How to Knit a Love Song
How to Knit a Love Song
A Cypress Hollow Yarn
Rachael Herron
For my mother,
Janette Frances Herron,
who always believed
.
Contents
Abigail gave the metal latch a giant twist, shoving all…
This is your house?”
Cade had heard of people being too mad to see…
Abigail put the key to the cottage in her pocket…
This was awful. Horrible. Disgusting.
Cade had already finished the morning chores with Tom by…
Abigail was getting good at acting like she was strong.
What was she doing to him? He was behind in…
An hour later—three other wheels set up on the porch…
Abigail spent the next week settling into a routine. The…
Cade heard Abigail calling his name, and it sounded frantic.
Abigail got the animals inside the fenced shed area. They…
It was a good morning for a drive: clear and…
She was a good follower, he’d give her that much.
There were two bathrooms in Cade’s house. Abigail had been…
The next morning, when Cade opened his eyes in the…
Abigail stood, her knees aching. She’d been sitting in this…
His arm was killing him. And his back hurt. Why…
Janet’s black town car crunched up the driveway. By the…
Abigail called Clara, who dragged herself out from behind a…
Cade hadn’t been to this hospital since Tom had called…
Abigail was filthy. She could still smell the dirt from…
Cade’s first thought, after he woke, was about blueberry muffins.
Two weeks later, Cade drove up the county road, toward…
Days later, Abigail still hadn’t seen Cade even once.
Six hours later, everyone was exhausted.
He’d never been treated as such an object in his…
What had gotten into her? She didn’t make out with…
He drove fast, speeding through town. He took curves ten…
He didn’t understand how this had happened again, how he’d…
Abigail opened her eyes slowly. Where was she? These weren’t…
Five or ten grand. Five or ten thousand dollars.
When Abigail heard Cade calling her name, she had no…
He knew she’d had customers yesterday, but had she had…
Without warning, he was kissing her.
Abigail gripped the steering wheel tightly. She hated this part…
Cade hadn’t seen Tom yet this morning. While he waited…
Outside Tillie’s, Abigail hugged Janet good-bye and went to get…
On his way up the driveway, Cade tried to slow…
On a cool Tuesday morning one year later, Abigail turned…
A+ Author Insights, Extras & More…
Sometimes the hardest part is the first stitch. When you don’t know what you’re doing, the very thought of starting can be terrifying. Put down my book. Refer to it only if you must. Cast on bravely, now.
—
E.C.
A
bigail gave the metal latch a giant twist, shoving all of her body weight behind it. Her hand slipped off it at the last moment, and her whole arm slammed through the bars in the gate.
“Damn it!” That hurt. She pulled back her arm and rubbed the elbow that would probably be black and blue tomorrow.
The gate was still closed.
Abigail would get this thing open if she had to use her teeth to do it. It
was
the front gate, she was pretty sure, and it looked like the only way up the dirt drive. There weren’t any locks, and she could get the long bolt to turn halfway, but she didn’t know how to jam it over and out of the way. She sweated in the late October sun and felt her hair starting to curl against the nape of her neck.
She stood straight and took a deep breath. Her hands burned. Her red pickup idled behind her, mocking her attempt to drive it through the gate. She should have turned the engine off, at least.
A man sat on horseback on the brown ridge above her. She could just see him under a cluster of eucalyptus trees, far enough away to make out that he was male but not much more. Was he watching her?
No, he couldn’t be. He probably couldn’t see her clearly from up there. If he could, he’d have come down, at least to see what she wanted. Instead, he must be looking over the valley, down to the ocean behind her.
Abigail was covered in sweat and panting. This wasn’t quite the way she wanted to meet anyone, but she wished that cowboy would come down and help her with this stubborn gate. If sheep ranches even had cowboys. What did they call them?
She looked up the hill at the man. He gave every impression of watching her, so she summoned a smile and gave a cheery wave.
No response.
She waved again, this time a little more frantically, although she tried to keep the desperation out of her body language.
She
had
to drive through this gate.
Abigail hopped a little and circled her arms in wild motions. He couldn’t miss it.
Could he?
The cowboy’s head turned, and the horse started to turn, too, and it looked as if they were headed uphill and away.
“No! Please!” Abigail yelled, as loudly as she could, all shame now tossed to the ocean wind. “Come back!”
