Recipe for a Homecoming
Autor
Sabrina York
Lecturas
19,6K
Capítulos
11
Chapter One
“Well, it’s official. You’re the last man standing,” Cole Taylor said, lifting his beer in Mark Stirling’s direction. Laughter rounded the small living room of Mark’s cabin, causing the dogs to start howling, too.
Mark loved the “puppers” he fostered until a forever home came along, but they were very easily led into howling. Especially when his boisterous friends came over to hang out for an evening.
Granted, they weren’t as boisterous as they used to be, since Adam Scott owned a business, Ben Nadler was the bank manager and Cole was the deputy sheriff. Still, they managed to have a little bit of fun, even though it was limited to these poker games and the occasional volunteer firefighter trainings.
Adam shook his head as he shuffled the cards. “Who’da thunk it, back in high school? That Nadler would be engaged before Mark Stirling?”
“Hey!” Nadler exclaimed, shoving his glasses back up his nose.
But Adam was right. It was kind of unbelievable that Nadler found his person before him. Mark had always been the guy with a girlfriend—any girlfriend. But now... He blew out a breath and shook his head. Here he was, pushing thirty, available—and all his buddies were coupled up.
“Then again...” Adam chuckled. “It makes perfect sense. All the women in this town know you.” The fact that the others laughed, too, made something sour swirl in his belly.
“Maybe I don’t want to get married,” he finally muttered, but that made them all collapse into more laughter. Seriously? “What’s so funny?”
“Of course you don’t want to get married.” Adam pushed away from the table and headed for the fridge for another round of beers.
“Why would you?” Cole asked, as he popped open his brewski against the tabletop. “Aren’t you living your best life? Why change?”
Nadler used the bottle opener, which Mark appreciated. The table wasn’t fancy, but it deserved better than such abuse. “Face it, Stirling,” he said. “The ladies love you.”
Mark shrugged. He did have a pretty long history of dating just about every single woman in the county. Trouble was, he hadn’t found anyone he wanted to be with on a more permanent basis. It wasn’t so much a physical thing. It was just that all of his encounters left him wishing for something more. Something meaningful. Something...lasting.
Something...
Of course, Mark wasn’t entirely sure what he was looking for to begin with. Happiness, certainly. But peace and an easygoing relationship appealed to him, as well. It was probably unrealistic to ask for more than that. Based on his experience, the ideal of a soul mate was a fantasy made up for reality TV.
His parents hadn’t been great role models for connubial bliss. Though his mom had died when he was young, he still remembered the incessant fights between her and Pop reverberating through the house. They’d been far from lovey-dovey. And his grandfather—who’d taken on the task of raising the four Stirling kids when Pop died—had been about as romantic as a wart on a frog. So it probably made sense that none of his siblings had found true love, either. None of them knew what it looked like.
Danny, his half brother, was the only exception. He’d recently reunited with his long-lost love, Lizzie, and learned that he was a father, to an adorable munchkin named Emma, and the little family couldn’t be happier. But then, Mark’s newfound brother hadn’t grown up on the ranch. Maybe that was the secret.
What did a happy relationship even look like, anyway? More to the point, what did he want a happy relationship to look like? Would he even recognize it if he saw it?
Snoopy, the newest addition to his menagerie, nudged his arm and Mark responded by slipping him a pretzel, which the pup inhaled.
She’d have to love dogs. That was for certain.
“You’ll never get married, man,” Cole said as he surveyed his hand then rearranged his cards. “Why would a man settle for one woman when he can have them all?”
Mark snorted. “I hardly have them all.” They weren’t Pokémon, for pity’s sake. “I haven’t had a date in months.” Maybe longer. He tried to remember the last woman he’d asked out, then realized it didn’t matter who it was. He’d known, almost immediately, that she hadn’t been what he was looking for. None of them were. And after that realization, it didn’t make sense to continue dating at all.
It would help if he knew what he was looking for. But life was rarely that easy.
Adam sighed and slapped Mark on the back. “I guess you’ll just be our single friend forever. Especially if you don’t do anything about this pack of dogs you’ve got here.”
“Now, hold on there!” Mark liked his friends. But that was a step too far. “The dogs are staying.”
“Until they’re adopted,” Nadler reminded him. “That’s what you said, right?”
