Wanted: The Perfect Mom
Author
T. R. McClure
Reads
15.4K
Chapters
24
Police chief John "Mac" McAndrews is on a mission to find the perfect mother for his daughter. Someone who will stay home, welcome his child after school and bake cookies. Obviously, Holly Hoffman is not that woman. She's still as feisty, independent and headstrong as she'd been when they were teenagers. And she's just spent every last dime opening her own business. But when Mac's daughter goes missing, Holly is the only one who can help him find her. Working together, they discover that the passion between them is as strong as ever. Can Mac let go of his preconceived notions and see that Holly might be exactly what his family needs?
Chapter One
ONE SHOT.
Dark, viscous liquid poured into the glass.
With the final drops, golden crema swirled.
Pour into a warmed china mug. Add the perfect measure of aromatic vanilla.
And then the pièce de rÊsistance...perfectly steamed whole milk.
Holly Hoffman stood back from the shiny new commercial espresso machine and let loose a deep sigh as the aroma of fresh ground beans surrounded her. She grabbed a damp cocoa-brown bar towel and wiped the steam wand.
The first vanilla latte purchased in The Wildflower Coffee Bar and Used Book Store was a veritable work of art, as it should be. Holly had been working toward this May 1 opening for six months. Six months of visiting coffee bean suppliers in the Strip District in Pittsburgh, training with the espresso machine company and dealing with her loving but definitely opinionated family.
The shop had been open ten minutes and already the line stretched out the door. Who wouldâve thought so many coffee aficionados lived in the little central Pennsylvania community of Bear Meadows?
As Holly frothed a pitcher of nonfat milk, she looked around the comfortable surroundings created with the help of her sister-in-law, Carolyn. Four brown-and-yellow-plaid armchairs surrounded a low table in the corner. A matching couch and coffee table stretched along the wall lined with bookshelves.
Louise, Hollyâs best friend since kindergarten, was intent on the cash register. She tapped up, down and across like a virtuoso pianist. Mrs. Hershberger stood on the other side of the gleaming white counter, squinting through rimless glasses at the extensive menu over the back bar.
âWhatâs the difference between a latte and a cappuccino?â Mrs. Hershberger asked. The recently retired teacher had already ordered a vanilla latte with whole milk...but she liked to learn new things. The summer before, sheâd gone on an excursion to the Antarctic.
Behind her, Wendy Valentine gripped her briefcase to her suit jacket and drummed well-manicured nails on the leather. Smoothing her black pageboy, the local television star glared at Mrs. Hershberger as if staring would help her sort the coins sheâd scattered on the countertop as she paid for her drink. But anyone whoâd had Mrs. Hershberger for first gradeâpretty much everybody in town under the age of fiftyâknew the teacher didnât like to be rushed.
Holly steamed milk in a shiny metal pitcher. The low rumble joined the buzz of conversation in the shop. Wendy would order nonfat milk, no doubt about it, which was why Holly had the milk almost up to temperature.
Behind Wendy was Hollyâs landlady, Mayor Gold. She eyed the furnishings and lodge-like decor, probably wondering if she was asking enough rent. Carolyn, standing shoulder to shoulder with Holly, was already steaming soy milk. Everyone had heard Mayor Goldâs speech on eating lower on the food chain. Behind her, mailbag slung over his shoulder, stood Bill the mailman in his khaki shorts.
âVanilla latte,â Holly shouted, unable to keep the sound of triumph out of her voice.
Mrs. Hershberger, standing with her back to the espresso machine, jumped. âYou donât need to shout, girl. Iâm not deaf, you know.â
âSorry, Mrs. Hershberger, thatâs just how we announce your drinkâs ready.â Holly smiled and lowered her voice. âHereâs your vanilla latte. You enjoy, now.â Apparently her parade-ground voice, courtesy of the military, was a bit too loud for the confines of The Wildflower. She would have to watch it.
