Novel Dreams Read online

  “Aye, Captain.” Matthew tipped his mug in his brother’s direction. “Onions, potatoes, turnips, beets. Everything Sophie wanted for the inn tomorrow.”

  Marshal picked up the clipboard and skimmed the list. “And the salad boxes for the school’s lunch program?”

  “All there.” Matthew hooked his thumb toward the full truck box with Morning Harvest painted on the side in golden letters.

  Marshal flicked his gaze to the boxes, his lips moving in a silent count.

  A flicker of irritation ran through Matthew. “Dude. I said I’d do it, and I did.”

  Marshal furrowed his brows and tossed the list on the workbench against the wall. “You missed a box of parsnips yesterday.”

  “I did? Sorry.” Matthew ran his free hand through the top of his wavy brown hair, which was cut in a stylish fade. How did I miss that? I swear I checked the list at least three times. He glanced at his surly brother, pushing down the hint of annoyance in his chest.

  Two years older than him and born four minutes before their sister, Madison, Marshal had always assumed the role of the responsible older brother. Matthew had grown up in his shadow, joining Beavers when he was five like Marshal had, and following his big brother all the way to Scouts. Despite his objections, their parents had insisted on it, pointing out how much Marshal loved the program. But Matthew wasn’t his brother. While Marshal had taken on leadership roles and meticulously planned hiking and rafting trips, Matthew had spent most of his time goofing off with his friends.

  Now, he set his coffee on the tailgate. “Who did I miss on the order?”

  “Josie’s Diner,” Marshal replied. “One of our best customers. Better bring her something extra to make up for it. Maybe some of those red gold spuds. She always needs more potatoes.”

  Matthew winced. Of course, I had to mess up the order from one of his favourite clients. “I can run them to her first thing while you talk to the contractors.”

  Marshal grunted and gave him a nod. “Thanks.” He pushed back his hat and rubbed his forehead with his arm. “Those contractors—I swear that greenhouse is going to be the death of me.”

  “It’s going to be the death of us all,” Matthew said dryly. The whole project had turned Marshal from his usually good-natured self into a total grump.

  Matthew glanced out the overhead door. The unfinished greenhouse stood next to the shop, its steel arch-frame standing starkly in the dark and rain. The polycarbonate sheets for the covering were supposed to arrive next week. But Marshal had been on the phone earlier with the supplier, his face the colour of a ripe tomato. Like everything else, something must have gone wrong. After fighting with the town to get proper licensing, another electric pole had been erected in the farmyard last week. One that Marshal hadn’t expected to need. Now with this rain, there was no way the electrician could come out tomorrow to work on the wiring.

  And of course, Marshal was in a rush to get the greenhouse done before winter hit. He’d been in a crusty mood since Matthew moved in a couple weeks ago. The only person who’d been able to make him smile lately had been Sophie, his childhood friend now-turned girlfriend and head chef at the Starlight Inn.

  Marshal scrubbed his face with his palm and sighed. “Look, I’m sorry. I know it’s been stressful around here, and your life isn’t exactly a walk in the park right now either.”

  Matthew raised a brow. “It’s not that bad.” He paused. “You know, aside from losing my job, having to move to the other side of the country, an ex-girlfriend who won’t lay off—” his tongue stiffened.

  Marshal leaned his back against the workbench. “I never liked her, you know.”

  “You met her like what—twice?” Matthew replied. He had no idea why he was protecting her. Sure, things hadn’t been great between them for months. But did she have to start dating Frank McDavin? His ex-boss—the guy Matthew needed for a reference? His stomach clenched at the thought.

  “Twice was enough,” Marshal replied. “She wasn’t exactly warm to us last Christmas.”

  “Let me guess, you didn’t like her big-city pant suits?”

  “Nah, her pant suits were fine. It was more like her attitude. She called Mom’s job cute. What’s cute about being the town’s event planner?” Marshal shook his head. “She looked down her nose at us from day one.”

  Matthew thought of the way she’d laughed at Cedar Lake with disdain and told him she’d never move there in a million years. Maybe he’s right. “Well, she’s gone now. Out of my life for good.”

  “Then why is she still calling you?”