Mark’s gut lurched. The thought of having to give up his puppers—even to loving homes—and living here all alone was depressing. “Not all of them.” At that moment, Snoopy hopped up on his lap, and even though the little rascal just wanted another pretzel, it made Mark feel better. There would always be homeless dogs, he told himself. He would never be totally alone.
A sharp knock on the door reminded him of the other reason he’d never be alone. It opened before he could answer, but Mark knew who it was. Shave-and-a-haircut was his sister Sam’s trademark knock. Also, bursting in without an invitation—she was known for that, too.
While Mark chose to live in one of the cabins on the family ranch designated for crew who had families—and only a few currently had families—Sam lived up in the big house with their brother DJ, Danny and his family, Lizzie and Emma, as well as their grandma Dorthea. It wasn’t that Mark didn’t like living with his family. They didn’t like living with his dogs. So he’d moved out here and after a while, he’d just come to prefer the privacy. This option was perfect for everyone.
Sam marched in with a huge, innocent smile on her face, which was misleading. Anyone who knew her knew there was nothing innocent about her. “Oh, hey, guys! Playing poker?” she asked gustily.
Adam covered up the pot with his hands. “You can’t play.”
Her big smile faded. “Why not? Are you guys afraid to lose...again?”
Adam grumbled a bit in response, but it was true. Sam did have a tendency to come out ahead every time she played with them. They’d never figured out her poker face—they were probably tired of losing to her.
She grinned at Adam’s sulky expression. “I understand,” she said silkily. “You big strong men are afraid to play against a gal like me.” She even batted her lashes.
But these guys had known her their entire lives. They were not fooled by her ploys.
“You know,” Nadler said, scraping together what chips he had left, “I’d better be getting home. It’s late.”
“Oh, yeah,” Sam said. “You’d better get home before Suzy starts calling around. Oh, by the way,” she said, her tone turning genuine. “Congratulations, Nadler. I know you guys will be really happy together.”
“Thanks, Sam,” he said, smiling at her while collecting his things.
“I should probably get going, too,” Adam said.
Cole nodded and stood, as well. They all said their goodbyes and headed out after Nadler.
Mark turned to Sam with a frown after everyone had left. “You sure do know how to break up a party.”
She waved her hand dismissively. “It’s a gift.”
“Why did you come over?” he asked as he started cleaning up.
“I wanted to talk to you about something.”
He paused. Glanced at her. Something in her tone was...concerning. “Is Emma okay?” Danny’s six-year-old daughter was recovering from a serious illness and had required a bone-marrow transplant to save her life. They all still worried about her, even though she was seven months postprocedure and the resultant treatments had been a success. In fact, she seemed to have more energy nowadays than all of them put together. There were just a few more boxes to tick before she’d be fully cleared.
“Emma’s fine.”
“Is it Lizzie?” Now that she was pregnant again, she’d been having morning sickness.
Sam blew out a breath that fluffed up her bangs. “Everyone is fine. I just wanted to talk to you.”
Oh, ugh. He knew that tone. Mark grimaced and flopped onto the sofa. The only girl born into a veritable herd of men, Sam had developed a strong personality and a stronger dislike for what she called the patriarchy, which, as far as he could tell, was any man doing anything she didn’t particularly like.
So I just wanted to talk to you wasn’t, generally, a welcome start to a conversation with Sam.
He frowned at her. “What?”
“Do you have any beer?”
Mark shrugged. “Check in the fridge.”
She did, focusing on the contents of his fridge as though they held the secrets of the Dead Sea Scrolls. After a full minute of surveillance, and several unappreciated ews and yucks, she grabbed a soda and came to the couch.
“You’re out of beer.” The moment she sat down, Snoopy jumped on her lap.
Traitor.
“Thanks for the update.” Mark didn’t add more, because it would be a waste of time to try to figure out what Sam wanted to say. It would also be a waste of time to ask her directly. She would take her time getting it out. She always did.
“So,” she said after a long snort on her root beer. “Nadler’s engaged.”
“Yup.”
They were silent for a moment, and then Mark added, “I’m the last man standing, I guess.”
Sam nodded. “I never imagined Nadler would fall before you, but the one that really surprises me is Cole. How on earth did he ever find a woman who would tolerate his presence on a daily basis?”
“He’s not that bad. Didn’t you date him once?”
“Once.” She rolled her eyes.
