.”

  “That’s good.” Brent stepped back and gave her room to stretch one long, lean leg across the horse’s back. “I think I can scrounge up a couple of steaks to toss on the grill when we’re finished riding.”

  “I’d like that.” Her jean-clad legs hugged the mare’s sides as her feet slipped into the stirrups.

  “That feel OK?” Brent checked the fit, made a slight adjustment.

  “Perfect.” She wiggled her feet, gave the tennis shoes a good seat. “Feels good.”

  “OK, then, let’s hit it.” Brent mounted Rocky and led them out to the pasture. As they crossed the grass, Rocky grunted and craned his head, fighting the reins. “Easy, boy,” Brent coaxed. “Later, OK?”

  “He certainly is spirited.” Grace sidled up to Brent and matched his easy pace. “Are you thinking about holding the gala here, in the pasture?”

  Brent nodded. “But closer to the house and the creek. In a few weeks, when the leaves in the trees along the creek peak to full color and before the weather turns too cool, the location will be perfect. It will take a lot of work, but I think it’s time to breathe some life into this place again.”

  “How long has it been…since your mom left here, too?”

  “She took off just before I came home…and I guess soon after Dan died. I got here to find all the horses sold and the place vacant as a ghost town.” He shook his head. “It was eerie.”

  “And your dad?”

  “He comes and goes.” Brent shrugged. “It’s funny…I always thought I was the one who would jump ship, eventually. The way they left me alone here, to fend for myself all those years while they gallivanted around the country showing their horses…”

  “It was hard, I know.” Grace had spent enough time with him to share the loneliness whenever his parents took off on an extended excursion again. Sure, they hired a housekeeper and a staff of stable help who all pitched in to keep an eye on him. But it wasn’t the same as having his folks around. Maybe that’s why he understood so well what Grace went through after the crash, when her parents were gone. If only he could have been there for her to ease the pain, instead of Dan.

  “It’s terrible to know you don’t matter.” Brent slowed, and his horse dipped its head to nuzzle the grass.

  “You matter to me.” Grace eased to a stop beside him. She brushed his brow with her fingers, and he pressed the palm of her hand to his cheek. “You’ve always mattered to me, Brent.”

  He longed to kiss her, but the thin band of gold on her finger was ice against his skin. He took her hand, touched the ring. How easy would it be to slip the band from her delicate finger and toss it into the grass to be lost forever? He shook his head, chastised himself. The choice belonged to Grace alone.

  “Let’s ride to the creek while the sun’s still warm, Grace.”

  “Brent, wait…” Her gaze lingered, and she caught her bottom lip between her teeth when Brent clicked his tongue at Rocky and backed away slightly. She lifted her hand, and sunlight glinted off the ring, startling them both.

  “No, Grace.” He turned from her, gathered the reins in one hand and gave Rocky a sharp nudge with the toe of his boot. A wildfire raged inside him. If he waited even a moment longer he’d be swept up in the sweet cadence of her voice, toss that ring from her finger, and who knew where it would lead? “Let’s keep moving.”

  Grace's Gold

  6

  “We’d better put on another pot of coffee,” Grace said as she glanced at the growing line of customers. The door to the shop was propped open and a pleasant early-October breeze carried the scent of colorful mums that bloomed in box planters along the bakery’s display window. The sidewalk at Sweet Treats’s entrance was crowded with chatting people who waited for a taste of gold cake.

  “Who knew the feature article Brent commissioned in yesterday’s paper would have such an impact?” Mattie’s voice was nearly drowned out by the whirr of the coffee grinder. Warm vanilla filled the room. “This is unbelievable…and wonderful.”

  “I haven’t even had a chance to ph
one Kate.” Grace glanced out the window, hoping for a glimpse of Brent. He was due any moment, and the thought gave her pulse a jolt. “Logan said this morning’s bout of sickness has been the worst yet. I’m worried about her.”

  “Poor thing.” Mattie filled a crisp white pastry box with apple-cinnamon muffins. “And Tessa had two mid-terms this morning. We need to check on her, as well.”

  “Let’s get this crowd cleared, and then make a few calls before we start on the order for the Anderson twins’ birthday party this afternoon.” Grace grimaced at the virtually-empty pastry case. So much for spending any time with Brent. She’d be busy well into the evening.

