How to Knit a Love Song (33 page)

She spoke slowly, concentrating on making her words as clear as possible. “I didn’t burn down your shack, you moron. I can’t believe you’d imply it. I can’t believe you’d even
think
it.”

She stood and pulled her jacket around her pajamas. Why did she have to be in her sheep pajamas for this? Wearing pink fleece while her heart broke. “I have no idea who started it. But I’m a little worried that it might be the guy I told you about from down south. In which case, I’m terrified. But you thought it was me? That’s priceless.”

Cade took two steps toward her, holding out a hand. “I didn’t mean—” he started.

But Abigail cut him off. “No. That’s not cool, Cade.” She shook her head. She wished she had bigger, better words to tell him what he’d just done to her heart. “That wasn’t cool.”

She turned in her slippers and fled, leaving the hair dryer, the mostly dry lamb, and the man she loved behind her.

Chapter Thirty-four

Believe in your skills enough to cast on again, even after failure. The next sweater will look and fit better, I promise.

—
E.C.

H
e knew she’d had customers yesterday, but had she had this many?

Cars were parked haphazardly all over the lower property. There must have been thirty of them down there.

He could practically hear them, all the way up at the barn. He knew what women sounded like when they got together over yarn and fiber. It was like they flipped into speaking a whole different language. Words like draft, and gauge, and colorways, things that didn’t make sense to him and that he didn’t want to understand.

And the cars kept coming, all day long.

Cade tried to work off the need he had to see her. He chose the farthest fence line, the one that he couldn’t get to with the truck, no way, no how. He could have taken the ATV, but instead he rode up on horseback.

He hopped over rocky outcroppings, using his hands to push and pull the lines, making sure a sheep couldn’t lean her way out. Lazy things that they were, they usually didn’t anyway, but they certainly wouldn’t now.

He tried to exhaust himself. But exhaustion was a long time coming. Seemed the harder he worked, the more amped up he got.

Finally, breathing heavily, he stood on a hill. He looked over the oak and eucalyptus below, far down to the gray ocean.

Should he make an appearance today? Would she forgive him for last night?

Cade scratched his nose and pushed back his hat. The thin sunlight wasn’t warm but he was working hard and sweating.

He thought about the flame he saw in Abigail’s eyes when she was in his bed. He’d never seen anything like that. He loved that.

He loved her.

Oh, hell.

Wasn’t love supposed to feel good? Wasn’t that what they said?

And no matter how he felt, he’d blown it, totally. He saw to that last night, first by ignoring her invitation and then capping the night off by accusing her of arson.

She hadn’t set the fire. He’d known it when her eyes met his last night, after she realized what he was accusing her of. But he should have known before that. He shouldn’t have doubted her.

The least he could do was try to apologize. He didn’t hold much hope of her buying it, but he could try. He had to try. His heart hurt in a way he’d never known before.

He rode down through his land, down toward the house, past her parking lot, ignoring the stares of women getting in and out of cars and station wagons. Why were they
staring
like that? Like he was a circus freak? It was all he could do not to make rude gestures at them.

He put up his horse and stood at the barn doors. He stared down at the line of cars snaking up from the main road in the late-afternoon sun.

“It’s something, isn’t it?”

Cade jumped. “Tom! Don’t sneak up on me like that.”

“I’ve been standing here for at least a minute, waiting on you to notice me. Looks like you’re lost in your own land.”

“Not my land I’m lost in.”

“Looks like she’s having a good start.”

“That it does.”

“You find out anything else about the fire?” asked Tom.

“Only that she didn’t set it.”

Tom laughed. Then he looked at Cade. “Oh, hell, are you serious? You actually thought she might have?”

“Why not?”

Tom said, “It’s true I haven’t spent as much quality time, let’s call it, with her as you have, but it’s obvious she’s a nice little knitter. Smart. Funny. Too good for the likes of you. Doesn’t strike me as the arsonist type.”

“Shit.”

“You actually ask her about it?”

Cade sighed.

