A Cowboy For The Twins

The new arena couldn’t be completed soon enough, for the other members of the Farmer’s Market or her. Next week she could finally implement all the ideas roiling around in her head ever since she’d come up with her plan for a restaurant and snack bar.

For a moment she felt a shiver of panic. What if all her plans for her own business were a waste of time and money? What if she was fooling herself, thinking people would want to come to her restaurant for dinner? Cedar Ridge already had the Brand and Grill in town, plus Angelo’s, and she heard the bakery had just set up a bistro.

Was there room for her restaurant? Would she make enough to take care of herself and her daughters?

She struggled to fight down the anxiety she always felt when doubts about her decision attacked her. And lately they’d been coming harder the closer she came to implementing them.

But she wasn’t a quitter. She’d put her husband through med school, raised the girls on her bank salary while Roger pursued his dream and vision during his internship. She put in long hours to make sure they had the basics in life. And after Roger died, she dug back into her emotional reserve and carried on. She fought her own sorrow and put on a brave face for her daughters while her own heart was breaking. And now she was supporting her parents through their own grief over the loss of their son and her brother.

As well as dealing with her own grief and anger.

She hadn’t quit then, and she wasn’t about to quit now. Through it all she had depended on her Lord to give her the strength she needed, and He hadn’t failed her yet. Come what may, she knew she always had her faith.

“That looks really nice, Mommy,” Margaret said, full of admiration as Shauntelle set out the third fancy layer cake.

“I thought they turned out well,” she said, with a touch of pride, as she shifted the one chocolate cake with its fancy trimming to show it off the best. While she did, she imagined cakes, cheesecakes, pies and fancy squares lined up on shelves in a glass case at the entrance of her new restaurant, tempting the patrons even before they sat down to order dinner.

She’d set up far too many boards on Pinterest with ideas for decor, layout, furniture and menus. It was endless, and she often had to stop and prioritize.

“Sweetheart, can you set out the muffins?” she asked Millie as she set some loaves of bread on the shelf in front and to one side of her table.

“I want to see what Rory has,” she grumbled. “She told me she would have some new jewelry when she came this week.”

“I want to see too,” Margaret chimed in, abandoning her job.

“Later. The market will be open in ten minutes and I want to be ready.”

“Hey, girls!” Sonya called out, dragging two rolling suitcases past Shauntelle’s table. Sonya DeBree was short and heavyset, her dyed black hair worn in a perpetual braid down her back. The young woman stopped and whistled loudly. “Wow, those cakes turned out fantastic. I’d ask you to save one for me, but I think I’ve got enough cake stored up in me to last me until I die.” She massaged her protruding belly, laughing as she did so. “Once you start that restaurant I’m going to be in such trouble.”

“I hope so,” Shauntelle said with a wry look.

Sonya must have caught the hint of concern in her voice. “It will be just fine. Here’s hoping those construction people can get the arena done in time though. Heard things were slowing down.” Then, before Shauntelle could ask her what exactly she meant by those unsettling comments, she swished her long skirts and headed off to her table to set up her spices, homemade jam and condiments on her table.

Shauntelle felt a tremor of unease at her comment, but then shrugged it off as Farmer’s Market gossip. The usual chitchat of people who had time on their hands and a listening ear.

She turned her attention to getting the last of her baking set out. Ten minutes later everything was ready, and people were already drifting into the parking lot where they were set up, wandering around the tables.

A few people came directly to her table. These were her regulars who showed up every Saturday to pick up preorders that she couldn’t deliver.

“Thanks so much, Mrs. Michaels,” Shauntelle said as she handed the elderly woman the tray of muffins and cookies she had just bought. “Are you sure I can’t tempt you with a hazelnut torte cake?”

The tiny, bird-like woman just laughed, showing her crooked teeth as she hooked the bag over her walker. “Sugarplum, if I bought that I would eat it all myself and end up fatter than I already am.”

Considering she couldn’t weigh more than ninety pounds, even with her walker, Shauntelle thought that highly unlikely.

“I might be tempted to buy one.”

Shauntelle looked over at her newest customer, and there was Mrs. Cosgrove. Then her heart plunged when she saw Noah join her.

His dark hair and equally dark eyebrows arching over hidden, deep-set brown eyes could have given him a menacing look, but she remembered that melancholy smile of his yesterday. In spite of how bitter she was over what happened to Josiah because of him, seeing Noah face-to-face made it difficult to know exactly what to do with her anger.

“I thought my son should find out firsthand how good the baking that he delivered yesterday actually is,” Mrs. Cosgrove said.

Shauntelle dragged her attention away from Noah, granting Mrs. Cosgrove a more genuine smile. Fay Cosgrove was a loving, caring woman who, when Shauntelle had come here, had gone out of her way to support and encourage her. It wasn’t hard to separate her feelings for Noah from this woman.

“I’m glad you came. I hope you can find something.”

“I’m sure I can.” Mrs. Cosgrove’s smile grew but then she seemed to wince and shook her head. “Sorry. Feeling a bit punk yet.”

“Should we go home?” Noah asked.

“I’m fine. Just a bit tired.” Mrs. Cosgrove waved off his concern. “I’m tempted to get one of those cakes, though Noah will have to step up and do his part to finish it.”

“I don’t think that will be much of a hardship.” He turned to Shauntelle again. “Do you have any meat pies today? I know when we were delivering them, they looked and smelled pretty tasty.”

“I have a few,” she said, disappointed at the flush his compliment gave her. It felt wrong.

“My mommy just made these cakes.” Millie walked over to where Noah was standing, and to Shauntelle’s embarrassment, grabbed his hand, dragging him closer to the table and directly in front of Shauntelle. “She said they were an experiment, but I think they look awesome.”

“More of a trial run,” Shauntelle hastened to explain, far too aware of his towering presence. “For the restaurant. Thought I could offer them as desserts.”

“They look really nice, Millie,” he said, addressing her daughter instead of her. For some reason that bothered her.

“I helped my mom bake them,” Millie said, folding her hands in front of her and rocking back and forth, obviously pleased with Noah’s attention.

Yeah, he had that effect on women and girls of all ages, Shauntelle thought, remembering how she, too, had once admired him from afar.

“You didn’t help that much,” Margaret put in, coming to join them, clearly not too happy with the compliment Millie had received. “I did more.”

“No you did not,” Millie grumbled. “You were busy reading your book. I helped Mom mix the dough and set the timer—”

“But I mixed the icing and helped her put the cakes together.”

And why did they have to pick a fight right here and now in front of the Cosgroves? In spite of their bickering, people walking past them slowed and smiled at the girls.

Every time she took the twins out, people seemed drawn to them. Though Shauntelle let them choose their own clothes and encouraged them to develop their own style, they always picked matching outfits and accessories.

Today they wore green-and-yellow-striped sweaters and hot pink leggings. If only one of them wore this outfit, they would stand out.

But the two of them, bickering and picking at each other, their ponytails bobbing, drew unwelcome attention this time.

“I don’t think we need to talk about who did what,” Shauntelle said with a forced smile, coming around the table and laying a warning hand on each of their shoulders. “You both helped.”

“And you both did an amazing job,” Noah said, crouching down to get to their level.

Which put him below hers. She could see the top of his head, the thick wave of his hair. She caught herself, frustrated at her reaction to him. She was as bad as her daughters.

“And you girls both did a great job yesterday too,” Noah said, piling compliment on compliment.