Mocha Latte (Silk Stocking Inn #3) (3 page)

Chapter 6

After showing me to a glorious room, complete with floral printed linens and an incredible antique iron bed that was overflowing with pillows and downy quilts, my weekend hostess continued her surprises by bringing me a pair of jeans, a soft flannel shirt and a pair of cowboy boots. It seemed they hadn’t been worn and yet they were comfortable as if someone had walked a hundred miles in them to soften the leather. Most surprising of all was that everything fit as if it had been made just for me.

“I’ve brought you some supper,” Coco called through the door, as she knocked again.

I click clacked to the door in my boots to answer it. For the briefest, strange moment, as I opened the door, I was sure Coco’s face looked older, with fine lines and creases around her eyes and mouth. Then the faint wrinkles faded. I pushed the incident out of my head when she walked past with a plate of fried chicken, mashed potatoes and coleslaw.

“Figured you’d be hungry after a long day at work.”

“I am. Although I’ve already had dessert.” I chuckled. “Best cupcake I’ve ever had, by the way.”

“My theory on dessert is you should eat it whenever the need for sweet happiness arises. And, Becca, I know you’ve been through some unhappiness lately. I can see it in your eyes. So, I think dessert first is completely justified.” Coco lowered the plate onto the small table sitting in front of an upholstered window seat. She drew back the heavy drapes. A silver moon shined through the wavy glass pane.

“Is it really still that obvious? That I’ve been through something? I was hoping it didn’t show much anymore.”

“It’s starting to fade, I think. This weekend might just erase it for good.”

There was no possible way she knew what had gone on in my personal life, but with the way she looked at me, it seemed she knew just what I was feeling. She really was a remarkable person.

The aroma of her fried chicken was making me nearly dizzy with hunger. I walked to the window seat and looked down at the crispy golden chicken and fluffy mashed potatoes. A dollop of butter melted in the center of the potatoes like a golden pool in the crater of a mountain.

“This reminds me of my grandfather’s cooking. He made fried chicken that could make your mouth water just thinking about it. Thank you for this. It’s bringing back memories that I needed to find. I hadn’t lost them, after all. I’d just been too busy to reminisce.”

“I’m glad then. Everyone needs to hold on to the things that matter most. Even a broken heart can’t take them away. It’s those little, nostalgic moments, those epiphanies, that keep us grounded and happy.”

She took a breath and beamed excitedly down at my outfit. “You look great, by the way. Like a girl ready to sling a mucking fork and look darn sexy doing it.”

I laughed. “Well, I don’t know about darn sexy, but the boots and jeans will definitely work better in a barn. I’m looking forward to the familiar sights and sounds.”

“And smells,” she added.

“I know this sounds nutty, but I’ve always been comforted by the animal smells.” I rocked back on my heels to lift the toes of the boots. They were two toned leather beauties with an intricate pattern and stitching. “These are beautiful. They remind me of a pair I grew up in. I had them so worn out, they were more like socks than leather boots by the time I shelved them for good. Not that I wanted to give them up, but when the rocks started seeping in through the holes I knew it was time to let them go. I still have them in my closet.”

After yet another stroll down memory lane, I sat down to the plate of food. “I know you call this an inn, but where do the horses come in?” I lifted a drumstick to my mouth and took my first glorious bite.

“Horseback riding is one of the activities we offer at the Silk Stocking Inn. I hired Jackson recently to look after the horses. He was in need of a place to stay.”

I swallowed fast, nearly choking on the bite. “He stays here? At the inn?”

“For now. My needs and this place change a lot. Let’s just say, I like to adapt activities to my clientele.” Something about the twinkle in her eye told me there was more to the statement than just changing things up a bit. “Although, cupcakes are standard. Sometimes it seems as if the Silk Stocking Inn was built up around a batch of cupcakes. Like the chicken and egg conundrum. What came first—the cupcake or the inn? Either way, they are both here to stay.” She took a deep breath. “And so are you, for the next few days. So enjoy. I’ll point you in the direction of the barn when you’re finished with your plate.” She headed to the door, opened it and then looked back at me. “And, Becca, remember everything happens for a reason.” She walked out and closed the door.

Chapter 7

I carried my plate down to the kitchen. Coco was sitting at her massive kitchen island writing on a recipe card. She glanced up over a small pair of spectacles, once again making her look older. But her young smile wiped away the illusion.

“I thought I’d write down the recipe for the mocha latte cupcakes before it flitted away through my Swiss cheese brain. Thanks for the flavor idea. I think they turned out great.”

I froze halfway to lowering my plate into the sink. My face flashed her direction. “What do you mean? How could I have given you the idea? You had them baked before I reached the inn, an inn that I hadn’t planned on stopping at.”

“Really? Huh. I guess you’re right.” With an innocent blink of her lashes, she looked back through her wire rimmed glasses and moved her pen again.

“Is the barn through that back door?” I asked, remembering that my handsome cupcake eating audience had left through it.

