Almost a Hometown Bride. Helen Myers R.
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speaking in a different language.
“What am I doing that makes you uncomfortable?
There weren’t enough words to answer her question, but she made him feel decades older than his thirty-three years. Concluding that it was best to leave Merritt with her naive perspective on small town law and order intact, Cain set into the task of filling the bucket with ashes, which he carried out back beyond the barn. It took two more trips before he was ready to start adding kindling to the remaining coals and get another fire going.
When he was satisfied that the fire would keep burning, he headed outside without further comment and started loading the rack onto the porch. It was snowing steadily now, and the intensifying wind started to carry the flakes horizontally.
At some point the mug of hot tea mysteriously showed up on one of the half-moon slices of hardwood, and he paused to take a few swallows, grateful for the relief against the cold. This kind of work in this kind of weather required a hat and gloves, neither of which he possessed yet. She knew—and wouldn’t let him pretend it didn’t matter.
Several trips later, he had enough wood to last her a few days. As he looked for a spot to set the empty mug so that he could avoid going inside again, the door opened. She’d wrapped herself in a shawl over her apron and turned away as occasional snowflakes slapped at her.
“I’ll take that,” she said softly. Her gaze only grazed him.
“I appreciate the gesture.” He handed it over, careful not to make contact. Those damned hands were trembling again—or hadn’t stopped. “I’ll be on my way now.”
“Be safe.”
He didn’t know if that was possible. He did believe getting away from here would improve his chances greatly. Nevertheless, when she retreated back into the house and closed the door, he felt—guilty? Something he couldn’t describe, but he resented the feeling.
He turned up the collar of his jeans jacket, and his long-legged stride took him off the porch, skipping the stairs. Then he jogged to his truck, slipping several times, his cowboy boots slick on the wet snow.
Once in the truck, he glanced back at the cottage. If nothing had changed while he’d been gone, it was the only residence for another mile or so. In this weather the place looked more isolated than ever. But that wasn’t his problem, he reminded himself.
He turned the key and had to floor the gas pedal before the old truck coughed and the engine reluctantly started. “Man, are you going to be a money pit,” he muttered. Unfortunately, it was all that he could afford with the money he had.
As he drove toward the reservation, he forced himself to think forward and prepare for the reunion. He’d had no letters from home in the years that he’d been locked away. Except for his grandmother, there was no other immediate family, and Gran had never learned to write. Was she even alive? He tried to recall how old she would be, but couldn’t. His mother had had two sisters besides the brother who’d been run over. The last he knew of either of them, one had moved to Nevada and the other to Wyoming. He needed to prepare for the possibility that there was no reason to stay in Almost.
With the extra-strength pain pill taking effect, Merritt was able to push back the blanket she’d been lying under and ease off the bed. It still depressed her that she moved like someone twice her age when she first got up after a nap, and especially after a full night’s rest, but the house had warmed nicely. After one more mug of hot tea, she would be at full speed again—or as good as someone in her condition could be.
She hadn’t meant to lie down, but the upheaval with Cain Paxton’s arrival in town, added to the weather’s effect on her body, had left her with little choice. Not if she intended to last through the dinner shift. Once in the kitchen, she turned on the oven before inspecting the several loaves of dough she’d reworked a last time and covered with clean damp dish towels before lying down. They would produce beautiful honey-cracked wheat bread and finish baking just in time for her to carry back to town.
Once she got them in the oven, she started on the cheese sticks that Alvie liked to serve with soups and salads. The corn bread would be next. She supplemented her income by baking for Alvie, as well as taking special cake and pie orders for birthdays, anniversaries and holidays. She’d been doing that since school, having learned early in life that she had to rely on her own income if she wanted to survive. Whatever money her mother had earned—when she’d been in any condition to work—went to booze, or was mooched or taken by whatever man was in her life. What had begun out of necessity had evolved into an enjoyable creative process. The labor proved an excellent tension outlet and therapy for a shy, frightened child, who needed healthy ways to escape a basket case home life.
As she mixed the shortening and flour, her mind inevitably drifted to Cain. Had he reached his grandmother? His truck looked to be twice as old as Leroy’s, but at least it ran. For the moment.
She hoped he could make a new start. She had known her share of ex-cons in her twenty-seven years. Her mother had rarely hooked up with any other kind of man—until Stanley Wooten. Although Stanley was just lucky that he’d never been caught and locked away—like his son Dennis.
Shuddering, Merritt pushed them back into a dark hole in her mind and visually locked the door. No, she thought, Cain Paxton might look intimidating but, incredibly, he wasn’t corrupted or evil yet. He’d shown her kindness and concern, and she’d seen shame and regret in his dark eyes. He wasn’t lost. Yet.
The afternoon passed quickly and bit by bit product stacked on the counter, until Merritt knew she had to brave the intensifying storm outside and make the awful trek to town. As she packed her baked goods into the oversize thermal carrier, she hoped against hope that Leroy would show up at the road. But as she fed the wood-burning stove a last time, she knew the folly of such a wish. Leroy loved Alvie; however, that didn’t mean that he was going to compromise his comfort by coming after her, even if she was key to making Alvie’s business more successful. Especially not when he would first have to jump-start a battery that had needed replacing weeks ago.
Leaving on a kitchen light and a lamp near the aquarium for Wanda and Willy, she leaned down to the glass. “It should be an early night. Not to worry.”
Outside, the stairs were already treacherous and covered with snow. Merritt tugged the shawl over her head farther down to protect her face and vision and made the descent with care, hugging the carrier like a baby. The wind was trying to turn it into a sail and lift her off the ground. Although it wasn’t yet officially sunset, it was already growing dark. Locals and the errant vacationer would come to the café due to these awful conditions, which was the only reason she plodded on.
When she reached the road, she saw that her trail, even the truck’s tire treads, were covered by new snow. Yes, she would make it to town, but could she make it home later? She hoped the few snowplows in the area were at least keeping downtown in navigable condition.
No more than a few dozen yards up the road, she heard the sound of a vehicle behind her. As she turned, she tried to identify the vehicle, hoping to get a lift the rest of the way—or, if it was a stranger, to have time to jump aside and not be hit. Surely the driver would see her bright red shawl?
The same beaten-up, black pickup that had been parked in front of her house earlier today slowed and stopped beside her. Cain leaned over and shoved the passenger door open for her.
“Get in,” he yelled above the wind and motor.
Relieved beyond words, Merritt planted her thermal tote on the floorboard and then hoisted herself into the truck. It probably wasn’t a graceful maneuver, but she wasn’t auditioning for anything. “I’m grateful, Mr. Paxton—Cain. I didn’t think you’d be back this way again. At least not today.”
“Neither did I. I almost turned into your yard when I saw lights on, but then I spotted you up here. You are one stubborn woman.”
“I like to think of myself as a responsible employee.”
“Who takes foolish risks. You know you’d be less challenge