was not the check-on-near-strangers type.
Okay, checking on strangers was exactly the type of thing he’d do. Which was why he isolated himself on a few wooded acres. So he didn’t feel the need to help and come up short. So he didn’t feel the need to engage, then get laughed at.
She shaded her eyes with her hands, looking up at him. “Yeah, I’m okay. I don’t think I’ve got rabies now or anything.”
He almost, almost, smiled at that, which was kind of weird.
She hopped up onto the step of his truck, sticking her face way too close to his for comfort. He backed away and felt like a coward. But a safe coward.
Some stranger sticking her head into the window of his truck was not normal. Most people were too uncomfortable around him to do that.
“Hey, can I ask you a question?” she asked.
He braced himself for the inevitable. How do you manage? You are so brave! His good hand clenched into a fist.
“What are their names?”
“Huh?”
“Their names?” She pointed at Phantom, then to the back where the other three dogs had arranged themselves.
“You want to know my dogs’ names?”
“Yeah, what did you think I was going to ask you?”
He wasn’t going to answer that. Partially because it made him look like a tool, and partially because he didn’t want to talk about it. “Phantom, Flash, Toby and Sweetness—which was the name she came with, not the one I gave her, by the way.”
Cara chuckled at that. “You must be good with training them. I’ve been thinking about getting a dog since Mia moved out. Where do you get yours?”
“Wherever. Strays mostly. Except Phantom.”
“Where’d you get Phantom?”
He tapped a finger to his watch. “Sorry, busy day. Gotta get going.”
Her eyebrows scrunched together, but he looked away, focusing on the road in front of him.
Out of the corner of his eye he saw her hop back down onto the ground. With a little wave, she stepped away from his truck. He tapped the accelerator.
But he couldn’t stop himself from glancing in the rearview mirror, and he wasn’t sure what that meant.
Best not to let it mean anything, but he had a feeling a pretty woman in a bright green shirt was going to be on his mind a lot more than he wanted her to be.
CARA STARED OPENMOUTHED at Mia, trying to formulate some response beyond are you crazy. “Are you crazy?”
“It’s not crazy! It’s an amazing idea and opportunity.”
“No.” That was a gut reaction. In reality, Cara should be jumping up and down saying yes, yes, yes, but everything about this made her stomach sink.
She wasn’t a professional baker. Making pies for one of Mia’s clients’ restaurants was way, way, way beyond her skill level, or at least her experience level.
“Cara. You make amazing pies, and Sam wants to add more desserts to his menu.” Mia stood on the porch of their parents’ house, hands at her hips, a determined look on her face. “It’s a match made in heaven. You always make filling with local ingredients in your fruit pies, and that’s exactly what he’s looking for.”
If it was a match made in heaven, why did she feel nauseated? “He doesn’t want to hire some chick with no experience.”
“You have experience.”
“Not restaurant experience. I have baked pies for fun or the random family member’s wedding or event and occasionally for my sister’s farmers’ market stand. Not the same.”
“Just talk to Sam. He’s experimenting. Nothing is permanent or guaranteed. Think of it as a trial. He doesn’t have to hire you, but him considering you is not as crazy as you’re making it out to be.”
Trying to impress him to get the job seemed even worse than just trying to get the job, because she’d have to deal with everyone’s disappointment if she screwed it up. No, thank you. She’d learned a long time ago not to take risks like that. “Look, thanks for thinking of me and all, but I love my job at the salon.” Love was maybe a bit of an exaggeration, but she liked it well enough.
She didn’t need her sister’s pity, and she didn’t need to be fixed. When it came to dreams like going to culinary school or opening her own business, Cara choked. Botched her application, failed accounting at community college.
She was not cut out for “more.”
“Sam’s only entertaining the possibility because you supply, like, half his food.” Cara did her best to pretend this whole thing didn’t matter.
“It’s not like that.”
Ugh. Why did Mia have to be so stubborn? So determined to help her find a passion. Cara was happy the way she was. She didn’t have to bring her work home with her, had set hours and got to have fun. She was in her mid-twenties. She was supposed to be having fun, not finding a fulfilling career or a husband like everyone around her seemed to be.
Since that thought caused the same pinching feeling as watching Dell swoop in to comfort Mia at the market Saturday had, she pushed it away. “Making pies is a hobby.”
“It’s your religion, Cara Pruitt. Saying any different would be like spitting on Grandma’s grave.” Mia wagged a finger at her.
Her stomach rolled. Mia had a point there. A mean point, but true nonetheless. If Grandma were alive to hear Cara call pie making a hobby, she’d get smacked on the butt with a wooden spoon.
She rubbed a finger over the tiny bluebird behind her ear. The tattoo was her own little safety net, like Grandma perched right there, ready to say something encouraging.
Sadly, Grandma’s voice had been gone for six years now, and some of the initial reassurances the bluebird brought had faded. Sad and scared were two of Cara’s least favorite feelings, and she avoided them at all costs. Which meant avoiding taking risks like this.
“Just stop big-sistering me, okay? I can take care of my own life.”
“I’m not trying to take care of your life. I’m offering you an opportunity. Do not say no to help. I already have one of those in my life.”
Mia glanced to the bottom of the hill where Dell was talking to some guy who wanted to buy vegetables or something. This whole melding of farms, added to Mia now living with Dell on Wainwright property, meant she almost never saw her sister alone.
“I was in your life first,” Cara muttered, feeling petulant. Because petulant sounded better than lonely.
“Cara.”
“Look, whatever. I’ll go meet with Sam if that’s what you want, but I don’t think I’m right for the job.”
Mia crossed her arms over her chest and mustered her best big-sister glare, which was pretty pathetic. “Give me one reason why not.”
“Other than not being qualified?”
“Yes, other than that.”
“That’s freaking enough!”
Mia’s glare morphed into something worse. Pity. Hurt. Geez, it was ridiculous. She was the one used to helping Mia out. Getting her to ditch the outdated hairdo and clunky glasses, supporting her at the market while Mia worked on overcoming her social awkwardness.
Now Mia had done all that and was getting married, and Cara had been officially relegated to one-and-only Pruitt screwup status. Mia