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Chapter 8
Slade
"How doyou think Nan and Merry are faring?" I asked, pulling my horse up so that we were trotting alongside Blake's.
"I think you worry too much," he responded dryly. "Nan probably has Merry wrapped around her little finger and vice versa. And, by now, Merry has probably figured out that Nan isn't half as naive to what happened as she originally assumed."
I nodded. "Yeah, that was a little risky, doing that in the house like that."
"Nothing we haven't done before." Blake smirked. "Nothing you haven't, anyway."
The reminder of that fateful day set a fire in my belly and I snarled. "I can't help but feel like we did something wrong, like we missed something important."
"That's because that's who you are, a big ol' worrywart."
"Yeah, maybe." I shrugged. "You really don't feel like anything was off yesterday?"
Blake rolled his eyes at me, dismounted his horse, Lola, and began tying her to the fence in front of the pasture, digging a sugar cube from his pocket and offering it to her. "Listen, the only thing I feel is that I can't wait to do it again. With our roles reversed, this time."
I followed suit, dismounting Zeke and tying him up in a similar fashion. I couldn't repress the niggling feeling that something was wrong. It must have been all over my face, because Blake looked at me and laughed. "Talk to her, then. Make sure she's okay. That's what you do. It's why you are the Daddy and I'm the Dom."
I frowned at his insensitivity, even though I knew I should be used to it by now. "It doesn't bother you?"
"I'm not one to borrow trouble, Slade. If it turns out you are right, then we will all talk, and we'll deal with whatever it happens to be. For now, stop worrying and get to work. These fences aren't going to fix themselves and the north pasture is overcrowded. We need to get this field up and running again so that it's safe for the horses and we aren't having to spend our days chasing them all over tarnation."
Sighing, I picked up my work belt and jogged to the first post. There was a bite in the air, and storm clouds rolling in. It looked like we might be gearing up for the first storm of the season. If that was the case, there was plenty more work to be done after this.
* * *
Merry
Under Nan's watchful eye, I pulled out her well-loved, stuffed to the gills recipe box and found the section full of her Christmas cookie recipes, held together by a red paperclip in the very back of the box, just like I remembered it to be. Nan sat precariously perched on a kitchen stool at the large island in the middle of the kitchen, barking orders like she was the Queen of England. She was the queen of her kitchen; that was a fact.
"Remember, dearie, a good cook gathers all the ingredients, first. Make sure you have everything you need so there are no surprises halfway through."
Laughing, I withdrew a pink ruffled apron from the bottom drawer under the coffee pot and reveled a bit in the fact that, even though it had been years, this kitchen and everything in it was familiar. Neither Nan nor her kitchen had changed a bit.
As I tied the apron around my waist and caught Nan's eye, I was filled with a warmth I couldn't explain or describe. I had so many memories wrapped up in this very room. What little bit I could manage to cook for myself was all thanks to Nan, her stubborn perseverance, her many rules, and her insistence that we all contribute to the household as much as possible. If not for her patient teachings, I'd probably suck at this adulting stuff even more than I already did.
"Which recipe do you want to make today, Nan?" I asked, sliding the paper clip off the bundle and spreading the cards out in front of her.
She looked at the pile and picked up each one, smiling fondly, as if at the memories each one invoked, before picking up the one in the middle and flicking it with her finger. "Let's start with sugar cookies. They take the longest, and they always were your favorite."
My eyes filled with tears. It really is the little things. I couldn't believe with the forty-odd kids who had passed through this kitchen, she still remembered that her sugar cookies had been my favorite.
"Okay," I said, smiling through my tears. "Sugar cookies, it is."
"Of course, that means we'll need icing and sprinkles and all those other goodies. I wouldn't mind a few new cookie cutters, as well. They are always coming out with new stuff, and I like to keep my collection updated. We'll have to go into town."
As she spoke, thunder clapped through the air, and the branches from the oak tree in the yard pounded against the kitchen window. Unease filled my stomach as I looked at her, suddenly hit with the sinking suspicion that I'd just been bamboozled. "I don't know, Nan. It sounds like a storm. I don't think a trip to town is a good idea. Let's just make something else."
The darn woman crossed her arms across her chest and glared at me, her lips curled into a full pout. My jaw dropped. "Nan! It's a twenty mile drive to town and another twenty miles back, plus a good hour to shop, if I know you. That will severely cut into our cookie baking time, anyway. And it's really not a big deal to stay here where it's safe and save the sugar cookies for another day. It's really not."
Nan continued to pout.
I crossed my arms and glared back at her. "Don't you usually make your icing, anyway? I seem to remember that what made your cookies so great was the homemade icing."
Nan shrugged. "I'm old. And even if I weren't, I don't have the ingredients for mass quantities of homemade icing on hand, either. Easier to run to town and grab some. No big deal."
