Addie Gets Her Man
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Angel Smits
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HarlequinChapter One
ADDIE HAWKINS STOOD next to her car, letting the remaining heat of the day wash over her. The Someday Café’s parking lot was nearly full, and from here, she could see the lobby was overflowing. Standing room only. Hopefully, they weren’t violating any fire code.
Addie was so proud of Tara. Her little sister had grown into a competent, beautiful young woman. Tara’s diner had nearly been destroyed in last month’s flooding. But she’d survived; she’d rebuilt, and tonight was the grand reopening.
Taking a deep breath, Addie turned to grab the baker’s box from the backseat of her car. Her special chocolate chip peanut butter cookies were nestled inside. It was a peace offering as well as a grand opening—uh, reopening—gift.
Tara had asked for the recipe, but Addie hadn’t been ready to share it then. She still wasn’t. This was a compromise.
“Please tell me that box is for me.” Her brother DJ’s voice came from behind her.
“Not a chance.” She smiled and almost took pity on him when she turned to face him and saw his smile fade. “These are Tara’s. You might be able to sweet-talk her out of one.”
“One?” He grimaced. “That’s lame.”
They walked toward the entrance together. “Where’s Tammie?” Her sister-in-law was in the last trimester of her pregnancy, and she hadn’t had an easy time of it.
“She’s already inside. Tyler—” He grinned as he mentioned his son. “He was ready to come over around noon, so we compromised. They were here about an hour ago.” His grin was indulgent and satisfied. The man was head over heels in love with his wife, with his whole family, and Addie was pleased to see it. They’d been through a lot to be together. DJ hadn’t even known about Tyler until he was eight, and once they’d found each other, a madman had nearly stolen everything. But here they were now, happy and their family expanding.
“Everything okay?”
“Yeah. Doc says she’s right on schedule.” Was that a sweat breaking out on his brow? It was no secret that this whole having-a-baby thing was freaking out the former marine. Addie bit back a smile. The day they’d found out it was going to be a little girl, he’d nearly passed out in the doctor’s office. Tammie and Tyler still loved sharing that tidbit of information with everyone.
DJ hurried ahead and opened the door. Voices, the sound of clattering dishes and the delicious aroma of Tara’s cooking flowed over them. “Do you see Tara?” she yelled over the din.
DJ was taller than most everyone in the room, but he shook his head. “Wyatt and Emily are in the back corner. At the big table. Should be a little quieter over there,” he yelled and led the way through the crowd. Addie gripped the box, praying she wouldn’t drop it.
Getting through the room was a challenge. Everyone knew Wyatt and, of course, Tara, so by association the rest of the family were part of the community, as well. “Hi, Addie,” “Hi, DJ,” rang out half a dozen times.
As she moved, Addie glanced around. Everything looked great, just like it had before the flooding, before the raging river had torn through, destroying most of Tara’s hard work. Thankfully, they’d managed to save all the furniture.
Tara had purchased several old wooden tables when she’d first bought the worn-out diner. The big three-leaf dining table where Wyatt was seated looked newly cleaned and polished. The mismatched chairs that sat at those tables looked just like Mom’s after six kids had gotten through with them. It was a wonderful eclectic mess, just as Tara had planned.
A wave of homesickness washed over her, but Addie swallowed it and kept walking.
As usual, she took stock of who was here. Her older brother, Wyatt, called it her mother-hen mode. Just then, as if catching her in the act, he shot her a wink. Like always, he sat at the head of the big table while the others talked and ate.
Tammie looked great considering she was within days of delivering the newest Hawkins to the world. Wyatt’s wife, Emily, was beside her, and next to her sat Mandy, her other sister, holding little Lucas on her lap. His tiny hand smacked the wooden tabletop, eliciting a giggle from his pudgy cheeks. Hard to believe he was nearly a year old.
Even Jason and Lauren were here. She’d known they were flying through on their way home from Lauren’s European tour. She wondered if it just so happened that the ballet tour ended the same time as the grand reopening, or if they’d worked something out with her management company. Considering Jason was Tara’s attorney, anything was possible. Either way, it was great to have them home.
