The Cottage on Pumpkin and Vine (2 page)

They passed the lower-level stair landing and the innkeeper's office and found themselves in the kitchen. Cade walked closely behind her. His heat and maleness closed in. He wasn't her type. She preferred businessmen in tailored suits and stylish ties. Not tall, dark-haired, unshaven, muscular guys. He overpowered her. She walked a little faster, and he matched her stride. Her awareness of him intensified.

The moment they reached the kitchen, she hurried to the far side of the oval table, distancing herself from him. He eyed her strangely before pulling himself together. He ran his hands through his hair, pushing it back off his face. Then went on to tuck the navy T-shirt emblazoned with a moving truck into jeans nearly as old as Amelia's antiques. His leather work boots were worn, broken in. He didn't move or discourage Archibald from kneading and clawing his right boot when the enormous Maine coon strolled in from the pantry. The animal was like black smoke with gold eyes. A furry mystic with large, tufted paws and ears. Legend and lore surrounded the cat. Some stories were amusing, some mere fantastic flights of fantasy, and others actually plausible.

Cade hunkered down and stroked Archie. “You're one big boy.”

Amelia glanced at him from the counter, where she was filling gourmet rolls with lobster salad. “He's close to thirty-five pounds and sturdy,” she said of the long-haired cat with the bushy tail. “He's very social, at times even intrusive. No door stands in his way. He greets everyone as a friend, and believes they all love him. He'll be joining us for lunch.”

Amelia located the cat's food dish, added dry kibble, along with several diced pieces of lobster. She set the dish on the floor next to a large bowl of water. “He has a fondness for water,” she explained. “Archibald washes his food in it or just plain plays in it. He splashes, so watch for puddles. I don't want you to slip.”

The cat finished his food, then rubbed and wound about Amelia's legs, head butting her calf, purring, charming her into giving him seconds. “He's bottomless.” She passed the Maine coon a few more choice pieces of lobster. Archie's
meow
was loud with gratitude.

“Have a seat,” Amelia suggested.

The table was small, and, no matter where Grace chose to sit, she'd be rubbing elbows with the moving man. She was suddenly aware of his lingering summer tan, his earthy, outdoor male scent, and the long look he gave her. Surprisingly formal, he pulled out a ladder-back chair and waited for her to be seated. The gesture was completely unexpected. For reasons unknown, he put her on edge.

Her nerves got the better of her. Her mind was on him and not her chair when she lowered herself onto the cushioned seat. Distracted, she slipped off the side. Had it not been for Cade catching her by the arm, she would have landed on the floor. And in a puddle, made from Archie's splashing.

Cade's grip was strong, but gentle. He gave a significant squeeze before he released her. His expression was polite, yet his gaze amused when he said, “Careful. No need for a wet butt.”

Wet butt
. She hadn't brought a change of clothes, and it would have taken time for her wool slacks to dry. Normally she was cautious. Unduly so. Strangely, Cade's closeness undid her. She didn't have time to evaluate the situation or her feelings. She would eat lunch and return to the yard without further mishap. The grounds were far larger than the kitchen. She'd put space between them.

“Oh, Archibald,” Amelia sighed. She snagged several paper towel sheets from a roll and bent to wipe up the spill. “No swimming.” The Maine coon had both front paws in his water dish.

Archie compromised. He removed one paw, only to flick water with the other. Amelia shook her head. “Silly boy.”

The older woman tossed the damp paper towels into a trash can under the sink. She then set out fine china place settings. Sterling-silver flatware. Linen napkins. A plate of lobster rolls came next, followed by a romaine lettuce salad in a cut-glass bowl topped with fresh pear slices, walnuts, cranberries, and blue cheese crumbles. Glasses of sparkling water.

“Apple dumplings for dessert,” said Amelia, as she settled on the chair Cade held for her. She gave him a soft smile, patted his hand. “Help yourselves.”

Cade made conversation, ate slowly, and drew out his meal. Grace swore he chewed each bite twenty times. Obviously, he was procrastinating. There'd been no sign of his cousins' return. The job would go much faster with three people. Unfortunately, she might have to settle for Cade alone. He'd be responsible for climbing on the rooftop, stringing the outside lights, and anchoring the zombies, tombstones, and everything else that went bump in the night.

