Taking this job wasn’t only about money. I wanted to stay in Lonesome Creek, and if I was being honest with myself, I wanted to stay because of Hail. The way he’d looked at me yesterday when I’d helped with the pottery class. The quiet confidence he had when he worked with clay. The gentle way he treated Tressa.
I couldn’t let my feelings for him factor into this decision, though. Nothing but trouble lay in that direction. He’d be my boss, and there were rules about that. But…
“I accept,” I said. “Working here, I mean.”
Relief flooded his features. “Really?”
The hope in his voice made my heart ache. This meant as much to him as it did to me, maybe more.
“Really.” I crouched down to pat Tressa, who had been sitting beside us wearing a wolfy grin. “Is it okay if I give her some sorhox jerky I bought yesterday? I think she’ll like it.”
“She’d love it. Tressa adores all food.”
I pulled the package from my purse and tugged out a strip. The meat was darker than beef jerky and had a smoky smell. Aunt Inla insisted I pay half price for it yesterday, saying something about buying too much and needing to offload some inventory. I wasn’t sure if I believed her, but I wasn’t too proud to take an offer of discount food.
Tressa snatched it from my hand with surprising care for such a large predator, and trotted back to her bed to enjoy her treat.
Hail lifted his coffee and started swilling it. Pausing, his eyes widened, and his face got dark. He started sputtering and coughing. I decided not to offer the Heimlich maneuver this time, but my arms were ready if he dropped to the floor.
After a lot of chest smacking and him examining the cup like it contained rat poison, he started breathing smoothly again.
“New to coffee?” I said.
His face flushed with color, he nodded.
“The muffin will taste better I bet.” I nudged my chin to where he’d placed it on one of the workbenches. “After we eat, we can get started.”
He nodded and gingerly lifted his coffee cup, taking it and his muffin to a workbench with two stools.
We sat and ate our muffins, me sipping my coffee, him shooting his cup glares but leaving it untouched. The barn felt peaceful in the early morning light, dust motes dancing around the beams overhead. Birds chirped outside and in the distance, I caught the sound of tourists starting their day in town.
“We should start the kiln,” Hail said eventually. “The pieces from yesterday need to be fired.”
I followed him to a smaller building attached to the back of the barn. The kiln sat inside like a beehive-shaped monumentto heat and fire. It was big, easily large enough to fit dozens of pieces at once.
Watching him work was like watching an artist prepare for a performance. His movements were precise and confident as he checked the temperature controls and adjusted settings I didn’t understand yet but ached to learn.
Everything about this business fascinated me.
“The key is gradual heating,” he said. “Too fast and everything cracks from thermal shock. Too slow and we’ll be here all day waiting for the cycle to complete.”
He showed me how to arrange the clay pieces on the kiln shelves, spacing them carefully so hot air could circulate around each one. His hands moved easily, positioning each tourist creation with the same care he’d give his own work.
“This little girl’s unicorn is my favorite,” I said, placing the lumpy sculpture on a shelf. It looked more like a dinosaur with a horn, but the child had been so proud of it.
“She was determined to make it work.” Hail’s smile was soft. “That’s what I love about pottery. Everyone c-c-can make something beautiful, even if it doesn’t look like what they pla-planned.”
“Is that your philosophy in general, or just for clay?”
He paused with a tourist’s lopsided bowl in his hands. “I… I suppose both? Life doesn’t always turn out how you expect, but that doesn’t mean it ca-can’t be good.”
The quiet wisdom in his words made my throat tighten. Here was a male who found beauty in imperfection, who saw potential where others might see failure.
We loaded the rest of the pieces, including the boy’s blob-dog and several wobbly bowls that would probably never hold water but represented someone’s attempt at creating beauty with their hands. Hail sealed the kiln and started the firing cycle, explaining each step as he went.
“The kiln will take about twelve hours to complete the f-f-full cycle,” he said as the machine hummed to life. “Heating up slow-slowly, holding at temperature, then cooling down even more slowly.”
“What happens if you rush it?”
