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 was the favorite, Anna a close second, and Cara was the daughter who hadn’t gone to college aside from a few failed classes, had slept around, had a tattoo.
Mom probably prayed for Cara’s eternal soul morning, noon and night.
This day was blowing hard. “Whatever. I’ll go. Can we stop talking about it?”
“I’m only trying to help. Don’t you want to—”
She walked away. If she had to hear someone in her family say “do something more” one more time, she might be inclined to throw a punch. Unlike Anna, Mia wouldn’t fight back. She’d look hurt and make Cara feel like a jerk.
Because that’s what you are.
Ugh. Ugh. Ugh. She stomped down the hill, leaving Mia behind on the porch. Where was she even going? She couldn’t leave; she’d already promised Mom she’d eat dinner with the family.
She’d have to pass Dell and the guy he was talking to in order to get to her quiet spot by the creek, but so be it. If they were talking business or farming, Dell wouldn’t give her a second glance. He and Mia had that insanity in common.
She tried to cut behind them, but a bark distracted her. She glanced at the truck parked next to Mia’s vegetable barn. She recognized that truck and the four dogs in the back.
Wes. In all his flannelly, bearded glory. What the heck was he doing here? Well, it wouldn’t be hard to find out. “Wes?”
He turned, eyes wide. “Cara.”
“Wait, you know my name?” She didn’t recall giving it to him, and he definitely hadn’t asked.
“You two know each other?”
Cara gave Dell a brief glance before continuing her examination of Wes’s face. She wondered what he’d look like with a haircut and a shave. She had a sneaking suspicion he might be kind of hot. Luckily, Mountain Man was not her type. “Wes helped me out Saturday when that stupid hair ball attacked me.”
“Oh. Huh. Well, Wes, unless you have any more questions, you can email us the quantities, and we can bring it to the market when they’re ready.”
“Yeah, sure.”
Dell gave her a quizzical look, but she ignored him. “You bring your menagerie everywhere?” she asked Wes.
“Pretty much.” He had his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jeans. He didn’t look at her. His eyes were locked on his dogs.
“Well, I guess I’ll leave you two to chat.” Dell gave her another what the hell? look.
She shrugged. She wasn’t sure what the hell, either. But Dell left them alone, walking back up the hill to Mia.
“You make dog treats. What are you doing buying stuff here?”
“Sweet potatoes,” he said, as if that explained everything.
“Sweet potatoes?”
“Organic sweet potatoes. And peas. And carrots. Ingredients. For the dog treats.”
“Dogs like peas and carrots?”
“In my treats they do.”
“Huh.” She cocked her head and studied him at point-blank range. Rumor had it he was not very nice. Considering the way he’d treated Pipsqueak’s
