And she wasn’t sure this onecouldbe fixed.
“Why didn’t you say so? I could have had one of the boys from town over to fix it if you’d have told me.” She knew he’d do it himself if his old injuries would allow it. Connall Callahan was not prone to outsourcing work, but for his daughter, he’d set his pride aside.
“No need. You’ve raised me well, and I am sure I can manage it myself.” She gave him a wink and nudged past him toward the stairs.
But Pa being Pa, he had to get one last word in. “What about that Ezekiel fella? I can send for him?” She could hear the ridiculous smile in his voice.
Hazel froze at the bottom step and rolled her eyes. “Really, Pa? Zeke might as well be a brother to me. You ought to know better.” And hedidknow better. He also knew just what to say to get under her skin.
Ezekiel Bertram was Hazel’s longest-standing friendship, and if she was honest with herself, the only real friend she had. Sure, there’d been a handful of female friends when she was a child, but none of them stuck to her quite like Zeke.
He was like a brother to hernow,but it wasn’t always that way. As teenagers, they’d grown a bit too close and wound up chasing feelings neither of them could quite sort out. A wild andintimate relationship developed between them, but like a flame, it burned out quickly.
They’d both moved on amicably, with the unspoken agreement that they wouldn’t test those waters again. Even so, Hazel sometimes suspected Zekedidwant to give it another shot. There were signs, albeit small ones; an “accidental” brush of her hand, a hug or stare lingering too long.
Connall was never privy to the details of their relationship, but he wasn’t oblivious either.
Hazel shook her head.
“Can you blame an old man for trying?” he questioned through a smirk that stressed the lines around his eyes, scrunching his time-worn skin.
“Trying to what? Get rid of your only daughter?” She scowled. Though she knew it wasn’t true. If Pa had wanted to pawn her off on someone else, he would have by now. Hazel knew she was in a rare situation, one where her father would cling to his only daughter, his only child, as long as he could. He would never force her to marry if she didn’t want to, which left her as the oldest eligible woman in Larksridge.
“Never. I just don’t want you to be stuck here with me forever. It’s no life for someone like you. You deserve to see the world.” He meant it.
Hazel rolled her eyes again. “We’ve been over this. I’ve no desire to see the world. Not now, not ever. The world has nothing to offer me I can’t have right here at home. Plus, Larksridge has the added benefit of beingsafe. You know as well as anyone that the same cannot be said about out there.”She nodded toward the open window.
Connall shifted his weight uneasily, relieving the strain on his bad leg. His eyes darkened as though his mind had wandered somewhere else.
It was something Hazel knew far too much about, having traipsed through her dreams a few too many times recently.
“Anyway,” she broke the tension, “I am fine, truly. Now, if it’s alright with you, I’ve got to finish up upstairs so I can get going on today’s meals before the hungry townsfolk show up and burn the place down.”
“Aye,” he sighed, “I just want you to know, Hazel girl. You don’thaveto go anywhere if you don’t like. I love having you here more than anything in the world. I just want you to be happy, be it here or somewhere else. The last thing your old man wants is to hold you back.”
“I know, Pa. I know.” She faked a smile. Not because he’d said anything wrong, but because he’d said everything right. They may not have had an easy life, but Connall would stop at nothing to see his daughter happy. Even if it was at his own expense.
She patted his arm with a gentle hand and kissed him on the cheek. “Love you. Duty calls.”
Hazel finished refreshingthe unoccupied room and stood back to admire her handiwork. She almost turned her back on the straw-stuffed mattress with its quilt folded neatly atop it when she noticed something peculiar. It was a long, orange cat hair. She plucked it from the quilt, silently wondering when she’d last seen someone bring an animal companion for their stay, let alone a cat.
As she turned to leave the room, Hazel glimpsed herself in the mirror and paused. Her wild auburn curls were as unruly asever despite the kerchief she’d tied them back with. Her pale, freckled skin was dusted with soot.Looking dreadful, Hazel Grace. What would Mother think of you now?
And whatwouldher mother have thought of her? Unmarried and with no prospects, Hazel lived a relatively solitary, ordinary life under her father’s roof. She spent her days toiling in the garden behind the inn and helping with odds and ends around the tavern. Twenty-seven years under her belt and nothing to show for it.
Pa wasn’t getting any younger, which was getting harder to ignore. If Mother could see her now—wherever she was in the great beyond of the Otherrealm—Hazel hoped she appreciated how her daughter looked after the doting husband she’d left behind. Regardless of her status in life. Regardless of whether she was far behind her similarly aged peers and deemed by most to be unsuccessful.
“I wish you were here,” Hazel whispered to no one, pulling her locket from beneath her blouse. It was weird, missing someone she couldn’t remember. Thankfully, Pa filled in the gaps, regaling Hazel with stories otherwise lost to the fog of passing time. But sometimes, she wondered if every memory was fabricated, something Connall had wrapped in a delicate package and handed to her. None of thembelongedto her. As though all the memories she’d made had been erased. Her mind—much like the silver locket Connall had passed on to her on her sixteenth birthday—refused to open.
She was just a tot when her mother perished in childbirth. Hazel lost both her mother and sibling that day, and she often wondered what life would have been like were they still alive. Instead, all she had left was a useless silver locket hammered into the likeness of a quarter moon.
But she couldn’t change the past. So, Hazel left her wandering thoughts behind and descended to the work awaiting her in the kitchen.
Before long, the kitchen was overflowing with delicious aromas. Hazel had prepared bowls of chopped leeks, turnips, potatoes, and carrots, along with a few small dishes of roughly chopped herbs. She had grown to love this time, just her and the quiet of the kitchen—the calm before the proverbial storm.
The gentle thump of her knife chopping against the wooden cutting board, the crunch of the vegetables, the incredible smells guaranteed to emanate from the foods before they were cooked… It was like magic.
And if Hazel was honest, she felt like a bit of a witch herself when cooking, especially when preparing a soup or stew. Perhaps it was a childish thing for a grown woman to enjoy, but sometimes she pretended she was crafting a brew or potion in the tavern’s giant iron cauldron. After all, what was soup if not a potion to cure hunger? But each time she had those thoughts, Hazel scolded herself; an adult woman shouldn’t be brewing imaginary potions in her father’s kitchen.
