Longing for Home. Kathryn Springer

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СКАЧАТЬ “No, sprinkle some fresh blueberries on the oatmeal and tell him there’s no charge.” Kate winked at her. “That’ll make the fiber go down easier.”

       “Okay.” Missy grinned before darting away.

       Alex had to ask. He just had to. “You know a customer’s cholesterol level?”

       “It’s a small town—and a very small café.” Kate sounded proud of the fact rather than apologetic.

       “Kate!” A man with a flowing white beard and brows that resembled an unclipped hedge waved a folder stuffed full of papers at her. “When you have a minute, can you look over the minutes from the last city council meeting?”

       Kate didn’t seem at all surprised by the request. “I’ll be right there, Mayor Dodd.”

       “You should hire more help.” Alex had to raise his voice a notch to make himself heard over the steady hum of conversation.

       The watercolor pink lips compressed. “I appreciate your concern—” judging from her tone, Alex doubted that was true “—but I do all right.”

       “Really?” He watched a gray-haired man shuffle around the cash register and select a tall parfait glass from the shelf. “Maybe if you had more help, your customers wouldn’t be forced to sneak behind the counter to make their own food.”

       Kate followed the direction of his gaze and Alex heard a soft but audible chirp of dismay.

       “Excuse me.” She shot away, the tails of her canvas apron streaming behind her like kite ribbons.

       A trio of women trundled past Alex in a cloud of perfume, the scents clashing like the instruments in an amateur marching band. They crowded around into the booth next to his and began to pull out their knitting.

      Knitting.

       The dining area reminded him of a noisy family gathering. A limp copy of the local newspaper passed from table to table as if following some kind of prearranged system. Children hung over the backs of the booths and people roamed around the room, chatting or blatantly eavesdropping on the conversations going on around them.

       He couldn’t help but compare the Grapevine to the restaurants in his hotels. Soft background music. A well-trained wait staff who’d memorized the selections on the menu but remained blissfully unaware of a customer’s cholesterol level. High-backed leather booths that provided peace, quiet and…

       “Good morning.” Abby slipped into a chair across from him.

       Anonymity.

       “How did you find me?”

       His sister didn’t look at all intimidated by his scowl. “Someone called me and said you were here, scaring the customers.”

       Alex had a hunch he knew who’d called. But when had she found the time between taking orders, babysitting crabby toddlers and refereeing that lively debate over who was responsible for repairing the potholes on Oak Street?

       “I’m not scaring anyone. I’m having breakfast.”

       “Yes.” Abby cleared her throat. “That’s why it’s a little strange that you ended up here, given the fact that your sister runs a bed-and-breakfast.”

       “I got into town a little early—” Four days, he thought he heard Abby say under her breath. “And I didn’t want to disturb you.”

       “Since when?”

       Alex ignored that as he got a bead on Kate again. Instead of shooing the elderly man back to his table, she had retreated to the kitchen, leaving him alone with the blender. An accident—and a lawsuit—waiting to happen.

       “Come on. I’m taking you back to the inn.” Abby stood up. “And leave Kate a big tip. I’m sure she earned it.”

       “I already did. I told her that she needed to hire more help.” Alex left the money he owed on the table and rose to his feet.

       “Really?” Abby shook her head. “I’m surprised you lived to tell about it.”

       Alex remembered the spark of emerald fire in Kate’s eyes and clamped down on a smile. “There were witnesses.”

       “Leave Kate alone,” his sister commanded. “She doesn’t need your advice. She took over the café when she was twenty years old. Most people that age are still trying to figure out what to do with their lives.”

       “She tries to be in three different places at once.” He’d almost suffered an attack of vertigo just watching her.

       “Kate has everything under control.” Abby tucked her arm through his and herded him out the door with impressive speed. “You of all people should appreciate the quality.”

       He ignored that, too. “Under control? If that were true, her customers wouldn’t have to make their own food.”

       Abby frowned. “What are you talking about?”

       “The man behind the counter. I saw him making a milkshake.”

       Understanding dawned in Abby’s eyes.

       “It was probably Arthur Lundy,” she explained. “His wife, Marsha, died last year and now he’s in the early stages of Alzheimer’s. According to Kate, they grew up in Mirror Lake. He proposed to Marsha right there at the soda fountain while they shared a milkshake.

       “Some days Mr. Lundy comes into the café and he doesn’t seem to remember that she’s gone. He’ll go behind the counter to make a milkshake and ask for two straws. Kate doesn’t mind.”

       His sister’s tone suggested that he shouldn’t, either.

       “This is a business, not a home,” Alex said, capping off some unidentifiable emotion that bubbled to the surface of his conscience. “It’s a mistake to let the customers do as they please. She’s responsible if one of them gets hurt.”

       “Kate looks at people like Mr. Lundy as more than just a customer.”

       Alex’s lips twisted.

       “That’s mistake number two.”

      Chapter Three

      Mission accomplished.

       With a satisfied smile, Kate tacked down the last string of white lights along the roofline of the gazebo. When Quinn and Abby returned from their final premarital counseling session with Matthew Wilde, the pastor at Church of the Pines, they would discover the garden area transformed into a wonderland of fragrant blooms and twinkling lights.

       She scooted away from the edge of the roof, careful not to look at the ten-foot drop to the flagstone patio below. Kate didn’t particularly care for heights but decorating for the reception was a labor of love for her friends. And because stringing lights around the gazebo had been her idea to begin with, she didn’t think it was fair to ask someone else to put them up.

       Hammer tucked under СКАЧАТЬ