Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
By the time the sun cleared the ridge the next day, TJ had already been at work for over an hour.
He’d mucked stalls, stacked hay, checked the water troughs, and fixed a fence rail by an outbuilding that could have waited.
His arms ached and sweat stung his eyes.
That was fine. It kept him from thinking about coffee shops, museums, and women who were quick to point out he was leaving anyway.
He tossed another flake of hay into a broodmare’s hay rack. The soft snorts of the horses as they moved around their stalls filled the barn. The sounds were steady and grounding. Animals and work didn’t ask questions. He’d be alone with his thoughts.
“Well, I’ll be,” a voice drawled behind him. “A man could get used to this sight.”
TJ turned to see his father leaning on the stall door, coffee mug in hand, amusement written all over his weathered face. “Couldn’t sleep,” TJ said, straightening.
“Uh-huh.” Charles Jones took a slow sip from his mug. “That why you’re trying to outwork your brothers before breakfast?”
TJ left the stall and stared at the flakes of hay he’d stacked into a wheelbarrow. He leaned against the wall. “Just keeping busy.”
His father’s brow furrowed slightly. “Busy’s good. Busy’s also what men do when they’re thinking too much.”
“Dad, I’m not…”
“Mm-hmm.” Charles stepped closer and kicked at some straw with his booted foot. “So, this wouldn’t have anything to do with that pretty girl you worked the booth with?”
TJ went still. “What makes you think that?”
Charles chuckled. “Boy, I’ve been married to your mother for thirty-five years. I know the look of a man trying to hide his feelings.”
TJ huffed out a short laugh. “You should write a book.”
“Wouldn’t sell half as well as those self-help things you read,” he said. “But I’ll give you a free chapter. When you find something worth staying for, don’t talk yourself out of it.”
TJ met his father’s eyes. “She thinks I’m leaving. And she’s right. I probably am.”
“Probably?” Charles asked.
TJ wiped a hand across his forehead. “The research position in New Zealand. It’s a good opportunity.”
“Son,” Charles said, his tone gentler now. “If you’re running toward opportunity, that’s one thing. But if you’re running away from something, that’s another.”
TJ didn’t answer. His father’s words hit too close to home.
Charles tipped his mug in farewell. “Breakfast will be ready when you quit punishing yourself.” He left the stall area of the arena and started toward the house.
He stopped up short and called over his shoulder.
“And tell your mother if you’re staying for lunch.
She’s threatening to cook enough for an army again, hoping you’ll be joining us. ”
When his father disappeared, the barn fell quiet except for the usual soft rustle of horses shifting in their stalls.
TJ leaned against the wall again and stared at the ground.
He’d spent years chasing discovery across the world.
But right now, the only mystery he wanted to solve was why one stubborn barista could make Clear Creek feel like the hardest place to leave.
An hour later, TJ finished taking care of horses and put the wheelbarrow away.
His arms hung heavy at his sides. He listened to the gelding’s tail thump against the wall of the stall he’d just been in.
The smell of straw and saddle soap clung to everything, and it reminded him of being a kid.
Before he’d grown up and started chasing his dreams across the globe.
He walked down the aisle to the other end of the building and leaned against the door jamb.
From the wide opening he overlooked the pastures, his gaze drifting toward the mountains.
Mist clung to the tree dotted hills leading up to them.
It might be a while before the sun burned it off.
It was a beautiful sight. He should be at peace out here. He wasn’t.
“Thought I’d find you hiding in the barn,” came a voice behind him.
TJ turned to see Ethan standing there, hands in his pockets, grin firmly in place.
“You say that like it’s unusual.”
“For you? Nah. You brood like it’s a competitive sport.” Ethan walked over and grabbed a handful of hay from a bale. “So, what’s got the great explorer of Cornwall all tied in knots? Jet lag? Girl trouble? Existential dread?”
TJ snorted. “Something like that.”
Ethan smirked. “Right, so… girl trouble.”
Before TJ could answer, another voice chimed in. “Told you he’d be out here,” said Caleb. He marched down the aisle, Luke right behind him. Caleb was the practical one. A little too serious at times and blunt. Luke, on the other hand, was all teasing grins and mischief. Much like Ethan.
“I can’t even muck out stalls in peace,” TJ muttered.
Luke leaned against the gate that separated the aisle from the massive arena. “We’re just making sure you haven’t decided to run off to New Zealand yet. Mom’s been pacing the kitchen since dawn.”
TJ rolled his eyes. “It’s not a done deal.”
“Good,” Caleb said. “We could use the help around here. Besides, you’ve been gone long enough. Time you remembered what steady work feels like.”
Ethan elbowed him. “Ignore Captain Responsibility. But I think you should stay, too. That way Mom will finally stop trying to marry me off.”
Luke laughed. “Yeah, she’ll shift her focus to you. About time someone else took one for the team.”
TJ shook his head but couldn’t help a chuckle. “You’re all heart, you know that?”
“Hey, I’m just saying,” Ethan replied with a grin. “Stick around a while. You never know what you might find. Might even be that big adventure you’ve been chasing is right here.”
TJ leaned back against the door jamb, arms crossed. “You sound like Dad.”
Ethan shrugged. “He’s not wrong.”
Caleb folded his arms too. “And what happens when the wanderlust hits again? You’ll pack up and go, same as before. You’re not built for small-town roots, brother. Don’t pretend you are.”
The words hit harder than he wanted them to. TJ let out a slow breath. “Maybe. But lately, I’m not so sure.” The quiet settled in again, the only sound the distant clank of a gate out in the pasture. Their father must be turning some of the horses out for a few hours.
