Page 20 of Harvest His Heart
“Good apple butter’s hard to master,” I say.
Eldon’s shoulders stay squared as if he’s holding back a smile.
“Maybe you can weigh in.” He pushes the jar my way, enough urging for me to slather my bread in it.
“And the scones? Those look amazing.”
“They go quick, just so you know.”
I hesitate. Then, Cary’s voice ghosts through my head:“Have another doughnut, honey?”The old litany about my body, my everything.
I hesitate, edging closer to the big tables where cowboys eat, their hats lined up on hooks along the opposite wall. Anson’s eyes find mine, guarded, watchful. He wants me to sit with him; my stomach flutters.
“Lacey!” Ro’s voice pierces the dining room. “Come sit with me.”
I breathe a mix of relief and disappointment as I head toward the table where Willow and Ash sit. Anson’s jaw clenches, and he looks away.
“Sleep well?” Ash asks.
“Yes, thank you.”
“Good, cause last night was pure drama.”
I frown. “What happened?”
Willow shakes her head. “Chicken coop wide open. Lost some of the flock to a pack of coyotes.” She bites her bottom lip, looking down. “But I know Ro and I locked it tight last night after the evening scratch.”
“Told you,” Ash says, gulping coffee. “Strange prints in the soft dirt near the door. Someone’s trying to sabotage operations.”
My heart pounds so loudly in my temple the roar of conversation in the room feels distant.
“Chief Patrick’ll be out in a bit. Lots to discuss with him.” His eyes meet mine, steady and strong.
I shrink away from the look. I suppose he means to convey confidence. But guilt seeps into the cracks of my foundation. How much of this is my fault?
I clear my throat, steadying my voice. “Did you notice anything strange this last week? Or last month?” What I’m really asking is if the trouble came with me. I already know the answer.
“Been a helluva year. But cut fences, open coops. New to me.”
I nod, looking down sadly. I should go. Leave before any more trouble gets visited on the horse rescue.
Ro bounces. “After breakfast, Mom, Laura, Eldon, and I are gonna bake sugar cookies for fall. Want to help?”
I open my mouth, preparing the best of a thousand excuses that pop into my head. But one look at the little girl’s face, and I’m a goner. “Fall cookies. What do they entail?”
“We’ve got cool cutouts—leaves, pumpkins, acorns, trees. After that, we’ll decorate them with yellow, orange, red, and green frosting?—”
Willow butts in, reading the question in my face. “All organic, ranch-produced food coloring.”
“Seriously?” I can’t deny I’m impressed.
“Of course, if you have other plans,” she says, looking past me.
I glance over my shoulder, seeing Anson there. “So?” he drawls, nodding toward my half-eaten bread. “Eldon says you’ve got opinions about what’s missing.”
My grandmother would say there’s only one thing. My face heats, unwilling to voice it.
He lifts an eyebrow.
