The Cottage on Pumpkin and Vine (26 page)

Chapter 12

S
idney woke up to dawn making an appearance outside her window, something hard scratching her back, and her eyes the size of basketballs.

“Just shoot me,” she moaned, holding her temples as she rolled over and the pounding started.

She couldn't cry before bedtime. Not like that. Not the full-out gut-destroying meltdown she'd had when she came in from—from him—and closed the door.

She hadn't even made it out of the kitchen. She'd slid down the door to the floor and wailed like a baby. The ugly, snot-inducing, chest-hurting, I'll-never-breathe-right-again kind. Like she'd only done one other time in her life.

Over the same damn person.

Something she swore would never take her down again. Ever. And yet here she was, with a cry hangover from hell and eyelids that felt like they'd been blown up into flotation devices.

And more than that. Her heart hurt.

Because that other thing she did last night? Sidney couldn't do that, either. Sex just for sex didn't exist for her. That was why she hadn't gotten herself laid in so long. Because sex meant something. And it should. It didn't get more intimate than that. It didn't get more personal. It should be with someone you love, or at least have a feeling or two over.

What it should
not
be, at least in Sidney's case, was with someone you
once
loved. Who stole your heart, broke it, vanished, strode back in with said heart riding shotgun, and managed to claim it all over again. Sex and
that
situation should avoid each other at all costs.

Yeah.

This was not what Sidney came to this damn blink-and-you-miss-it town for. To fall back under the spell of the same damn guy. No matter how amazing it felt.

There might have been a misunderstanding the first time around, but there wasn't this time. They were different people now, living different lives. In different states. He had his—Sawyer Finn world, and she had hers. And the rest of reality. Their chemistry might still be off the charts, but they couldn't stay attached at the mouth 24/7 in order to have something in common.

The unmistakable aroma of coffee reached her, pulling her from pity to need, and she rolled back over, grimacing at whatever was digging into her spine and groping at her open shirt, mortified that the buttons were gone. Well, not gone, exactly. They were on the property if she really wanted to go looking, but—then again, Sawyer could just find them one day with the lawn mower.

And no, she wasn't that girl. The one who stayed in her sex clothes so she could fall asleep smelling him.

No. No way.

“Grow some ovaries, will you?” Sidney muttered, sitting up and shrugging off the pajama top. And stopping dead still with it in her hands.

Along the center back, scratching and annoying her, was a line of dried mud. Mud. From lying on her back.

A little burn hit her very tender eyes at the thought of that moment, and she tossed the shirt aside and stood. She would not be that pathetic woman.

Coffee was going to have to save her. Thank God Amelia Rose was an early riser.

* * *

Sawyer slung empty water bottles from his floorboard, and crushed an old hardware store list in his hand. Cleaning out his truck to lend it to Sidney.

In the dark.

He clenched his jaw as tightly as his fist was around that paper, closing his eyes against the memory of everything from last night. Her laugh, her taste, her body exposed for him under the moonlight. Her hands on him. The primal way she'd moaned his name. The way they fit. The way they moved.

And that was just the sex. That didn't even take into account all the
everything elses
that he always worked so hard to avoid. The magnetic fucking need to be around her. Chasing her through town. Making her business his. Walking over to the cottage last night—he knew damn good and well who that was, and there he had to go like a stupid kid. Because he could not leave well enough alone. He had to go sit by her and her idiotic duck pajamas that were so ugly they were hot. See those eyes that never failed to slay him. Looking at him like
that,
turning his whole world upside down in one night.

Who was he kidding? She'd uprooted everything the second he saw her sitting in Amelia Rose's kitchen.

Sawyer slammed his fist against the dashboard, sending tiny dust particles running for their lives. Damn it, he didn't have time for this. This
mooning
crap. Feelings. This was why he didn't do love.

And that was why he was dropping off his truck before she woke up. Because he was a chickenshit. Duke jumped in the truck and looked at him as if he agreed.

“We're just rolling up the road, buddy,” Sawyer said.

Duke's tail thumped against the seat.

* * *

Amelia Rose looked exactly the same at five thirty in the morning as she did at five thirty in the afternoon. Perfectly put together, in her version of together. Hair still meticulously braided over one shoulder. Beads of every variety still dangling. Timeless smile still warming the room.

Pancakes and a fresh pot of coffee in her hands made her look even warmer.

“I might love you,” Sidney said, taking the pot from her and pouring into both their mugs.

“I'll take it,” Amelia Rose said, chuckling. “I don't normally have anyone to share morning coffee with, so I'm enjoying the company.” She sat down across from her just as Sidney took a large bite of a pancake dipped in honey butter and homemade blueberry syrup. “I think Sawyer is, too, if last night is any indication.”

