Hometown Healing. Jennifer Slattery

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СКАЧАТЬ style="font-size:15px;">      Drake gave a one-shoulder shrug. “Slow but steady. You oughta stop by sometime and see what Neil’s got planned for that adventure/training course of his. That guy’s got one creative imagination.”

      “Might need to.” Hopefully his friend’s business venture would bring in tourists—the kind who liked murder-mystery dinner theater. “Thanks for coming.” He shook Drake’s hand.

      “My pleasure. I’ll be in touch.”

      Jed nodded and walked him out. As he was returning to his office, his chef called to him from the kitchen doorway.

      “Coming.” He followed the scent of freshly brewed coffee. “What’s up?”

      Decked in a stained apron and the toque he insisted on wearing, Dillon Tedford stood with his backside resting against the edge of the worktable. “We’ve hit a few snags.”

      “Such as?”

      “The asparagus is nasty. We can’t serve it.”

      “Great.” Jed sighed. “Can you substitute summer squash?”

      “Don’t have any, but I’ve got some canned beans in the pantry.”

      “We talked about this. Fresh produce. Quality meat.” He couldn’t elevate guest opinions of the place otherwise. “Guess you’ll have to hit the store. And see if you can get a refund on the rotten stuff.” He should’ve checked the produce when their supplier had dropped it off. Now it would cost double what they’d budgeted for.

      Jed glanced at the meal-plan calendar on the wall. Some nights Italian, and others Mexican. Hard to establish any sort of brand when their dishes were all over the place. He needed to talk to Dillon about the menu changes he wanted to implement once the renovations were complete, but based on the man’s scowl, today wasn’t the day.

      “I’ll let you get to it, then.” As he turned to leave, his phone rang. He pulled it from his back pocket. His mom. He answered en route to his office. “Hey. Sorry I haven’t returned your call.”

      “You’re busy. I know.”

      “How are you? You get enough donations for the charity auction you’re working on?” Their conversations always went better when he focused on her. And away from his “wreck of a life plan,” as she liked to call it.

      “Yes, plenty. But that’s not why I’m calling.”

      “Okay.” He shucked his Stetson, placed it on the corner of his desk and then sat behind his computer. He pulled up his emails. Hopefully he’d received those Gold Rush script samples he’d requested. What he really wanted was a train heist, but he hadn’t found anything like that. Would Paige be able to write what they needed in time for the reopening? If he didn’t land on something by midweek, he’d have to make do with what he could find. And soon, so his cast had time to rehearse.

      “Your father cut his trip short. He’ll be home this weekend, and I’d really like us to go out to dinner. As a family. It’s been so long since we’ve all been together.”

      “I love the idea, but I’ve got a show both nights. You know that.”

      She let out a long sigh. “Well, I’m sure you can miss one. Rhonda said she drove by last Friday and the parking lot was nearly empty.”

      “We’re doing fine.” At least, they would be. Once he revived the place.

      “Well then, there shouldn’t be a problem with taking the night off.”

      “Actually, there would be. As part owner, I need—”

      “The place won’t fall apart if you step away for an evening. Your grandmother’s quite capable. I’m sure she’ll be able to manage things on her own.”

      No, she couldn’t; otherwise he wouldn’t have needed to help her out. But he didn’t want to admit that to his mother.

      “I just wish you’d go back to school and finish your degree, Jed.”

      “I did—in business. Which I’m utilizing now. Tell you what. Why don’t you and dad come out here this Friday, on me? We’ll grab coffee and dessert after.”

      “At the theater, you mean?” Her voice sounded pinched. Was she envisioning herself serving dinner guests while wearing a waitress’s uniform? “No, no. I appreciate the sentiment, but your father will be tired, I’m sure. He’ll want a much quieter environment.”

      “Some other time, then.” He ended the call and set his phone on his desk. He knew his mom was just worried about him, though it’d be nice if she were a little more supportive regarding the dinner theater.

      Had Paige stopped by his grandmother’s yet? To snag a cookie or mug of hot cocoa, like old times? Grandma would be happier than a calf in the clover patch if Paige brought that giggling little one of hers. Ava. She had her mama’s nose, slender but round as a button at the end. Her curly hair, too, like shiny copper coils. And a mischievous glint in her eyes that reminded him of Paige.

      A smile tugged as he remembered her from high school, always thinking up something fanciful. When she wasn’t hunched over a book. He’d been a fool to let her go. Maybe if things had been different for both of them, he never would have. He doubted there was any chance of them rekindling what they had, but hopefully they could rebuild the friendship.

      * * *

      On Saturday morning, Paige sat on the living room floor with Ava snuggled in her lap. Toys and books were spread out to her left, and her calendar and notes to her right. Still dressed in her pajamas, she checked the time and then her agenda, and penciled in her day planner. At some point, she needed to send out article queries and follow up on all of the places she’d sent her résumé.

      “Mama, pway wiff me?” Ava held out a doll with blue hair.

      “Sure, baby. Who am I?”

      She scrunched her neck into her shoulders and put her arms out in the most adorable “I don’t know” pose.

      Paige laughed and kissed her cheek. She smelled like peanut butter and strawberry shampoo. “How about I be the mama and you be the little girl.”

      “Uh-uh. Me big giwl.”

      “That you are, and an adorable one at that.” She gently tugged on her big toe.

      The one highlight of her unemployment—more time spent with her daughter. And her mom.

      She glanced toward the kitchen and the sound of clanking dishes. Though she still didn’t understand the hypochondria, or whatever the doctors called it, and hadn’t a clue how to help, she was here. She had to believe that meant something.

      A low rumble outside caught her attention. It sounded close, like in Mom’s yard.

      “Oh, no.” She glanced toward the living room windows. The blinds were lowered. “Please don’t tell me...” She sprang to her feet, crossed the room and parted the blinds to see out. What in the world?

      Jed Gilbertson was mowing Mom’s yard. What СКАЧАТЬ