How to Knit a Love Song (5 page)

“Yeah? Join the club.”

She took a bite. “Oh, wow. This is great.” She was ravenous. “Something, there’s something in here…”

“Chipotle peppers.”

“That’s it. I’m impressed.” Abigail smiled at him.

But he frowned. “Don’t be. And tomorrow, if you go left at the gate, five miles down Highway One to Cypress Hollow, go right on Main, there’s a grocery store. Stock up. I won’t be feeding you anymore. Your room is up the stairs, first door on the left.”

And with that, he walked out of the room.

Abigail sighed and took another bite. She could do this. She was brave. She was safe here.

Maybe if she just kept telling herself that, she’d start to believe it.

Chapter Six

Join the stitches at the cuff in the round. Make sure you haven’t twisted them; that only ends in tears and someone’s dinner burning.

—
E.C.

C
ade had already finished the morning chores with Tom by the time he saw Abigail moving around the kitchen through the window. Almost nine in the morning. Cade couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept till nine. It might have been five or six years ago, when he was dating that one girl, oh, what had her name been? Susie? Margie? Whoever she was, she’d bet him fifty bucks that he couldn’t stay in bed past nine in the morning. Like a moron, he’d taken the bet, arranging for Tom to do all the imperative chores. He could do it. He’d prove her wrong.

Then he’d stayed in bed with her—the girl, whatever her name had been, climbing all over him, doing crazy things to him with her hands, her mouth, doing everything within her power to distract him, to bring his mind back into bed, but he hadn’t been able to stay focused.

He’d stayed in bed until eight, and then he got up, handed her fifty dollars, and was in the barn before she left. He never saw her again.

He strode toward the house through the thin, warm fall light. This was the best time of year—the slight scent of wood smoke mixed with the smell of his neighbors’ burning leaves. The air was cool but not yet cold. It would be cold soon, though, he would bet. Just in time for his ewes to start lambing. He preferred to lamb in late November, to make the most of the Easter rush. Children from all over the county got their 4-H lambs from him. His sheep were known for being both attractively built and strong.

High white clouds skittered, their color matching the sheep that ambled below.

Outside. This was his.

He took a deep breath and rested his open palm on the back kitchen door. He’d found this door in a salvage yard in Half Moon Bay. He’d spent two days sanding and varnishing it.

He’d rather stay outside—hell, he’d rather
live
outside than have this next conversation, but they had to talk. He pushed open the door.

“Good morning,” Abigail said, sounding careful.

Good. She needed to be careful.

“You found the coffee. When you replace it, I like Ethiopian fair-trade blends. There’s a market on Main that sells it by the pound.”

“Of course.” She nodded and sat at the table. At his table. He’d won that silver-and-red Formica table in a card game the night Lloyd Seelers drank too much Knob Creek and lost everything in his kitchen.

Cade rummaged in a drawer near the sink. “Here.” He tossed a coaster at her, but she missed it and it landed on the floor.

Served her right.

She leaned over and picked it up.

“This is nice.” She turned it over. “Beautifully crafted.”

“Walnut,” said Cade. “From a tree that died three years ago.”

“You made these?”

He nodded.

She slid the coaster under her coffee mug.

He poured himself a cup, hoping she’d made it strong enough.

“We need to talk,” he said.

“Okay. I want to have a few more sips of this, though. I’m not awake yet. What time do you get up, anyway?”

“Four thirty.”

“In the
morning?”

“So the clock tells me.”

“By choice?”

“Things need doing in the morning.”

“But you have sheep, not cows. I thought cows were the early-morning chore.”

“Know a lot about ranching, huh?”

“Not much, apparently.”

He took a swallow of his coffee, expecting flavored water and finding instead a decent cup of strong coffee. Huh.

Nor had he expected how sexy she would look in the morning. He was grateful that she had dressed, hadn’t wandered downstairs in those silly pink sheep pajamas.

He wondered if she always wore pajamas to bed. Or did she change it up? A camisole? Or a tee shirt?

Or nothing?

He took another sip.