Sidney nearly choked, slapping a hand over her mouth so she didn't blow pieces of pancake.

“He—um—we—” Sidney managed around her food, taking a swallow of coffee to push down what had become cardboard.

“Relax,” Amelia Rose said. “A lot of couples come here, Sidney. It's not the first time. Won't be the last.”

“Oh my God,” Sidney mumbled, dropping her fork and covering her face. She shook her head. “No. No. I am so—I have no words. He's your employee.”

Amelia Rose started to laugh. “Sawyer is much more than that,” she said. “He's like a son to me.”

“Yeah, that's not better,” Sidney said behind her fingers.

“And I suspect he's the reason you were up all night crying?” Okay, this day wasn't going uphill from yesterday. Just more bizarre. If that was possible. “I have some witch hazel for your eyes,” she whispered.

“He didn't—” Sidney shook her head slightly, dropping her hands and her gaze. “He didn't do anything. It was just a bad idea. Too much history.”

She took one of Sidney's hands in her own, and Sidney felt the instant change. There was no oil. No artificial anything. Just the elderly woman's cool skin against hers, and the overwhelming comforting aroma of butter. Again. Of course her plate did happen to be filled with it. But peace, and warmth, and an almost buzzing calm instantly rested her anxious core.

“You were the one,” Amelia Rose said softly.

“That's what people keep telling me,” Sidney said, her voice sounding sad to her own ears.

“And you're in love with him,” Amelia Rose said.

The pierce to her heart somehow didn't destroy her calm, but it did bring tears to her swollen eyes.

“I—can't,” Sidney said, laughing as she swiped at her eyes. “I know that sounds silly, and even sillier to have this discussion after seeing him for one day, but—”

“But you've worked hard to keep up this persona,” she said. “To keep all your walls carefully maintained. To not let anyone hurt you again. To not feel anything.”

Sidney's breath caught in her chest. “Something like that.”

“Yeah, I know someone else with that same agenda,” Amelia Rose said, patting her hand. “Here's a little news flash for both of you,” she said, turning Sidney's hand over so that her palm faced up. She ran her fingers over Sidney's palm, and turned it back over. “Love doesn't work like that.”

Sidney glanced down at her hand and back up to the old woman's gray eyes. “What did you just see?”

Amelia Rose's lips curved up at the corners. “I thought you didn't believe.”

The back door opening broke the spell, carrying a certain Sawyer Finn and a large dog along with it. Sawyer was concentrating on hanging the flashlight back on the nail, and not looking up. The dog headed straight for Sidney.

“Hey, tell Sidney I dropped the truck off for her,” he said. “Duke, get back—”

His words stopped cold when he turned and saw her sitting at the table.

Sidney felt the dog's head push under her hand, sniffing upward toward the food, but she couldn't look away from the weight of the dark eyes in front of her. She felt every inch of the maybe six feet between them, and was suddenly hyperaware of her homeless urchin appearance. The same pajama pants—the ones he'd stripped off of her—with a T-shirt that read
Do Boston
. Hair pulled back in a messy ponytail. No makeup to disguise the carnival-mirror facial features she had going on. Oh yeah. Just what she wanted him to see the day after they'd made love. Had sex.
Made love
.

“Well, this scene is familiar,” Amelia Rose said.

Sidney rose to her feet, impulse driving her. Yesterday, she'd been slammed by seeing him again, and had reacted like a silly girl. She was a grown woman now, and could certainly fake her way through a post-sex greeting. Even though he was slowly walking toward her. Without blinking. Looking way better in his jeans and long-sleeved pullover than should be legal. She lifted her chin.

“Good morning,” she said.

“Morning,” he said, his voice sounding sleepy and sexy, like he hadn't had coffee yet. Sidney swallowed hard against that thought.

He reached for her hand and pressed his keys into it, the metal warm from his hand. “Try to bring her back in one piece.”

Sidney smirked. “I might change her name.”

One eyebrow raised, and she had the feeling she wasn't the only one glad for the brevity. “To what, may I ask?”

Sidney shrugged. “I don't know. Maybe I'll try out a ‘Home, James,' and see if it responds,” she said, playing on his last name.

“She's not a James,” he said with a wink.

A wink that made her knees wiggle and caused her gaze to fall to his mouth. No, don't look there.

“She's not a
she,
either,” Sidney whispered, leaning forward just a bit.

“Why is this dog in my house?” Amelia Rose asked, reaching down to scratch above his wagging tail.