  Matthew’s neck grew rigid, and he rubbed the back of it. “I don’t know, Marsh. To let me know how happy she is with Frank? I haven’t been answering her. She’s not begging me to take her back, that’s for sure.” She’d made it perfectly clear that we were done. That she needed somebody more sensitive—like Frank, I guess.

  They were silent for a moment, then Marshal cleared his throat. “Well, I’m glad you’re home. We missed you around here.”

  “Wow. All it took was some wallowing to soften you up?” Matthew grabbed his coffee and got to his feet. “I should have started complaining weeks ago.”

  Marshal rolled his eyes, then clapped Matthew’s shoulder. “Want to help me with the delivery for the inn tomorrow? Beena can take the load to the school,” he said, referring to his only farmhand. “You can see what the Hoffmans have done with the place, and say hi to Sophie and Mads.”

  “I could do that.” Matthew set his mug on the workbench, then closed the truck’s tailgate. “It’d be fun to see Madison in action at her new job.” His sister had moved back to Cedar Lake a month before he did. After finally leaving Vancouver and her abusive marriage, she’d seemed to settle in quickly to their old hometown. By the time Matthew had arrived, she’d already gotten a new job as a bookkeeper at the inn and had reconnected with her old boyfriend, Dylan Stewart—who also happened to be Marshal’s best friend.

  He frowned at the thought of her ex-husband, Jamie. He’d never liked the guy, none of their family had. But he’d had no idea how bad it had gotten. If there had been any clues, he’d have been home long before now. Instead, he had avoided his family for months, embarrassed by his own problems.

  He had a lot to make up for—to Madison, Marshal, and his parents. That was why he was out here, loading crates of vegetables into the back of a dirty farm truck.

  Marshal stepped around him and gave the truck box one last check. “I think we’re set for tomorrow morning. Let’s head in.”

  Matthew pulled the hood of his jacket over his head and followed Marshal through the rain and across the yard to his old two-story farmhouse. Built in the 1950’s with an add-on front porch, it was the definition of quaint and simple. But it had been kept up well over the years and with its rustic exterior, it suited Marshal perfectly.

  They entered the porch and kicked off their boots, and Matthew hung his jacket in the closet next to the freezer. “Got time for some Fallout?” he asked, referring to a video game they’d been playing together.

  “Nah, I’m beat,” Marshal replied. “I’m hitting the shower and going to bed.”

  Matthew gave him a crooked grin. “It’s nine o’clock, old man.”

  Marshal let out a laugh and made his way to the hallway, then glanced over his shoulder. “Some of us have to be up at six. Including you, if you’re going to get those boxes to Josie first thing.”

  “Did I promise that?” Matthew rubbed his chin, and followed his brother up the rickety stairs that led to two bedrooms. Marshal had converted the bedroom on the main level into his office. Luckily, he’d had a spare for Matthew to move into while he figured out what to do with his furniture in storage in Toronto.

  Marshal stopped at the top of the stairs. “You just did, and there’s no backing out now.”

  “Yeah, whatever.” Matthew waved him off, hoping to get a rise from him. “Well, ’night then. I’m going to check my email. Maybe a magical manuscript fai
ry graced my laptop with an editing client.”

  Marshal snorted. “Good luck with that.” He grabbed a towel from the linen closet, then made his way downstairs to the only bathroom.

  Matthew chuckled and entered his sparse bedroom. A twin bed in the corner, a blue paint-chipped dresser he recognized from their childhood, and an old elm nightstand that probably came with the house. After his modern, walnut bedroom set with high-thread count sheets, he felt like a college kid again living with whatever free stuff had been handed to him.

  His stomach twinged, but he pushed the thoughts aside and grabbed his laptop from the top of the dresser. He flopped onto his bed, then set it on his lap and opened it.

  The only new email sitting in his inbox had a subject line that read Read me!. The sender: Brittany Holt.

  Now she wants to email back and forth? No way. He closed the laptop and set it on the nightstand, his stomach churning. He had nothing to say to her.

  He got up from the bed, slipped off his sweater, and hung it in the open closet next to hangers filled with Marshal’s checkered shirts. His mouth twitched as his gaze lingered on the closet, a familiar ache in his chest. He’d left Cedar Lake at eighteen to strike it out on his own, to show his parents and everybody in that suffocating town that he could. That he wasn’t going to follow his brother’s footsteps or the path his parents had laid out for him—trade school at a local college because aside from English, his grades weren’t good enough to be a doctor like his dad.