Mrs. Hershberger gave her a wink, patted her hand and headed toward the tables along the windows.
Louise grabbed a ceramic mug and wrote V C N F on a yellow sticky.
Holly faced the espresso machine, feeling like Marshal Dillon on Main Street in Dodge City during the opening credits of Gunsmoke. She knew V C N F. They had been practicing all week.
Vanilla cappuccino, nonfat milk.
She glanced at the counter to her left, where Louise arranged cups with the precision of a drill sergeant. At least ten mugs with sticky-note orders in coffee shorthand sat in a row. Their eyes met over the mugs.
Louiseâs red lips curved in a smile.
Holly knew what she was thinking.
They were officially in business.
* * *
JOHN âMACâ MCANDREWS sat in his patrol car across the street from Holly Hoffmanâs new coffeehouse. A line of people stretched out the door and down the boardwalk, which ran from Megan Martinâs Hair Today to Sue Hunterâs The Cookie Jar. Not even eight oâclock on a Monday morning and a newcomer would think Bear Meadows was a bustling community. He sighed and rubbed his forehead where the pain of a caffeine headache lurked.
Mac debated getting in line. Up at five, he had left the house without making coffee, responding to a reported break-in. The Smith brothers again. Hawkeye had decided to visit the family hunting camp to get an early run at some turkeys but neglected to tell his brother. Skinny Smith, hearing someone walking around outside in the darkness, called the police on his cell phone. By the time Mac arrived, the seventy-year-old twins were already in the woods, the cabin empty.
Through the large windows, he observed Mrs. Hershberger set her cup on a table, then wave cheerily. Too bad she had retired. One of the few people in town not to have had her as a teacher in first grade, Mac had still, through a confluence of events, managed to be a recipient of the womanâs high expectations. Where would he be now without her influence? Probably in jail. He waved back.
Mac thought back to his last year of high school. He often sat with Chris Hoffman and the rest of his family as they cheered for Holly during the girlsâ volleyball games. Mac would watch entranced as Holly made point after point, game after game.
She was a firecracker. Setter and team captain, Holly would prop her hands on flexed knees and fix her gaze on the ball as the opposing team prepared to serve. When the ball went into play, she hustled about the court, energy pouring out of her, dark ponytail flying. Nothing compared to her intense concentration. He remembered being the object of that concentration once. Her intense focus was hard to resist, all the more reason to keep his distance. They had both moved on after high school, he to the army, she to the air force.
His temples were throbbing, and when he glanced across the street, the line out the door of The Wildflower had lengthened. A large, tiger-striped cat peeked around the corner of the beauty shop and scurried under the porch. He should call animal control but he had work to do. The cat would have to wait.
Mac turned his key in the ignition and shifted the SUV into Drive. He would get a coffee at the gas station on the edge of town.
He didnât need Holly Hoffmanâs fancy coffee. He just needed some caffeine.
* * *
A LULL FINALLY came at three oâclock. Carolyn, Louise and Holly collapsed in the cushioned chairs. Crumbs of blueberry scones and bagels littered the surface of the shellacked wood table and the rug. Holly picked up a crumb and inspected it. âFive second rule?â She shot a glance at Carolyn and Louise.
âMore like five hours.â Carolyn groaned. âYou need a mat at the cash register. My feet are killing me.â She threw her legs over the arm of the chair and leaned her head back, closing her eyes. Loosening the clip holding her hair, she ran her fingers through curly locks and sighed.
âWell, youâre no spring chicken, honey.â Carolynâs husband and Hollyâs oldest brother walked in. In each of his big hands Sonny carried three Wildflower mugs. âYour cups are all over the front porch. How are you keeping track?â He set the cups on the counter with a clang and then sat heavily on the arm of Hollyâs chair and threw his arm along the back. At six foot two and 250 pounds he sat pretty much wherever he wanted to.
âAny chance of getting a cup of coffee?â He grinned. Three pairs of eyes glared.