Rearranging the indoor furniture would put him into overtime. Fortunately their contract had set a fixed rate. He'd be forced to work around the clock if necessary. But then, so would she.

“How many guests are in residence?” she asked Amelia.

“All twelve rooms will be filled on Halloween,” Amelia told her. “I even have a waiting list this year.”

“Everyone in town is aware of your party,” said Cade. “You'll have a packed house.”

“How about you, son?” Amelia inquired. “Will you join me for a batwing cup of bubbling potion punch?”

“Bubbling?” She'd surprised him.

“Dry ice under the cauldron,” Grace said, giving away the secret.

Cade eyed Amelia. “Your party sounds fun. But I don't do Halloween. Not since—” His voice dropped off.

Amelia finished her salad, dabbed the linen napkin to her lips, and completed his sentence. “Not since mischief night, seventeen years ago. I remember costumed skeletons and pre-Halloween tricks.”

He raised his eyes to the ceiling. “Good memory.”

“You pranked me.”

He blew out a breath. “That we did.”

Grace's eyes rounded. She huffed. “What did you do to my godmother? To the inn?”

Cade's jaw worked. “Six junior high school boys raised early Halloween hell. Minor vandalism. Two a.m., we toilet-papered Rose Cottage, used soap to write on the windows, and egged cars in the side lot.”

Amelia pursed her lips. “All to impress girls, I believe.”

“Thirteen-year-old mentality, and the girls got upset we chose the inn. They adored you, Amelia, and hated us afterward.”

“I slept through it all,” Amelia recalled. “The neighbors phoned in the disturbance. Marlene Litton swore she saw skeletons and heard bones rattle.”

Cade ran one hand down his face, admitted, “The six of us were known for mischief making. The cops caught up to us in under an hour at Billie Murdock's house. Our costumes gave us away. We confessed, returned to the scene of the crime, and had the area cleaned up before first light.”

Grace was stunned. “Why didn't I hear about this?”

“Nothing was made public,” said Amelia. “No formal police report, no juvenile arrest.”

“No punishment?” asked Grace.

“Not by law enforcement—only from Amelia,” said Cade. “She requested we each serve twenty community-service hours at the inn. We did odd jobs, two hours a day for ten days.”

Amelia smiled fondly at the delinquent skeleton. “Cade returned long after his sentence was completed. He raked leaves in the fall, shoveled snow off the front walk during winter, and mowed the grass, spring and summer. He even took up guard on the front porch every mischief night throughout high school, protecting the cottage from pranksters.”

“No more skeleton costumes,” assumed Grace.

“No more costumes, period.”

“I can understand your aversion,” Amelia said. “However, your buddy Billie Murdock doesn't feel the same. He and his pregnant wife plan to join the fun. They're dressing up.”

“I rented them costumes,” said Grace. “A pirate and his sidekick green parrot. The parrot suit was stretchy. Sue is in her sixth month.”

“Should you change your mind, there's always room for one more,” Amelia told Cade. “People come and go, a rotation of Disney characters, superheroes, ghost busters, mad scientists, and evildoers.”

“What costume did you finally choose?” Grace asked Amelia. She'd selected three choices for the older woman: a fairy godmother's gauze and glitter gown, a good fortune gypsy, and a fringed and boa flapper. Amelia would shine in whatever she wore.

“Gypsy,” Amelia said. “I'll play the part, setting out the crystal ball and reading tarot cards throughout the evening.”

“Always a highlight,” said Grace. She could already picture Amelia in the black off-the-shoulder blouse, wide gold-and-red-metallic embroidered belt, and full, multilayered skirt with fringe and lace accents. Amelia would sparkle in a sequin knit headband and her own jewelry.

Amelia glanced at Cade as she pushed back from the table. “Last lobster roll?” she offered before clearing away the dishes.

“I've already had two.”

“You'd be doing me a favor, no leftovers.”

