Pennyroyal Christmas (A Ruthorford Holiday Story Book 1) (4 page)

She unfolded a long legal document. It was the deed to the cabin. Mark Garrett assigned ownership to Elizabeth Browne Chance. Mark Garrett? She didn’t remember her mother mentioning that name, even when talking about the cabin. According to the attorney, it was now Kat’s, a direct inheritance from her mother. Paid for—every inch. All ten acres, cabin and outbuildings. She had no idea it had that much land. Outbuildings? She really hadn’t looked.

Unfolding her long legs, Kat pulled her heavy coat off the hall tree, grabbed some gloves, and slapped her leg, bringing Tramp on the run. She stepped out onto the front porch and pulled the collar of her coat tighter. God, it was cold. The wind whipped against her, sending leaves scurrying across the dirt. Tramp was off like a shot, chasing a mini wind devil filled with swirling orange leaves.

Kat walked around the porch and stepped off the back end, looking around her. She knew where they’d cut through on the trail the other day, but didn’t see a sign of it now. The land sloped down in the back and meandered until it came to the fence bordering Rowe’s ranch. She wondered if his father was still alive.

To her right, a gravel path led away from the cabin. She followed it under it until the undergrowth disappeared and she stood before another cabin, this one much smaller and comprised of more stone than wood. A large padlock secured the huge double doors, so she skirted the building looking for windows. Three small windows dotted each side. She peered in. It was rather neatly arranged and, from what she could see, it had a solid floor.
Hot Damn!
She pushed on the windows, trying each in turn. None gave. Kat walked back to the front and yanked on the lock. That wasn’t going to do a thing. She’d have to call someone…her attorney. No. She’d call Brenda. She’d said she’d taken care of the place, after all. She had to have a key.

With renewed vigor, Kat called Tramp and headed back to the main cabin. She opened doors and drawers until she found what she was looking for—a
 
tiny phone book not any thicker than a magazine. She whipped out her cell and closed it again. No service. She sat on the couch and pulled the ancient phone over to the cushion. Shit. Had Brenda mentioned her last name? She smiled and turned to the front of the small phone book. United States Post Office. Skipping the toll free numbers, she looked for the local number, and dialed.

“United States Postal Service. Ruthorford branch,” the sweet voice answered.

“Brenda?”

“This is she. How may I help you?”

“It’s Kateri Chance. I have a question.”

There was a moment of silence, then, “What can I do for you?”

Kat explained and waited for Brenda to answer. “Kat, let me check at home. I must have that key somewhere. It’s been years since anyone was in there. I’ll let you know.”

“No rush. But thanks, just the same.”

“I’ll get back to you.”

Kat had just put away her lunch dishes when she heard a car drive up. Glancing out the window, she saw Brenda approaching the porch. The woman moved like a twenty-year old. Kat opened the door as Brenda reached the top step. “You didn’t have to come out here.”

“Well, honey, you got my curiosity up. And I found the key.”

“Great!” Kat reached for the key.

“Get your coat,” Brenda said.

“Yes, ma’am.” Kat laughed, donned the heavy parka and pulled the door closed behind them. They made their way back to the little building.

Brenda stopped and stared. “Until you mentioned it, I’d forgotten this was even here.”

The lock had to be worked a bit, but it finally gave and Kat pulled open the wide doors. Everything was covered in a thin layer of dust, a testament to time. It was obviously a workshop of some sort. There was a bench along one wall under the window. On the wall hung tools of every kind. Chairs and tables were stacked in the corners.

“I’ve got to get back,” Brenda said, her voice cracking.

Kat turned to respond, but all she saw was the woman’s back. She was almost running down the short path. Kat started after her but heard the engine and the tires on gravel before she could get around the building.
That was odd.

Kat returned to the building, looking closely at the walls, tracing out the wiring and looking for a breaker box. When she found it, she pulled open the door, checked the wiring and smiled. Kat all but ran out of the building, remembering to close the doors at the last moment. She couldn’t believe how lucky she was. It was as though it had been built with her in mind.

A quick call to the studio and her equipment and supplies were on the way. Once they’d called her back to confirm, she’d run back out, swept out the place and measured, planning out the placement of each piece. Kat moved the contents of the workshop into one area, carefully packing away the woodworking tools, in case someone might claim them.

