Last Chance At The Someday Café. Angel Smits

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ was his responsibility.

      Throughout the rest of the day, the woman at the booth did a brisk business. Nothing unusual. Just busy. She cast Morgan several furtive glances, which made him more determined to stay put. The man didn’t return.

      Finally, as the sun set low, the woman pulled boxes from under the table and packed the remaining stock. No one came to help, and she glared at Morgan.

      If he didn’t want to have an up-close-and-personal meeting with the sheriff, he knew he had to be careful about how he approached her.

      When she taped the last box closed, Morgan moved closer for one last try. He didn’t say anything at first, simply stood, watching, trying not to intimidate her too much. She, on the other hand, had no hesitancy in glaring at him.

      Slowly, deliberately, Morgan pulled out his wallet. Not to get money, but to slip out the familiar, worn picture. He hesitated. Was this a good idea? He had no clue, but he didn’t know what else to do. Praying he was making the right choice, Morgan put the picture on top of the last box. “She’s mine,” he whispered around the lump in his throat. “She’s a year older than that picture.”

      The woman paused and looked at Brooke’s grin. Recognition flashed in her eyes an instant before she shut the reaction down.

      “Yeah?” She hefted a box onto a metal dolly. “Cute kid.”

      “She is. I haven’t seen her in a year.”

      The silence hung thick in the twilight. “Whatcha want me to do ’bout it?” The woman moved another box, more slowly this time.

      “Have you seen her?”

      “Maybe.” Another box moved. It barely fit on the dolly, but she put it there anyway. It’d be awkward as heck to move, but he doubted that would stop her. And it didn’t.

      “Can I help you with that?” He reached for the handle and the woman lifted an elbow to push him away.

      “I got it. Thanks.” She stepped behind the dolly, shoving her foot against the bottom rail and tilting it. She grunted briefly as the big box fell onto the rail and her shoulder.

      “Do you know her?” Morgan asked.

      The woman met his gaze, and the sadness in her eyes surprised him. “Don’t know her. I seen her, I think, but lots of people come through here.” She tilted her head toward the now-empty booth.

      “If you see her again, would you let me know?” He tried to tamp down the emotion flaring annoyingly to life in his chest. He pulled a business card out of his wallet and put it on top of the boxes as he retrieved the precious photo.

      “Maybe.” She took a couple of steps, struggling with the weight.

      Midway through the gate to a dirt parking lot, she stopped and looked over her shoulder at him. She reached out awkwardly over the carefully balanced boxes and picked up the business card. She stared at it in the fading light. Morgan half expected her to toss it to the wind.

      Instead, she slipped it into her back pocket, and he finally remembered to breathe. He stood there, watching her load her car, then climb in. Before she turned the corner, he snapped a quick photo of the license plate and car with his phone.

      She hadn’t done anything wrong—that he knew of—but the information might be useful. If not now, maybe later. Who knew what a private detective could do with something like that? If television was to be believed, a lot.

      Slowly, Morgan walked toward his truck. The streets were empty now, a few vendors still packing up, but no customers left.

      Streetlights had come on and squares of gold fell out of the glass windows of houses he passed. He saw families sitting down to dinner. Couples in homey kitchens putting meals together. Something shifted in his chest. Envy. Longing.

      If he walked these streets, glancing in windows, would he find Sylvie? Not likely. Sylvie had tried to cook a few times, and she’d been getting better, but she’d never liked it. There wouldn’t be any homey warm scene to watch. Or any chance to find them that way.

      Loneliness settled in close, and he shivered to push it away. He didn’t have time to feel. He had too much to do. He headed toward the diner, telling himself it was only because that’s where his truck was parked.

      It had nothing to do with the fact that Tara would be serving up warmth.

      And maybe a little bit of belonging.

      * * *

      DESPITE THE HEAVY RAIN, the Saturday morning rush was in full swing. Tara stood on tiptoe to peer out the round window in the doors that separated the kitchen from the dining room. Nearly all the tables were full and her staff hustled back and forth.

      She couldn’t help smiling. Just then, a customer gave Wendy one of the coupon flyers. Yes. Her work was paying off. She glanced around, hoping to see more.

      Her gaze found the French doors to the patio where raindrops hit, then slid down the panes. The street fair would be hurt by the rain, but some of today’s crowd was likely due to the weather.

      She wasn’t about to complain.

      Then she glanced at the long counter and froze. Morgan sat at the far end. A newspaper was spread out in front of him as he absently sipped from a mug and read.

      She should be surprised he was here after his abrupt departure from the park the other day. But she wasn’t. Not really. Briefly, she wondered what had happened at the fair. Not that he owed her an explanation, but she couldn’t help being curious about where the two men had gone.

      For a brief instant, she watched him. Any moment, one of the waitstaff would come through the doors, but until then, she didn’t move. He really was something.

      Most of the men in her life were like her brothers. Tall, rangy cowboys. Muscular, yes, but not like this. Their physique came from working with the cattle and riding horses; Morgan’s seemed more deliberate. More defined. Purposeful.

      He had to work out. Suddenly, an image of him, sweat glistening on the hard curves of his bare chest, his arms straining as he lifted a bar with black weights on each end, leaped to mind. If her arms hadn’t been full of fresh linens, she’d have reached up to fan herself.

      Forcing herself to stop this nonsense and get back to work, she stepped out of the kitchen, hugging the linens tight. She took her time putting them away in the antique wooden cabinet nestled in the corner.

      She did not have time for this. Hadn’t she learned her lesson? Men—good-looking men—were a distraction she couldn’t afford right now.

      Once the linens were settled, she headed to the cash register and pulled out the day’s receipts to prep the deposit. Robbie was here handling the kitchen, so she had a couple hours to get paperwork done.

      “Mornin’, Morgan. Can I get you a warm-up?” Wendy’s voice, friendly, inviting and warm, came across the dining room, and Tara looked up again. A twinge of jealousy surprised her. The waitress stood across the counter from the burly truck driver, holding the carafe.

      He didn’t respond at first and Tara paused, just as Wendy did, waiting.

      “You СКАЧАТЬ