  He jerked the closet door closed, worried that his worst nightmare was coming true. If I don’t get a new editing job soon, am I going to morph into a flanneled mini-Marshal and start delivering pumpkins around the countryside?

  Chapter Three

  Anna blinked back tears as she sliced the red onion on the plastic cutting board before her. She tapped her foot to the pop song playing over the inn’s kitchen speakers, lost in thought about the notes her agent had sent her about her book. Clarissa wanted to remarket it as a young adult novel. If I age Rowena down to seventeen and make some tweaks to the romance aspect, maybe it could work. She bit the side of her cheek. Should I rewrite it in first-person narrative? I’ll check with Clarissa tonight.

  With her mind still wandering in the fae forest of her story, she lifted the cutting board to slide the sliced onions into the glass salad bowl. But before she could deposit the vegetables safely into the bowl, she banged the cutting board on the bowl’s edge, and the onions tumbled to the countertop and onto the floor.

  Sophie’s voice jerked her to attention. “Everything okay there, Anna?” From her spot on the other side of the island, she placed one last salmon fillet into the pan in front of her, not even glancing at Anna as she spoke.

  Tad Hoffman, the twenty-two-year-old son of the owners of the Starlight Inn and Sophie’s assistant, madly whisked a pot of sauce on the stove behind Anna. His russet brown skin glistened with sweat, and he rubbed his forehead with the crook of his elbow. “She’s daydreaming again. Must be a good one. Probably about books? Or dogs?”

  Anna sighed and scooped the onions from the countertop into her hand. “Ugh. Sorry about that. Tad’s right, my head is in the clouds today.”

  Sophie wiped her hands on her apron and gave her a sympathetic smile. “It’s not a big deal. Toss them in the compost and grab another onion.” She flicked her gaze to Tad. “Do you have the glaze ready?”

  “I’m on it.” Tad set down the whisk, then grabbed the pot and rushed to Sophie’s side. “This is possibly the best honey garlic glaze I’ve made yet. I can’t wait to see the look on old Henly’s face when he tries it,” he said, referring to his instructor at the culinary school he attended in the evenings.

  Anna strode to the compost bucket that sat open next to the sink and dumped her handful of onion inside it. She grabbed the broom from the cupboard and began to sweep up the mess on the floor, barely registering the conversation around her. Do I really want to change The Wicked Moon for a younger audience, though? I’ll need to rework Rowena’s job, education, her relationship with her mother—I’ll need to change so much.

  Sophie’s voice cut through her thoughts. “Well, your teacher picked a good night to come in to see how your apprenticeship is going. Honey glazed salmon, roasted herbed veggies, Mediterranean salad—we’ll knock his socks off!” She paused. “What do you think, Anna?”

  “Um—” Anna swept the remaining pieces of onion into the dustpan and straightened. “Totally. You’re going to ace this, Tad.”

  Tad peered over Sophie’s shoulder at the salmon. “I hope so. Henly’s known for being tough. He’s a real Gordon Ramsay.”

  “He can’t be that bad. Nobody’s that awful in real life.” Sophie picked up the pan and balanced it in her arms. “Is the oven set?”

  “Warmed up and ready to go.” Tad adjusted his hair net over his tight black curls, then glanced at the clock. “Almost four o’clock. Good work, team. As long as Anna gets those onions under control, we’ll be ahead of schedule.”

  “Consider them controlled.” Anna dumped the dustpan into the compost box, then returned it and the broom to the pantry and grabbed another onion from a box on one of the ledges. She returned to the island and set the vegetable root down on the cutting board. Carefully, she sliced it in half, then set down her knife and peeled away the top layers.

  Sophie squeezed by her, balancing the pan in her arms. After placing it in the oven, she peered out the window above the sink. “Oh, good. Marshal’s here with today’s order. I was worried he’d be late. He’s been working so hard on that greenhouse, and it’s been nothing but problem after problem.”

