Chapter 8
I brought the hose over to the last stall at Horseshoe Holler and set the end in the water tank.
I’d been looking forward to a ride after work at the bakery today, but with the little trickle of tourists starting to appear in town and preparations for the mayor’s birthday party tomorrow, I’d ended up staying late.
Morgan would be arriving tomorrow, which meant my hours would officially be cut back.
There’d been work to do at the stables once I arrived.
Archer was busy gearing up for the busiest part of the year, so I’d figured my time was best spent mucking out some stalls and topping up food and water where it was needed.
In exchange for helping out, Archer let me ride whenever I wanted. Best arrangement ever.
Miss Mahogany gave my butt a bump with her nose, and I smiled back at her. “Give me a minute, girl.” She was partial to being brushed, so once I filled her water, I wrapped the hose back on its hook and grabbed her favorite—a curry brush. It was the harshest one, but she loved it.
She was chomping down on hay by the time I got back to her stall and shut the door behind me, but her ears swiveled in acknowledgment.
Starting at her shoulder, I ran the brush in circular motions, talking softly to her about everything and nothing.
I’d brought a change of clothes so I could head straight to the farm after I was done at the stables.
I planned to try a new recipe today—a type of maple cookie was the hope.
I still hadn’t totally decided how simple or quirky to make it.
Now that I had the freedom to bake what I wanted, I was experiencing a baker’s identity crisis.
Part of me said to keep it classic and safe while the other part wanted to add all the weird things inside and on top.
I wouldn’t experience the classic mid-life crisis and buy a convertible; I’d be slipping things like chickpeas and beef jerky into pastries.
At least my crisis would be more affordable.
James was leaving in the next few hours, so I’d have to hope May would be honest with me about the results of my endeavors. Not sure I could count on that. I’d have to have a talk with her and let her know that honesty was vital for the success of the plan.
I paused my brushing as footsteps and voices drew nearer. Archer’s was one of them.
“Who cares what they think or what they want?” he said. “You don’t owe them anything.”
Miss Mahogany reached her head back and nudged my arm—her way of saying Get back to work, lazy bum.
I brushed half-heartedly, my ears on alert. Who was Archer talking to?
“He still hates me.”
I froze again. I knew that voice.
“That’s his issue,” Archer said. “It’s time for everyone to move on. Including you.”
“Which is why leaving makes sense. Being here just…rustles everything up again.”
“Maybe that’s a good thing.”
James scoffed softly.
“James,” Archer said in a please be reasonable tone, “if eight years didn’t put this thing to bed, it’s not going there on its own.”
My heart thunked, and I stopped pretending to brush. This was not a conversation meant for my ears. I was dying to listen more while simultaneously wishing I could melt into the floor of this freshly mucked stall and disappear.
“Maybe it’s time the truth came out,” Archer said so softly I almost didn’t hear him.
“What do you mean?” There was deep wariness in the question.
“C’mon, James. I wasn’t here for any of it, but I know you, and I’m pretty sure there’s more to the story than what gets passed around.”
My sense of panic was rising like a flash flood. I clenched my teeth and took the softest possible step toward the stall door.
Slowly, I stretched my head to look through the bars and see whether James and Archer were in view.
They weren’t.
I slipped my hand through the bars to reach for the latch.
“The truth shall set you free, right?” Archer said.
“People don’t want the truth. They want someone to blame.”
Miss Mahogany nudged me in the butt again, and I shot her a tight-lipped look like she was capable of understanding delicate social situations.
My fingers were frozen on the latch. It would definitely not be a silent task. Archer had bought the nicest latches on the market, but they still scraped like a broken muffler dragging on the road. I couldn’t just sit here as an unwilling eavesdropper, though.
I could say something—call out Hey! Stop talking! I’m here!
The thought made me cringe.
Miss Mahogany pawed the dirt. She was such a diva.
“And you decided to be the martyr?” Archer said. “Come on, man.”
“I’m no martyr. I made dumb choices.”
I’d never been such a willing-yet-unwilling audience to a private conversation. I desperately needed to ask follow-up questions. But even more desperately, I needed to get the heck out of here.
Miss Mahogany stomped again—twice—sending a cloud of dirt up with each beat of her hoof.
And then my nose started to tickle.
My eyes widened, and I tried to think of all the tricks to stop a sneeze.