“So,” Mark said, when his patience started to wane. “How was your day?”
Her smile unfurled, reminding him of the Grinch upon spotting a stocking to steal. “I went into town.”
“Did you?” Why couldn’t she just get to the point and tell him whatever juicy gossip she’d heard? Because I went into town was code for juicy gossip. At least, in this one-horse town.
“Mmm-hmm.” She leaned back and Snoopy repositioned his long body across her lap, then rolled over, asking for a scratch. Without a thought, her fingers went to work. “I...ran into an old friend.”
“Really?” An old friend? This was Butterscotch Ridge. Every friend was an old friend. And everyone knew everything about everybody. Even the stuff you didn’t really care to know, like the fact that Gladys Henry had lumbago. And that she was having a secret affair with old Calvin Carter, who owned the pick-your-own apple orchard off the main highway.
“I did indeed.” Sam tried to look all nonchalant, which set Mark’s Spidey-senses a’tingling. “I was just wondering if you remembered her,” she said as she took another swig of root beer.
Something prickled at his nape. “Sam, just tell me who you saw.”
“Veronica James.”
He nearly dropped his beer, which would have been a shame, because, apparently, it was the last one. “V-V-Veronica James?” Did he remember her?
Red hair, heart-shaped face, blossoming dimples when she smiled, sparkling green eyes and soft, sweet lips? And her laugh? It was contagious.
Did he remember her?
She’d been a huge part of his life when they were kids. She’d come every summer to visit her grandmother, Milly, who’d been their beloved housekeeper until she retired. They used to call her Aunt Milly. She’d practically raised them. Veronica would stay in the cabin her grandmother lived in, and come up to the main house every day to play with them. They’d had wild adventures, better than summer camp. Everything from swimming in the lake to creating elaborate cities for their Matchbox cars in the roots of the old oak in the yard, along with fishing, riding and sneaking goodies from the cooling rack in her grandmother’s kitchen.
He’d kissed her once when he was sixteen. Maybe even fallen a little bit in love with her.
It was a damn shame that she hadn’t come back the next summer. Or ever. How long had it been? More than a decade.
About four years ago, he’d seen Milly in town and while they were chatting, she told him Roni had gotten married. He’d been surprised at how much that fragment of information had hurt. But by then, it had been far too late to do anything about it. He had no one to blame but himself.
He’d had his chance, and he blew it.
But now she was back.
Married and back.
He tried to arrange his expression into something that resembled indifference. “She here for a visit?”
“She’s here to stay with Milly for a while because Max and Gwen have been worried.”
At this, he sat upright. Max and Gwen were Roni’s cousins. They lived in town and had been taking turns looking after their grandmother. “Is Milly okay?” It alarmed him that she might be ill. And he hadn’t known. Hadn’t even asked. He should visit her more often...
Sam shook her head. “She’s getting older. Max and Gwen wanted to put her into that place in Pasco.”
“That place smells like disinfectant.” He’d been to that nursing home, which was a nice old-fashioned name for what it was. He’d been there several times with his therapy dogs. He’d even convinced them to adopt some of the older animals he couldn’t place elsewhere.
“Right. Roni didn’t like the idea, either, so she agreed to come and stay with Milly. She’s...assessing her, I guess.”
Something stirred in his chest. “That was thoughtful.” And then he asked, “Is she still teaching?” It was late spring. Would she leave when summer ended? She always had. Left when summer ended. The stirring in his belly turned sour.
“We didn’t talk much. Lizzie and I just popped into Milly’s store to say hello,” she said as she took another sip.
Why the hell hadn’t Sam found out more? Like where was her husband, the handsome doctor who’d won her heart? The man who’d had more than one adolescent kiss? Sam was an inveterate gossip hound. Surely she could have found out more.
Sam cleared her throat. “I’m sure she’d love to see you.”
“Did she ask about me?”
“She did.”
His heart leaped. Oh, that was good to hear—
“And Luke. And DJ.” Sam’s grin made clear she was tormenting him with the mention of his two annoying brothers. “She asked about all of us.”
“Did she?” he grumbled.
“Mmm-hmm.” Sam finished her root beer, gave Snoopy one last scratch, removed him from her lap and stood. “Well, that’s my news.”
“Thanks for telling me.” His tone was hardly dry at all.