Tyler sat at the other end of the table, imitating his father’s gestures as he explained something quite intense to the little girl in the next chair. He was definitely ruling the roost. The boy had brought so much life to the entire Hawkins family when he’d come into it last year.
Addie watched the little girl for a long moment. This must be Brooke. Addie moved cautiously toward her. Morgan, Tara’s...what the heck did you call a man dating your sister who was six foot two with body-builder muscles and a tough exterior? Boyfriend seemed too tame.
This was Morgan’s daughter. Tara had said the girl was a bit skittish around strangers. Tyler seemed to be doing well with her, so Addie didn’t want to upset either of them.
“Addie!” Wyatt called when she reached the table. “I can take that box for you.” The twinkle in his eye told her he knew exactly what was inside.
She laughed and swatted him, winking at DJ. “I might have brought you some of your own, so leave those for Tara’s customers.”
“Oh, yeah, score.” He and DJ high-fived, and Addie let the warmth of their enjoyment wash over her. Everyone in the family loved her cookies, and she didn’t dare come to a family function without a batch—or two.
The fact that Tara wanted to sell them in her diner only made Addie’s heart swell. These cookies were still the one contribution she made to this ever-growing family. It was her gift to them, what held her place in their hearts.
With all the new spouses and children, Addie often felt like an outsider in this big family. She missed their needing her.
She’d been so young when Dad died. Mom had fallen apart, and it had taken months for her to get back on her feet. As the oldest, Addie and Wyatt had taken on the job of caring for all the littler ones. She’d become more mother than sister, and she’d never really been able to go back.
Finally reaching the table, she set the big box down. As soon as she found Tara, she would pass the cookies off to her—at least now, she wouldn’t drop them.
It might be quieter here in the corner, but it still didn’t allow for much conversation. Just then, Wyatt caught her eye and waggled his eyebrows while he tilted his head to his right.
There was a reason she never got picked first to play charades. “What?” she mouthed to him, not sure what he was doing. He did the whole contortion thing again, and she shrugged, confused.
Someone tapped her arm, and Addie turned to see the little girl, Brooke, standing beside her. She crooked her finger for Addie to bend down.
“He’s talking about the lady with the ring,” she said.
“What lady with the ring?” She looked to where Wyatt sat next to his wife, and frowned. Of course Emily had a ring. And Tammie had her hand resting on her belly. Her ring shone in the light. It’d be impossible to forget her and DJ’s big country wedding last year.
Mandy sat next to her, holding Lucas on her shoulder, patting his back as he snuggled close, sleepy-eyed now. Her hand moved—and sparkled.
“Oh...oh!” Addie rushed around the table, having to shove only a couple of people out of the way. Without thinking, or hesitating, she took hold of Mandy’s hand and pulled it toward her. “When did Lane change his mind?”
Mandy laughed. “He never changed his mind. Turns out he just wanted to wait until he could do it right.”
“Did he do it right?”
“Oh, yeah.” Mandy grinned, and if it wouldn’t have disturbed Lucas, Addie would have pulled her little sister into a big hug.
“I want details as soon as we’re someplace I can hear them all.”
Mandy nodded and resumed patting Lucas’s back. Her ring winked so brightly, Addie wondered how she’d missed it. Wyatt gave her a thumbs-up across the table.
Like proud parents, she and Wyatt shared this moment. Addie knew he was thinking the same thing she was. That it would be so nice if Mom were here.
Before she got maudlin, she looked toward the serving counter. Tara was here—somewhere. A giant white banner that read Grand Reopening hung over the doors to the kitchen.
The swinging café doors had been a serviceable silver color before the flood, but had taken on some damage. Tara had told Addie she’d had to paint them. The vivid pink was perfect, glinting in the light as Tara poked her head out.
“Wish me luck,” Addie called to no one in particular as she grabbed the baker’s box and headed toward the kitchen. After wading through the crowd again, she finally reached the doors and, well past formalities, pushed them open with her shoulders. Some of the crowd’s noise was muffled back here.
She froze. Tara was definitely busy—with the help, it seemed. Morgan had her wrapped in his arms, and Tara was returning his kiss with everything she had. Addie blushed, then cleared her throat as loudly as she could.
