A Family for the Farmer (14 page)

She looked all right, he realized with some relief. The two red spots on her cheeks had faded into pink, and her chin was at its calmer angle. He could see why it was taking her so long to make it out of the church. Every few steps somebody else came up to hug her and whisper into her ear. Emily would be released by one person and would walk a few steps only to be stopped by somebody else.

As she neared him he saw her eyes dart to her children. A smile warmed her face, and she gave the twins a little wave. But before she could advance more than a couple of steps, Bailey Quinn stopped her with a hand on her arm.

Emily smiled, but Abel caught sight of the little signs of weariness on her face. She'd had enough. She was worn out, and she needed to go home. She was just too polite to say so.

Well, he wasn't. He crossed the distance between them in two easy strides, cupped one hand under Emily's elbow and crooked his best smile at the two women.

“Hate to interrupt your jawing, Bailey, but I'm thinking Emily needs to get her children on home now.”

“Sure thing.” Bailey flashed her dimples in his direction. Her dark eyes flicked between the two of them, and the corners of her mouth tipped up. “Well, well, well. I have to say I like the way this wind is blowing! Now that you two are a couple, Abel, maybe you can talk Emily into staying in town.”

Abel started to smile in return, but when he caught sight of Emily's expression, his face froze. Bailey's remark hadn't gone over well. Those two red spots were back, and her chin tilted up to its fighting angle.

“Abel and I aren't a couple. We're just friends.” Emily flashed her friend a firm smile. “See you at the coffee shop on Friday. Okay?”

“Sure thing,” Bailey repeated, her eyes telegraphing worried questions into Abel's. She was wasting her time. He was just as confused as she was.

“Sorry about that.” Emily didn't meet his gaze as they walked back to the parking lot. “I forgot how bad small towns are. Everybody knows everybody's business, or they think they do.”

“Didn't bother me,” Abel responded easily, but he was troubled. Bailey's remark hadn't bothered him, but it had sure bothered Emily.

And that
had
bothered him.

* * *

The next Friday Emily sniffed the air at the Grounds of Faith Café suspiciously and bent over to peer into its unpredictable secondhand oven. She grabbed two pot holders and reached in to slide out the large muffin tin.

“Moment of truth here,” she said over her shoulder to Bailey, who was busy labeling jars. Bailey leased the use of the café's commercial kitchen one day a week to process the canned goods she sold in her store. Today she'd been pressure canning spaghetti sauce, and the smell of the spiced tomatoes and peppers mingled with the aroma of fresh muffins.

“So?” Bailey paused in her labeling, raising a dark eyebrow. “Did you hit the sweet spot this time?”

Emily inspected her muffins anxiously, then relaxed with a smile. “Looks like it. I was right. This big stinker bakes about fifteen degrees too hot. I just need to reduce the temperature. That's a relief! You know how small towns are. One more batch of overbrowned scones, and my reputation as a baker would have been ruined forever.”

Bailey walked over beside her, appropriated a hot muffin and took a careful bite. “Yum!” she said when she could talk. “I don't think you've got anything to worry about. At least...” She hesitated. “Not where your muffins are concerned.”

Emily frowned. She thought she knew what Bailey was referring to, and that meant it was high time to change the direction of this conversation. “It's about time to open up,” she said brightly.

“Yeah, I've got to go unlock my store.” Bailey paused. Emily glanced at her, and her heart sank. Her old friend had a resolute expression on her face. “Listen, Emily, I'm sorry about making that comment at church. I mean, about you and Abel. I just assumed—”

“That's okay,” Emily interrupted swiftly. “No harm done. Don't worry about it.”

“Yeah.” Bailey chewed on her lower lip for a second. “Don't be mad, but I need to say something. All right?”

Emily sighed. “Sure. Go ahead.” She pulled on a pair of latex gloves and began arranging the muffins on a tray. “I'm listening.”

“Be careful, Emily. I mean, it's probably no big deal. Abel's never been serious about a woman since I've known him. But there's always been something in the way he looks at you, even way back, and now... I don't know. Like I said, maybe it's nothing. But Abel's my friend, too, and he's already had plenty of trouble in his life. Just don't send him any mixed signals, okay?”