“No problemo.” She walked to the door and turned back to send him one more irksome grin. “Sleep well,” she said right before she let herself out—leaving him alone, with a room full of snoring dogs and the memories of a girl who’d made him feel so alive. A girl he’d never been able to forget.
He should stop by the bookstore Milly ran to say hello to her. And to Roni. She’d meant so much to him way back when... But then—with a bitter realization—he remembered that she was married, and he thought better of it. Seeing her again would be amazing. Meeting her husband—and pretending to be polite when he really wanted to punch the jerk—would be nothing short of galling. Better to just avoid her.
And, somehow, he convinced himself that this was true.
Veronica James sighed and took another sip of her coffee, reveling in the peace of the moment as she soaked in the sight of a pink dawn breaking over the rolling hills of the Columbia Valley. A gentle breeze teased her hair and a small bird trilled a welcome to the day. From the balcony of Gram’s apartment, above The Book Nook, it seemed as though she could see forever.
What a lovely way to start the day.
After the last few years, she needed this. She needed this so much.
When her cousins called to say they were worried about Gram and were considering putting her in a nursing home, coming here had seemed the perfect solution. In fact, it was more than a solution for Gram. It was a solution for Veronica, too. Once she’d made the decision to make the move, she’d been suffused with an unfamiliar sense of...peace.
So she’d packed up and left Seattle—where she’d lived since college—and moved to the town she’d considered home during her nomadic childhood. No matter where Dad had been stationed, Veronica had spent all her summers here with Gram. This beautiful spot was the one place in the world where she’d always felt welcome. Safe. At home. Every memory of her childhood summers here was a treasured one. Veronica had loved it here. She’d been her true self here. She’d liked that girl; that girl was afraid of nothing.
Maybe she could find that girl again.
Even though coming back here should have been a no-brainer, Veronica had struggled with the decision. If she was being honest with herself, fear had been the culprit. A deep, dark fear that the ugliness that had shadowed her would follow. That it might infest and taint her most treasured memories.
Or, worse, that she might discover there was no safe place in the world after all. That the sense of belonging and peace she’d experienced in Butterscotch Ridge had been a childish illusion. It was too early to make a decision on any of that. But she’d made it through the last couple of nights without any nightmares. That in itself was a minor miracle.
With a happy sigh, she finished her coffee, picked up her plate and headed down the hall to the kitchen at back of the small apartment. She poked her head in to Gram’s bedroom as she passed, just to check on her.
The bed was empty.
A hint of worry trickled through her, so she hurried onward. Gram wasn’t in the living room, or in the kitchen. The bathroom was empty, too. Where could she be?
After dropping her dishes in the sink, Veronica pulled a sweater on over her sleeveless shirt to ward off the morning chill—which the sun wouldn’t burn off until later—and headed down the front stairs into the bookstore Gram had opened after her retirement.
She stopped short. Her breath caught. Her heart thudded as she took in the ransacked shop. Had they been vandalized? Books had been pulled from the shelves and strewn all about.
“Gram?” she called, trying to control the waver in her voice. “Gram?”
“Here, dear.” Gram’s soft voice floated from the other side of the jumbled bookstore.
It took Veronica a moment to find her amid the teetering piles of novels, but there she was, peeping over the books with her hair awry, her glasses askew and her eyes alight.
“What on earth did you do?” Last night, they’d finally gotten every book firmly shelved by genre and in alphabetical order by author. Now...well, now there appeared to be no order whatsoever.
Gram shot her a grin. “I’m organizing,” she said.
Oh, dear. This kind of impulsive behavior was probably why Max and Gwen had been worried. But really, did it matter? If reorganizing made Gram happy? Hardly anyone came to The Book Nook anymore—probably on account of the fact that Gram didn’t like letting go of her favorite books. And they were all her favorite books.
“Can I help?” Veronica asked, making her way through the piles.
“Of course,” Gram said happily. “You can do those.” She pointed to several stacks of romance novels. Gram had always loved romance.
Veronica patted her shawl-covered shoulder. “All right.”
“Unless you want to make some molasses cookies?” Gram gave her a sly look. Besides her love of reading, she’d always had a wicked sweet tooth.
Veronica grinned. “Sure. Perhaps I’ll make some later.”
Gram nodded, delighted at the prospect.