Dirtier than the workshop, Kat headed up to the main cabin. She found a white piece of paper taped to the door. Sometime during the day, while she’d been cleaning the workshop, the oil guy had come and taped the receipt to the door. Did everyone in this quirky little town carry tape in their pocket? She now had two hundred gallons of oil. That should be enough for the winter. Truthfully, she had no idea if it would be, but it sounded like a lot. She figured she’d ask the guy at Merc’s—or Rowe, for that matter—the next time she saw one of them.

Kat showered and, sipping an RC, she tried to contact Brenda, but the post office had shut its doors for the night. Next, she called Teresa to RSVP on the Thanksgiving gathering and offered to bring something. Thank God Teresa had declined because Kat definitely was not any great shakes in the kitchen.

A couple of days later, when the delivery truck finally arrived, her studio, as she was beginning to think of it, was more than ready. She’d rearranged the long table under a different window for better light. Her equipment had been crated and put in storage before she left Virginia, not knowing when or where she would end up. This was as good a place as any.

She’d paid extra for the company to move her equipment, yet when they were done and everything was set up, she’d given the guys $100.00 each for their efforts, knowing how heavy the tools of her trade were. She was thoroughly satisfied with herself. In fact, she was beginning to feel like her old self again.

She spun around at the whistle behind her and saw Rowe sitting atop Pharaoh, his hat pushed back. It had been a while and she’d begun to think Thanksgiving was going to be a solo event.

“That’s some get-up.” He nodded toward her equipment.

“Yep,” she drawled and shielded her eyes against the sun framing him. “Want a tour?”

“I do. But first, if you’ve got a moment, I want to take you for a quick ride.”

“I’m pretty dusty.”

“You look fine.” He smiled at her and extended his hand.

“Let me lock up.” She pulled the doors closed.

Rowe laughed. “
This
you lock up. But not the house.”

“I have my priorities,” she defended. Tramp was running in circles around Pharaoh, who stood still, the only hint of annoyance was a slight twitch of his ears when the dog got behind him. Kat followed Rowe over to the porch and stepped up as he pulled alongside.

“You ride behind me today. Take my arm and just throw your leg over and hang on.”

He was astounded that, without a second thought, she did exactly as she was told and was soon nestled up close, her arms wrapped around his waist. He let himself smile as he felt the warmth of her body against him.

He turned Pharaoh and headed down the drive and onto the fire lane. It was then he let Pharaoh go, Tramp running alongside. He felt her tighten her grip but became one with him and the horse and soon they were in front of the River Branch Ranch. He slowed and turned up the lane.

“Where are we going?”

“To the ranch. You’ve never been.”

“Oh.” It was almost a whisper. “Your family?”

“It’s just me and John now. Our father passed on a couple of years ago.”

“I’m sorry.” She said and looked around him to try to see the ranch. Rolling pastures, fenced in black, bordered the lane. Ahead, atop a hill sat the ranch house, nestled under large trees. It was one story, post and beam, and huge. Other than a large outbuilding to the right, she suspected the rest of the farm buildings lay behind it. “It’s beautiful,” she said.

“Yeah, it is. I don’t say that because it’s my home. Sometimes, it takes my breath away. I’ll be driving up, worrying about the farm and just stop and look up the hill and grin.”

He stopped in front, swung his leg over Pharaoh’s neck, slid down, turned, and held up his arms. This time, when she went into them, he didn’t hold her but stepped away and looped the reigns over an old-fashioned hitching post.

Tramp jumped onto the porch. “Not here, boy,” she stroked his back. “You keep Pharaoh company.” Tramp emitted a tiny whine before lying down and putting his head on his paws, just to let her know exactly what he thought of the idea.

“He sure does mind you well.”

She shrugged. “We have an understanding.”

Rowe opened the door and stood back to let Kat enter first.

She stepped onto the wide plank flooring and slipped off the coat he’d grasped from behind. She took a few steps forward into the wide greatroom. A stone fireplace sat perpendicular to a massive expanse of windows overlooking the back property. The room and the view were equally magnificent. Oxblood leather covered the two chairs flanking a black suede couch.

“It’s fabulous.”

“I like it. Can I get you a drink?” he asked as he walked to the left. It was open straight through to a huge kitchen. Black stained cabinets surrounded stainless steel and granite. A wide plank table, which could easily sit ten people, stretched in front of the island. He pulled two Cokes in glass bottles from the refrigerator and popped the caps on an opener on the wall. “Ice?”