“One of your guests might enjoy it.”

“They ate earlier and are all away for the day.” She placed the lobster roll onto his plate. “Some planned to shop while others were headed to the World's Biggest Pumpkin Patch, south of town.”

“Quite an attraction,” Grace agreed. “Customers walk the acreage, hunting for the perfect pumpkin.”

“I was there last week,” mentioned Cade. “With my niece. It took Sara over an hour to make her selections. A big one for the family porch and a smaller one for her teacher's desk at school.”

“I've met Sara,” Amelia commented. “What is she now, six or seven?”

“Six,” he confirmed.

“Did you carve the pumpkins?” Grace was curious.

“I did the eyes and noses and Sara did the goofy smiles.”

“Goofy?” from Grace.

“I wouldn't let her hold the knife by herself—too sharp,” he explained. “We carved with my hand over hers, which got her laughing. Her fingers shook with each tooth. One side of the big pumpkin's mouth was higher than the other. Almost reached an ear.”

“Sounds perfect to me,” said Amelia as she warmed the apple dumplings in the oven. “A pumpkin with personality.”

“Lots of character,” he agreed.

“Whipped or ice cream on your dumplings?” she asked them, once the crust browned and the filling bubbled. She sprinkled additional cinnamon sugar on top.

Grace and Cade responded as one, “Ice cream.”

Cade leaned his elbows on the table, cut her a curious look. “I didn't think we had a thing in common.”

She gave him a repressive look. “Ice cream doesn't make us friends.”

Amelia scooped vanilla bean into the bowls with the dumplings. Her smile was small, secret, when she served their dessert, and she commented, “Friendships are born of likes and dislikes. Ice cream is binding.”

Not as far as Grace was concerned.

Cade dug in to his dessert.

Amelia kept the conversation going. “I bet you're more alike than you realize.”

Why would that matter?
Grace thought. She had no interest in this man.

A simultaneous “doubtful” surprised them both.

Amelia kept after them, Grace noted, pointing out, “You were both born, grew up, and never left Moonbright.”

“It's a great town,” Cade said. “Family and friends are here.”

“
You're
here,” Grace emphasized.

Amelia patted her arm. “I'm very glad you've stayed. Cade, too. You're equally civic-minded.”

Grace blinked.
We are?

“The city council initiated Beautify Moonbright this spring, and you both volunteered.”

We did?
Grace was surprised.

Cade scratched his stubbled chin, said, “Mondays, I transport trees and mulch from Wholesale Gardens to grassy medians between roadways. Flower beds were planted along the nature trails in the public park.”

Grace hadn't realized he was part of the community effort. “I help with the planting. Most Wednesdays.”

Amelia was thoughtful. “You're both active at the senior center.”

Cade acknowledged, “I've thrown evening horseshoes against the Benson brothers. Lost. Turned around and beat them at cards.”

“I've never seen you there,” Grace puzzled. “I stop by in the afternoons, drop off large-print library books and set up audio cassettes for those unable to read because of poor eyesight.”

“There's also Build a Future,” Amelia went on to say. “Cade recently hauled scaffolding and worked on the roof at the latest home for single parents. Grace painted the bedrooms in record time.”

“The Sutter house,” they said together. Once again.

“Like minds,” Amelia mused, as she sipped her sparkling water. Casually, she asked Cade, “Single or seeing someone?”

Grace widened her eyes at Amelia. The personal question didn't faze Cade. He shrugged it off. “More single than seeing someone seriously.” He glanced at Grace. “You?”

Men in her life were practically nonexistent. She had a close male friend she invited to a movie on occasion. He reciprocated, taking her to dinner. They shared mutual respect. No sex.

She realized in that moment most of her recent relationships were imaginary. She spent far too much time with her costumes. Batman, Prince Charming, Darth Vader, the Mad Hatter. She hadn't been with a real man for a very long time. Not since Greg Dorsey. He'd sold advertising for a radio station, and, as she learned too late, had only dated her as long as she bought airtime for her shop. He'd moved on when she hadn't renewed her contract, looking for a more lucrative hookup.