“Yes.” She pointed with her pen. “Through that door and then travel the path along the rose bushes until you get to a wide green pasture. You can’t miss the barn. It’s big and red, and it looks, ironically enough, like a barn.”

“Great. I’ll see you later then.”

“Have fun,” she said, without looking up from her recipe.

I pushed through the screen door. A warm breeze carried the familiar scent of fresh grass and horses my direction. It was home. I was home . . . almost. Grandpa’s booming laugh and the pungent scent of his tobacco pipe were, of course, noticeably absent.

The full moon showered the path with its eerie glow. The roses lent their fragrance to the already sweet smelling night air. Unlike the dead rose vines clinging to the facade of the inn, the bushes bloomed with buoyant clusters of pink and yellow petals.

I meandered along the path, suddenly feeling a bit nervous about seeing Jackson again. The few moments in the bakery had been the first time I’d flirted overtly with a man since I’d met Nate. Mentally, I’d blamed it on the sugar rush I was experiencing from the cupcake. But in truth, it was as if the man, the exact man who had often traipsed into one of my romantic dreams, had landed in my path. I was instantly attracted to him. And after spending the last three weeks in near social seclusion, other than my nightly threesome with Ben and Jerry, it had felt good to act a little wanton with a man.

As promised, the big red barn loomed in the distance. I picked up my pace, suddenly feeling like a carefree teen again. I was nearly running by the time I reached the two round pens in front of the barn. The soft snorts of horses, who were happily grazing on dinner, rolled out from the building. The warm earthy scent that followed made me grin with anticipation. I was transported back in time again.

I stepped inside the well-lit barn and walked right up to the first stall. A thick, stout draft horse with a feathery white mane looked up from his dinner. Concluding that I hadn’t brought anything better than his mound of hay, he dropped his muzzle back into his feeder.

I turned and saw a wheelbarrow standing in the breezeway, sitting right outside of the end stall. I combed my fingers through my shoulder length hair and headed toward it with the tender nerves of a girl working up the courage to talk to the boy she’d been crushing on.

Jackson stepped out of the stall just as I reached it. I ran smack into his hard chest. I bounced back with a gasp.

“Sorry. Bad timing,” I said, taking another step back.

“And here I was thinking just the opposite.” His green eyes flickered under the barn lights. He’d left his hat off for mucking. As hot as he looked with the black hat, my heart was racing just fine looking at him without it.

“If you get me a fork and a wheelbarrow, I can shovel some manure for you. Used to be pretty good at it,” I boasted and then realized how silly it sounded. “Real poop, I mean. Not bull shit. I’m actually really bad at that. Lying, that is.”

He lifted his arm and leaned it up against the stall door. “I see you decided against the skirt. But the jeans work too.” He lowered the tip of the fork to the ground with his other arm. “This is the last stall.”

“I guess I wasn’t much help then. Sorry about that. I sort of got lost in a plate of fried chicken. Almost brought tears to my eyes, it was so good.”

He laughed as he turned and lifted the wheelbarrow. “Yep, Coco’s food will do that to ya.”

I followed him out into the summery night. We walked across the yard to the manure pile, and he dumped the barrow.

“It sure is nice out here.” The only lights on the horizon were the tiny twinkling porch lights, front and back, on the inn. The old house looked taller and more majestic from a distance, as if it had stood proudly in the same spot for a century. Which, no doubt, it had.

“Want to take a ride?”

I looked at him. His sleeves were rolled up, exposing strong forearms. I hadn’t seen a pair of arms, muscular and powerful from hard work, in a long time. Something about his caused a flutter in my belly.

“At night? It’s been awhile since I’ve ridden.”

“Like riding a bicycle.” He shrugged and turned the wheelbarrow around. “The way you went at that cupcake, just took you as a woman with a bit of spunk.” He rolled the barrow back toward the barn. I stomped after him.

“I’ve got spunk. Damn it. You know what? Let’s ride. Saddle me your fiercest stallion, and I’ll show you spunk.”

He stopped without warning. I ran into his back and bounced back, just as I’d done in the barn. He turned around with a laugh. “Looks like you need a new set of brakes, Spunky. I’ll saddle a horse for you.” His dark brow arched. “You sure you want a stallion?”

“Well, maybe one of your bomb-proof geldings for this first initiation back in the saddle.”

“Right. We’ll save Thunderstorm for your second ride.”

His long legs made his stride impossibly fast to keep up with, but I managed to hurry along next to him to avoid any more collisions. Not that I minded it. If I was going to crash into something, a hunky cowboy built like a brick wall was a good choice.

“Do you really have a stallion named Thunderstorm?” I asked as we reached the barn.

“Don’t even have a stallion. I’d just as soon have a fire breathing dragon inside one of those stalls.”

The down-home way he spoke put a smile on my face. “My grandpa used to say ‘if you’re not breeding mares then keeping a stallion is just plain foolhardy’.”

“Smart man, your grandpa.”

We reached a stall door, and he slid it open. The inside had been transformed into a tack room. The smell of worn leather and saddle blankets coasted out. An array of western saddles were draped over wall racks. Long leather reins and silver bridles dangled along hooks on the adjacent wall.