“No. Thanks,” she added absently as she approached the mantle. In the center sat one of her sculptures. It was of him, but as she’d seen him in her head—in her heart. He was bare-chested. A breechcloth covered the front and back of buckskin leggings, showing the defined muscles of his hips. He stood, arms away from his sides and fist clenched, his head raised toward the heavens, pain etched on his face. His hair hung long and loose.

She turned to him. “How did you…?”

He lifted the statue and turned it over, rubbing his thumb over the KC imprinted in the clay. “John found it on a trip to Virginia. It was in a studio window. It stopped him and he had to go see it. He knew it was me. I don’t think he realized who did it, when he bought it for my birthday. I knew, then, that you were somewhere in Virginia.”

She gently took it in her hands. The artist within unconsciously smoothed her fingers over the surface in reverence—an act of love.

His response was anything but reverent. He took a swig of the cold Coke.

She smiled and set it back on the mantle. “Where is John?”

“He had business in Virginia.” He took the bottle from her hand and set it on the sofa table, along with his. If he didn’t taste her right this moment, he knew he would sink into some sort of purgatory. He cupped her chin with his fingers and tilted her head up toward his. His eyes fell into the gold of hers and he felt her breath caress him as he took her mouth. Her lips were soft and warm and parted slightly. He accepted the invitation and deepened the kiss, pulling her into his arms. He heard her soft moan and thought he’d died and gone to heaven, when her soft arms eased around his neck. He was ready to carry it a whole lot further than even he’d hoped for when Tramp let out a sharp bark. He backed away, watching as she slowing opened her eyes, dilated into deep amber pools. His gut clinched.

“Pharaoh.” His voice sounded harsh.

“I really need to get back.” She started walking toward the front hall.

“I’ll take you back in the truck. Give me a moment to take care of Pharaoh. You can wait here.”

“I think I’ll come outside, if you don’t mind. I can use the fresh air.”

“Yeah. Me, too.”

Chapter Three

Thanksgiving Day dawned bright and crisp. Kat put the last minute touches on the hostess gift she’d wrapped for Teresa. It was perfect. While unpacking her supplies, she’d found the gray tabby she’d sculpted years ago, in remembrance of the big tabby that stayed curled up on one of the wicker cushions on the deep front porch of the Abbott Bed & Breakfast. She hadn’t even realized she still had the old piece. It was rather primitive compared to her more current pieces, but she loved it nevertheless. She hoped Teresa would, as well.

She heard the tap on the door and Tramp’s nails tapping out a welcome. Kat caught her reflection as she passed the mirror in the hall and welcomed the familiar look. She wore a soft teal colored sweater over charcoal pants. Charcoal suede flats and a grey and teal scarf completed the ensemble. Yep, she’d transformed into artist Kateri Chance, just for the occasion.

He let out a slow whistle as she opened the door. She stepped back to let him in.

“Not bad, yourself,” she called over her shoulder as she went to retrieve the gift and her grey suede jacket.

“Tramp, I think you will get in less trouble inside.” The big dog stepped inside, his head lowered slightly.

“Don’t pout. I left a treat in your bowl.”

The head came up and the tail moved a quick back and forth, brushing her legs as he trotted passed them and straight to his bowl.

“I swear that dog understands you.” Rowe shook his head.

“Of course he does.” She smiled and headed out the door, handing him the key. “Don’t forget to lock it,” she chided.

As they drove down Main Street, cars already lined both sides of the divided road. People walked down the sidewalks toward the inn, goodies in hand.

“Probably ought to go ahead and park,” Rowe commented. “Do you want me to drop you off?”

“Rowe, it’s not
that
far.”

He pulled the truck into a spot and killed the engine. He was around the truck before she’d gathered the package and reached for the handle.

“I think I’ll leave my jacket. It’s pretty warm.”

“I can always run get it, if you need it later.” He took her hand to help her step down.

Kids ran along the side of the huge Victorian, around the fountain nestled in a pool, to disappear into the back, their voice raised in squeals of delight. People chatted on the porch. She and Rowe stepped inside to the smells of herbs, food, and sweets. Every room downstairs was transformed for dining. The huge buffet along the side wall of the main dining room was laden with meats and side dishes of every kind—a true Groaning Board. Dessert and beverage stations were set up all throughout the various rooms.

Teresa emerged from the kitchen carrying a tray. Rowe was there in two long paces, taking the tray from her hands. She pointed him toward the buffet. He nodded and was off, having obviously performed the function before. Teresa came over and put her arms around Kat.

