Flirting with Love (7 page)

He. Had. To. Leave.

He turned her gently toward him and leaned one hand on the door beside her head. He felt her hot breath on his chin and ached to taste her, to breathe in the air from her lungs.

“Ross,” she whispered.

He touched his lips to her forehead and pressed her keys into her palm. “I’ll fix your fence before the sun’s up.” Before he could change his mind and take her in his arms, he brushed his lips over her cheek, because he couldn’t leave without a little touch, and he whispered, “Sleep well.”

Walking away from Elisabeth was the hardest thing he’d done in years.

He watched her go inside and flip the lights on while he started his car.

As he turned the truck around, he amended his thoughts. Driving away from Elisabeth was the hardest thing he’d ever done.

SUNDAY MORNING ELISABETH got up with Rocky the rooster’s call, hoping to catch Ross while he was fixing the fence. Her aunt had named Rocky the first week she’d had him, because he was cocky as hell, the way he went wherever he wanted and refused to come near her. But she’d told Elisabeth that she couldn’t exactly go around saying
that
word aloud…and now Elisabeth’s mind was on Ross, who was definitely
cocky
last night.
Oh boy, was he ever
. He’d felt so good pressed against her back. She could barely breathe as his lips touched her cheek, but why in the hell hadn’t he kissed her? She wanted a relationship, but she also wanted that kiss so badly she could practically taste it. The cold shower she’d taken before bed last night—and the one that morning—hadn’t helped much. It was impossible to ignore the heat radiating between them, no matter how much she tried to convince herself that heat like that couldn’t lead to a lasting relationship. In truth, she hadn’t tried to convince herself of that since she drove away from the clinic the first time, because maybe, just maybe, the passion igniting between them was impossible to ignore because it was really just the icing on the cake? What if beneath that icing lay something much richer, more substantial, like she’d always dreamed of?

She hurried outside and ran to the shed to get the bike. She pedaled along the dewy grass down to the other end of the pasture and felt the weight of disappointment settle like lead in her belly. True to his word, the fence was already fixed—and she’d missed seeing him. She should have just watched for his truck.
I’m so stupid
. She went back to the barn and found that not only had he fixed her fence, but he’d taken care of her morning chores. The animals were fed, the stalls were clean, and when she went to let Dolly and the goats into the pasture, she found a note stuck to Dolly’s stall with a nail.

Good morning, sleepyhead. Dolly should be safe now as long as she doesn’t sprout wings. Coffee was hot when I brought it. Your neighbor, aka farmhand, RB

She looked around for the coffee and spotted a to-go cup on the table by the door. It was tepid, but it was from Ross, which made it perfect. She pulled out her phone and texted him.

Coffee is perfect. Thank you! Sorry I missed you and I owe you big-time. Xox, E.

Ross texted back.
I like the sound of that.

How was she supposed to concentrate with that tease on the table? She went inside, and by seven o’clock her counters were covered with flour and sugar, chopped fruits, and other ingredients. The radio was on, and she moved her hips to the music as she worked through her aunt’s recipes. These pies would be her debut. Her very first order since her aunt’s death. Tomorrow she’d deliver them, and hopefully, if all went well, her pies would be as good as her aunt’s and customers would be thrilled to continue ordering. She hoped they’d even spread the word to friends and relatives.

She carefully followed her aunt’s recipes, but she had some ideas of her own in store, too. While she was at it, she cooked a batch of doggy cupcakes as a thank-you to Ross for all he’d done for her, but she promised herself she’d wait to deliver them until Monday. She’d already monopolized enough of his time. She wondered again why he hadn’t kissed her. She’d thought she’d given off an I-want-you vibe, but then again, she was better at fending men off than sexing them up.

She’d always been proud of being the opposite of her mother in that respect, although she’d let her mother believe she was far more sexually experienced than she really was. That was easier than explaining to a promiscuous mother why, at twenty-seven, she had slept with only two men. She dated often enough that her mother assumed otherwise. The truth was, as Elisabeth’s friends were sleeping around, Elisabeth was dreaming of a future in a town she hoped one day to return to, and along with that dream came a husband who had the same values she’d learned from her aunt. She knew in her heart that she was too wholesome for her mother’s liking, and that’s why her mother had stopped allowing her to spend time with her aunt each summer.
There’s a reason women don’t live like it’s the 1950s,
her mother always said.

