Chapter Two

Sissy gave the stainless steel counters a final swipe, then tossed the rag at the laundry hamper. It landed on the floor. Stifling a groan, she bent to pick it up. After the wild-chicken chase and hours of hard work, she was too tired to grumble. Her butt hurt from falling on the ice. Her feet ached from being on them for so many hours. All she wanted was to sip a glass of wine while she soaked in a hot bath.

That lovely thought was rudely interrupted by a persistent hammering sound from out back. What now? Curious about the noise, she removed her coverall, then groped with her fingers along the shelf where she always put her wristwatch and ring while she worked. Her ring was there, but her watch had vanished, and in its place lay a crinkled piece of foil. A tingly sensation spread over her nape. Not again. She had either been misplacing things with alarming frequency, or someone or something was trying to drive her crazy. She had no idea where the foil had come from. It looked like something she might have dropped on the floor while cooking.

Feeling eyes on her, Sissy whirled to look behind her. Darkness crowded against the window, and shadows hovered in the recesses of the room. She saw nothing unusual, but she couldn’t shake the sensation that she was being watched. Over the last few weeks, she’d begun to wonder if the building was haunted. Her aunt Mabel, the original owner, had died of a heart attack in the upstairs flat. Sissy didn’t believe in ghosts, but there was no denying that peculiar things had been happening. She’d heard weird noises. Things clattering over the floor. Stuff being dropped. And nearly every day something went missing. Now my wristwatch, she thought. She was surviving on a shoestring budget to save enough money to build a new coop and run, and after that, she would reinvest her profits in the business. She couldn’t comfortably afford a new timepiece.

The banging sound snagged her attention again. She hurried to the storeroom, grabbed her winter jacket, and exited the building onto the back porch as she yanked the garment on. A shudder marched up her spine. It was so cold that ice crystals had formed in the air. Standing under light coming from an outdoor fixture, she tensed as her eyes picked out a large dark-colored pickup parked near her chicken run.

Finn, barely visible in the darkness, rocketed up the steps. He danced around Sissy’s feet and whined in greeting. Now Sissy knew for certain to whom the truck belonged. At least it wasn’t a burglar.

As disgruntled as she felt about Ben Sterling being on her property again, she couldn’t be cross with the dog. He was cute and such a friendly fellow. She loved his fur. He looked as if he’d been sponged with dabs of paint, the colors blending together to give his body a bluish hue. His lower legs were the color of curry powder. A white blaze marked his forehead. When he wagged his stub tail, his whole body wiggled.

“Hello, Finnegan!” She briskly ruffled the silky fur on his back. “You’re such a good boy! Yes, you are. And a champion chicken catcher!”

The pup bathed her hand with his tongue. Smiling, Sissy lost a piece of her heart to him. It wasn’t Finn’s fault that his master embodied everything that she most distrusted in a man. Ben Sterling was suave, charming, and successful. The first time she’d seen him, nearly a year and a half ago, all of her inner alarms had gone off. Hair the color of honey had protruded from beneath the brim of his Stetson to lie in a gleaming wave across his forehead. His hazel eyes, deep amber flecked with green, brown, and black, had twinkled with mischief and gleamed with masculine appreciation when he looked at her. Dressed in a Western-style work shirt and leg-hugging Wrangler jeans, he’d been a country version of Mr. GQ. Any woman under seventy would have salivated.

Any woman, she amended, except her. According to the gossips, he’d been born into a wonderful family. He and his siblings had gotten college educations handed to them. Ben had acquired more than one degree and used them to become a successful businessman who now owned a nice chunk of arable land, a remodeled farmhouse, and several expensive horses, not to mention a small herd of beeves. He was well respected in Mystic Creek, and so were all the members of his family. His brother Barney, a recently married deputy, would probably run for office someday and become the county sheriff. Not her kind of people, not by a long shot. Sissy’s father had the not-so-distinguished honor of being the town drunk, and her parents had lived in lots of towns.

When Ben first made it clear that he was interested in her, Sissy had made it equally clear that she didn’t share the sentiment. Men like Ben often felt entitled to get what they wanted from a woman. They acted like Mr. Nice Guy until they gained her trust or got her at a disadvantage. She’d learned the hard way how that story always ended. No, she wanted nothing to do with him. She had her life planned, and she was determined not to take any detours that might set her off track.