Tara pulled away, her cheeks flushed. “I was just helping Morgan with his—uh—apron.” She finished tying the white strings around the big man’s waist.
Morgan laughed and reached for the coffee carafes on the burner nearby. “Gotta earn my keep,” he said as he turned through the doors with a familiar swagger.
“Thanks,” Tara called after him.
“I’m not asking what the thanks was for,” Addie teased and set the box on the prep counter. “Here’s a double batch of cookies.” She said it as nonchalantly as she could.
“Oh, Addie. Thank you.” Tara stopped what she was doing and gave Addie a hug. “You’re the best.”
“Order up,” Earl, the short-order cook, called through the pass-through, pulling Tara back to work.
“I know you’re busy. We’ll talk soon. Promise.” Addie left the kitchen before she distracted her sister any more.
Customers were slowly trickling out, contented smiles on their faces, as the waitresses seated another wave. Addie knew the staff, as well as their harried expressions. Staying out of their way, she headed to her family’s table.
“Addie?” She didn’t quite recognize the woman’s voice that called out to her. Addie looked around until she found the sheriff, Dutch Ferguson, and his wife, Elizabeth, seated at a table a row away. Elizabeth waved.
Addie shivered as she looked at them. She couldn’t ignore the older couple, and to be honest, she loved them dearly. But so much came with them. Memories. Shadows. Pain.
Elizabeth had never recovered from that long-ago night. Even now, in this boisterous, laughter-filled restaurant, a sad aura surrounded her. Addie gave the woman a hug, and felt the thin bones of her shoulders. “Hello, Elizabeth. Dutch.”
Addie felt an obligation to them. They’d almost been her family, after all. Their son—Cal’s image came painfully to mind—had been their only child, and her first love. He’d been so young. So handsome. So long ago. She swallowed the pain that threatened to choke her. Almost didn’t count, except in horseshoes and hand grenades, her daddy used to say.
Addie looked at Dutch, and while his smile was broad, it didn’t quite reach his eyes. Uh-oh. She made a mental note to stop by their house before she returned to Austin to make sure they didn’t need anything.
“It’s good to see you, Addie.” Dutch gave her a brief hug. “Can you join us?”
“Sure, for just a minute. How are you doing?” As she sat, she aimed the question at Dutch, knowing he’d be the one to answer. Elizabeth seldom spoke. The last couple of times Addie had visited with her, she’d noticed changes. Subtle, but probably more obvious to her since she wasn’t around Elizabeth all the time.
She recalled Dutch’s words from that day. “She’s slipping further and further away.”
“We’re doing fine,” he answered, smiling at Elizabeth. “Aren’t we, hon?”
“Yes. Yes. So nice to get out.”
“Tara’s done a fine job with this place.” Dutch smiled. A big, gruff man, he was exactly what Addie had expected of a small-town sheriff. He’d lived his entire life in Haskins Corners, and he was as much a staple here as this diner.
“Yeah, things were a little uncertain there for a while. The floodwaters were pretty wicked.”
“Water’s evil,” Elizabeth whispered, a venom in her voice that Addie understood. She looked at Dutch. He frowned, and the brief shake of his head told her not to follow that line of conversation. Addie was more than happy to leave it.
“Looks like everyone’s here.” Dutch nodded toward the big table in back. “Lots of change in the Hawkins clan.”
“Yeah.” Addie glanced over her shoulder at the overflowing table of her siblings, then laughed. “And then some. The family is growing so quickly.” She hated the wistfulness in her voice. Addie chose not to analyze that too much. “I’d better get back.”
“Come visit when you can,” he offered.
Elizabeth looked up from her meal and smiled. “Yes. Come visit.”
“I will. I promise.” She gave them each a hug, holding on to Dutch just a bit longer, as if maybe he could use a little encouragement. Being Elizabeth’s husband couldn’t always be easy. But he obviously loved her. He patted Addie’s hand that rested on his shoulder in silent thanks.
Addie glanced at Elizabeth and saw so much of Cal in her. Same color hair—except now Elizabeth’s dark hair was going gray. Same eyes. Same jawline.
Sometimes it hurt to look at Elizabeth.