âGet your own coffee,â Holly said. She leaned back and brushed her bangs from her face. Despite the air-conditioning, a bead of sweat rolled down her cheek.
âYou opened a coffee shop. You better get used to serving customers on demand or youâll be out of business and living on the street in no time.â He tugged a hank of her hair.
âStop it.â Holly slapped at his hand. âAt least the orders will be from paying customers. Besides, weâre beat.â
Sonny pulled her ear. âWelcome to the real world, little sister. Need I remind you of our deal?â
Holly frowned at her brother. Despite his teasing, heâd always supported her. âYouâre right. I wouldnât be here if it werenât for you.â She sat up and fixed her gaze on Carolyn and Louise. âAny of you. Thank you for your help.â
âDonât be ridiculous,â Rose Hoffman said. âWeâre family. Of course weâll help.â Hollyâs mother came out of the back room and dropped a clipboard on the counter with a clatter. âIâll bring you a cup of coffee. Would you like regular or decaf?â
âThe strongest sheâs got, Mom. Whatâs the point in drinking coffee if you canât get a buzz?â
âMom, sit down,â Carolyn said. âYouâve been working all morning. Heâs got two legs. He can figure out how to get coffee.â Carolyn glared at her husband and whispered, âSheâs sixty-two years old, Sonny.â
Roseâs voice drifted over the counter. âI may be sixty-two but Iâm not deaf, dear, and I think I can manage a cup of coffee. Havenât you heard? Sixty-two is the new forty-two.â She set the large mug down on the table and put her arms around her oldest sonâs neck, squeezing tightly.
âYou need a haircut. Your hairâs longer than mine.â Rose ran her fingers through her sonâs unruly black hairâthe same shade as her own, though hers was threaded with strands of silver. âWhy donât you stop over and Iâll give you a cut later?â
Holly smiled at the pained expression on Sonnyâs face. âGood idea. Why donât you let Mom cut your hair, bro?â
âMom, stop, youâre choking me.â Sonny gagged as he pulled away but only succeeded in losing his balance and sliding down on top of Holly.
âOh, for goodnessâ sake,â she said, âyouâre smashing me.â Holly slid out of the chair and landed on the floor. Pain radiated from her hip. A bruise for sure. Her brother sat comfortably in the chair that had been hers just moments before. She threw a scowl his direction.
âThanks, sis.â He reached for the mug his mother had set on the table and slurped. âYour coffeeâs good and strong, just how I like it.â He shot a sideways glance at his wife. âThatâs how I like my women, too.â
Carolyn aimed a kick but missed as he jerked his leg away. âDonât you have some work to do?â
âItâs not strong...â Teeth clenched, Holly pulled herself up from the floor. âItâs bold.â Limping to the front window, she rubbed the stinging spot on her behind.
Resting his head on the back of the chair, Sonny wrinkled his brow. âI smellââ he sniffed ââgerbils and cedar chips.â He shot Holly a look of concern. âAre you sure the pet store got everything when they cleared out of here? I think I just saw something run under the couch.â
Holly crossed her arms. âThis place was spotless before I moved the furniture in. And you know it.â
Laughing, Sonny reached in his pocket as his phone trilled. Further discussion of the previous tenants was forgotten as he launched into a description of materials for a project on the other side of town.
Holly caught Carolynâs eye. âHow can you think when heâs on the phone? Heâs so loud.â
Carolyn shrugged. âWelcome to my world. Now I know why your family didnât mind that we married right out of high school. They wanted him out of the house so they could hold a conversation without shouting.â
Holly chuckled. She had to admit, when her father, whom everybody called Fritz, and older brothers, Sonny, Thomas and Chris, were in a room, the noise level quadrupled. As the youngest, she had to fight for the slightest attention.
If she leaned against the window and looked down the street, she could just see the Victorian house her parents had bought two years before. The tiny window in the attic belonged to Holly.