Now here he was again. Last time he’d come sniffing around, it had taken her two weeks to get rid of him. He was determined. She had to give him that. Well, watch out, Mr. Sterling. I’m not playing that game again.

Sissy stiffened her spine and descended the steps onto icy ground. She’d closed the café at ten, later than usual because she’d been running behind schedule. Now it had to be after eleven, far too late for a man she barely knew to be on her property.

Finn, walking beside her, was having as much trouble keeping his footing on the ice as she was. She saw the beam of a flashlight bobbing inside the closed coop. Judging by the squawking, her hens were not happy to have a man in their midst. Who in the heck did Ben think he was? He had no right to be out here.

The gate to the run hung open. Sissy marched toward the coop, prepared to blister the man’s ears. She twisted the door handle and barely cracked open the portal, knowing her hens would bolt for freedom if she offered them an avenue of escape.

Rawk, rawk, rawk! A bird jumped and nearly smacked Sissy in the face. She fell back to protect her eyes, but didn’t open the door any wider.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Finn barked as if to warn Sissy that she’d better not hurt his human. Shoving a writhing mass of feathers aside, she yelled to be heard. “This is my coop, my property, and you don’t have authorization to be here.”

Ben, crouched with his back to her near the right end wall, was frontally illuminated by the glow of a flashlight lying on the floor. Sans Stetson, his bangs and sideburns gleamed like a horseshoe-shaped halo around his head. At the sound of her voice, he didn’t flinch, but she did see his shoulder muscles tighten under the yoke of his shirt. He shifted to look at her, his chiseled features falling into shadow.

“Okay. I get you. Maybe I should have asked before I started this.”

“Maybe?” she retorted. Finn growled. “You’ve got no right—”

“You already covered that.” He glanced at his dog. “Finnegan, back off! She isn’t going to hurt me. She’s no bigger than a minute.”

“I’m stronger than I look!” Sissy glanced at the dog. The flashlight played over Finn’s face, and she could tell that he truly was worried. Altering her tone to reassure him, she said, “It’s okay, Finnegan. I won’t kill him.”

Ben huffed, clearly not amused. “Look. I’m aware that I should have knocked to get an okay from you. But I knew you were exhausted, and I saw no reason to keep you up even later by asking before I did this. You would’ve felt obligated to help, and it’s really not a two-person job.”

“Well, I’m out here now, and you’re right; I’m so tired I postponed breakfast prep for the morning, which means I’ll have to hit the deck by four.” She glanced at the paraphernalia around his feet. A silver dome with prong grips shimmered against the wood chips. “Just what are you doing? Is that a heat lamp?”

“Yes. I saw that you needed one. I had an extra at home. Around here, we call it doing a favor for a friend.”

Her voice dripped ice. “Since when did we become friends?”

He pushed to his feet, his ascent ending in a stooped stance because the ceiling was so low. The chickens started to squawk again.

“You’re right. My bad. I’ll gather up my shit and get off your property.” He picked up the heat lamp, his tools, and the flashlight. “Just so you know, though, you may find all your chickens dead in the morning. The weather app on my phone predicts temps as low as twelve degrees before dawn, and that doesn’t account for the wind-chill factor.”

“Twelve degrees?” She hadn’t had a moment all day to check her phone for e-mail, let alone to look at the weather forecast. “It’s only September sixteenth!”

“It’s an unseasonal cold snap. Mystic Creek weather is unpredictable.” He arced the light beam over the coop interior, sending the chickens into a brief panic. “There are cracks in the walls of this enclosure large enough to accommodate my middle finger.” He held up his fist with that one digit lifted and illuminated by the beam. “As you can see, it isn’t exactly little.”

Sissy felt a reluctant giggle welling at the base of her throat. “Are you, by any chance, giving me the finger?”

“It’s up to your interpretation. What d’ya think?”

Sissy struggled not to smile, probably because he wasn’t making nice now, and she felt in no danger of getting her socks charmed off. “I think I’ve made you angry.”

“Hell, no. I went past angry when you reamed my ass for being on your property without permission. Now I’m royally pissed off.”

One arm cradling his stuff, he shuffled to the door, forcing her to step back as he exited in a rush to keep any hens from escaping. Sissy felt her shoe lose traction on the ice and thought, Oh, no. The next instant, she went down, hitting the back of her head so hard on the frozen earth that fireworks went off before her eyes.