“I think there are still some lemon bars left. Would that do for now?” She’d baked a pan of them yesterday.
“Oh, yes, please.”
After a lovely break featuring lemon bars and chamomile tea, and several hours of reorganizing and re-reorganizing novels, the bell on the door rang. Gram didn’t even hear it—she was too absorbed in the stacks—but Veronica jumped. Unexpected noises still made her react like that sometimes. She was getting better, but occasionally surprises pierced her newfound calm. It was a process, after all.
She let out a relieved sigh when she recognized a familiar face coming through the door of the shop. Her lips curved upward into a smile, and her pounding heart turned from trepidation to delight.
“Sam!” Veronica headed toward the door, knocking over a stack of historical romances in her rush. Samantha Stirling had been one of her best buddies during those long summers in Butterscotch Ridge. Though they’d seen each other a few days ago, it had been a short visit. Sam had just been showing her new sister-in-law around town so there hadn’t been much time to catch up.
Sam greeted her with a bear hug and, without thought, Veronica allowed it. Gosh, it felt nice. The warm, comforting hug of a friend. It had been a while since anyone had hugged her.
“I see you escaped from the ranch,” Veronica teased.
Sam Stirling was a bona fide country girl who broke horses and herded cattle and all that stuff that had seemed so romantic and exciting back when they were young. Probably still was. To Sam, at least.
Sam threw back her head and laughed. “I snuck out,” she said conspiratorially “Don’t tell DJ.” DJ was her oldest brother. Now that their grandfather had passed, he was—for all intents and purposes—in charge of the family business. The selfsame ranch where Veronica had spent the summers of her youth.
Because she knew Sam was teasing, Veronica slapped her hand to her chest and said melodramatically, “I swear, I won’t say a word.” Not that it would matter. She’d never once seen any of the Stirlings lose their temper with Sam. Besides, to be honest, of the four Stirlings, Sam was, by far, the bossiest. She pretty much did what she wanted to do regardless of what DJ, Luke or Mark thought.
And, oh, the thought of him pinged at her heart.
Rats. She’d done a pretty good job of not thinking about Mark up until now. Not imagining what their reunion might be like. Whom his wife or girlfriend would be—because, of course, he would be married by now.
Not that it mattered. Mark had been her friend. He’d kissed her once, when she was fifteen, that was all. It had been a wonderful kiss and she remembered it fondly.
No, she remembered it with reverence. She’d clung to it; that sweet memory had been her salvation at times. Something to latch on to when things got too dark.
But to him? To Mark Stirling? To the cutest boy in town? It had been just a kiss. Certainly not his first, considering how good it had been. He’d probably long ago forgotten that moment in a swirling sea of other memories, other encounters.
She didn’t know why that made her feel maudlin, unless it was the backwash of emotion from her angsty teen years. They’d been kids, after all. Aside from that, she wasn’t interested in kissing anyone now. Or ever. She’d sworn off men and relationships, and for a damn good reason.
Sam glanced at the empty plates on the table, covered with lemon-bar leavings...not that there were many crumbs left. “I don’t suppose you have any more of that coffee cake from the other day?” She was really good at waggling her eyebrows, and took a moment to show off her skills.
Veronica shook her head to loosen all thoughts of her first, and lost, love. “Um, you mean the coffee cake you and Lizzie devoured the last time you were here?”
“It was damn good. Maybe you can make some more?”
Sam’s praise lit a warm glow within her, and the batted lashes, a smile. The thought of making goodies for Sam, anyone really, somehow wiped away her ennui, the way a baker wiped clean her pastry mat before beginning anew. What a lovely visual.
“How are you doing, Milly?” Sam asked, making her way through the room to give Gram a hug.
“Why does everyone keep asking me that? I’m fine.” And she turned her attention back to her work.
Sam surveyed the deconstructed library and commented, “And look what you’ve done to the place.” Her sarcasm was starchy. As though someone had ironed it.
Astonishingly, Veronica found herself chuckling again. Twice in one day might be a record. “That wasn’t me. Gram is reorganizing.” Though the bookstore looked as though a hurricane had hit, somehow Gram knew the exact location of each and every volume in the place.
“Is that what the kids are calling it? Reorganizing?”
Sam’s dry observation sent a warm reminiscence through Veronica’s heart. How many times had she howled with glee at one of Sam’s snarky comments?
