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Chapter Eight
Clarissa knew who stood at her front door, and she didn’t even have to peek through the curtains. She’d been lurking at her front window for the past hour, though the show hadn’t really started until the past twenty minutes. Then, oh my. There’d been belt buckles, broad shoulders, and cowboy hats galore.
No less than five muscled cowboys had helped Spencer unload, and then they’d gone right back down the dirt lane they’d used to get to this tiny neighborhood at the farm. The other cowboy cabins sat on the agriculture side of the farm, and the half-dozen of those made another little community.
Her brothers shared two other homes that stood with a third, much smaller house that hadn’t been inhabited for a long time. Travis and Lee shared a place right now, with the intention that Lee would move into the main farmhouse once Mama passed away. Clarissa pushed against the thought, though she’d had plenty of time to prepare for it.
“And it hasn’t happened yet,” she mumbled to herself just as the doorbell pealed through the house.
Oh, right. Spencer was standing on the front porch. Clarissa grabbed the binder she’d been working on since she’d realized her daddy was in fact going to hire Spencer. It had taken all the way until the day he’d come by to drop off his paperwork and she’d shown him the house. Clarissa could work quickly under pressure, and she couldn’t stand the thought of leaving the farm without her recipes in someone else’s hands.
At the same time, she didn’t want to give her recipes to anyone else. Period.
“Think of the clients,” she told herself.
“Clarissa,” Spencer called. “I know you’re in there.”
His voice got her moving, and she held the binder like a shield as she yanked open the door. Spencer looked up from the ground, his hands tucked into his jeans pockets and that cowboy hat far too sexy for her health.
She definitely had a hole in one of her lungs, if the wheezing that happened when she breathed was any indication. “Spencer,” she said, so at least her voice still worked. “Did you get moved in?” She looked to the right, where his house sat, as if she hadn’t even noticed any activity on the farm that morning.
“Yep,” he said. “Thought I’d come say hi. See if you needed any help today, since I have nothing to do until Monday.”
“My weekend deliveries pick up really early,” she said. “So they’re done.”
“Oh.” He didn’t back up or offer anything else. He nodded to the binder. “What’s that?”
“This is going to be your shoppe Bible for the next couple of weeks.” She put a smile on her face, because she was proud of the binder and what it contained.
“Couple of weeks?” he asked. “I thought you were leaving on Saturday.”
Clarissa cleared her throat and stepped out onto the porch so he couldn’t see that she hadn’t packed a single box yet. Why should she when she had no job and nowhere to stay in San Antonio?
“I’m still waiting…I’m still waiting to see what happens,” she said. “If you have a few minutes, we can go through a few things here.” She pulled the door closed behind her and settled on the top step, Spencer doing the same. Her memory blipped, and Clarissa got transported back in time about nine years.
Precisely nine years, to a porch very much like this one. The farmhouse had a walk-out basement, with a few steps that went down to the garden area. They’d sat there several times over the summer they’d dated, and while Clarissa couldn’t remember the exact topics they’d discussed, she did remember the scent of his cologne and the way he made her feel like a strong, sexy woman.
He looked at her, something dancing in those dark eyes, and she felt exactly the same way right now. “What are we talkin’ about in that thing? Recipes? Procedures?”
Clarissa flipped it open, took a deep breath of his earthy, musky, clean cologne, and moved half of the binder to his lap. He edged a little closer to her, and Clarissa’s heartbeat pounced through her whole body. That thing definitely needed to be monitored.
The first page listed the shoppe’s hours. “We’re open six days a week,” she said. “The doors open at ten, and we close at five. Saturdays, I’m done by three.” She glanced at him. “You could work the store with me today, if you want.”
“Sure,” he said. “I only have a few boxes to unpack.”
“Yeah,” she said. “It didn’t look like you had a whole lot.”
Spencer grinned at her, and Clarissa realized what she’d just admitted to. “I mean…there were so many cowboys here to help.”
Now she was just digging a deeper hole for herself. She pressed her eyes closed and flipped the page in the binder. When she opened her eyes again, she saw the delivery schedule. Before she could say a word, Spencer said, “Do you get a lunch hour?”
She looked at him. “Like, in the shoppe?”
“Yeah, like when you work the shoppe,” he said. “And am I really working seven straight hours there, and in the barns and stable? And I make the ice cream and the cheese and sleep and eat?” He flipped the colored tabs on the side she’d labeledice cream recipesandcheese spreads.
Clarissa looked at him. “I guess you’ll have to ask Daddy about that.”
“I’m used to working a lot,” he said. “I know a farm never sleeps. But this feels like a lot.” He tapped the binder on his knee, but Clarissa felt the vibration in her legs too. “And there’s deliveries to prep and deliver.”