  Tad leaned his elbows on the counter. “Have you convinced him to take that little vacation yet? The weekend getaway you mentioned, to that cabin in the Okanagan?”

  Sophie rolled her eyes, her hands on her hips. “Trying to convince him to take a break from work is like . . .” she paused, biting her lip.

  Anna and Tad exchanged glances, and Anna raised a brow. “Like trying to convince you to take on one less catering event?”

  “Oh, stop it.” Sophie crossed her arms, but her lips twitched with a repressed smile.

  A frantic barking that sounded much too close to the inn met Anna’s ears. Sophie leaned over the sink for a better look out the window. “Anna, those goofy dogs are out again.”

  Katie and Rodger graciously allowed Anna to bring Monty to work. Madison, Marshal’s sister who worked as their bookkeeper, brought her lovable Great Dane every day too. They usually stayed in the wire kennel attached to one of the stable’s run-in horse stalls. Dane, the stable manager, had welcomed the idea and even set them up with dog beds inside the barn. It was the perfect arrangement. That is, until one of the mutts learned how to get out.

  Anna grabbed the kitchen towel hanging from one of the drawer handles on the island and wiped her hands, leaving the half-chopped onion on the cutting board. “Oh, those dogs!” She gave Sophie an apologetic look. “Again? Last Thursday, the Tuesday before that, and now this? Dane must be out with the horses. I don’t know which one figured out how to open that latch, but we need to get a chain for it. I’ll go deal with them. Sorry, Soph.”

  Sophie waved her off. “No problem. We’ll figure out how to contain those furry beasts yet.”

  “My bet’s on Mack as the culprit,” Tad said. “He was roaring around here this weekend. And Monty’s too sweet to do such a thing.”

  Anna snickered and made her way to the back door. “Too sweet or too old?” She kicked off her Sketchers and pulled on her rubber boots.

  Tad tapped his chin, then shrugged. “Probably both.”

  She grabbed her navy-blue rain jacket from the hook by the entrance and slipped it on, then pulled open the door. A bone-chilling breeze swept over her, but the rain had let up to a slow drizzle. She flipped her hood over her head, then made her way down the steps to the parking pad.

  Marshal approached her with an armload of boxes filled with vegetables. Wate
r dripped from the brim of his hat as he gave her a curt nod. “Hey, Anna.”

  “Hi, Marshal,” she replied. “Sorry about the dogs.”

  Marshal grunted, then shot her a wry grin. “They’re all over my helper back there,” he jerked his head toward the truck box. “Mind putting them away?”

  “On it,” she replied cheerfully.

  “Thanks.” Marshal started up the steps to the inn’s back door.

  Anna made her way around the side of the truck, cringing at the sound of Mack’s booming bark. She imagined he was jumping all over Beena, Marshal’s usual farmhand.

  But instead of Beena’s petite figure, Anna found a man in a canvas jacket scratching Monty’s ears behind the open tailgate. His back to her, he let out a whistle and Mack thundered toward him with a big stick in his mouth.

  That is definitely not Beena.

  “Come on, boy!” With his ball cap and broad shoulders, he looked like Marshal from behind.

  “Umm, hey,” Anna said, catching his attention. “Sorry about the dogs, they’re supposed to be up at the barn.”

  At her voice, Monty bounded toward her. When he reached her side, he shook his wet coat and splattered her with muddy water.

  “Monty! Sit!” Once the overeager canine complied, she wiped at the mud on her jacket.

  The man looked over his shoulder and gave her a wide smile, revealing a dimple in his chin. Her pulse quickened as she met his hazel eyes. She faltered, her hand on Monty’s head, unsure of what to say.

  “No problem,” he said. Mack reached him, legs wobbling like a newborn foal’s, and banged the stick against his legs. “Ouch, dude! This one’s a bull in a china shop.” He wrestled the stick from the tawny giant, who then bounded away excitedly with drool stringing from his jowls.

  “Oh, yeah. That’s Mack. He’s a handful,” Anna replied. Her hood had slipped low over her glasses, and she pushed it up and away from her face. “You’re sure good with him.”

  He wound back with the stick and threw it across the lawn in Mack’s direction, then sauntered over to her. “That’s because we’re buddies. I’m Matthew, Madison and Marshal’s brother.” He held out his hand.