Chapter 4

Chapter Four

On Sam's first morning back home in his apartment over Branches, he woke early to the sounds and scents of a beautiful June morning. He showered, tidied up his short stubble, and styled his hair. Then, in his chef's whites, he went straight down to his kitchen, pulled out his notebook, and lost himself in ordering and planning.

In his week off, there had been a rush on a lot of really odd things. Vegetables, fruit and breakfast cereal. A whole shelf of the stuff had been decimated. Not only that, but tomato sauce was splattered on the floor of the storeroom.

I go away one week….

He cleared up the mess, although the stain on the floor wasn't tomato—it looked like blood. Maybe the steaks they used yesterday had tipped and gotten blood on the floor.

Sam dismissed the worry, resolved to talk to Ashley about cleaning up after herself. He settled into his day, taking orders from some of the people up there riding, or maybe they were just visiting Branches to check out the small restaurant that was open for coffees and lunches.

Sam added more fresh produce to the list and tapped a pen on his lips. Next up was the orders for cakes, which had kind of become a specialty for them at Crooked Tree. Between him and Ashley, they had a thriving side business in celebration cakes. The order book was already full, and he began to scribble notes about the next cake he would be in charge of, a birthday cake for Josh, Ashley's son.

"Sam!"

A voice squealed his name and he turned just in time as Josh launched himself at him.

Talk of the devil….

Sam caught the armful of growing boy, hugging him close and then setting him back to look at him critically. Josh was going to be eight in a few days' time, and Sam already had plans for his cake. He was close to this kid, who loved to stand next to him in the kitchen and chat away as he worked.

Josh was one of the only people on the ranch shorter than Sam, never mind he was a seven-year-old kid—or nearly eight, as Josh kept insisting. Sam took it as a win, anyway. He was five nine and wiry, but like Gabe had once said, he had the attitude to make up for the lack of height. Of course, Sam had to knock Gabe on his ass when he added that Sam was cute and pint-sized.

"I swear you've gotten taller," Sam told Josh.

"Nah, no way. Eben is still way taller than me, and his pants are way up his ankles."

Eben, short for Ebenezer—named because he was born on Christmas Day—was Josh's best friend, a cute kid with red hair and freckles who could devour six cupcakes and still want more.

"Poor Eben," Sam said, grinning. Then he focused on Josh. "Whatcha up to, kid?"

Josh looked around with innocence pasted on his face. "Nothin'."

Sam knew exactly what Josh was up to. "You're not seeing your cake design." Sam added a smile and yanked his notebook from the counter. He'd just been sketching there, and he couldn't help but laugh. Josh had some kind of sixth sense whenever Sam was in the kitchen, planning.

"Just a quick look."

Sam pushed the notebook in the ties of his white apron. "Nuh-huh. Your mom would kill me if the surprise was ruined."

"She wouldn't have to know," Josh said.

Sam couldn't help the snort of laughter. Ashley was a real mom who was part of her kids' lives. The kind who loved unconditionally, and as such she was endowed with freaky powers.

"She's a mom. She knows everything." Sam passed two small plates to Josh, one with a toasted homemade bagel smothered in cream cheese and salmon, the other with two savory cheese and walnut muffins. "Take these to table six, and mind your manners."

He watched Josh carefully take them to an older couple at the table in the window, place the plates in the middle of the table, and step back after offering a wide smile. Josh loved helping at the restaurant and seemed to have inherited his mom's knack with cakes and cookies. Sam had never thought he would tolerate a kid in his kitchen, but Josh was different, respectful and cute, and he listened to Sam. There was probably a small amount of hero worship involved, but that was a lot to do with the fact that Sam had made him a rocking birthday cake last year: a Star Wars –themed affair that Sam was worried he wouldn't be able to top this go-round.

He considered the cake designs he had in mind. Star Wars was last year, but it could be this year as well. Last year had been a perfect representation of BB8, and he'd built it over a twisted framework, working together with Ashley to get it just right .

He flicked open his notebook and realized he'd zoned out thinking of designs. His head had taken him on a journey he hadn't wanted, back to thinking about his own sterile childhood and family and the check he still had upstairs. No one would have made Sam a cake for his birthday. No, his birthday was all about carefully selected investment options and a polite dinner with his parents, brother, and judgmental grandmother. No parties. No real gifts. No cakes. Just… nothing. Maybe the money they'd finally handed him was enough to make that better?

Sam shook his head. Nothing could make his fucked-up childhood better.

"Any chance of a coffee?" Marcus asked from the door.

Sam looked up with a ready smile. Marcus looked stronger lately. Sam didn't know how the treatments were going, but Marcus was brighter, more focused. Of course it helped that he had focus in his life with Adam back. Because if Adam was alive, then maybe Marcus's own son, Justin, could be out there as well.

Hope was a thing that Marcus had given up a long time ago, but it seemed to be growing again.

"Coming right up, boss." Sam took some beans and began to hand grind them, none of that machine grinding for him. Call him a perfectionist, but coffee making was an art. Sam knew Marcus liked his coffee strong and black, Jay loved cream, and Ashley had sugar in hers unless she was eating cake. He knew every request of the people he shared the ranch with.

Sam slid the filled coffee mug onto a saucer and placed two small biscotti next to it. It might be a staff coffee, but Sam never handed over anything that wasn't as close to perfection as he could make it.

"We'd like to get you up to the house tonight, a meeting of sorts," Marcus said.

"Okay." Sam wasn't going to read anything into the way Marcus couldn't quite meet his eyes. Probably more of that Sam-is-grieving shit. "What time?"

"Do you have guests booked in for dinner tonight?"

"No, we canceled them up to next Monday because I wasn't sure when I'd be back."

Marcus waved away the explanation. "Good. Come up to ours for something to eat. Seven? Sophie's making stew." He finished his coffee and placed the empty cup down.

"I'll be there." Sam wasn't enough of a culinary snob to turn down home cooking, especially not Sophie's stew, all thick gravy and chunks of meat and vegetables.

Marcus left.

Sam was distracted by the couple at table six, who'd sat chatting there for at least two hours by then, heads bent close, with an iPad between them. They were all smiles.

They looked like they'd been together forever; she with gray hair and a ready smile, he with darker hair threaded with silver and a propensity for touching the back of her hand.

I'll have that, one day.

Thing was, Sam already had the odd gray hair, but still no permanent guy in his life, and at thirty-three, he was feeling his age.

Stupid, really.