Page 50 of Tasting Fire
13
His mindstill on the conversation he and Emmy had about his college and career decisions, Cash pulled up to his parents’ farmhouse. The spring sunshine was rising over the mountains, splashing all the tender green growth with golden light. He got out of his truck and breathed it all in.
This.
This was why he’d never wanted to leave his hometown for long. The air was clean and cool. The people were real. And the tempo was slow.
Not that they didn’t have their problems, as evidenced by the meth monster and that clusterfuck a couple of days ago. But it didn’t have the dangerous edge of a city like Los Angeles.
Yeah, there’d been a certain high in living and learning in a city of four million people. And bunking at Grif’s swanky condo hadn’t been a hardship at all.
But at heart, Cash was a small-town boy who was happy living and working in the community he’d grown up in. Yeah, it created some limits on his career prospects, but he was proud of his work.
But could he ever be enough for Emmy? And was he crazy for even thinking this way when not so long ago he had rejected the idea of ever being involved with her again?
He gave a token knock on his parents’ front door and walked on in. “Hey, Mom. Hey, Dad,” he called out as he walked down the hallway toward the kitchen. “It’s Cash. If you’re doing something wild on the dining room table, tell me now before I walk in and am scarred forever.”
His mom’s laughter came from the kitchen. “You’re safe. Come on back!”
When he strolled inside, he found her elbow deep in some kind of… dough? Dear Jesus. In fact, Cash paused and closed his eyes to send up a little prayer to the guy upstairs for patience and gastric protection.
Because sure as hell, he’d have to eat some of whatever that culinary monstrosity was.
“Kristofferson, are you okay?” Only his mom called him by his first name. For one thing, people couldn’t spell the damn thing and the one syllable of his middle name was a lot easier than four. She rushed over and placed a goopy hand on his forehead. “I heard the flu’s been going around.”
“Mom, I’m a medical professional. I think I’d know if I had the flu.”
She patted his cheek, spreading the uncooked mixture. “They always say doctors and such make the worst patients.”
True enough.
“I’m not sick.”
“Oh, I guess you were doing a walking meditation then. Your dad’s been on me for months about meditating, but I find baking so much more soothing.”
Cash wiped away the goop on his face and tried not to look at the too-wet Mount Vesuvius on the kitchen island, but it was like a natural disaster—unnaturally compelling. “Do you know where Dad is? I need to talk to him.”
“You know, he left earlier than normal this morning, saying he needed to check on the collard greens and asparagus for this week’s farmers market. He even left without having his hibiscus tea.”
“Maybe he didn’t want to interfere with what you were doing in the kitchen.”
“That’s exactly what he said.” Yeah, Cash knew the score. His mom had already been at her mad culinary scientist gig, and his dad had gotten the hell out of Dodge. “I told him to come back mid-morning for some radish and rosemary scones.”
Ah, Mount Vesuvius mystery solved. Cash’s stomach clenched and his throat closed at the thought of having to politely partake in his mother’s baking.
The things we do for the people we love.
Was that why he was dedicated to helping Emmy have fun—because he still loved her? His mind wanted to reject the idea while his heart was thumping wildly at the possibility.
“But if you don’t want to wait for these to cook,” his mom said, “I have some kumquat muffins in the freezer.”
Her hopeful smile was all it took for Cash to nod and say, “Sure.”
She washed her hands, smearing dough all over the faucet, defiling a hand towel, and leaving a little white clump over her right ear. His heart inflated with feeling for this amazing woman who could both oversee a massive reforestation project and ruin baked goods. Cash snatched her up and swung her around in a hug. “I love you, Mom.”
Laughing and hugging him back, she said, “Someone is in a good mood. I love you, too, honey.” When he lowered her back to the ground, she grinned at him and went to the freezer for the killer muffins. “Will three be enough, or would you like four?”
Forget clenching, his entire digestive system shifted to hide behind other unsuspecting internal organs. Cash patted his stomach. “I’ve been putting on a little weight lately, and I have to pass my tac team physical again soon. Why don’t we make it just two?” And if he was lucky, he could slide the second one to his parents’ dog. “By the way, where’s Nicksie this morning?”
