Page 18 of Horsemen and Hot Chocolate

Chapter ten

Katrina rarely lost her composure around men. She did not blush or giggle unless she purposefully meant to do so in order to charm her way out of a situation. There hadn’t been a single man in Sleepy Hollow who had made her heart flutter—except the Headless Horseman.

Somehow, a man without a beating heart stirred hers into a frenzy. After their meeting last night, she couldn’t shake the memory of his kind smile when he told her she had a glow about her. He had no face besides an overgrown squash, so why couldn’t she get his words out of her head? Was it because he saw her for more than her father’s wealth? Or was it because he had seen past her beautiful face and saw the light within?

Regardless, the Headless Horseman was a ghost. There would be and could be nothing romantic between them. Even the notion of romance with the headless specter was ludicrous.

With a steely resolve, Katrina pushed the preposterous thoughts away and opened the kitchen door. Heat warmed her skin from the brick oven, and sweet apple pudding wafted to her nose. Her mouth watered when Marta drizzled caramel over the dessert. An unruly strand of hair swung over Marta’s eyes as she carefully set the cast-iron pot to the side.

Katrina tiptoed over, extending her finger for a taste when Marta’s back was turned.

“Don’t even think about it,” Marta said as Katrina’s finger hovered over the pudding.

Katrina whipped her hands behind her back when Marta faced her and gave her a knowing look.

“Not even a little taste?” Katrina asked with a mock pout.

“None. Not until after dinner,” Marta said sternly.

“Very well,” she said, backing away from the tempting treat.

Marta dusted the flour from her apron. “Is there something you need, dear? I love your company, but I’m in the middle of dinner preparations.”

“I know,” she said with a sigh. Katrina didn’t enjoy pestering the cook when she was busy, but she sought out the affectionate woman when she needed a place of solace or advice. Perhaps Marta would have the insight she needed.

Katrina leaned against the worktable in the center of the kitchen. Her hip bumped into a bowl of dough next to a rolling pin. “I suppose I need your help,” she admitted.

Marta’s face softened. “What is it? I can spare a moment.”

Katrina paused to consider how she would approach the subject without revealing her secrets about the Headless Horseman. Marta waited patiently, but Katrina knew she couldn’t keep imposing on the woman’s time.

“It’s about my brother,” Katrina said softly. “I cannot remember as much as I’d like about our time when I was younger. I fear I might lose the memories of him altogether. How do I begin to recall the past again?”

A frown worked its way onto Marta’s face. Her wrinkles deepened, and her brows furrowed before she reached for the dough and rolling pin.

“Ah, I see,” Marta said, punching the lump and folding it into itself. “Memories can be slippery, but it’s a lot like cooking.” She sprinkled flour on the table before slapping the dough onto the surface.

“Cooking?” Katrina asked.

“Yes. Sometimes, I’ll forget a recipe, but the more I dig into the spices, taste as I go, and feel the dough between my fingers, the more it’ll come back to me, one ingredient at a time. It’s often good to retrace our steps to find our way back,” she said, kneading the mixture until it yielded into a ball. “The past sometimes lingers in places we last left it.”

Katrina considered her words, wondering if her counsel would help the Horseman. “I hope I can find them,” she murmured.

Marta smiled while dusting her hands. “Don’t fret too much, dear. Memories also have a habit of returning home when they want to. You just need to wait until they’re ready.”

Katrina bit the inside of her cheek. If only she had time to wait for the Horseman’s memories to be ready.

That evening, Katrina met the Horseman with a basket over her arm at their usual place.

“It’s for you,” she said at his curious stare. “I don’t have any names today, but I thought you might like some apple pudding Marta made. Our orchard produced an abundance of apples this season. She’s been making apple desserts all week.” Katrina giggled, and a dark chuckle rumbled from the Horseman’s chest. Its deep, rich quality made her stomach flutter with something warm.

Clearing her throat, she reached into the basket and held up a small box. “I also brought this.”

“What is it?” he asked, his brows pinching together.

“It’s a sewing kit. I thought your coat needed some mending.”

The yellow light burned brighter against his carved features. His crooked mouth stretched upward. “That is kind of you, Katrina.”