I pressed my tongue against the roof of my mouth, but it was no use.
Air traveling at the speed of sound blew through my nose and mouth, all the more violent for my attempts to stifle the sneeze.
So violent that my head hit the stall bars.
“Gah!” I released the latch and grabbed my forehead.
Two sets of quick footsteps approached as I blinked my eyes madly to rid them of the stinging.
A second sneeze followed, but this time, I let it rip, stepping back from the stall door and protecting my throbbing forehead with my hand for good measure.
When I’d recovered enough to open my eyes, Archer and James were standing outside of Miss Mahogany’s stall, staring at me with concern.
“Are you okay?” Archer asked.
“Yeah, totally,” I said, giving my forehead one last press. “Just not super skilled at sneezing.”
James undid the latch, confirming that if my sneeze hadn’t given me away, the latch absolutely would have.
“Miss Mahogany demanded a brushdown,” I explained, holding the brush up as evidence as James opened the stall door, his brow furrowed as he looked at my head.
I looked at Archer. “I mucked the stalls and filled everyone’s water and hay, so they should be good for the rest of the day.
I should get going, though. I’ve got a lot of baking to do.
” With a forced smile on my lips and a face as red as my hair, I slipped through the open stall door and started walking down the row of stalls to the stable exit.
Ignoring the throbbing of my forehead as I walked, I shut my eyes like I could shut out the last five minutes of my life. This was what I got for giving in to Miss Mahogany’s unreasonable demands.
“Sadie!”
It was James’s voice, and though I stopped, it took me a couple of seconds to turn and face him. I braced myself.
He jogged up to me. “Are you driving or walking?”
I’d brought my car, but the thought of him asking for a ride to the farm after what just happened sounded like torture.
“Walking,” I said, only to realize a half-second too late that maybe he had driven and would now offer me a ride. Hitting my head on the bars hadn’t done me any mental favors.
“I’m headed there too,” he said. “Mind if I walk with you? I wanted to talk to you about something.”
If there was anything that sounded worse than being stuck in a metal box with James Carver for five minutes after my awkward eavesdropping, being stuck with him on a half-hour walk was it.
Did he even have time for a stroll through the sugarbush?
Surely, he had a suitcase to pack and a flight to catch.
I took a couple of seconds to search for a reason why walking together wouldn’t work, but, again, bar to forehead.
“Sure,” I said, brightly agreeing to torture. “I do need to change really quick, though….” I didn’t speak the implied if you’re in a rush to catch a flight, I might delay you too long.
He nodded, the v in his brow looking mighty deep. “I’ll wait outside.”
“Great.”
I could’ve taken my time changing, but I hated to inconvenience people—even someone I was dreading spending the next half an hour with.
I emerged from the tack room a few minutes later, slinging my duffel bag over my shoulder.
Archer, not James, stood near the stable entrance.
“Where’d James go?” I asked, unable to stifle a bit of hope that he’d changed his mind.
“He had to run inside the house.” Archer cocked a brow at me. “You know, I didn’t figure you for an eavesdropper.”
“Ugh. Can you guys please check the stables before your next gossip session?”
Archer chuckled. He was a good-looking guy—sun-kissed brown hair and a general vibe to fit his history as a rodeo star.
We’d known each other since we were kids, but then he’d gone off and gotten famous, only visiting every now and then from Texas.
Seemed like most people I’d grown up with had gone off and done something exciting.
Except me. If there was a film version of my life, it could be a YouTube short. And a boring one, at that.
“You hit your head pretty hard,” he said, nodding at it.
I put a hand to my forehead and grimaced at the tender spot. “I tried too hard to hold the sneeze in.”
He grimaced sympathetically. “Should’ve let it out. You could’ve passed it off for a horse sneeze.”
I shot him an annoyed look. Horse sneezes were incredibly violent and projectile in nature.
“I’ll keep that in mind next time.” I thought of the conversation he and James had had.
I wanted to know more—to ask Archer what he’d meant.
But the only thing that could add to my humiliation at the moment would be James coming back in time to hear me interrogating Archer about information I’d gotten as an unintentional eavesdropper.
“Thanks for doing the feeding and watering,” Archer said.
“Just trying to make sure you don’t have any excuses to miss the party tomorrow. You’re not planning to bail on me, are you?”