“He—” Sawyer cleared his throat. “He wanted to ride,” he said. “Probably smelled the pancakes all the way over here.”

“Help yourself,” Amelia Rose said, gesturing at the platter.

Sidney would give him hers, for all the good it was doing her. Nothing was going down her throat at this point. It was closed for business.

“No, I'm good,” he said. He looked at her too long, too intently, like he was looking for some kind of answer. She needed to look away, but damn it if she could. “You okay?” he asked, his voice low.

She smiled and nodded and focused downward at the dog, blinking fast before all those damn feelings of hers decided to make a showing. “Perfect,” she said, petting the animal's head. “I'll get it back to you as soon as I go see Crane.”

Sawyer nodded and backed up a step.

“No rush,” he said, snapping his fingers for the dog and making her jump. “Take your time.” He glanced at Amelia Rose. “Cornucopia tomorrow, okay?”

She looked up at him sideways with amused eyes. “No rush.”

Sidney saw him smirk before he walked toward the door. “Come on, Duke,” he said. “Ladies.”

And he was gone.

Sidney took a slow breath and rolled her head on her shoulders as she sank back down. “Okay, that's over,” she breathed.

“Sweet girl, it's only just begun,” Amelia Rose said, chuckling and pushing to her feet.

“What?”

“That man is just as head over heels as you are,” she said. “And just as hardheaded.”

Sidney's stomach flipped. “Why—why do you say that?”

“Because I know him, for one,” she said. “He doesn't do this. This dance you two are doing. But second? He just handed you
Betsy
.”

Sidney laughed, the first feel-good emotion she'd had since late last night. “True.” She rubbed her face, wishing she could squeeze her eyes back to normal. “But there's too much—and I live in Boston.” To her, that explained it all.

Amelia Rose went to the sink and turned around. “That's geography, Sidney. People are portable.”

Sidney laughed again, feeling a scoff coming on that weirdly faded as Amelia Rose walked closer. “And I don't—”

“Don't do small towns,” she said, waving a hand dismissively. “I know.” How did she know? Had Sidney mentioned that? “Tell me about Crane,” the older woman said, cutting off Sidney's thought. “Why are you going to see Edmund Crane?”

“He's the one holding the lease over Mr. Teasdale's head,” Sidney said. “He's playing hardball, and honestly, it makes no sense.”

Amelia Rose sat back down, her eyes intense and amused. “Let me tell you about another love story,” she said. “And then, if you don't mind, I'd like to tag along?”

Chapter 13

“Y
es, Orchid,” Sidney responded for the third time. “I'm working on it.”

“I gave you the overnight stay,” Orchid said over the speaker. Even with the phone sitting on the bed across the room, Sidney's boss's voice carried annoyingly well. “Honestly, I assumed you'd be heading back today. Now you're telling me it could be Tuesday?”

“Oh my God, stay with me,” Sidney whispered to her reflection where she was trying to get ready.

“What was that?” came Orchid's grating voice.

“Nothing,” Sidney said, twisting her hair into a professional bun, then remembering her casual look for the day and letting it fall in soft waves. “I told you, it's not about the case. I've got that under control,” she lied. “My
car
broke down. I'm stuck here till it's fixed.”

“Well, keep me in the loop on the wrap-up,” Orchid said. “Fax me the resolution paperwork. And I'll pay for one more night there, but after that it's on you.”

“Okay, thanks,” Sidney said, saluting her. As soon as there was a dial tone, she made a face. Because waiting was logical. She blew out a breath, meeting her own eyes in the mirror. “You have to make this work. You have to make this happen. Because you don't like the mailroom people.”

* * *

“Wouldn't have pictured you as a truck kind of girl,” Amelia Rose said, sliding into the passenger seat as Sidney got behind the wheel of Sawyer's truck. “But you totally pull this off.”

Sidney laughed, turning over the engine and kicking it into gear. “My nana drove a pickup, actually, and I learned to drive in that. Took me a while to settle into a smaller car, although I wish now I would have just kept her truck. That thing refused to die.”

“Can't buy a new one?” Amelia Rose asked.

Sidney sighed. “I can. Technically. I have some money my nana left me, but I just don't want to spend it. I want there to be something special for that. Not something as ordinary as a car.”

“You getting stranded isn't ordinary,” she said. “I'll bet she'd want you to be safe and comfortable.”

“I know,” Sidney said. “It just hasn't felt right.”