The sound of boots thumping on wooden planks drew her attention and, pressing her cheek against the window, she chilled at what she saw. With a cowboy swagger, minus the accompanying jingle of spurs, Mac McAndrews strolled in the direction of Hollyâs shop.
She pressed her forehead against the cool glass and closed her eyes. What was he doing here?
The thumping of the boots came closer.
Mac McAndrews. She hadnât seen him since high school graduation...his high school graduation, which just happened to coincide with Chrisâs graduation. Otherwise Holly wouldnât have been within a mile of the high school.
Jump, Frog, jump. The second half of eighth grade, when every cookie she ate went to her expanding middle. Schedules changed and a tenth-grade boysâ class shared the gym with Hollyâs eighth-grade girlsâ class. Holly had stayed away from the trampoline after that.
Sheâd been back in town for six months and she hadnât seen him until this very minute. She didnât care if she never saw him again, if they somehow coexisted without ever crossing paths. So why did he have to show up on opening day?
Holly retreated behind the counter and placed the china mugs her mother had washed on top of the espresso machine to keep them warm.
The bell jingled over the door.
Sonny raised his arm. âMac. Hey, buddy.â
Holly peered around the edge of the espresso machine.
John âMacâ McAndrews, all six foot two of masculine authority, stood in the doorway of her coffee shop.
âSonny.â His voice was deeper than she remembered, more gravelly.
Sonny strode over to Mac and clasped his hand. âHave you come to check out little sisterâs foray into the business world?â He shot Holly an evil grin. âSheâs still trying to keep up with her big brother.â
Macâs gaze swiveled in the direction of the counter. âHolly.â
Still partially hidden by the espresso machine, Holly closed her eyes and took a deep breath. They were kids then. Surely he had changed. Or maybe not.
When Holly opened her eyes she found herself staring at a pair of dark glasses. Mac stood waiting just on the other side of the counter.
Heâd been tall and lanky in high school, but he had filled out nicely. Hollyâs eyes traveled up the black uniform pants to the heavy black belt with a holster carrying a Smith & Wesson .38. A trim waist expanded to broad shoulders. She continued past the collar brass to a chiseled jaw. The unruly light brown hair streaked blond by summer sun was gone, rendered nondescript by a buzz cut. Figures.
The old anger stirred deep in her belly, boiling, growing.
When Mac had started calling her names, every boy in the class took up the chant. Jump, Frog, jump. But they were all smart enough not to use the nickname when Chris was around.
She wasnât that embarrassed little girl anymore. She gripped the edge of the counter and took a deep breath to calm her nerves. âJohn? John McAndrews? I didnât know you were back home.â So she told a little white lie. The family didnât know she knew. She had been crazy busy the past six months.
âI came back last fall. Personal reasons.â
âIâll bet Mac would kill for a shot of your heavy-duty espresso, Holly.â Sonny leaned on the counter. âI heard the Smith boys had you up and around pretty early this morning.â
Mac nodded at Sonny and then turned back to Holly. âHow have you been?â His gaze drifted upward. âYou cut your hair.â
Holly ran her fingers through her hair and lifted her chin. âA long time ago.â Propping her hands on her hips, she stared at the dark glasses. âIâm doing great. How are you?â
Mac pulled off his shades and Hollyâs stomach plummeted at the sight of the dark blue eyes. His body had changed, his hair was different, but the soft blue eyes were the same.
One corner of his mouth curved up, as if smiles were at a premium. âItâs nice to see you again.â He reached across the counter.
Holly hesitated, and then stretched out her hand and allowed him to wrap his fingers around hers.
He wanted a shot? Sheâd give him a shot, all right.
One shot was all she needed to repay him for making eighth grade miserable, for taking away Chris, her closest brother and confidant. She wasnât a little girl anymore. She could take anything he dished out and feed it right back. After all, she was a veteran of the United States Air Force.
She met the gaze of the boy whose sudden appearance at Bear Meadows High School had changed the course of her teen years.
Jump, Frog, jump.