Emily nodded and managed a smile as Bailey picked up her box of jarred sauce and headed out the back door.

Mixed signals. Bailey's advice was coming a little too late. Emily's mind flashed back to Abel's kiss and her weak-kneed reaction to it, and the muffin she was holding slipped out of her suddenly clumsy fingers and tumbled across the stainless steel table.

Annoyed with herself she picked up the muffin and set it precisely on the tray. Then as she grabbed for a paper towel to wipe up the trail of crumbs it had left in its wake, she knocked the towels off the table, and they unrolled lavishly across the linoleum floor. She sighed deeply and began gathering them up.

This was ridiculous. Lately her brain was like one of those networks that showed marathons of the same movie over and over. She'd relived Abel's kiss half a million times since that afternoon, and every time she either dropped something or broke something. She was a grown woman. There was no reason for her to be this flustered over a kiss.

But Bailey had a point. Emily needed to be clear with Abel about this, and she would be...if he ever tried to kiss her again. He hadn't, not yet anyway. That was a good thing, of course, even if she did wonder just a tiny bit
why
he hadn't.

The little bell on the door jangled, and Emily tugged her apron straight, picked up the muffin tray and headed back out to the counter. She put a bright, welcoming smile on her face and pushed her thoughts about Abel Whitlock to the back of her mind.

A middle-aged couple was looking around the café with interest. As Emily came up behind the glass-fronted display counter, the pair glanced at each other and approached hesitantly.

Emily slid the heavy tray of muffins expertly into the display case and turned a reassuring smile on the couple. She'd helped dozens of newbie customers just like them back in Atlanta, and she figured they were feeling a bit bewildered by the assortment of coffees and flavors available.

As she began explaining the coffee menu, Emily felt the comfortable assurance of knowing exactly what to do. It was a welcome change from the bewilderment of trying to work the farm. Just yesterday afternoon, trying to prove that this job wasn't going to keep her from holding up her end of the farm chores, she'd picked a big basket of butter beans only to have Abel explain to her that they weren't quite ripe yet. Sure enough, when he'd slit open the pods, the little beans inside were barely formed. The goats had enjoyed them, but Emily had remembered the hot, backbreaking work of picking them, and she'd felt irked and stupid.

Here in the coffee shop it was different. Being here after struggling on the farm felt like slipping on her favorite pair of sneakers after a long day in heels. The sooner she returned to Atlanta and got back to restaurant work full-time, the better.

And that was just another reason why she had no business kissing Abel Whitlock.

“Mmm.” The woman took a sip of her mocha latte and closed her eyes in ecstasy. “Herb, you don't know what you're missing. This is wonderful.” Emily smiled. The lady had a sweet tooth and a weakness for chocolate. Emily had guessed right.

“You should try one of these muffins, Marjorie. In fact, we should get some to take home.” Herb, who had stubbornly clung to black coffee without frills, was halfway through one of Emily's supersized cranberry almond muffins, and he looked just as happy as his wife. Emily's smile widened. These two would be back. She'd just created two more regulars for Grounds for Faith.

Just as Emily turned back to tinker with the temperamental milk steamer, the bell jangled again. She spoke up cheerfully over her shoulder. “Welcome to Grounds of Faith!”

“Try the muffins,” Herb volunteered with his mouth full. “They're amazing.”

“They always are,” drawled a familiar voice. Emily turned to find Abel giving her his crooked smile. Her heart did its usual foolish little leap in response.

Stop that
, she warned herself firmly.

“Cranberry almond or chocolate walnut?” she asked him, using her best professional voice.

“Too tough to decide. I'll take one of each and a cup of black coffee. Please.”

“I didn't know there were chocolate muffins, too,” Herb said, his eyes on the plate Emily was preparing for Abel. “I'll try one of those. Hush, Marjorie. I'm having one, I said. We'll eat salads for supper.”

Emily set another chocolate muffin on a fresh plate and handed it over the counter to Herb, who sighed happily as he took a generous bite. When he could speak again, he nodded at Abel. “You'd better hang on to this one, Whitlock. Not only is she pretty as a picture, but she can really cook, too.”

