A Cowboy For The Twins. Carolyne Aarsen
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woman just laughed, showing her crooked teeth as she hooked the bag over her walker. “Sugarplum, if I bought that I would eat it all myself and end up fatter than I already am.”
Considering she couldn’t weigh more than ninety pounds, even with her walker, Shauntelle thought that highly unlikely.
“I might be tempted to buy one.”
Shauntelle looked over at her newest customer, and there was Mrs. Cosgrove. Then her heart plunged when she saw Noah join her.
His dark hair and equally dark eyebrows arching over hidden, deep-set brown eyes could have given him a menacing look, but she remembered that melancholy smile of his yesterday. In spite of how bitter she was over what happened to Josiah because of him, seeing Noah face-to-face made it difficult to know exactly what to do with her anger.
“I thought my son should find out firsthand how good the baking that he delivered yesterday actually is,” Mrs. Cosgrove said.
Shauntelle dragged her attention away from Noah, granting Mrs. Cosgrove a more genuine smile. Fay Cosgrove was a loving, caring woman who, when Shauntelle had come here, had gone out of her way to support and encourage her. It wasn’t hard to separate her feelings for Noah from this woman.
“I’m glad you came. I hope you can find something.”
“I’m sure I can.” Mrs. Cosgrove’s smile grew but then she seemed to wince and shook her head. “Sorry. Feeling a bit punk yet.”
“Should we go home?” Noah asked.
“I’m fine. Just a bit tired.” Mrs. Cosgrove waved off his concern. “I’m tempted to get one of those cakes, though Noah will have to step up and do his part to finish it.”
“I don’t think that will be much of a hardship.” He turned to Shauntelle again. “Do you have any meat pies today? I know when we were delivering them, they looked and smelled pretty tasty.”
“I have a few,” she said, disappointed at the flush his compliment gave her. It felt wrong.
“My mommy just made these cakes.” Millie walked over to where Noah was standing, and to Shauntelle’s embarrassment, grabbed his hand, dragging him closer to the table and directly in front of Shauntelle. “She said they were an experiment, but I think they look awesome.”
“More of a trial run,” Shauntelle hastened to explain, far too aware of his towering presence. “For the restaurant. Thought I could offer them as desserts.”
“They look really nice, Millie,” he said, addressing her daughter instead of her. For some reason that bothered her.
“I helped my mom bake them,” Millie said, folding her hands in front of her and rocking back and forth, obviously pleased with Noah’s attention.
Yeah, he had that effect on women and girls of all ages, Shauntelle thought, remembering how she, too, had once admired him from afar.
“You didn’t help that much,” Margaret put in, coming to join them, clearly not too happy with the compliment Millie had received. “I did more.”
“No you did not,” Millie grumbled. “You were busy reading your book. I helped Mom mix the dough and set the timer—”
“But I mixed the icing and helped her put the cakes together.”
And why did they have to pick a fight right here and now in front of the Cosgroves? In spite of their bickering, people walking past them slowed and smiled at the girls.
Every time she took the twins out, people seemed drawn to them. Though Shauntelle let them choose their own clothes and encouraged them to develop their own style, they always picked matching outfits and accessories.
Today they wore green-and-yellow-striped sweaters and hot pink leggings. If only one of them wore this outfit, they would stand out.
But the two of them, bickering and picking at each other, their ponytails bobbing, drew unwelcome attention this time.
“I don’t think we need to talk about who did what,” Shauntelle said with a forced smile, coming around the table and laying a warning hand on each of their shoulders. “You both helped.”
“And you both did an amazing job,” Noah said, crouching down to get to their level.
Which put him below hers. She could see the top of his head, the thick wave of his hair. She caught herself, frustrated at her reaction to him. She was as bad as her daughters.
“And you girls both did a great job yesterday too,” Noah said, piling compliment on compliment.
Immediately the girls quit their squabbling, both looking rather smug at Noah’s praise.
“So now you have to help me pick out a cake for my mother,” he continued.
As Noah stood, his gaze drifted up and snagged hers. His smile slowly faded, and the serious and somber look that replaced it sent a shiver down her spine. What was he thinking when he looked at her?
Pulling her gaze away, she fiddled with the arrangement of the cakes, straightened a package of cinnamon rolls. Anything to avoid looking at Noah again. When she saw him yesterday, her anger had simmered hard, but today, after she had spent the afternoon with him, she found it had dissipated.
Until she saw her parents. Then it had returned full force.
“What do you think, Noah? Should we buy one of those?” Fay was asking.
“I think we should, but then we need to get going,” Noah said to his mother. “You’re still not feeling well.”
The concern in his voice and the tender way he laid his hand on his mother’s shoulder created battling emotions inside Shauntelle.
In spite of that, she couldn’t forget the texts her brother sent her.
Texts complaining about how hard he had to work. What a slave driver Noah was. Money-hungry and pushy. Even given her brother’s tendency to exaggerate, Noah still came across in those texts as a hard-nosed businessman concerned only with the bottom line.
Then her brother had died, and once again the bottom fell out of her world. She swallowed down an unwelcome knot of pain.
“You’re probably right,” his mother said, then turned to Shauntelle. “I think we’ll take this chocolate one.”
“Good choice,” Shauntelle said, reaching for a box to put the cake in.
“And the meat pies,” Noah prompted.
“Right. Sorry. I forgot about them.” She boxed up the cake, disappointed to see her hands trembling as she closed the flaps. She wanted to show him that she was capable and in charge, unaffected by his presence, but the pounding of her heart made that impossible.
Seriously, she really had to get a handle on her emotions.
She tied a ribbon around the box and handed it to him with a forced smile. “That will be fifteen dollars.”
“And the meat pies?” he reminded her.
She did a mental facepalm. “Of course.” She boxed up a couple of pies and handed them to him as well, giving him the final total.
“That’s pretty cheap,” he said, taking them from her. “You might want to consider raising your prices.”
“I’m still trying things out.”
“For what?”
“The restaurant I want to start up.”
“Really? That’s ambitious. Where will it be?”
“It’s going to be part of the arena. I’ll be running a snack bar as one part of the operation with a restaurant attached to it. The contractor said he might put in a courtyard where I could have outdoor seating. People like to look at trees and flowers when they’re eating, I guess, and I’m not