The Belle and the Beard by Kate Canterbary (carter reed TXT) 📗

was being indispensable, and indispensability didn't come with a great paid-time-off package. There was never a good time to get away. If anything, there were terrible, out of the question, work through the flu times. Politics beat like a heart and the heart wasn't known for pausing.

I hadn't visited in more than a handful of years. Hadn't even called too often. I'd missed my chance to say goodbye when her health took a sudden turn. I remembered calling from the back of a cab and leaving her a quick voicemail, and knowing I needed to give her another ring. But I let myself get swept up in work and didn't try her again. She passed a few days later.

And I wasn't terribly polite to her neighbor, the one who regarded her highly enough to confront a suspected burglar.

Dammit.

Midge would've baked him a banana bread. She believed in the restorative power of baked goods, particularly those meant to be sliced, warmed, and slathered in butter. A banana bread would smooth things over. That would make this right.

Sitting up to grab my phone from where it sat on the floor, tethered to the charger, I glanced at the window—and screamed out loud at the figure silhouetted there.

I ended up falling out of bed, landing flat on my ass, and clutching both hands to my chest as my heart thumped. "Where did you come from?" I asked the cat perched on this side of the windowsill.

Since I wasn't the only one skimping on polite greetings, the cat let out a disgruntled hiss and batted its paw against the window.

"I'm terribly sorry but I don't speak feline," I said. "You'll have to state your demands more clearly."

Unsatisfied with that request, the cat leapt down to the floor and stalked out of the room, glaring at me as it passed.

"Y'all really need that to be the last of the unexpected creatures in this house," I muttered.

5

Linden

I groaned into my coffee when the doorbell rang. I was not a morning person. I worked on trees but that didn't require me to keep farmer's hours, and thank god for that.

The beautiful thing about living alone and working for myself was that no one interfered with my slow mornings. I didn't have to put up with anyone rattling around the house or chatty coworkers. If I timed it right, there were days when I didn't have to speak to anyone until after lunch. Those were the best days.

Days when the doorbell rang before nine were not the best.

The sound of firm, eager, wouldn't-be-ignored knocking had me groaning again. I had a good idea who was waiting on the other side of the door.

Jasper hadn't taken Ash up on his offer to stay at my house and that was a relief. When I'd arrived home late last night after grabbing dinner in Plymouth, I caught sight of her inside Midge's house. The lights were on, the curtains and windows flung open, and she was standing on a stepladder in the middle of the large front window, a giant sponge in hand. She hadn't changed out of that fancy dress and her hair still hung around her shoulders in waves.

For reasons I still could not explain, seeing her there twisted and tightened the muscles between my shoulders. She'd stayed. She'd stayed and she was so unbothered by the conditions, she didn't even change out of her nice clothes.

I'd sat in my truck for longer than necessary, messing around with my phone while I stole glances next door. I didn't know why or what I wanted to see but I needed to see it before I ducked inside for the night.

Now that I thought about it, I was mostly concerned with the bats. I was a nature guy but that didn't mean I wanted bats hanging around my house. Or hers. That was my real concern. The bats.

I shuffled toward the door, half asleep and fully disinterested in another visit with Miss Cleary. Maybe it was Mrs. Cleary. Not that it mattered one way or another. It didn't matter. Why would it?

With that irritating question in mind and a matching scowl on my face, I swung open the door. As expected, Jasper was on the other side. She wasn't wearing a dress today but a bright yellow skirt with lots of little pleats. It made me think of an accordion, and I wanted to touch it. I wanted to touch it very much.

Instead, I flicked a glance up at her face—and all that honeyed hair spilling over her shoulders—and then down to the dish she carried.

"Good morning," she said, rather pointedly. As if I was supposed to say something before imagining the feel of her skirt between my fingers.

"Yeah," I grunted. "What's up?"

She stared at me for a second, a stiff grin on her face while her eyes flashed cool and hard. "Well, then. This will have to do," she said under her breath. "I never got a chance to thank you for your help yesterday."

I leaned a shoulder against the doorjamb and crossed my arms over my chest. "You had plenty of time to ask why the hell I was helping in the first place."

She gave a quick head bob in response. "Mmhmm. Okay." She held out the dish. "I made you a banana bread. To thank you."

The object on that plate looked nothing like any banana bread I'd ever seen. For starters, it seemed…wet. And yet, it also looked overcooked. Those things never, ever belonged in the same thought process as banana bread.

"You didn't have to do that."

"It was my pleasure," she said, pushing the dish in my direction again. "Yesterday was rather hectic. I wanted to thank you for everything. The door, the bats—"

"The attempted felony," I murmured.

She offered a playful expression that appeared completely forced, saying, "I can see how it came across that way at first glance. Now, I'd just love to hear more about your history with Midge. Why don't you invite me in?"

It