She might have looked at ease behind Sawyer's wheel, but it felt weird, seeing life where he normally did. Noting the gas receipt paper clipped to the visor. The fast food napkin folded in the cubby where an ashtray used to be. A scribbled note on a Post-it. A bottle of water tucked into the door pocket. Sidney was thinking entirely too much. It was just a truck. But it was little pieces of his life, and suddenly those pieces mattered.

Everything mattered. This town, these people, their stories.

Amelia Rose told her more than just a love story. She told her about the couple on the other side of the lake who met at a party, about the woman who owned the party shop in town who finally opened her heart, about Mrs. Duggar in the dress shop who found her soul mate after forty years, about a man at the local bank who authorized the loan for the couple across the lake to buy a house, coming to the cottage to sit down with them, and the Realtor, whom he ended up marrying four months later. And she told Sidney about Edmund Crane and Arthur Teasdale, and Layla, the woman they both loved.

Pulling in and knocking on Crane's door was the easy part. Sidney's people skills were going to have to rise and shine. Amelia Rose standing next to her on the porch was either going to help that or sink her where she stood.

“Smile, sweetheart,” she said. “You look a dream in that pretty sweater, and Edmund Crane is a sucker for a pretty girl.”

Sidney had taken Sawyer's advice and gone with her soft blue jeans, flats, and a white fuzzy fitted sweater that settled against her cleavage a little more than she liked. She didn't even know why she'd packed it, as her style was more conservative, but there it was. And she didn't really have a choice.

“He wasn't too suckered yesterday,” Sidney said under her breath. “He basically called my bluff and informed me of the favor he was doing me, getting my car fixed.”

The big wooden door opened, and Crane's large frame took up the open space.

“Imagine seeing you—” he began. Then he saw Amelia Rose, and one would think he'd been poked with a live wire. Stepping back and stretching to his full height, his whole head turned red. “What are you doing here?”

“Hello, Edmund,” she said pleasantly. “How've you been?”

“Alive and well, thanks,” he blustered, turning to a bemused Sidney. “Did your car not get towed?”

“Yes, it did,” Sidney said, looking back and forth between them as Crane kept darting glances to Amelia Rose. “And Oscar said he'd order whatever parts on Monday, so I'm—basically here till it's done.”

“Staying at the cottage,” Amelia Rose chimed in. “You know, I get a little stir-crazy in there, Sidney, maybe I'll ride around with you while you're in town.”

“Where are you from again?” Crane said quickly. “New York?”

“Boston,” Sidney said.

“No problem,” Crane said. “I'll get you a car to drive back. I have some inventory in my car lot in Portland, last year's models. I'll have one delivered by four this afternoon.”

Sidney's mouth fell open. “What?”

“Sure,” he said, holding out an arm like that had been on the table all along. “Keep it as long as you need.”

“As—long as I need,” Sidney echoed.

“Absolutely.”

“Why, that's just princely of you, Edmund,” Amelia Rose said. “Now she can go back to work and tell her boss the case is all settled.”

His mouth opened and closed repeatedly like a fish.

“Unless it's not settled?” she asked, frowning. “Honestly, I haven't kept up.”

“That's more complicated than just a car,” he said.

“Actually, not really,” Sidney said, miraculously finding her voice. “As I understand it, you're holding the contract—that was signed in good faith and kept up in good terms for almost ten years—over Mr. Teasdale's head as a personal vendetta?”

“As a
what?
” Crane bellowed.

“You heard me,” Sidney said. “You rented that building to him and his wife as a way to stay in contact with Layla Teasdale,” Sidney said.

“Layla
Barton,
” Crane muttered. “She never should have become a Teasdale.”

“Yep, keep making my case for me,” Sidney said with a smile. “And then when she died, and her husband closed the shop, you refused to let him out. Out of spite.”

“Out of respect for Layla,” he said. “She loved that shop. It made her smile. Even after she got sick.” Crane pushed through the door and walked to the end of the porch. “She'd be crushed to see it closed like that.”

“She'd be crushed to see her husband go into financial ruin paying rent for nothing,” Sidney said. “All so you can stick it to the man who got her?”

“You don't get it,” he said, whirling around. “Have you ever been in love, little girl?”

Sidney's mouth went dry. “I hardly think—”

“It doesn't come again,” he said. “You think it will, but it won't. You have to grab on before someone steals it from you.” Sidney felt Amelia Rose's eyes on her. “I've been married and divorced four times. Because
he
got the love of my life. At one of
her
parties!” he finished, pointing at Amelia Rose.

Sidney looked at Amelia Rose. “Okay, this just got wonky,” she said under her breath.

