Page 59 of Kissing the Sheriff
Conrad and Phileas followed. “Jolly good,” Phileas said. “I could do with a cup.” He went straight to the table and sat. “Lovely, a cookie jar.” He took off the lid and peeked inside.
Conrad joined him and noticed cups and saucers were already on the table. At least she planned on having some with them. He noticed she didn’t mention it while they worked.
She brought the pot from the stove and filled each cup. After returning the coffee pot, she came to the table and sat.
“Well,” Phileas said with a smile. “This place is starting to look better all ready. I’m sure you’re happy to be brightening it up.”
She half-smiled and nodded.
Conrad studied her. She didn’t seem sad. Just … hmmm, what? “Too bad Billy’s not here. He’s missing out on more cookies.”
“He’s had enough for the day,” Phileas said. “That boy could eat his way from one end of town to the other if you let him.”
“He probably already has,” Conrad chuckled. He looked at Cassie. “Has he?”
“Not yet.” She smiled at them, then sipped her coffee. “But wait until the dance. Those poor refreshments.”
Conrad chuckled but it quickly faded. He couldn’t figure out what was wrong. Had he done something to upset her? Said anything? She wasn’t avoiding him exactly, but wasn’t herself either. Oh, well, he’d figure it out eventually. Maybe it was something she didn’t want to talk about while Phileas was there. Yes, that had to be it. He grabbed a cookie from the jar and took a generous bite. He’d be patient and, as soon as Phileas left, he’d ask her what she wanted to talk about.
They chatted about the dance before Phileas started looking around the kitchen. “What are your plans for this room?”
“Maybe some fresh paint,” Conrad said. “We don’t want to get too fancy.”
“I suppose it depends on whether Cassie is a neat cook.” Phileas looked at her. “Are you?”
“I’m not much of a cook at all. There are some things I’m good at, but it was just Pa and me. He wasn’t one for fancy meals.”
“Too bad,” Phileas said. “I must admit I’ve enjoyed watching Dora and Jean cook. I’ve picked up a thing or two. I might even be able to survive on my own if it ever came to that.”
Conrad laughed. “I hardly think it would.”
“You never know, I might decide to be an artist and live in some rundown garret. Starving. Suffering for my creative self …”
Conrad rolled his eyes. “Really, Phileas. Do you have to make it sound sodramatic?”
“You and I both know that the future is uncertain. Who knows where we’ll be, say, six months or a year from now?”
Conrad knew exactly what he was talking about: Sterling and Letty. If Sterling stayed, Irving would be next in line to inherit the title and the estate. Phileas was next after Irving and, if his guess was right, wanted nothing to do with it. He would indeed prefer a townhouse in London, but he wouldn’t starve. And though he might become some sort of artist, no suffering would be involved.
“And what about you?” Phileas smiled at Cassie. “What does your future hold? Where do you see yourself in six months?”
Her eyes widened. “I have no idea. How could I know?”
“That’s the beauty of it.” Phileas leaned toward her. “You don’t. But if you have a goal, then you could see it come to fruition. After working on Letty’s ranch, your house and my grand masterpiece the hotel – once I get to it – I think I’ll set myself up as an advisor of sorts. To the well-to-do, of course.”
“For decorating?” she asked. “You are quite good at it.”
Phileas looked at his fingernails. “I am, aren’t I?”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Conrad groaned. “Stop letting it go to your head.”
Phileas laughed and reached for another cookie.
Cassie smiled. At least there was that. Conrad finished his own cookie, drained his cup, then looked at the pot.
Cassie caught the action, blushed, went to the stove and brought it back. After pouring him a cup she refilled Phileas’, then her own. “What time will you be here tomorrow?” she asked.
“What time do you want me?”