Tom said, “You’re an idiot sometimes, ain’tcha? All due respect.”

“She thinks it might be a stalker-type guy she knew down south.”

“Scary. You going to the police?”

“Yeah, I’ll add it to my report later. Get her to give them his name.”

Tom nodded. “Be careful, boss.”

“Hey, I almost totally forgot. That lamb that’s in with the twins? The mother ewe died last night over by the trough. I haven’t had time to get out there today. Would you mind?”

“No problem. I’ll do it tonight before I leave,” said Tom.

Cade took a badly needed shower and changed into street clothes.

He couldn’t wait another minute to see her.

The walk from his house and across the driveway to the cottage seemed the longest he’d ever taken. Women lined the porch, sitting on the swing, on the stairs, chatting and laughing. They stared at him again in that same way.

Cade knew, in their minds, he was cast in the role of the cowboy. They were probably disappointed that he wasn’t wearing a six-shooter. He almost wished he was. Might give him a little more courage. His heart was beating so fast he could hear the blood rushing in his ears.

Eliza’s
. He had to admit the sign was tasteful. Small. No neon as far as he could tell. Just a wooden board with the name in script, no phone number or website listed. It was a good name, he supposed. The right name.

“Ladies,” he said, as he started up the steps.

Giggles were all he got in return. They looked like adults but sounded like teenagers.

When had she bought the screen door? Had she installed it herself? It looked like an antique. He pulled it open.

The cottage was completely different.

It was warm, and had bright, yellow walls, bookshelves full of colorful fiber, red couches. A heavy wooden table was covered with skeins of yarn that five or six women were poring over.

It looked homey, and beautiful. It looked like Eliza. And it looked like Abigail, too.

Cade’s eyes took in the room at large, but he was really only looking for one thing: Abigail.

She stood across the room, behind an old-fashioned register that was sitting on another long wooden table. Her hair had been pulled up and back somehow, leaving pieces of it hanging around her face. Her cheeks were bright pink, and she looked so…

Happy.

She looked happy.

And then she raised her eyes and saw him, and that look went away. The color drained from her face. He could actually see her paling. The smile, which had been natural and real, turned forced. Polite.

Cade felt awful. Her smile was polite, for a stranger. He had made himself a stranger to her. But he moved forward, his own smile plastered in place.

“Abigail. It looks good.”

The stricken smile straightened, and he watched her regain control. “Well, thanks. It’s not that much yet, but it will be.”

“No, it looks great.”

“Thanks again.” She turned back to the customer she’d been serving. “Here’s your receipt, and I expect you back soon to show me what you do with that. It’s a wonderful color for you.”

The customer, an older woman with short gray hair wearing a heavily cabled blue sweater and motorcycle leathers, said, “I’m so glad you’re here. No more riding to San Francisco to feed the addiction. Best of luck to you.”

Cade watched Abigail’s real smile come back. “Thanks so much.”

The customer trotted away. The last group of women followed her outside. He heard them moving toward their cars. Thank God. Now maybe she’d talk to him.

But she seemed to have no interest in doing so.

He watched while she got out paper bags and stamped them with what looked like the same logo as on the outside sign. She didn’t look up.

He reached one finger out and touched a bit of prepared fiber.

“Soft,” he said, and immediately felt like an idiot. She didn’t look up. He heard, rather than saw, the room emptying behind him. The voices moved out to the porch, and he was grateful to them.

“You scared my customers away.”

“I didn’t mean to.”

“I’m sure.” That same, thin, fake smile again. It wasn’t the smile she should be giving him.

It was no one’s fault but his.

“I’m sorry about last night.”

“About dinner? You missed a good pasta, but I enjoyed it, and I had the leftovers for lunch, so it all worked out.”

BANG. BANG
. She stamped the paper bags with such force the register bounced on the wood.

“I wanted to come over.”

“Then you should have.”

“I couldn’t.”

She rolled her eyes and went on stamping. “You’re an adult. So am I. I was disappointed.” She looked at him, no smile this time. “But I’m over it now. I have my business to run, and this sweet dog,” Abigail ruffled Clara’s ear. “That’s all I need.”