She heard Ben say, “Holy fricking shit!” Then metal clanked as it struck the earth. “You’d better not be hurt, damn it. That’s not fighting fair.”

Finn nuzzled Sissy’s cheek. She blinked to clear her vision. From her prone position Ben suddenly looked like a giant. “I fell. Do you think I did it on purpose?”

He crouched beside her and pushed his dog back. “Let’s just say it happened at an opportune moment. How can I make a grand exit, flipping you off as I leave, if your head’s cracked open?”

Sissy checked the throbbing place for injury. She felt a knot forming on her scalp, which would probably hurt like heck the next day, but she wasn’t seriously wounded. She levered up on one elbow. “I’m fine. You can carry on with your grand exit.” Gazing up at his bulky silhouette, she squelched a smile. “And, FYI, when you’re royally pissed off, gesturing with one finger doesn’t quite cut it.” She held up her hand with all her fingers and her thumb extended. “Back at you times five.”

A rumble of laughter came up his throat. “You’ve got a sassy mouth. Has anyone ever told you that?”

An unpleasant memory of her father flashed through Sissy’s mind. “More than once. What I lack in size I make up for with brass.”

In the silvery glow of a full moon and the canting beam of the flashlight, his firm lips shimmered as they slanted into a crooked grin. “This isn’t funny, you know. I can’t leave until you’re on your feet and I’m sure you’re all right.”

Sissy pushed to a sitting position, and even as a wave of dizziness assailed her, she said, “I’m good. Flip me off and get out of here.”

“I can’t leave until I’m sure you’re okay.”

“Oh, bother.” Sissy rolled over onto all fours. Her palms stung as she pressed them against the ice. She got one foot under her. “Don’t try to help me. We already did that gig today.”

“I changed into Western boots with studded soles. Modified them myself for conditions like this.” He stood and extended a big hand to her. “I’m steady as a rock. Let me give you a lift up.”

Sissy gave him a measuring look before she accepted the offer. “Steady as a rock and possibly as dumb as one, too? Any idiot knows to wear a coat in weather like this.”

“I left it in the truck. It’s too bulky to work in.”

The grip of his hand over hers sent a shock of heat up her arm. Once on her feet, she weaved slightly. “Blood rush,” she told him. “Just give me a sec.” Finn whined and sniffed Sissy’s leg. “I’m okay, Finnegan. Don’t be worried.”

Ben grasped her shoulder. “Urgent care on Red Barn Road is open twenty-four seven. It couldn’t hurt to get checked out.”

Sissy straightened. “See? I’m right as rain. You hit your head today, and you didn’t see a doctor. Mine’s just as hard as yours is.”

“I’ve noticed.”

Sissy truly did feel okay. The dizziness was all but gone. Finn nudged her leg again. She patted his head. Careful to keep her footing, she turned and studied her coop. Ben’s prediction that her birds might die during the night made her heart squeeze. “I read online that chickens don’t need heat lamps. Besides, I don’t have electricity out here.”

“I brought an outdoor extension cord that’ll reach the outlet on your back porch.”

“Oh.” She glanced up at him. Concern won over pride. She loved her feathered babies. “Do you really think my chickens might freeze to death?”

“Nah.” He rested his hands on his narrow hips and hunched his shoulders against the cold. “I just used that as an excuse to come over and possibly get lucky with a woman who hates my guts.”

She tried not to laugh and lost the battle. “I don’t hate you. You’re just not my type.”

“Fair enough. And just for the record, I didn’t come here hoping to score. That’s the most pathetic excuse for a coop I’ve ever seen, and I honestly believe your chickens will die if it drops to twelve degrees. They’re young and they don’t have extra layers of protection yet. Even if they did, that’s pretty damned cold.” He angled his head to peer down at her through the moon-washed shadows. “I don’t doubt you read an article disparaging heat lamps, but did it occur to you that the person giving that advice may live where people seldom see snow? Chickens do freeze to death, and this is Mystic Creek, where it sometimes gets too cold to snow.”

“Those hens are packed in there like sardines. Can’t they share body heat?”

“Chickens are cold-blooded. They have a lot less body heat to share than mammals.”