He put a hand to his heart. “I’m offended you’d think that.”
I shot him a look. “Right…like you’re above using your horses as an excuse to get out of something you don’t want to do.”
He smiled guiltily.
I had to be at the mayor’s birthday party to make sure the dessert service went to plan, but after seeing Archer’s low mood the last week or so, I’d persuaded him to join me for the rest of the event.
He needed to get out and do something with mammals whose method of communication wasn’t neighing or pawing the ground.
And who didn’t projectile sneeze on you.
James came jogging around the side of the stable and slowed at the sight of us. He held a Ziploc bag in his hand, which he handed to me. It had ice in it and a paper towel wrapped around for insulation.
“Oh,” I said with a blink. “Thanks.”
“You ready?” he asked.
I nodded and repositioned the bag on my shoulder.
James gave Archer a nod, and Archer tipped his hat as we turned away.
“Don’t do anything sketchy on my trails, you two,” Archer said. “This is a family-friendly business.”
My eyes widened. I could’ve skinned that man alive.
“Pretty sure these trails belong to the farm,” James retorted.
Archer’s soft chuckle was all the response we got as we made our way to the trail that led to Carver Farm. At least it was a beautiful place to take an awkward walk with the man I’d had a crush on for half my life.
“How’d you end up with such an annoying cousin?” I raised the ice to my forehead, willing the cold to help drain the color from my face and downsize the bump.
James laughed softly. “Luck of the draw, I guess.”
I adjusted the duffel on my shoulder, wanting to kick myself for not putting it in the trunk of my car. Now I was stuck with it for the entire walk. I’d been too focused on what this walk would be like to think practical thoughts.
Would James try to talk to me about the things he and Archer had been discussing?
I wasn’t prepared for that. Would he ask me not to repeat anything I’d heard?
He could spare himself. I didn’t plan to tell anyone about this incident.
No one even knew he was in town, and it was best to keep it that way.
“Look,” James said, “I really appreciate what you’re doing for the farm and for my mom.”
This was what he wanted to talk to me about? How grateful he was?
He’d already thanked me. We didn’t need a private walk in the woods for round two.
This was one of my favorite stretches of the season, short as it lasted. Most leaf peepers saw the woods when they were a fiery sunset of oranges, yellows, and reds. Right now, the greens still dominated, while color filtered down from the treetops, making the woods more like a rainbow.
“It’s really not a big deal.” I readjusted the duffel strap higher on my shoulder. “And like I mentioned before, it’s helping me too, so it’s fairly selfish.”
He glanced at me.
When I met his gaze, a jolt of something flickered through my chest. I’d had a crush on James Carver for all of my teen years. Some of the reactions I’d had to him all those years ago were probably still coded into my system.
My left hand was getting cold despite the paper towel, so I switched hands. The change made the duffel strap slip down my shoulder. I scrambled to grab it before it hit the ground.
James reached over and took it by the strap, lifted it over his head, and slung it across his chest.
I opened my mouth to object, but he cut me off.
“It is a big deal. To my mom. To me. Not that you’re doing it for—” He looked away. “The point is, I appreciate what you’re doing enough that I don’t want to make things harder for you.”
Frowning, I stole a glance at him.
His jaw was working as he stared ahead. “Things at the farm are worse than I thought they were. Quite a bit worse.”
I didn’t say anything. The only reason he could be surprised about that fact was because he hadn’t been here. That had been his choice—to let his mom handle it all and hope Archer would pick up the slack in the little free time he had.
“I know,” James said. “I should’ve been here.”
I looked away, embarrassed he’d vocalized my exact thoughts. I must be transparent as a jellyfish—and with the same amount of brains.
“I guess I thought Mama would tell me, but that was dumb. She’s too prideful. And she knew I didn’t want to be here, so she acted like things were fine when they weren’t.” He looked at me. “If you could keep this between us…Mama wouldn’t want—”
“Of course,” I hurried to say. “I would never dream of telling anyone.”
His eyes held mine, then he nodded. “I guess what I’m trying to say is that she needs help or the farm will go under.”
My chest tightened. “I promise I’ll do my best.”
He shook his head. “That’s not what I mean. I’m not telling you this to put more of a burden on you, Sadie. This isn’t your responsibility at all.” He stopped, so I did too. He faced me and took a breath. “I think I need to stay.”