Luke broke the silence. “Mom’s already planning to bring pie over to Pleasant Beans this afternoon. Probably wants to ‘check in’ on you, and drum up some friendly competition with those old folks working there.”
TJ groaned. “Fantastic.”
Ethan grinned. “Could be worse. She could bring Grandma.”
That earned a collective shudder from all of them. Their grandma was nothing like Grandma Waller or even Irene. Hmmm, he could only imagine what would happen if he put his grandmother in the same room with Irene Dunnigan.
“Fine,” TJ said, shaking his head. “You win. I’ll stay a little longer. But if Mom starts talking weddings, I’m blaming you three.”
Ethan clapped him on the shoulder. “Deal.”
As they left the building and headed toward the house, TJ looked at the arena one last time. The morning felt lighter, but the ache in his chest hadn’t gone anywhere. Maybe Caleb was right. Perhaps he wasn’t built for roots.
But when he pictured leaving, all he could see was Lila, and somehow, that made the idea harder to swallow than ever before.
By early afternoon, Pleasant Beans smelled like heaven.
Cinnamon, coffee, and a hint of nutmeg from the muffins Grandma brought, hung in the air.
Lila finally had a lull between customers and took a moment to wipe down the counter.
The morning rush had gone well, and if she was lucky, she might even sit down before the next one started.
The phone rang.
Polly, nearest the wall, set her knitting aside and picked it up. “Pleasant Beans, how can we… oh, Mrs. Jones! Well, isn’t that lovely. Yes, of course. … You’re…. sending pies with TJ?” She glanced at Lila and waggled her eyebrows. “That’s so kind of you! I’m sure everyone will love them.”
Lila’s jaw dropped and she froze mid-wipe. “Wait, what?”
Polly hung up, looking entirely too cheerful. “That was TJ’s mother. She’s sending pies to the shop, and TJ’s bringing them over.”
Lila’s stomach flipped. “Pies? As in homemade?”
“As in apple and berry,” Polly confirmed. “Mrs. Jones said to make sure everyone got a slice before they disappeared.”
Irene, who’d been sorting mugs, straightened like a hunting dog catching a scent. “Did she say berry?”
“Uh-huh…” Polly hedged. She stiffened, as if bracing herself.
“Well,” Irene muttered, her eyes narrowing. “Berry’s my specialty. Always has been. Everyone knows it. Remember how long it used to take to pick them?” She scrunched up her face and narrowed her eyes at the phone.
Paddy, who’d been standing next to the espresso machine, sighed. “Oh, mercy, here we go.”
“I’m just saying,” Irene went on, hands on hips. “There’s good pie, and then there’s mine. Folks around here know the difference.”
“Irene,” Lila began carefully. “Maybe we should just accept Mrs. Jones’s pies graciously. It’s a nice gesture.”
“Nice gesture my foot,” Irene declared. “This is a challenge!”
“It’s a donation,” Lila tried again. “And I don’t even know if we can serve them. If Mrs. Jones’s kitchen isn’t licensed for commercial food, technically we can’t…”
Irene’s eyes narrowed. “Okay, so the woman means well, but health codes or no, I’m not about to let anyone out-pie me.”
“Health codes exist for a reason!” Lila said, exasperated. “If someone from the health department walks in and sees we’re serving unlicensed pies…”
Paddy patted her arm. “Relax, lass. If they walk in, we’ll just tell them Irene’s running a taste test.”
“That’s not how that works!” Lila groaned. “The kitchen at the inn is licensed. Irene, Mary, and Grandma can make whatever they want and bring it here to sell. But Mrs. Jones’s kitchen…”
Irene was already marching toward the refrigerator, muttering about pastry dough and honor. Polly followed before Lila could say a word.
“What are you doing, Irene?” Lila asked.
Paddy shook his head. “When Irene gets that gleam in her eye, best thing to do is step out of the way and hope for the best.”
“There are no ingredients for pie here, let alone an oven to bake one in.” Lila threw up her hands.
Five minutes later, Irene and Grandma were marching out the door. Irene barking out a list of ingredients like a general. “Grandma, we’re going to need more nutmeg! And Polly, don’t you dare skimp on the butter this time. We’ve got to get back here with pies to spare!”
Lila sighed, running a hand through her hair. “I just wanted one calm day.”
The bell over the door jingled.
She turned and nearly dropped her dish towel.
TJ stood there, arms full of pie boxes, cheeks pink from the cold. His smile faltered when he saw Irene giving him a death glare. “Uh… I brought pies?”
Before Lila could answer, Irene’s face flushed and her eyes narrowed. “Too late! We’re making our own!”
TJ blinked. “Should I… take these back home, then?”
Lila hurried forward, forcing a bright smile. “No! No, please, come in. That’s, uh, very generous. We’re just, um, going to test recipes for next week.”
“Uh-huh,” he said, setting the boxes on the counter.
“Don’t you worry, TJ,” Irene said with a sly smile. “You can be our official judge.”
Lila groaned. “Irene…”
“What?” Irene said innocently. “He looks like a man who appreciates good pastry.”
TJ’s grin returned, slow and amused. “Um, did I miss something?”
Paddy leaned toward Polly. “Oh, look at the lad’s smile,” he whispered, then winked at Lila.
Lila sighed. “Not helping, Paddy.”
Irene headed for the door again. “We’ll see whose pie he likes best.”
TJ looked at Lila, eyes twinkling. “You want to place a bet?”
She shook her head quickly, but her lips twitched despite herself. “I think I’ve already lost.”