Just the thought of finding Sonya, Pearl, and the others stiff and cold in the morning roiled her stomach. “Can I borrow the extension cord? I have a lamp and the tools I need. I can hang the light myself, no big deal, and I’ll replace the cord.”

“I’m sure you can hang a lamp. But you shouldn’t be out here working alone at night in these conditions. What if you fall and get hurt? Marilyn is undoubtedly asleep, and José Jayden doesn’t live over his restaurant. Who’d hear if you yelled for help?”

“You were out here working alone. Wherein lies the difference?”

“You didn’t know I was here, so if I’d gotten hurt, you wouldn’t have been responsible. I’ve also got studded boots. If I drive off, aware that you’re out here, I will be responsible if you fall and can’t get up. Therein lies the difference.” His tone was crisp and, limned by a wash of moonlight, his expression indicated that she was frustrating the hell out of him.

Sissy sighed. Independence was one thing, but clinging to her pride when it endangered her animals was something else entirely. “I really don’t want any of my chickens to die.”

Ben held up his hand. In the dim light, she saw that he had all five digits extended. “Back at you times five. Now can I hang the damned light?”

*   *   *

It took Ben less than fifteen minutes to install the heat lamp, and then he started running the extension cord to the coop. As he worked, he talked. “I understand that relationship-wise I’m not your type, but surely you’re not that fussy about a handyman.”

There had been no room for her to help inside the coop, and now she would feel silly if she tried to assist in unwinding a cord. Instead she shivered and petted Finnegan. “What’s your point?”

“The coop you’ve got is a pile of crap. You need a new one at least four times bigger. Insulated, too. And unless you want to regularly clip the wings of eighty chickens, you need a huge run with framed wire walls at least eight feet tall.”

“Eight feet?”

“Even at that height, your chickens will still perch on top of the frame sometimes. Mine do. But they seldom fly away. They know where the food and water are.”

Sissy bit her lip. “You’re describing a very costly coop and run.”

He punched a hole in the coop wall, then bent to shove the end of the extension cord through it. “It won’t be so bad if a friend does the work.”

“I don’t take charity.”

He stepped inside the enclosure, stirring up a chorus of cackles. Seconds after the door shut, Sissy saw a glow of light that gleamed through every crack in the walls. Ben hadn’t lied; the coop was a wind tunnel, offering little protection for her hens.

When he emerged, he resumed the conversation as if there had been no lull. “If you want these chickens to survive, you don’t have a choice.” He walked toward her with a loose-jointed shift of his hips. “Eighty birds will get sick without more room, both inside and outside. You have two little roosts. The rest of the birds have to sleep on the floor. Maybe when they were chicks, you thought the coop would provide enough space, but now you’ve got to realize it doesn’t. When you take on critters, you assume a responsibility to provide them with good care.”

Sissy felt as if he’d slapped her. “I’m fully aware of my responsibility to my chickens, and I’ve gotten bids on a bigger coop and run. The prices quoted to me were astronomical. It will take every dime of my savings and then some. And I don’t have the ‘then some.’” She paused to catch her breath. “I ordered too many chicks. I admit it. I was an ignorant twit. And now I can’t scrape up the money to give them a proper home. Maybe I should just put up an ad on Craigslist and give them away.”

He shook his head. “Not a good plan. When you give away chickens, they can end up in a stewpot.”

“What?” Sissy stared at him. “People may eat them? That’s horrible.”

“To your way of thinking. To other people, it’s no different than eating a chicken from the store, except it’s free.” He tossed his stuff onto the bed of the truck and turned to rest his hips against the dropped tailgate. Tendrils of light from the coop bathed the area with faint illumination. “There has to be a way that you and I can strike a bargain.”

Sissy bent her head. “It sticks in my craw to take charity. I know it sounds prideful, but I’ve got my reasons, and I just can’t do it.”

“There’s nothing wrong with being prideful.” He fell silent. Then he said, “Damn it. I owe you an apology.”

“More than one,” she informed him. “Would you like me to make you a list?”

He slanted her a look that was far from apologetic. “I count one actual offense. I’m pretty damned prideful myself. If the situation were in reverse, I couldn’t accept your help for free, either.” He sighed. “Shit. I’m a male chauvinist and didn’t even know it.”