She thought of Ross and how she’d answered his question about her relationship with her mother. She hadn’t lied, really. She and her mother did have a good relationship. It was just a relationship based on false pretenses. She’d been so hopeful that Trusty held all the right things for her, and now, having met Ross, she was even more excited.

When her phone rang at eight forty-five, she wasn’t surprised. Her mother had a standing mani-pedi Sunday mornings at seven thirty. Her manicurist worked only Sundays and Wednesdays, which suited her mother’s social calendar well, and by now, they were partially through one foot. Her mother’s mouth would be itching to gab and her hands itching to move before being constrained by wet nail polish.

“Hi, Mom.”

“Hi, sweetie. How’s farm life? Ready to come home yet?”

She pictured her mother’s long blond hair, perfectly flatironed, sweeping across the ridge of her shoulders. She’d be dressed in a Chanel suit and expensive heels, red lips carefully painted—all for her mani-pedi appointment. After high school, Elisabeth had given in to her mother’s diatribes, and she’d tried to embrace her mother’s lifestyle and to buy into her thoughts about relationships—that sexual empowerment equaled social progress and that having multiple partners meant she was climbing some important, invisible ladder. She arrived at college her freshman year with her virginity intact and quickly realized that the minute the guys she’d dated found out, their sole goal became taking it from her. She’d finally given in and slept with a producer’s son after six promising dates, but the following week he’d gone away on location and she never heard from him again. Trying to fit in and please her mother had cost her her virginity. She wasn’t a prude by any means. She
wanted
to fall in love and have wild, passionate, meaningful sex, but she wanted to have that sex on
her
terms. When she was ready. When she
wanted
to give her heart and body to a man in that way. She realized only too late that her virginity had meant something to her, and she could never get that back. She quickly gave up the feigned interest in fashion and pretentious conversations and let her mother continue to believe she was more like her than her aunt. It wasn’t the most honest relationship in that regard, but it made for an easier one with her mother. She was surely born to the wrong Nash sister. And she’d closed herself off even further—until Robbie. She pushed thoughts of him aside and answered her mother.

“I’m not coming home, Mom. We talked about this. I want to make a go of it.” She pulled the cupcakes out of the oven and set them aside to cool.

“Oh, I know, sweetie, but you know I have to ask. I miss having you in the same city.”

She pictured her mother sitting in a pedicure chair, her Botoxed forehead as clear and smooth as Elisabeth’s. Elisabeth breathed a little easier being away from that pressure. She glanced down at her cutoff shorts and the work boots she’d picked up last week at Target. Her mother would keel over if she knew Elisabeth had shopped at Target, but Elisabeth had enjoyed it. There weren’t any
click, click, clicks
of stilettos on marble, and women were holding their children’s hands instead of cell phones. Trusty was exactly what she remembered from her summer visits. Well, everything except Ross. He was the best surprise.

“I know, Mom. Guess what I did this morning?” She smiled, knowing her mother was rolling her eyes to go with her sigh. “Oh, Mom. It’s not that bad. I fed my baby piglet, Kennedy, with a bottle. Isn’t that a hoot?”

“A hoot? You sound like you’re from that dinky town. Oh, honey, I hope you know I only kept you here in LA for your own good and that you don’t forget all of the cultured things you learned about the world.”

Her mother had told her that often, and Elisabeth still didn’t know what to make of it. Cultured? She’d learned how to schmooze, live life on a hamster wheel, and that men treated women like trains—ride one after another and never look back.

She breathed deeply.
Don’t get caught up in her world. Let it go.
She exhaled a long, calming breath, then drew her shoulders back and set her eyes on the boots she had quickly come to love with a smile.

“I know, Mom.”

“Are there even any good-looking men in
Trusty
, Colorado? The name itself has me conjuring up overalls and beer bellies.” Before Elisabeth could answer, her mother said, “Oh, sweetie, I have to run. They’re ready to do my nails. Love you.” She blew two kisses into the phone and ended the call.

A minute later her phone vibrated with another text from Ross.
BTW, careful saying you owe a guy big-time. We guys love big times.

There were good-looking men in Trusty, and one of them was thinking about her right now. She wasn’t missing a darn thing.

MID-MONDAY MORNING, donning a pretty summer dress and heels, with a
TRUSTY PIES
cooler and a stomach full of butterflies, Elisabeth went to deliver her first pie order. Aunt Cora had a list of standing orders, and Elisabeth was determined not to lose a single customer. They’d been gracious enough to give her a few weeks to unpack and get settled, and she hoped they wouldn’t be disappointed.