This place was good for her. She could feel it.
“Well, it keeps her happy,” Veronica said, sotto voce, even though Gram was hard of hearing.
“You’re sweet,” Sam said. “Gwen loses her mind when Milly unshelves—”
“That’s because Gwen still thinks this bookstore can make it financially.” Not that it mattered. When Gram retired from working at Stirling Ranch, she’d bought this property outright. It had a live-in apartment upstairs and lots of shelves from back in the day, when it had been a five-and-dime, before it had been an auto-parts store and a plethora of other things. Gram had long dreamed of owning a bookstore, even though hardly anyone in Butterscotch Ridge read anything other than the Farmers’ Almanac. Still, she’d filled the shelves with a variety of used books—mostly fiction, but she was fond of encyclopedias and craft workbooks, as well. So what if people rarely came in? All that mattered was that Gram was happy, and there was enough money to pay property taxes. Fortunately, when her husband passed, long before Roni was born, he’d left her a nest egg.
Sam patted Veronica’s shoulder. “I’m sure you can find a way to make this place work.”
“Not as a bookstore.” Not in this town.
“As something.” Sam shrugged. “You’re clever.”
“Am I?” Veronica hadn’t felt particularly clever lately. Not since that day in March two years ago. Having your head repeatedly knocked against a tile wall did that. Rattled one’s thoughts.
No. No melodrama! She was healing. Maybe she could be clever again someday.
Sam took her hand. “Listen, I didn’t come over here to discuss business plans. I’m on my way to the B&G for lunch and I’ve come to kidnap you.”
Oh. Crowds. Something cold whispered across her nape. She shivered.
Veronica glanced at Gram, who’d found a book that—apparently—needed immediate rereading, and was curled up on the couch, among tilting heaps of other tomes. “I should stay with Gram.”
“I’m not an invalid,” Gram barked without looking up. “No matter what Gwen seems to think.”
Sam immediately grasped at that straw. Urging Veronica into mischief had always been one of her stellar traits when they were kids. “Oh, come on. We need to catch up.”
“But Gram—” Her hesitation wasn’t about Gram. Not really. It was probably wrong to use her as an excuse, but the thought of being around that many people, strangers, unable to see all angles... It gave her the willies.
“Heck. She can come along. Hey, Milly,” Sam called. “How about some lunch?”
Gram waved a dismissive hand and barely lifted her head as she called back, “Can’t. Reading.”
To which Sam responded with a broad, triumphant grin. “Come on, buttercup. Let’s get a bite together.”
Gram lifted her head. “Go. I promise I won’t burn the place down.”
Sam shrugged and offered a wicked grin. “And if she does, we’re just down the street.”
Veronica sighed, but she allowed Sam to hook arms and pull her onto the street and into the sunshine, which was far too bright. “Wait,” she said, and then flipped the Open sign to Closed and pulled the door shut, on the off chance someone might be inclined to come in, with a sudden desire for literature, and disturb Gram’s peace.
“Look at you. Still a good girl,” Sam said as they walked down the broad Main Street sidewalk to the only restaurant in town, which was, conveniently, just down the street. Everything in Butterscotch Ridge was conveniently just down the street. Trouble was, there wasn’t much. A restaurant, a liquor store, a sadly deficient grocery store... Oh, there was a gas station, and a park and a church and all the things a small town needed. What it lacked was options.
Anyone who wanted anything out of the ordinary had to go to the Tri-Cities—Kennewick, Pasco and Richland—nearly an hour away or Spokane, which was two hours.
Veronica toyed with the buttons on her sweater. It was a little too warm to be wearing a sweater, but she was used to it. “You say that like being a good girl is a bad thing.”
“The patriarchy wants us to be good girls, remember? Ergo, it is incumbent on us to misbehave and have a roaring good time as often as possible.” This, Sam Stirling said with the blasé conviction of a woman who’d never truly been broken.
Of course, it was wrong to make such assumptions about people. Veronica had learned that so well during her marriage and the ensuing months of therapy, but still...she could see it in Sam. That lightness of spirit, a purity of self-acceptance, an easiness of being. It was clear she’d never been taken apart like a jigsaw puzzle and put back wrong. All her pieces were still in place. She wasn’t afraid of anything.