“I’m so glad you came. It’s rowdy, but fun.”

Suddenly shy, Kat held out her gift. “It’s not much, but I thought of you.”

Teresa’s eyes gleamed. “I love surprises.” She took the package and unwrapped the cat curled up with a lazy look on her face. “It’s Sugarbear!” Teresa cried and her voice hitched.

Teresa lifted the sculpture in the air and announced, “It’s Sugarbear!” People gathered around her to see. “I have a KC original and it’s Sugarbear.” Her eyes gleamed with tears as she threw she arms around Kat. She walked over to the lobby’s front desk and gingerly placed her precious cat sculpture in a prominent, but safe, place. Teresa stroked it once before turning back to Kat. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure,” Kat gave Teresa a hug. “I’m glad you like it. I did it years ago.”

She led Kat toward the main dining room. “If you don’t know anyone, just ask them. You aren’t expected to remember—even if they think you do. It’s been a long time. I’ve got to get back in the kitchen before Bill has a fit.” She planted a kiss on Kat’s cheek and was gone.

Rowe appeared at her side as quickly as Teresa has disappeared. “That was incredibly sweet of you. Sugarbear died last year. It was hard on everyone. She’d become such an icon of the B & B.” He took her hand and pressed a kiss on her fingers.

They meandered from group to group. Once introduced, she vaguely remembered Miss Alice and Miss Grace, sisters known for their pies. Mr. Cox, the elderly man she’d encountered at Merc’s, asked if there was anything special she wanted him to keep in stock. The place flowed with people and more kept coming. She noticed there seemed to be an equal number of Native Americans as townsfolk, now understanding the reference on the invitation “a gathering of Townsfolk and Tribes.” She tried to remember back but couldn’t recall ever seeing this many Native Americans in town at one time.

“We really only come to town on special occasions, or if we’re needed,” Rowe leaned into her and answered the unasked question. His breath was warm against her neck. She tried to think of something witty to say but found herself taking a deep breath instead, drawing in his scent. When she turned her head, she found him watching her, his black eyes glowing.

She took a step closer, as if pulled by some invisible force. They stood but a breath apart, their bodies in silent accord. Suddenly aware of their surroundings, she stepped back.

He squeezed her hand. “I’ll explain sometime.”

She raised a single brow.

He let out a low laugh. “The Ruthorford thing. It’s not what you think.” At her look, he added. “We do have a shop in town now. Elements. I think you’d like the pottery.”

“I’d love to see it,” her eyes twinkled in anticipation.

For such a throng of people, dinner flowed smoothly. People found seats. There was no particular seating arrangement. People seemed to be sitting with people they didn’t normally see, catching up and exchanging stories. She and Rowe sat a huge round table with Teresa, several people from the outskirts, as well as several people from town. The kids gravitated toward the sunroom.

With plates overflowing and seats found, a hush came over the B & B as a tall thin man stood and gave thanks for the bounty and the friendship. He ended with “may our unity always overcome adversity and give us peace and light.” It ended with a resounding “Amen.” Then, joyful chaos reigned. Kat couldn’t remember when she’d eaten so much or laughed so hard.

They were perusing the dessert tables when Brenda approached with Teresa. Teresa spoke, “You’ve met Brenda Garrett,” she said.

“Yes. I have,” she told Teresa and turned to Brenda, “Thanks for all your help.”

“No problem. Anytime,” Brenda replied as Rowe leaned over and placed a loud, friendly kiss on her cheek.

“I love this woman,” he announced. “Seriously. I asked her to marry me.”

Brenda swatted at him and winked at Kat. “He was all of eleven, but he had good taste then, too.”

“You were my first rejection.” He placed his hand over his heart.

“Probably your only rejection,” she teased.

Kat laughed.

Someone motioned to Teresa, holding up a phone. “If you’ll excuse me.”

“How are you settling in?” Brenda asked.

“Very well. Thanks.” She studied the older woman. There was something nagging at her brain, but for the life of her she couldn’t finger it.

Brenda looked at her with twinkling eyes. “Are you going to join us in our traditional Ruthorford Black Friday?”

Kat turned to Rowe.

He jumped in to explain. “It’s a tradition here in Ruthorford to open all the shops extra early on the Friday after Thanksgiving. Everyone comes in and shops ‘til they drop, finishing with holiday cheer served here at the B & B. I figured with you leaving town tomorrow….” He looked a little uncomfortable.