Feeling defeated, Sissy joined him to lean against the tailgate. Finn came to lie at their feet. Light from the coop bathed the run and cast a golden glow over them as well. “I’ve created a mess—that’s for sure. Lesson learned. When you don’t know jack about raising hens, don’t go online and order eighty chicks.”

Ben chuckled. “You did go a little overboard. But that doesn’t mean there’s no solution.”

Sissy could see no humor in the situation, and she found herself wishing that he’d go back to being sarcastic. She felt safer when they were bristling at each other. “I can’t think of one.” She gestured at her crooked, tumbledown run. “It’s clear I’m not gifted when it comes to construction, so I can’t save money by doing it myself.”

He laughed again. “You’re a great cook, though, and maybe, because you are, we can negotiate a deal so you are paying me.”

She noticed that the tailgate hit him at his hips. The metal edge touched her well above the waist, an unnerving reminder of how tall he was. And he was put together nicely as well. She fixed her gaze on the sagging wire so she wouldn’t notice anything else unsettling about him. He had it right. For the sake of her chickens, she had to negotiate a deal with him. If she kept it businesslike, she’d be all right. She’d seen better-looking men. She just couldn’t remember when.

“So, what kind of deal are you offering me?”

He rubbed his jaw. “I eat out a lot, so here’s my idea. I get four square meals for every full day of work I put in. The way I see it, I’d pay full price if I just dropped in, and with my appetite, I’d probably drop fifteen bucks a pop. So you’d essentially be paying me sixty dollars a day for my labor.”

“Four squares? For most people, it’s three.”

“I start working as soon as it turns daylight. When I’m about two hours in, I eat a big breakfast. I burn that off by midmorning and need more fuel. I normally eat lunch a little late so it’ll last me until dinner.” He held up four fingers. “Add ’em up, and no, that isn’t back at you times four.”

He’d left something out, and she couldn’t let it pass. “What about materials? They must cost a fortune, or the bids I got wouldn’t be so high.”

“I can get a lot of stuff at the ReStore in town, the one that recycles used building materials, and I’ve got several rolls of wire that have been sitting at my place for years. I might as well give myself some extra storage space by using them.”

Sissy shifted her gaze skyward and chuckled in spite of herself. “I never saw this coming. Me, hiring Ben Sterling to build my chickens a coop and run. God must have a sense of humor.”

“Am I that bad?”

Sissy shook her head. “No. It’s just that you really aren’t my type, and having you around all the time, even short term, may not be a good plan.”

He joined her in gazing up at the full moon. “I get the feeling that I am your type, and that’s why you act like a porcupine around me, because I scare you.”

“Not a chance.” She would never admit to him that she found him attractive.

He expelled a breath and slanted his head upward. “Well, that’s good, because that’s a mulberry moon.”

It looked like an ordinary moon to Sissy. “What’s a mulberry moon?”

“A September full moon. It’s an old Native American name for it.”

“That’s strange. Mulberries ripen in June, so far as I know.”

“True, but the American Indians fermented them and made wine, which they couldn’t drink until sometime in September. They marked the fermentation time needed by watching for the September full moon.”

“Ah.” Sissy kept her gaze fixed on the sky. The moon under discussion was enormous and the color of churned butter with wisps of crimson and mauve ringing the bottom of its sphere.

“There’s a legend about the mulberry moon.” His voice pitched low and husky. “They say that any man and woman who stand together under a mulberry moon are destined to fall in love and live happily ever after.”

“Really? How fascinating.” She made sure skepticism edged her tone.

“Worried yet?” When she shook her head, he added, “Even riskier for you and me, we’re not only standing together under a mulberry moon, but we’re near a distributary of Mystic Creek, which also comes with a legend about falling in love.”

“I’ve heard all the different versions of the one about Mystic Creek.” Sissy gave him a sideways glance. “And both legends are undoubtedly a bunch of crap.”

He nodded. “Yep, just BS. The way I see it, the Native Americans who fell in love under a mulberry moon were probably drunk from their wine.”

She laughed. “I like that. BS with a cynical twist!”

“But possibly correct. If you drink enough wine, practically anyone looks good.”

“I’ll remember that and never serve you any fruit of the vine.” Sissy pushed away from the truck. “Moving on to the construction of my coop and run, it’s too cold out here to discuss the details. You’re shivering without a coat. And, after hearing about your appetite, I’m fairly sure you’re hungry by now. Do a Coney Island hot dog and fries sound good?”