She was wearing a red tee shirt and a soft pink sweater over blue jeans, and she looked young and freshly scrubbed. He could smell a light flowery soap scent in the kitchen along with the coffee.

“Good coffee,” he said. He might as well give her that.

“I’m glad you like it!” Her voice was eager, and he could see her trying to rein herself back in. “I mean, um, most people say I make it too strong. I’m glad.”

“We need to talk about how to do this.”

“I know.” She put her hands to her forehead and then back down in her lap. “Eliza really didn’t tell me about any of this, you know.”

“I told you last night that I believed you. But that doesn’t make it any easier, does it, that I’m losing my land?

“Only part of your land, and I told you…”

“Let’s not go back to that.”

“I’m only borrowing that room upstairs temporarily. Very temporarily. I’ll fix that cottage up in two shakes of a, well, a lamb’s tail?” She grinned. “Get it?”

Cade stared at her.

Her eyebrows drew together. “What, you think I should bow out?”

“It’s crossed my mind.”

“Legally, I’m kind of stuck here.”

“Not a bad place to be stuck, wouldn’t you agree?”

“I just inherited something from someone I loved. Something big and unexpected. There’s a huge part of me that’s mourning for Eliza, and there’s a part of me that’s flipping out, thrilled that I have a home now.”

He opened his mouth to stop her, but she jumped in.
Pushy
, he thought.

“I don’t mean your home, I just mean a home. Any home. I’ve never really had that, and I could make something here.”

“Here is mine. This is
my
space.”

“Gah! Listen to me. Put yourself in my shoes,” she said. “I feel like an ass, but I don’t have much choice, because I needed to leave where I was. I needed a new home anyway.”

“You seriously want the cottage.”

“Yes.”

“I don’t think you understand what you’re in for.”

“I don’t need a big house. The cottage will be perfect. Someday. I only need a space for me, my desk, and my fiber.”

“Fiber?”

“Fiber. Wool. Those sheep running around out there? I spin my own yarn, and dye it, and then I knit it up into sweaters, like this one,” she tugged at the hem of her pink sweater. “And then I write patterns and sell them in books.”

“Same as Aunt Eliza.”

“She taught me everything I know.”

“Huh.” Cade couldn’t picture his great-aunt without sticks and string in her hands—she had always been knitting. And wanting to talk about it.

He’d always been too busy to really listen.

Even when he’d moved onto the property, when he had first tried to help her run the ranch, she had always been trying to talk to him about the crimp and health of the sheep’s wool. She wanted to dress them up in sweaters of their own, to keep the ends of the wool safe from sun damage.

He’d laughed at her and talked about the price of meat.

Cade took care of her when she got sick. The breast cancer knocked Eliza down, hard. He’d never seen her like that: weak and in pain. Cade ran the ranch when he wasn’t inside nursing her. He became fluent in doctor-speak and learned to make weak broth while still mostly asleep. Eliza recovered well, but when the cancer came back a second time a few years later, when he was twenty-seven, she made the decision to move south.

He’d asked why. He’d been more hurt than he’d allowed himself to let on.

Eliza had said, “The only thing that kept me on this land was Joshua. And then you. But I want to live in sight of the sea.”

“Move west five miles, then. At least I’d be close. If you needed me.”

“There’s a retirement village there. I have friends.”

“More of the knitters?”

“It’s knitting heaven, they tell me. There’s a yarn shop in the middle of the place, and they know me there already. They all want me.”

By the letters she’d sent him, she’d been right to go. The nurses had been close by, but she’d been autonomous. She became the queen bee of her social circle, pulling in the younger knitters, too, if Abigail was anything to judge by.

He’d missed Eliza every single day, but he’d never gone to visit her. He kept telling himself he would, that he’d take the time and go. Eliza came up to see him at least twice a year, and it had been too easy to let her do that, to rely on her visits. It hadn’t been anything but procrastination that kept him from driving south.

He wouldn’t forgive himself for that now.

No one had ever loved him as much as she had.

He turned to face the sink so Abigail wouldn’t see his eyes.

But Eliza had done this. Cade brought himself back to the present moment. He cleared his throat.