“Oh?” Brenda tilted her head and looked at Kat.

“I’m sorry. I’ve already arranged to fly up to Virginia tomorrow. It sounds wonderful. If I’d known…. do you think there’ll be anything left when I get back?”

“I’m sure,” Brenda said, then added, “if you don’t stay away too long.”

Kat knew Brenda was fishing and granted the woman her due, “I should be back sometime the beginning of the week.”

“Oh, good. Excellent. Now, I think I’ll go get some of Miss Grace’s pumpkin pie.”

“Rowe,” Kat said, looking at her watch, “I really do need to get home and pack.”

“Let’s find Teresa, then.”

By the time they’d made their way out of the building, Rowe was carrying a bag of goodies for later. It took almost twenty minutes just to say goodbye. Her trip plans had already circulated and she was wished well on her travel and asked if there was anything anyone could put aside or purchase for her in her stead. She figured she was going to be inundated with Ruthorford memorabilia when she returned.

They strolled to Rowe’s truck, her arm tucked in his. “Take a good look around,” he said. “When you return all this will be gone and the Christmas season will have arrived.”

“You’re kidding.” She couldn’t help but take in all the fall decorations. Even the fountains were surrounded with flowers bright in oranges, golds, reds, and purples. “That’s a shame. This is so beautiful.”

“You just wait. Christmas in Ruthorford is like nothing you’ve ever seen. It will get colder day by day and we’ll have some sort of white stuff on or around Christmas.”

Kat’s mouth hung open. “Snow?”

“No joke,” he said and handed her into the truck.

****

The flight to Virginia was uneventful. Unfortunately, that seemed to be where Kat’s luck ended. She had been specific when she’d arranged to rent a large SUV or van at the airport—something she could load up and drive back to Georgia herself. Kat was not thrilled with the small sedan she was driving, but it was all they had, thanks to someone screwing up the instructions. Now, she’d have to arrange for someone to move whatever she chose—not that she anticipated choosing much, just something to remember her mother by. Well—and the sculptures she’d sent her mom every year on her birthday.

She glanced over at the manila envelope on the seat next to her. Inside was a letter from her father’s partner and the key to the house, a house she’d never stepped foot in. When he’d called her, he’d been kind but rather matter-of-fact. Per her father’s will, the house and the company went to his partner. Since the partner had no interest in the house, he was turning it over to a realtor to handle. He wanted Kat to have a chance to take whatever she wanted before he did. She had no clue if the partner knew she’d been estranged from her parents—no, that wasn’t exactly right—her father. Her mother she talked to on the phone occasionally, when her mom could sneak away and make a call. She’d gotten a post office box where Kat sent her presents, cards, or an occasional clipping. Kat reminded herself to make sure her lawyer sent a notice to the post office.

The last time Kat had seen her parents in person had been at the Atlanta airport thirteen years ago. Her mother’d hugged her tight and tried to hold back the tears, while her father showed no expression whatsoever. Wouldn’t even touch her.

Why had her falling for Rowe been so offensive to him?

Well, now she would never know. She’d gone to live with his sister, not the warmest woman in the world, and had left from there for college. It was in college she’d learned to sculpt and mold. They said she had a rare talent and had arranged a showing her first year, which sold out. Kat found her calling and never looked back. As soon as she was supporting herself, she’d taken the checks he’d sent and put them aside for her mother, just in case she ever wanted to leave the son of a bitch. Unfortunately, she hadn’t and now she never could.

She’d gotten the call from her aunt, dry-eyed and factual. There’d been an accident. They’d gone out on the boat, the first time out that year. Something had happened. The propane stove, they figured from the wreckage. Parts of her mother had been recovered. Kat shivered at the memory. There’d been nothing left of her father. His partner declared him dead six months later to start the probate. Her mother was buried next to her grandmother, in a tiny cemetery in Kentucky. Her father—she hoped the fishes fed well.

Kat followed the GPS to Route 58 and turned off that onto a small road that led to an old two-story farmhouse sitting on a couple of acres of land. Other than the overgrown grass, the property appeared to be in good shape. She took the key out and opened the antique door with its etched glass oval window. It swung open onto gleaming hardwood floors. A slight smell of dust was the first thing she noticed. Then some mail on a table in the hall. She couldn’t resist and flipped through the envelopes. They were all addressed to her father, Douglas Chance. Figures. She let them fall back into place.