“Again, I’m really sorry. I don’t know what my problem is. Was.”

“Are you still apologizing about dinner or about accusing me of arson?”

Cade felt a desperation like none he’d ever felt before. No words were going to fix this, were going to make her eyes light up like they had two nights ago.

Abigail kept stamping her bags. Her breasts swayed ever so slightly under her shirt. In his mind, he saw the bare image of them, the way they had looked two nights ago. The way they had looked cupped in his palms. Trapped under his mouth.

Cade moved to the left, then moved forward, so quickly that he had no time to plan, and she had no time to react. He stood behind the register with her, so close he could smell her perfume. He put both hands to her face and brought his mouth down on hers.

Chapter Thirty-five

Of course, patience is only good to a point in knitting. A decision will have to be made, but you’ll know when it’s time to make the change that’s needed
.

—E.C
.

W
ithout warning, he was kissing her.

Abigail’s heart, which had been racing before he moved the counter, kicked so hard that she thought it might stop working at all.

For one brief moment, she thought about kissing him back. For a moment she knew who he was and why he was kissing her.

Then the fear kicked in.

Abigail brought up her knee sharply into Cade’s groin. As he gasped, she swung her closed fist and punched him in the eye.

Cade bent at the waist and then fell over onto the floor.

What had she done? Oh, God, it was Cade. It wasn’t Samuel.

But Cade shouldn’t have grabbed her like that.

She dropped to the ground next to him. “I’m sorry! Are you okay?”

Cade only groaned.

“What the
hell
were you thinking?” she said.

“I wasn’t,” he managed to say.

A high-pitched voice pierced the room, “So
there
you both are! I’m so lucky, I wanted a chance at both of you. If you’re not too busy.”

Abigail leaped away from Cade as if he’d burned her. Which, she thought, he had.

“You do
look
busy. Is there a better time? Should I come back?” The woman’s voice was smoothly amused.

Abigail looked at Cade on the floor, took a deep breath, pushed back her hair, and turned around.

The woman who had addressed them was only feet away. Abigail wasn’t sure how she had come so close to them so quickly. She tried to still her breathing.

She was striking, to say the least. She was tall, at least six feet, thin but perfectly curved at the bust and hips, with extremely long, red hair, a red that was between auburn and mahogany and looked expensive.

“Trixie Fletcher. Reporter-at-large, the
Independent
.” The woman stretched out her hand and Abigail automatically shook it.

“I’ll get up in just a minute,” said Cade. He groaned again, but then struggled to his feet.

He half smiled at Trixie, and she grinned back at him. Abigail instantly disliked her.

“Cade, you can vouch for my work.”

“I haven’t been a subject of yours for years.” Cade leaned on the counter with both hands. Abigail watched him take a deep breath.

Trixie nodded. “Not since you had that public fight with O’Connor about the water rights. Unless you mean a different
kind
of subject.” She laughed, an intimate sound. “Oh, we won’t bore you with the details, Abigail.” She winked at Cade, one sexy dropped lid.

Abigail never
could
manage that kind of wink. Her head hurt, suddenly, a sharp pain right between her eyes.

“But today, I’m simply here as a member of the press. I’m dying to know about your new little venture, Cade.”

He held his hands up. “Not my venture. Ask the lady here. Abigail.”

Trixie got out a pen and a small pad of paper. “I do feel like I’m intruding on something though. Do you two need a bit more time?”

Abigail shook her head. “He bet me I didn’t know self-defense. But I do, so I showed him.”

“Women in this town would have paid good money to see that,” said Trixie. “Now tell me about what you’re doing here.”

“It’s a yarn shop. And classroom space.” Abigail hoped her face didn’t reflect the curtness in her voice.

“Yes, that I know. But it’s here! That’s the best part, the part I want to capture, it’s out here in the heart of sheep country. Selling the wool, teaching people how to knit. Is it just another case of not-your-grandma’s knitting? Following the trend? Or is this something more?”