A silence, thick and heavy. Cade didn’t quite know what to say next. He was nervous, a feeling he almost didn’t recognize.

And he was still mad.

That’s right. Focus.

“We need to talk about how to share this house,” he said as he turned. “You have the room you’re staying in. I have my room. What I propose is this: I have the run of the downstairs living space until eight
A.M.
After that, I’ll be out on the ranch somewhere. You have the whole house all day until five
P.M.
I’ll then come in and make myself dinner, since we learned last night that I eat much earlier than you do. I’ll be cleaned up and out by six thirty, at which point I’ll have the parlor to myself while you cook for yourself. I’ll be out of the parlor by eight thirty, and then it’ll be yours, for watching TV or whatever it is you need to do. Laundry is in the back room off the porch, available any time, first come first serve.”

She looked up at him. “Sounds complicated.”

“But necessary.”

She inclined her head a bit. “Do you have our bathing times defined?”

Crap, he hadn’t thought about that. “When you want to do that? You can pick.”

“I was joking.”

Damn it. “This is serious. You use the downstairs bathroom, and I’ll use the upper.”

“Fine.”

Was that a smile she was hiding? This was no laughing matter to him.

“This is the only way I can manage this situation.” He didn’t like how hoarse he sounded.

“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to joke. It’s just so rigid. I can almost picture you drawing lines down the rooms in white chalk, to keep me in the right place.”

He’d thought of it. He was glad he hadn’t suggested it.

“So. Well, then, so that’s worked out. I thought we might divide the refrigerator, but that might be difficult.”

“Maybe a kitty?”

“I have a cat. You leave Duncan alone. He’s not part of the house-sharing. I told you, this is serious.”

“Not that kind of kitty. We used to do it in college. Put an envelope on the fridge, and we each kick in the same amount each week, and make a list, and one of us shops, and we both cook our own things. But that way we don’t end up with two separate jars of mayo and two dozen eggs going bad.”

“I have chickens.”

She smiled, a big grin. “I like fresh eggs. But I only meant that we can share.” She paused and then said, “How long will it take me to fix up the cottage, do you think?”

“Honestly? I’d be surprised if you got it done in a month. That’s with professional help.”

“Can I stay here that long?” Her voice was clear, but he detected a fragility underneath.

“I suppose so.” It was the best he could manage.

“We can handle this.” She smiled again, but he couldn’t smile back at her.

“Well, if we do it that way, with the money on the fridge, then you can help yourself to whatever’s in there. I think there’s bread in the freezer, if you want toast.”

“I already made oatmeal, earlier, actually, but thank you.”

“Without asking?”

“We just discussed that. We just worked it out.”

“But you took the oatmeal before we talked about it.”

“I was going to replace it. I still will. Are we really arguing about oatmeal here?”

“What?”

“You’re still angry.”

“Damn it!” he said, and she jumped again. She was like a spooked horse. What was her problem?

Then he sighed. He had to do better than this. “I’m sorry. This is a bad situation. Well, it’s bad for me.”

“It may be better for me, but only marginally. Do you have any other rules for me? Any Bluebeard rooms I need to stay out of?”

She was closer to him now, and the scent of her skin was intoxicating. It made him even more nervous than he already was. He noticed again that she smelled sweet and light and somehow like flowers, but not overpoweringly so.

He shook his head and kept his mouth shut.

She washed her bowl and spoon and cup, and moved to place them in the drainer.

Cade was in her way, leaning with his back against the counter. He knew it and he didn’t move.

“Do you mind? Or should I dry them by hand and put them away so you can pretend I’m really not here?”

He didn’t move, couldn’t. He just looked at her.

She reached behind him to put the glass in the dish drainer.

Without thinking, he put his hand on her wrist, the one not holding the glass. Her skin was as soft as it looked and surprisingly warm.

Abigail gasped and jumped away.

“I’m sorry,” he said. What had he been thinking?

“No, I’m sorry, I was crowding you. Damn it, just the thing I’m trying not to do.” She attempted a smile, but Cade could tell it wasn’t easy for her. “I like your schedule idea. I’ll stay out of your way.”