“Edmund, you've been blaming me, blaming Arthur, even blaming Layla and probably all your ex-wives for years. Blaming everyone for your unhappiness except for you,” Amelia Rose said. “Take some ownership of your life, will you?”

“She and I were just fine till they hooked up at that cottage,” he said. “With all your voodoo.”

“Good Lord, Edmund,” she said, laughing. “Voodoo? Really? How about good old-fashioned chemistry and a man who didn't boss her around?” Amelia Rose stepped closer. “Forty years ago. Let it go.”

“And then you took Sawyer,” he growled.

“Who wasn't a child,” Amelia Rose said gently. “I didn't win custody. I offered him a job. Didn't yell at him or make him do shady things.”

“We aren't here to talk about Sawyer,” Sidney said, trying to rope the conversation back in. This was what had happened with the Carson Foods account meeting, and she couldn't bear another one of those. “We're here to resolve this case. And I have to be honest with you, Mr. Crane,” she said. “If you insist on this insane breach of ethics, you'll need to contact your own lawyer. Because we'll bleed you dry in court.”

“Court?” he repeated.

Yes, and she prayed he wouldn't bite. Her case would win, but she didn't know whether she had the skills for court.

“Over this petty crap,” Sidney added.

Crane's mouth worked again, his face went red again, and then his lips pressed in a hard line.

“Fine.”

“Fine, what?” Sidney asked.

“He can have out,” Crane muttered. “I'll sit with that elephant till I can sell it.”

Sidney felt like her feet might leave the ground. She'd won. She'd fucking won. She'd won for Orchid's uncle! She wasn't a loser after all.

“Excellent choice,” Sidney said, pulling a file from the bag on her shoulder. “If you'd just sign—here and here.”

“Seriously, you brought it with you?”

“Wasn't a social call,” Sidney said. “And thanks for the car, by the way!”

It was all she could do not to squeal on the way back to the truck, and even then she had to wait till she was out of the driveway.

“Oh my God!” she yelled, banging the steering wheel.

“Careful,” Amelia Rose said. “Betsy might talk.”

“That was—that was crazy,” Sidney gushed. “Freaking crazy. I've never—just wow.”

“You were impressive,” Amelia Rose said.

Sidney's head jerked her way. “Me? No, no, no, that was you.”

“No, ma'am,” Amelia Rose said. “I might have flustered him, but you went in for the kill and took it,” she said. “That was phenomenal to watch.”

Sidney looked at her and blinked. “You think?”

“I know.” Amelia Rose patted her arm, and Sidney felt warmth go to her toes. “And I think your nana would be proud.”

Oh, there was a button to push. Sidney's eyes burned, and she sucked in a cold breath to stem it. No more crying. She'd done enough of that.

“Too bad you don't like small towns,” Amelia Rose said, looking out her window. “We could use a people-lawyer like you around here.”

Sidney almost choked. “People-lawyer?”

“Yes,” Amelia Rose said. “Don't look so shocked. Someone to work for the little guy, like you just did.”

Sidney chuckled. “There's something I've never been accused of. And operating out of my falling-apart car probably would be a little too much
little guy
.”

“I don't know,” Amelia Rose said. “I happen to know of an old soda shop going on the market.” Sidney met her eyes as the older woman shrugged. “I'm betting you could get it for a steal. Could be a
worthy
investment.”

Sidney faced forward again, the words bouncing around the inside of the truck. She shook her head. “That would be crazy.”

Amelia Rose smirked. “Boy, if I had a nickel.” She slapped her knee. “But—you have to go where you're happiest. So. Going back to Boston tonight?”

All Sidney's happy vibes melted away into the vinyl seat.
Back to Boston. Where you're happiest.
Once upon a time, she would have said those two things went together, but not lately. Not job-wise. And not—not now.

“I suppose I am,” Sidney said, hearing the disappointment in her own voice. “I guess the fun is over.”

This was what she'd wanted since she'd arrived yesterday. Good grief, was that just yesterday? Since she'd laid eyes on
him,
all she had focused on was being able to get the hell out of there. To get back to normal.

“Well, you do know you can come back to visit any time, don't you?” Amelia Rose asked.

“Be careful,” Sidney said, smiling. “I may take you up on that.”

“I know someone else who might appreciate it, as well,” Amelia Rose said, nodding her head sideways as they parked in front of the cottage.

Nodding in the direction of a man in worn jeans and a denim jacket over a black pullover shirt. Blowing a multitude of colored leaves with a leaf blower, corralling them into a big pile. Her chest tightened around her heart, watching him. She had to say good-bye. God, how was she going to do that?

How did a quick drive to Maine to get herself out of a pickle—get so pickled?