“You’re tired. I’ll just go home and grab a sandwich. We can discuss the details tomorrow.”

Sissy beckoned for him to follow her. “I’ve decided to do my breakfast prep tonight so I don’t have to get up so early, and I didn’t have time for dinner. If I cook for one, I may as well cook for two.”

He fell into step beside her, one arm positioned to grab her if she slipped. “You heard my stomach growling.”

“Yep. I’m not deaf.”

*   *   *

Once inside the café, with Ben perched on a stool at the counter, Sissy wondered if she’d lost her mind when she invited him in. He had nailed it on the head; he was her type, and she was scared to death of him. Now her task was to make sure he never realized it. Bristling at him constantly didn’t seem to do the trick.

As she hurried to throw together their meal, she assured herself that her salivary glands were working overtime only because she was hungry and smelled food.

“This won’t take long. The fryer is still hot from dinner and will reheat fast.”

“No hurry. This coffee hits the spot.”

When the hot dogs were prepared and in the warmer, Sissy went to stand facing him at the business side of the counter. She propped her elbows on the stainless steel work surface, a foot lower than the service bar. It offered a comfortable leaning spot for a short person. And she liked the security of a solid counter between them.

“Like I said earlier, I don’t accept charity. I’ve had work done here, and paying a man only sixty dollars a day to do any kind of carpentry would be highway robbery on my part.”

“Ah, but that’s my offer, and you really shouldn’t turn it down. You could hire someone else—somebody who doesn’t have my appetite and a habit of eating out—but he’d very likely know as little as you do about chickens and charge three times more.”

“And you know a lot about them? Chickens, I mean.”

He winked at her. “I’ve been around chickens since I learned to walk. I know how to design a coop and run that will work and keep them safe from predators. I’ve already built one for myself. If you put your chickens in the coop at night, they’ll be fairly safe. You’ll need a good latch, of course. Raccoons are nocturnal and pretty clever.”

Sissy nodded, trying to envision the structure.

He obliterated the picture forming in her mind with “That wire you built your run with is deadly.” He created a large O by touching his index finger to the tip of his thumb. “A hen can poke her head through openings that large. Skunks love chicken heads.”

“Oh, God!”

“Exactly. I’ve seen chickens lying headless in their runs without another mark on them. True fact.” He settled that twinkling, mischievous gaze on her face. “If you want a coop and run that’s safe, you’ll hire me.”

Sissy toyed with her lineup of salt and pepper shakers. “I still don’t think sixty a day is enough to pay you.”

He winked at her. “We’ll negotiate it out, fair and square. I’ll want extra desserts.”

Sissy shook her head. “We need to have a clear understanding now. No negotiating later. When the job is done, I don’t want to feel indebted to you.”

He shrugged. “So what’s your offer?”

She could scarcely believe that she was about to hire him. He’d be on her property for God only knew how long, and even worse, he’d be eating at her café four times a day. The thought unsettled her so badly that she nearly changed her mind. But what about her chickens?

“Here’s my idea,” she said, her chest tightening with reluctance. “After you finish the job, I’ll provide you with four square meals a day for an extra two weeks. Paying you with food works for me. The actual cash outlay is less than the menu price. So if I feed you for two extra weeks, your daily pay will go up to a fair level, but it won’t be as expensive for me as paying cash.”

“Deal,” he said.

He agreed a little too quickly for her peace of mind. But just then she heard an odd sound in the kitchen. She left the bar and entered the cooking area. After she glanced around for anything out of place, her gaze settled on the shelf where she normally kept her watch and ring. Earlier there had been a piece of foil on the shelf. Now it was gone. She knew she hadn’t removed it. So who had taken it? A chill ran over her skin. And, again, she felt as if someone were staring at her.

Just then, the fryer reached cooking temperature and beeped. The sound made Sissy jump. Stomach fluttering, she lifted the vat lid, lowered the fry basket into sizzling oil, and then turned the wheel to batten down the hatches. She set the timer so the fries would be cooked to a perfect golden brown.

Once back at the bar, she asked a question that she thought, until that moment, would never pop out of her mouth to anyone. “Do you believe in ghosts?”