Emily flushed and shot an uncomfortable look in Abel's direction. “Oh, but we're not—” she began, but Abel reached across the counter and covered her hand with the rough warmth of his own.

“You're a mighty smart man, Mr. Austin,” he said, his blue eyes holding Emily's. His thumb stroked the back of her hand gently, and Emily's butterflies reacted as if they'd just been given a round of espressos. She could feel the color flaming up in her cheeks, but somehow she couldn't detach her gaze from Abel's.

Dimly she heard Herb chuckling and Marjorie fussing. “Stop teasing them, Herb. You're embarrassing her. Come on. Let's go sit by the window and leave the sweethearts in peace.”

Mixed signals.
Bailey's voice echoed in Emily's mind, and she jerked her hand away belatedly. “What are you doing in town?” she asked, busying herself with ringing up the sale.

“The part for the tractor came, and I drove in to pick it up.” From the corner of her eye she watched as Abel settled himself on the stool at the counter. “While I was here I thought I'd stop in and see how you were getting along. Maybe take a look at that oven that's been giving you trouble.”

“Thanks, but you don't have to do that.”

“I don't mind.” Abel set down his coffee mug and got to his feet. “Matter of fact, why don't I go on back to the kitchen and—”

“No!”
Emily spoke sharply. She glanced at the Austins, who were lingering over their muffins at a corner table, and lowered her voice. “I figured it out this morning.”

“All right.” Abel sank back down on his stool and raised his coffee mug to his lips, his blue eyes watching her warily over its rim.

“We enjoyed it, girlie,” Herb called as he and Marjorie rose to deposit their trash in the bin. “We'll be back soon. You can count on that! Mind what I told you, Whitlock. If you have any sense, you'll hang on to this one!”

Abel chuckled and waved as the couple ambled outside. “Herb Austin's one of the biggest gossips in Pine Valley, Emily. He'll tell everybody in town about your muffins. They'll be beating down the door in the morning.”

“That's probably not all he'll be telling, either,” Emily muttered. She put down the cloth she'd been using to wipe off the counter and looked Abel squarely in the eye. “You heard them. They think we're sweethearts. And you're encouraging it.”

There was a beat of silence. Abel gently placed his half-eaten muffin on his plate. “And that bothered you.”

“I don't want people around here thinking we're a couple.”

“Ah.” Something shifted slightly in his expression, hardening it. “Worried about your reputation?”

Disbelief flashed through her. “Are you trying to be funny? You know as well as I do what my reputation is in this town. No matter what I've done or how I've changed, I'll always be the girl who got herself in trouble with Trey Gordon. But I certainly never thought you'd be the one to cast it up to me!” She turned to go back into the sanctuary of the café kitchen, but he reached out fast and took hold of her wrist.

“Whoa! You're shoveling some pretty hard words in my mouth, Emily, and I sure don't need that. We both know I talk myself into enough trouble without any help. Maybe I'm not so good at making myself clear, but you ought to know me well enough to give me the benefit of the doubt. You know that's not what I meant, and after church last Sunday you ought to know that's not what other folks think, either.”

The gentle pressure of his fingers on her arm made her throat go suddenly dry. “What did you mean, then?”

“I was talking about me. Who I am. My family isn't exactly known for boosting folks' reputations.”

Emily swallowed and pulled her arm away. “You should take a dose of that medicine you're so busy dishing out. You ought to know
me
well enough to know I'd never think such a thing, Abel Whitlock. Your last name has nothing to do with this, and you should really consider taking that chip off your shoulder. You've already proven that you're not like the rest of your family, ten times over. Everybody knows it but you.”

There was a pause as they stared at each other over the counter. Abel took a slow breath. “All right. Now that we've got that settled, I reckon we might as well get the rest of it out in the open. We both know what the real trouble is. You've been as nervous as a cat with nine tails ever since I kissed you.”

At his words, the memory of it flashed through her mind, and she jumped, knocking over the napkin dispenser. She righted it with shaking fingers, swallowed and tilted up her chin. He was right. They might as well meet this head-on and get it over with. “That kiss should never have happened.”