Page 17 of The Clause in Christmas
Following the scent, they rounded the corner of the dilapidated building, stumbling into one another as they halted abruptly.
Cassie watched, awestruck, as a lithe, elderly man released the lever of a ten-pound capacity air roaster and a rush of dark, crackling coffee beans spilled from the machine into a perforated cylindrical drum. After securing a lid on the drum, the man wheeled it out of the barn and into the open air. Turning a crank, the metal cylinder began to spin on its axis, aromatic smoke escaping through the perforations, accumulating in a thick cloud that rose into the somber gray sky.
“Do you know what we’re witnessing?” Cassie whispered, unable to tear her gaze from the man she assumed was Frank Barrie.
As the speed of the drum slowed from a rapid spin to a gentle tumble, Frank removed the lid and tilted the drum toward the ground, pouring the coffee beans into a large steel pan, which he deftly lifted and carried a few paces into the barn where he set it on a long wooden table.
“No clue,” Eliza murmured in a hushed tone.
Cassie didn’t respond right away, barely able to believe her own eyes. She’d visited dozens of artisan roasters in her lifetime, several of whom attempted to mimic the world-renowned Mariposa Method of coffee roasting. But none had ever been able to master it quite like Frank Barrie, who executed each step of the process effortlessly, as though they were as second nature as breathing. Cassie, like any die-hard coffee enthusiast, had studied the method, reading the groundbreaking book by the enigmatic inventor, Richard Stanton, from cover to cover several times. But never in a million years did she expect someone in Poppy Creek to know about it. Let alone a strange recluse like Frank Barrie.
Cassie noted the way his thin yet muscular forearms flexed under the labor as he scooped the beans into five-gallon glass mason jars. The man had to be at least in his early eighties. His silver hair and deep-set wrinkles depicted a hard life as well as his advanced years. Still, Frank Barrie was a handsome man in spite of his gruff exterior.
For a moment, the scene played out before her as though she were watching a documentary. Then, as she was about to clue in Eliza on what she knew, Frank glanced up, his dark eyes narrowing as his thick peppery eyebrows lowered over them.
They’d been spotted.
Cassie heard Eliza’s sharp intake of breath by her side.
“Get off my property,” Frank growled, taking a threatening step toward them.
Knees trembling, Cassie stood her ground, swallowing the fear that rose in her throat. “I’m sorry, we’re not here to bother you, but—”
“Then don’t,” he barked, stomping toward the back porch.
Cassie felt Eliza’s hand wrap around her forearm, squeezing hard.
For reasons beyond Cassie’s comprehension, she couldn’t give up yet. “I was wondering if—”
Her words were interrupted by a loud slam as Frank disappeared inside, jerking the door shut behind him.
Eliza tugged on Cassie’s arm, her voice strained as she murmured, “Let’s go. He might be back with some buckshot.”
Cassie followed Eliza’s hurried footsteps to the car, but something compelled her to glance back.
Fortunately, Frank hadn’t followed them with military-level artillery, but a sudden movement in the front window caught her eye.
The faded brocade curtains were drawn hastily.
What exactly was Frank Barrie hiding?
* * *
Luke glanced at the grandfather clock in the corner of his office, a move which didn’t go unnoticed by his friend Jack Gardner.
“Man, you’ve got it bad.” Jack’s cornflower-blue eyes crinkled in the corners as he rumbled with laughter.
Clearing his throat, Luke focused his attention on the licensing agreement spread out in front of them. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Classic rebuttal.” Jack snorted, crossing his arms in front of his broad chest as he leaned against the back of the club chair. “You haven’t stopped looking at the clock since I got here. I’d be offended, except I’m sure my company isn’t as desirable as a certain brunette I’ve seen around town.”
Luke’s stomach clenched. So, Jack had noticed Cassie, too, huh? Well, of course he had. What man in town hadn’t? Luke drew in a calming breath. It wasn’t a competition. There was no future with Cassie, anyway. She’d be leaving town in a few weeks. All feelings that may or may not be culminating were moot.
“I can see the wheels turning in that lawyer brain of yours,” Jack said with a knowing grin. “You’re convincing yourself there’s no point in pursuing a relationship with her.” Leaning forward, Jack rested his bulky forearms on the desk. “But you’d be wrong.”
Luke suppressed a groan. There were definite disadvantages to growing up in a small town where people have known you your entire life. Mind reading, for one. “Should we focus on this licensing agreement for your barbecue sauce?”
Jack grabbed a pen off the desk and twirled it between his calloused fingers. “Okay, counselor. Let’s hear your argument against the defendant. Why can’t you date Cassie Hayward?”