Right now, Addie didn’t want to remember. Even the good times they’d shared hurt. There weren’t ever going to be any more. Thankfully, time had dulled the edge of that knife, and she could bear the hurt. Almost.
Suddenly, a strong arm slipped around her shoulders, and she yelped. Wyatt’s familiar hug surprised her. “Stop fretting, Ad,” he whispered in her ear.
“I’m not—fretting.” She frowned at him.
“Yeah, you are.” He gave her a brief kiss on top of her head. “But we love you for it.” He guided her to the table, where the waitresses had brought several plates of appetizers. Addie grabbed a potato skin that should taste amazing. It tasted like dust. She didn’t have enough energy left to enjoy the flavor.
Dutch and Elizabeth got up from their table, and Addie watched as he guided his wife to the register. While he paid the bill, Elizabeth looked around, confused, then finally took Dutch’s arm. Relief covered her face as he guided her outside.
“Addie.” Wyatt stared across the table at her. Just as he recognized her mother-hen mode, she recognized his dad mode. They’d spent way too much time taking care of their younger siblings.
She closed her eyes for an instant. “I’m fine, Wyatt,” she said, opening her eyes again and meeting his concerned gaze.
“I saw the way you were looking at the Fergusons. I know you’ve kept up with them over the years.” He paused, and she dreaded what he’d say next. “It wasn’t your fault, Ad.” The last she didn’t really hear, but rather, she saw the words form on his lips.
She shook her head. “I know.” She hadn’t even been there when...when the accident had happened. She’d tried for years to second-guess what might have happened if she had been there.
Wyatt leaned back in the wooden chair and considered her. She almost wanted to stand up and walk away. Instead, she smiled. It wasn’t as if everyone hadn’t done just that, at least once, over the years.
“Look—” She leaned forward and put her hand on his. His skin was so rough and calloused from working with the horses. She rubbed her fingertips over those hard-earned scars. “I care about them. I care about all of you.” She waved at the table full of the Hawkins clan.
“You’re done, sis,” he said softly. “It’s time you looked after you. You helped raise everyone. Lord knows you were the main caregiver for Mom up until the end. And I know you’d take on Elizabeth Ferguson out of some weird sense of obligation to Cal.” He shook his head. “But I’m telling you not to. Let Dutch handle it. You need to have your own life.” He leaned back, with the look of decision on his face that told her he considered the situation settled.
“Really?” She frowned and looked at Emily. “Did my brother actually say all that?” He wasn’t known for being a big talker.
“Yes. And he’s right,” Emily said.
“Now you’re ganging up on me?”
“No, we’re not.” Emily squeezed Addie’s hand. “Everyone’s grown now. You’ve earned the chance to build your own life.”
Addie stared at them. They didn’t understand, and she didn’t have a clue how to explain it. She’d never focused on herself, not since—not since Dad died. She’d grown up on that day, and she’d gladly taken on the role of nurturer.
The idea of giving that up made her panic as she looked at the faces around her. She’d helped them get here. She was proud of that, proud of all of them.
Her eyes stung. Everything was slipping away. What was she supposed to do now? She needed to be needed, needed someone to care for—to watch over, to want her attentions.
But her family didn’t need that from her anymore. And yes, Dutch could handle Elizabeth.
She’d had a chance at her own life, had dreamed of her own family, once upon a time. But fate hadn’t been on her side, and she’d lost that chance forever.
* * *
MARCUS SKYLAR RUSHED across the street, knowing full well that he was jaywalking and only slightly caring. He was late for class, and considering he’d given his students a lecture on timeliness last class, he didn’t dare show up late. They’d never let him off the hook for that one.
Campus was still alive with activity even this late in the day. He was running down the stairs in Richardson Hall, his wingtips slapping against the steps, when his phone rang. He tried to ignore the incessant noise, but he recognized that ringtone. It was Ryan. His thirteen-year-old son wasn’t someone he could afford to ignore. Not without Carolyn’s help to intervene.
He let the memory of her waft through only briefly. “Hello, kiddo. What’s up?” He shouldered the phone as he shoved open the hall door.
“We’re out of jelly.”
“Uh, okay. I’m in class for the next hour. We’ll discuss it later.”
“Peanut better tastes like crap without jelly.”