Margie Holmes at Trusty Diner was first on her list. Elisabeth had already learned that the diner was the hub of Trusty. Everyone and their brother ate there. She’d gone in for coffee a few times, and she knew who Margie was—she also knew that Margie was quite inquisitive, as she’d asked her a million questions the first time she’d gone in.

The diner smelled like eggs, bacon, and coffee. Every table and booth was taken, and two waitresses called out orders and hustled to deliver them. Elisabeth stood by the register and waited. The waitresses wore pink uniforms with white aprons, with their names embroidered above their left breasts. She spotted Margie filling up a coffee mug and chatting with an old man. She had a friendly smile that didn’t falter as she set the mug on the counter in front of him, then filled two more. A bell rang and the word “up” sailed into the air from a pass-through in the wall that Elisabeth could see led to the kitchen. Margie grabbed the plates, checked them against her order sheet, and smiled through the pickup window.

“Thanks, Sam.” She delivered the coffee and food to a table in the corner and was back in an instant. Margie did a quick once-over of Elisabeth’s outfit. Her lips curved up in a way that could mean she thought Elisabeth looked pretty—or completely out of place.

Elisabeth felt a little queasy.

“Hi there, sugar,” Margie said. “You looking for a seat? Gonna be a few minutes.”

“No, actually, I’m Elisabeth Nash from Trusty Pies. I have a pie order for you.” How could Margie not recognize her? Everyone else in this town seemed to know exactly who she was.

A couple at a nearby table looked her over as Margie had and gave her one of those stink-eye looks that made her skin crawl. She held her head up high, remembering Ross’s words.
To people around here, you’re a stranger, because you didn’t grow up here. They’ll come around.
As much as it stung, he was right. They didn’t know her. She took a deep breath and smiled at the couple. All she needed was time for them to get to know her and they’d come around.

She hoped.

Margie’s eyes dropped to the cooler by her feet. “I’m sorry. I know who you are, but I missed the cooler.” She leaned in close. “Don’t let anyone know it got by me. I’ve got a reputation to uphold. Eagle eyes and elephant ears.” She winked and nodded to the door to the kitchen. “Take it right back there, sugar. Sam’ll get you all set up.”

“Pies coming back,” Margie called into the kitchen.

The kitchen smelled like a morning buffet: eggs, buttery toast, bacon, sausage, and pan-fried potatoes. Elisabeth had been so busy baking—and thinking of Ross—that she had totally forgotten to eat breakfast.

“Set ’em on the racks.” Sam was a balding, big-bellied man with jowls that jiggled when he turned and beady eyes that weren’t smiling.

Elisabeth set the pies on the rack. “I added an extra pie. Raspberry apricot. I thought you might want to try it.”

Sam grunted something inaudible.

“It smells so good in here. You must be an amazing cook.” She smiled at him, but he never looked up to see it. He grumbled again, and Elisabeth took that as her cue to leave.

The rest of the deliveries didn’t go any better. She’d had four stops, each of which began with a once-over and ended with a grunt or something just as reluctant. She drove down to Wynchels’ Farm to end her errands on a nicer note and clear her mind from the unpleasant interactions. She needed more goat milk for Kennedy. She’d bought some at the store in town, but she preferred fresh. And the idea of a farmers’ market conjured up images of smiling farmers and colorful fruits and vegetables. She smiled at the thought, feeling hopeful for a happier end to her afternoon.

The driveway to Wynchels’ Farm was buffered on both sides by trees and wound through acres of orchards before finally ending at a gravel parking lot. Elisabeth parked in the lot and two big dogs ambled over. She loved them up, noting their tangled fur, then followed hand-painted wooden signs that read,
STORE IN BARN.
The barn was enormous, built of weathered wood, and inside, it smelled of a mixture of fruit and hay. Elisabeth stood in the doorway and inhaled deeply as she drank it all in. She’d always imagined buying fresh fruits and vegetables from a place like this, with row after row of tables topped with baskets of produce, freshly picked, and actually on a farm rather than a farm stand in the middle of a city block. The wall to her left was lined with freezers and glass-front refrigerators, filled top to bottom with fresh bottles of milk, freshly made butter, freshly laid eggs, and homemade jams. A few feet in front of her was a large counter with scales, two cash registers—the old-fashioned type with heavy metal drawers and a pull-down lever on the side. Behind the counter stood a thick-waisted woman wearing overalls. Her straight gray hair was cut just below her ears, and her fingers flew over the register as she moved items from the scale to the other side of the counter.