Jackson stopped in front of the wall of saddles. “Let’s see which of these will work for you.”

There was an odd, almost antique looking saddle on a saw horse in the corner.

I walked over and fingered the well-oiled leather. “Is this a sidesaddle?”

“Yep. That’s the one Coco uses. She claims it’s the way she learned to ride.”

“Really? I know sometimes women ride sidesaddle just for novelty and to show how skilled they are, but I didn’t think anyone from this century would ever have learned it from the start.”

“Sometimes, I think Coco has seen as much of history as that old house of hers.” He reached up and yanked down a simple, lightweight looking saddle. “You’re going to ride Archie. This saddle fits him best. It’ll work for you too.”

He held the saddle against his hip, looking every bit as cowboy as possible. “You ready to ride, Spunky?”

I smiled. “Why do I get the feeling that I just earned myself a nickname?”

He stepped closer, close enough that I could nearly count every one of his long black eyelashes. “I kind of like it, myself.” He stared pointedly down at my lips. For a brief second, I was sure he’d kiss me. And I would have been just fine with that.

A long, warmly tense moment followed and my lips nearly tingled with the notion of his kiss, a tingle that drifted down through my body, stopping between my thighs. He was a ten, a massive, rugged, oozing manliness ten and briefly I wondered what the heck I’d ever seen in Nate.

Jackson smiled and I was fairly certain my heart melted just a bit. “Well, damn. I think this is going to be a good weekend.”

Chapter 8

Archie, a sorrel gelding with a shaggy mane and a sweet, silly temperament, snorted curiously at nature’s nighttime fragrances. “He seems to have a slight hitch in the back right leg,” I noted as we walked the horses along a smooth dirt trail leading away from the barn and the inn. In front of us, halfway circled by a copse of thick trees, sat a pond, looking serene and idyllic as if it had just been painted into the landscape. But the green, musky smell of fresh water assured me it wasn’t just a painting.

“Yep, his right hock locks up on him sometimes. You’re good. Not many people would notice it.”

“I was lucky enough to ride a lot of different horses on Grandpa’s ranch, some good, some ornery, some just plain crazy. Of course, they probably thought the same of me.” I reached forward and patted Archie’s neck. “So he doesn’t mind being ridden?”

“I think it actually loosens him up when he gets out for a ride. The hitch is only noticeable when he walks. His trot and lope are fine.”

Jackson stopped his horse, and Archie followed without me having to halt him. We stared out at the large pond. Its glassy surface mirrored the silhouette of the surrounding trees. I hadn’t traveled far from home when I ended up at the Silk Stocking Inn, yet it seemed that I was far away from the city and deep in the country, a place that had always felt like home.

Jackson looked over at me. His eyes were an unearthly green under the moonlight. “Never would have taken you as the ranching type. But I can see, with the way you sit that saddle, that your riding skills are almost as good as your cupcake eatin’ skills.”

I couldn’t hold back a grin. “Can’t even imagine what you must have thought of me when you saw me sit down and gobble that cupcake . . . like a caveman or cavewoman.”

He gazed at me now as if he could see straight into my thoughts. “When you walked in and I saw your face, I thought that broken angel is in need of some much deserved attention.” He reached across and pushed back a strand of hair. I held my breath as his fingers grazed my cheek and ear. As light and gentle as the gesture had been, he might just as well have taken me into his arms and kissed me.

“It shows,” he said.

“What shows?” I asked with my first real breath since he’d touched me.

“Whatever the hell that guy did to you. It shows.”

I pulled my face away and stared down at the horse beneath me. “Thought I was covering it better than that. I never let myself cry about it. In fact, I’m not completely sure tears would have come if I had allowed them. I was more disappointed in myself. Figured it was all my fault for not keeping his interest.”

“The guy was an idiot.” He threw his long leg over the saddle and dropped down to the ground. I followed. We walked the horses to the thick grass growing along the perimeter of the pond. They instantly dropped their heads to graze.

Having my long term boyfriend and fiancé run off with another woman hadn’t exactly been my proudest moment. I was anxious to change the subject. Thankfully, Jackson didn’t know any details, even though he was astute enough to see through the poker face I’d been wearing since Nate’s phone call.

“Did you grow up on a ranch?” I asked.

“Sort of. My parents split when I was young. They sold off the ranch. I bounced around the country with my mom until she couldn’t handle my wild ways anymore.” He looked pointedly at me. “Her words, not mine. She shipped me back to my dad, who had no interest in raising me. So I found a way to raise myself. I wandered from ranch to ranch as a hired hand, never really settling in anywhere.”

“No other family or friends?”

“I’ve got friends from one side of the country to the other but no one rock solid. No one I keep in steady contact with. And no one to come home to.” His last words tugged at my heart.

“I’ve been working late every night, hanging out in the studio long after everyone else has gone home, just because I hate walking into my empty apartment. Everyone should have someone to come home to. Don’t you think?”

He stared out at the water. “I think you’re right about that, Spunky.”