She didn’t think he’d be able to hear her, but his head swiveled back toward her. Then the horse’s body followed that motion.
Abigail rubbed her now dirty, scraped hands on her brand new Wranglers. She hoped a little dirt would take that new-jeans sheen off of them. As he got closer and closer, she could tell the cowboy riding at her was the real deal, the kind that might have opinions about jeans that weren’t broken in. She rubbed her palms one last time against her thighs and then waved.
“Well, howdy!” she called.
As soon as the words left her mouth, she wanted to take them back.
Howdy?
The shape of the word in her mouth hadn’t felt right and she could tell by his pained look that it hadn’t sounded right either.
He was striking, in the way that anything carved from nature is. His cheekbones looked chiseled, high and tanned. His eyes were as green as the grass on the hill behind him, and the long planes of his body seemed as strongly muscled as the horse he rode.
Abigail’s mouth opened, but her voice only squeaked.
Then she managed, “Wow! You’re real!”
And she realized that there was, indeed, a worse thing to say than howdy. “Umm. I mean, hi.”
She stuck out her hand, and then realized that not only was he still ten feet away, but the fence and gate still separated them, not to mention that he was still sitting on the horse, and she was standing on the ground.
She shook out the offending hand, as if it hurt and she was trying to loosen the muscles in it. Then she stuck it in the pocket of her jeans that might be a
smidge
too tight.
“Do you work here? Do you think you could help me open this? Is it locked and I didn’t see it? Is this the front entrance? Is there another way I should go?” Abigail paused. “Is that too many questions in a row?”
She smiled, and waited for a similar response.
Nothing. The cowboy’s eyes widened at her barrage of questions, but he didn’t smile, nor did he attempt to answer a single one.
Instead, he pulled the horse up to the gate, and leaned over. With one hand, he flipped the offending latch. The gate swung freely and fast, directly at Abigail.
“Hey!” she scrambled backward. “Okay! I’m out of the way now, thanks.”
She jumped in her idling pickup, drove through the gate, and hopped out to close it.
The cowboy just sat and watched.
She swung the gate, heavier than it looked, back into place, and slammed the latch home. The metal had taken off several layers of skin and she knew that her palm was probably bleeding, but she didn’t look at it, just smiled up at him and said, “Thank you.”
She got back into the truck and was about to head up the gravel driveway when he said loudly, “What is that, anyway?”
She took the truck out of gear and stuck her head out the open window. “What is what?”
“That thing you’re driving?”
Abigail didn’t understand the question. “It’s a Nissan?” Was that what he wanted to know?
“Is it supposed to be a truck?”
Great. He was going to be a jerk. Maybe she and the other owner could fire this guy, as soon as she got her bearings.
“It’s my truck. Got a problem with it?”
“Kind of a silly-looking little thing. What does it haul?”
“It’s my silly-looking little thing, and it’s always done the job. I’m sorry it offends you.”
“No, really. Have you ever put anything in the back? Besides grocery bags or your friend’s couch, I mean?”
“It suits me just fine, thanks.” The words came quickly and for that she was grateful, but she felt small and disappointed. She had driven up here, her feelings a huge balloon of happiness and excitement, and he’d pushed a pin into them.
Well, forget him. She put her beloved red pickup back in gear and shot up the driveway, spraying gravel. She didn’t want to startle the poor horse that had to carry him, but she hoped that she scared the guy a little. What an ass.
But now! Now was the time she’d been waiting for, now she was going to see her brand-new home, her brand-new start.
She drove up and over the low hill, past live oaks and more eucalyptus, past flocks of sheep—real, live sheep! They dotted the hillside as if they were part of a perfect painting, placed there just for her. She passed a small pond that looked more picturesque than useful, but really, what did she know about living in the country? Nothing, that’s what.
All that was about to change. Right here, right now.
Abigail caught her breath when she saw it. A two-story 19th-century wooden ranch house, painted white with dark green trim, it looked loved and well worn, a place that could be truly called home, something she hadn’t had in what felt like forever. It sat nestled next to three or four huge, old oaks, their limbs sheltering and low to the ground.
A place to feel safe.
Behind and to the right of the house stood a matching cottage, a miniature version of the bigger one. Abigail’s heart swelled with happiness. She wondered if that delightful spot would be where she slept. Or would she sleep in the house and work in the cottage?