Though Veronica smiled and murmured something that sounded like accord, she knew better than to let herself slip into such a mindset again. It was too dangerous to give in to the longing to let herself go and live without fear. How on earth did a person do that?
Even though Veronica had made a sacred vow not to be ruled by fear, she wasn’t stupid. A woman had to protect herself in this world. A woman had to be careful.
“Here we are,” Sam said as she pushed open the double doors of the Butterscotch Ridge Bar & Grill, which everyone called the B&G for short. “Chase McGruder owns it now. Do you remember him?”
Veronica shook her head, but it didn’t matter. Sam rattled on. “He bought the restaurant, then the bar next door, knocked out the wall, and voilà.” She gestured, like Vanna White, to the bright and airy establishment, featuring a restaurant on the left side and a bar on the right. “You want a booth or a table?”
“A booth, please.” A table was too exposed. “It smells so good in here.” A mélange of scents wafted by, dominated, in good part, by the heavenly aroma of frying potatoes. It was, pretty much, a burger joint, after all.
“You’re probably hungry,” Sam said. This observation was followed by a quick once-over. “You look like you could eat.”
Veronica tried not to wince. Yes. She was skinnier than she should be. That’s what happened when a person didn’t have an appetite. Some days it was a challenge to make sure she ate three meals. Cooking for Gram helped a little. Baking helped a lot.
“What’s good?” Veronica asked as she reviewed the menu.
Sam grinned. “Don’t ask me. I’ll eat anything.” She set herself to the task of reading the menu, making soft mmms every now and again. And then... “Ooh, bacon.”
Being with her old friend felt so familiar, it made Veronica smile. She didn’t even have to try.
By the time the waitress, a pretty brunette with a long ponytail named Crystal, came to their table, Veronica had settled on a salad, because she really wasn’t hungry after that lemon bar.
Sam ordered a cheeseburger with a side of onion rings for the table.
Crystal left to go place their order and Veronica turned to Sam. “So,” she said. “How’s your family?”
“Good,” Sam said. “Pretty much the same. Except Luke.”
“Luke?” He was the youngest of the Stirling boys, but still a little older than Sam. “What happened to him?”
“Ah, well, he went and joined the Marines. He was in Afghanistan and...” Sam shook her head. “There was an explosion. An IED. Luke survived, but he was badly hurt. He spent months in physical therapy, learning to walk again.” Her face went pink. “Oh. Don’t tell anyone that. Luke swore me to secrecy. Just like him, you know. He doesn’t want anyone to know how rough it really was. He hates sympathy. He equates it with pity.”
“Of course not.” Veronica shook her head, but her mind was reeling.
She had also spent months in physical therapy learning to walk again. To feel like herself again. The hardest part had been learning to do makeup—without looking like a child playing with her mommy’s lipstick—due to the tremor caused by damage to the tendons in her left wrist. She was recovering, but the process was both a physical and an emotional one. Thankfully, it hadn’t kept her from the baking she so loved—as long as she wore the wrist brace her doctor had recommended, she could go on with her activities in the kitchen.
“I-I’d like to see him again,” she said, easing back to give Crystal room to deliver their drinks.
Sam grinned. “You will. It’s a small town. And he lives just around the corner.”
Veronica gaped at her. “He doesn’t live at the ranch?”
“That’s a tender point, as I am sure you can imagine. For some reason, he refuses to live in the old man’s house. They never got along, you see.”
“But your grandfather’s dead, isn’t he? Gram told me he died.”
“Doesn’t matter to Luke.”
Veronica sat back and thought about her experiences, and she had to admit, she understood why Luke might want to isolate himself. “He probably just wants his privacy.”
“Privacy, schmivacy. Hell, when Mark decided he wanted his privacy, he at least had the good sense to move into one of the cabins on the ranch.”
At the sound of his name, Veronica’s pulse spiked. “He, ah, moved out of the house?”
Sam looked a little sheepish. “Well, we might have told him to move out. His dogs were annoying our grandmother.”
“His...dogs?”
“Ugh. Don’t ask.” She took a slug of her iced tea. “Oh, I told him you were in town. He seemed excited.” Sam offered a conspiratorial wink.
Why did her breath catch at that? Why did her hopes rise?
There was no reason for hope. No need for it. She’d made her choice. She’d come here to heal. To find herself again. The last thing she wanted or needed in her life was another man.
The last one had nearly killed her.