  “And don’t forget about the Connors’ anniversary party,” Mattie reminded. “They’ll be by in an hour to pick up their cake.” She glanced at the pastry case. “And we need half-a-dozen more gold cakes, pronto.”

  “The batter’s ready in the back fridge, I just have to smooth it into the pans.” Grace turned to serve the next customer and nearly plowed into Brent.

  “Hey there, Grace.” He leaned against the counter near the register. “Should I call in reinforcements?”

  “Brent…oh!” Grace grabbed a white dinner napkin from the dispenser and waved it with one hand while she brushed wisps of hair from her eyes with the other and groaned, “Oh, yes, please! Mattie and I are drowning in orders.”

  “Say no more.” He laughed and rounded the counter to stand beside her. The scent of his aftershave caused her belly to squeeze. She looked away, tried not to notice the way his polo shirt hugged in all the right places. “Toss me an apron and tell me what you need.”

  She tamped her pulse down a notch. There was work to do, orders to fill. “How are your coffee-making skills?”

  “I brew a decent cup.”

  “Good.” Grace nodded toward the trio of coffee makers. “We need two carafes of French vanilla and one filled with house blend decaf.”

  “Got it.” Without missing a beat, Brent dumped beans into one grinder, then the next. He filled foam cups, pressed on lids as Mattie shouted orders. Grace was captivated by the strength of him, the way muscles across his shoulders danced every time he reached for a new cup.

  Mattie’s voice rang out in sharp bursts that kept him moving. “Three French vanillas and a decaf! One half vanilla, half decaf! Two more decafs!”

  “Wow.” Grace eased in beside him. She shivered when their hands brushed as she filled a cup with house blend. “Better put on another pot of decaf.”

  He dumped more beans into the grinder. “I’m already on it.”

  They danced in perfect cadence, filling each order. Grace wondered what it might be like to work together in their own kitchen, preparing dinner while sunlight waned beneath a cloudless blue sky. Would their timing be as perfect? Would she long for something more…as she longed for Brent now?

  Grace shook her head to clear the thought and pressed the switch on the coffeemaker. Steam billowed as a fresh pot filled. Her gaze swept across the doorway, and she saw the line of customers had dwindled. She served the last five customers and then collapsed against the counter.

  “I guess that’s what you call a rush.” Brent turned his back to the counter and leaned in lazily beside her.

  “Of monster proportions.” Grace eyed the empty pastry case. “I think we’re cleaned out.”

  Mattie stepped over from the cash register. “You straighten up out here and I’ll check the kitchen to see what we have in reserves,” she offered. “I’ll give Kate a quick call, and Tessa. Then we’ll have to get busy on that fresh supply of gold cakes.” The hinged door swung wide as she rushed through it, and she paused just long enough to nod at Brent. “Thanks for your help. You’re a lifesaver, you know.”

  He bowed slightly. “Glad to help, Mattie.”

  “She’s right.” Grace poured him what was left of the French vanilla. “We couldn’t have made it through that chaos without your help.”

  “No problem.” He sipped the coffee, his gaze studying her over the rim of the cup. “I have a new appreciation for the sweet life…at Sweet Treats. But I could get used to it…working alongside you—with you—together.”

  “Me, too.” Grace forced a lump from her throat. Suddenly her palms were clammy, her pulse racing. “I…like it.”

  He leaned in, twined his fingers with hers. “Then we’ll just have to figure a way, right?”

  Grace gulped, nodded, as his gaze lingered on her wedding band, and then pulled back abruptly.

  “Boy,” Brent shifted his stance, taking a step back. His voice was jagged, and Grace wondered if his heart was galloping like hers. “If today’s rush is any indication, the gala fundraiser should be a huge success.”

  “I hope so.” Grace busied herself wiping down the coffee area with a damp cloth. The room swayed a bit, and she had trouble drawing a breath. She sputtered, “We really need it to be if we’re going to get those apartments built before Thanksgiving.”

  “Oh, we’ll get them built,” Brent assured her. “No worries there. The hospital’s already sent us a few names of families who’ll need the service. Logan’s been helping me at the farm, and things are shaping up nicely. Would you like to come by later, have a look-see and tell me what you think?”