“Watch the language.” He tried to keep his surprise out of his voice. The boy was definitely changing lately. He’d have to deal with that at some point. “I’ll be home in a couple hours. I gotta go.” He hung up and stepped into the classroom.
Most of the seats were full, which gave him a sense of gratification. Many of his colleagues complained about the number of empty seats in their classes.
Marcus wasn’t sure if his class in military history was full because of the political climate and social awareness, or for some other reason. It didn’t matter. He’d take it. “All right, everyone.” He set his briefcase on the desk. “Let’s get started.”
“That was a close call, Prof,” Mitch, one of his most challenging students, said from the third row.
“Yeah, but it’s not because of my procrastination,” he pointed out to the young man who usually fell into that camp. “Teach my thirteen-year-old how to go grocery shopping, and maybe we’ll discuss your grade.”
The class laughed, and Marcus launched into today’s lecture. It was on one of his favorite subjects, and he had to be careful not to get lost in his rambling. Vietnam was a black mark on this country’s history, and still a tough topic to sell in some circles. He’d been hired specifically to share his knowledge on the collision of the government’s promises and society’s demands.
A collision intimately familiar to Marcus, as his father had been caught up in it. A nightmare Colonel Skylar still wore on his highly decorated chest.
Finally, the hands on the utilitarian clock hit the end of the hour, and Marcus wrapped up the lecture. He was putting his notes in the briefcase when a young woman came up to the desk. “Professor Skylar?”
“Yes, uh, Natalie, right?”
“Yeah.” She grinned. “I have a question about our paper.”
“The final project?” He emphasized the difference. There were many things besides papers that they could choose to do. Papers were the easiest for most students. They were used to doing them. He let his hopes rise that she was asking for permission to do something else.
“Yeah. I was wondering.” She looked down at the desktop. “Uh, I don’t think I’m very good at this history stuff.”
“Why not?” He didn’t want to come off sounding condescending, but he didn’t see why she couldn’t do it.
“It’s hard.” She finally looked up. “I was thinking about my topic last night. I was, um, hoping I could do something on fashion.”
He stared at her. “Fashion?” He slowly closed his briefcase. “Fashion of what? The era or of—” he tried to choose his words carefully “—Vietnam during the war?” Was there such a thing? “The 1960s themselves?” There were a lot of options.
She didn’t look at him. Her topic intrigued him, mainly because he hadn’t heard this one before. “Okay, explain what you’re thinking.” He leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest.
“Both.” She finally looked up, excitement sparking in her eyes.
What the heck? Wasn’t that his goal—to inspire these kids to at least pay attention?
“Fashion is a social statement. In the 1960s, it was a huge statement. And Vietnam had its own society. I want to compare that with what we had.”
Marcus looked at her, attempting to ascertain if she was trying to pull something over on him. He wasn’t new to this teaching gig, just new to this college. “I’ll give you some leeway. Since the topic’s a bit different, I want to meet with you halfway through to make sure you’re on track.”
“Oh, thank you, Professor.” She rushed forward and tried to give him a hug. Marcus knew better and hastily put up his hand.
“Whoa! Just do a good job. That’s thanks enough.”
“Okay. You won’t regret this, I promise,” she repeated, then hurried out of the classroom. Marcus paused, taking a deep breath before slowly walking toward the door himself.
Everything was so different here, and while Natalie was part of the strangeness of this new world, she was a small part of it. He told himself he would adjust, he would figure it out.
Nothing was even remotely similar to the world in which he’d expected to live out his life. Carolyn’s death—He froze, the memories slamming into him. No, he wouldn’t let the hurt cripple him again. He’d fought too hard to escape the grief. He forced his feet to keep moving.
The job he’d loved, had thought he’d gain tenure with, had vanished too quickly when he’d fallen apart. He’d nearly lost Ryan, the thirteen-year-old waiting at home for jelly to make his peanut butter taste less like crap.
This move, this new position, had to work, had to save him and what was left of his world. It had to. What the hell? He’d read and grade anything—even a paper on the fashion of 1960s Vietnam—and give the student a fair grade, if it meant keeping his son, and giving Ryan the life he needed and deserved.