  “Sure.” Grace brushed crumbs from her apron and noticed that Brent’s was splattered with coffee stains. “But right now I’d better get moving on the gold cake. We’re sure to have another rush this afternoon, as people head home from work.”

  “If it’s anything like this morning, you’d better consider hiring some extra help.”

  “It’s on our to-do list.”

  Grace’s cell phone rang, and she pulled it from the pocket of her khakis and checked the caller ID. “Hello?”

  “Mrs. Taylor, this is Jane Sandler from Mount Ridge Primary School.”

  “Is Adam OK?” A chill raced through Grace.

  “We’ve got him here in the clinic. He’s running a fever and not feeling well. Nothing serious,” she was quick to add. “Just a cough. But we need you to come and get him.”

  “Of course. I’ll be right there.”

  She jabbed the End button and grabbed her purse. She rounded the counter, heading toward the front door, before she remembered Mattie at work in the back of the shop. How would Mattie manage if Grace left her all alone?

  “Grace, what’s wrong?” Brent was on her heels as she did a quick about-face and headed into the back, to speak with Mattie. “What happened to Adam?”

  “He’s not feeling well. I need to get him from school.”

  “Is it serious?”

  “No. At least they said it’s probably just a cold. He was coughing a bit this morning, but I didn’t think…” She paused, pressed a hand to her forehead. “Oh, I feel like the most neglectful mother. I should have known.”

  “How could you?” Brent took her by the shoulders and turned her back toward the counter. “You shouldn’t leave Mattie alone to fill so many orders. I’ll get Adam and take him home. You have baking to do.”

  “No. I couldn’t let you do that.”

  “Why not? I can handle things just fine. Besides, Mattie needs you.”

  Grace felt torn. The bakery was in shambles, but her first responsibility was to her son…to Adam. “Brent…”

  His voice gentled. “Do you trust me, Grace?”

  She nodded. “Of course I trust you. You’ve been my best friend…forever.”

  Her own words startled her…my best friend…

  “Then let me do this for you, Grace.” He brushed hair from her cheek. “You stay with Mattie and take care of things here, and I’ll take care of Adam.”

  “O-OK.” She brushed a tear from her eye and wondered why she was crying. “I’ll call the school and let them know you’re on your way. Thank you so much, Brent.”

  ****

  Brent heard the slam of a car door and knew Grace was home. He stood and peeked through the blinds he’d closed when Adam fell asleep on the couch
watching a video. The child snored softly now, and a slight brush of his forehead told Brent the fever had broken.

  The scent of ground beef blended with tomatoes and garlic drifted from the kitchen. He’d found Grace’s crock pot, and simmered a batch of marinara sauce while he tended to Adam.

  The screen door opened and Grace slipped through. “How is he?” she murmured, dropping her purse onto the hall table. She slipped to her knees beside the couch and pressed a palm to Adam’s cheek.

  “He’s fine…barely any fever.” Brent watched as she brushed hair from Adam’s clammy forehead and pressed her lips to the pale skin. “I gave him some cough medicine and he drifted off twenty minutes into the Jungle Book video, so I just covered him with a quilt and left him on the couch to sleep off the fever.”

  “Thanks, Brent.” Grace stood and smiled at him. Flour dusted her hair, and she smelled like chocolate and vanilla with a hint of cinnamon sprinkled in. “What smells so good?”

  “It’s you, I think.”

  She laughed and unzipped her jacket, then shrugged out of it and tossed it over the arm of the recliner. “No. I mean, it smells like spaghetti sauce.”

  “Because I whipped up a batch. I hope you don’t mind.” He took her hand and led her into the kitchen. “I knew you’d be hungry after working so hard today.”

  “We baked right through lunch.” As if on cue, her belly grumbled. She pressed a hand to her abdomen and laughed again. “I guess that says it all.”

  “You need to eat, Grace.” He’d set the table with plates he found in the cabinet and a cutting of Black-eyed Susans that had sprouted into a patchwork blanket of color along the walk in the front yard. Now he led her to a chair, pulled it from the table, and motioned for her to sit. “What would you like to drink?”