Then the front door of the store opened. As her mother entered, the whisper of her wheelchair swept away the momentary delusions.
“This doesn’t seem right,” Tate grumbled as he followed his father down the streets of Rockyview, the warm afternoon sun shining down. Though it was still early May, spring was heralding its approach in the greening of the trees in the town, which spread up the mountains reaching to the dark green of the spruce and fir trees and the snowcapped tops.
“What doesn’t?” his father asked, nodding a greeting to a passing couple.
“Heading out to lunch on a Monday morning without a client in tow,” Tate said as they walked up the steps to Mug Shots. “Doesn’t seem professional.”
“Get used to it,” his father said, pulling open the door of the coffee shop. “In a town like Rockyview, it’s good business to frequent the local coffee shops.”
Any comments Tate might have had were carried away by the jumbled noise of the café as they stepped inside. Jazz music wafted from speakers, adding to the rumble of conversation filling the space. Customers lined up alongside the glass display cases, which held a surprising variety of sandwiches, croissants, bagels, muffins, cookies and pastries. People jostled for seats at tables as waitresses in black shirts and pants scurried from the kitchen delivering the hot food people had ordered at the counter.
The place was hopping.
A woman in a pink bandanna bustled in, sliding trays of premade sandwiches, wraps and bagels into the display case and barking out orders to the two young men at the grill.
While Arlan and Tate took their place in line, the woman in front of them turned around. Her bright eyes and white permed hair were set off by the vibrant blue of her velour jacket and pants. The blinding-white running shoes were wishful thinking. Tate doubted the older woman did more than amble in them.
“Arlan, this must be your son,” the woman said, gesturing toward Tate. “He looks just like you.”
“Tate, this is Sophie Brouwer. One of our clients,” his father said with a smile that underlined his previous comment about client contact.
“I’ll need to talk to you about updating my will now that my son, Ben, is married,” Sophie said.
“I heard. Congratulations,” Arlan said as the line moved.
“Jennie Bond and I had a hand in bringing him and Shannon together, you know,” Sophie said, lowering her voice as she leaned closer, her bright button eyes glowing with pride. “We have a bit of a matchmaking reputation,” she said, turning her attention to Tate, as if he might be interested in enlisting their services.
He gave her a vague smile, hoping she didn’t see that as encouragement.
“Tate’s wife died not that long ago,” his father said to Sophie, putting his arm around Tate’s shoulders.
“Of course. I understand,” Sophie said, placing her hand on Tate’s arm in a gesture of sympathy. “But if you ever need to talk to someone, we’re available.”
The only reply Tate gave her was a quick nod. Then, thankfully, it was Sophie’s turn to order.
The young girl at the cash register gave Sophie a wooden spoon with a number on it. Sophie took her change, dropped it in the pot by the cash register and, after waving in Tate and Arlan’s direction, headed directly for a table by the window where another older woman was motioning to her.
“That was...interesting,” Tate said, turning his attention back to the chalkboard with the day’s menu written on it. “Nice to know that the women of this town have my interests at heart.”
“Oh, she’s not the only one,” Arlan said as he pulled out his wallet. “You’re considered quite a catch.”
“Plenty of menu choices for a small café,” Tate said, preferring to ignore his father’s comment. Though his father wasn’t as overt as Sophie Brouwer, he had, from time to time, made comments that one bad experience shouldn’t sour him to all future relationships.
Trouble was, it had. He had misjudged Molly so badly and been so betrayed by her actions that he didn’t trust his judgment. Thankfully, it seemed Addison hadn’t suffered any long-term repercussions from a marriage that had been crumbling. And working on the scrapbook seemed to show her that Molly had, at times, been a loving mother.
Once they received the soup and sandwiches they’d ordered, his father took the tray and wove through the crowded tables to the large French doors open to the patio. “Thought we’d eat outside,” he said as he stepped through the doors. “Not as crowded.”
Tate didn’t care either way. He just wanted to eat and get back to the office. Saturday he’d taken Addison out to the ranch to see the horses, and Sunday he’d gone to church with his father. Though weekends off was probably a normal occurrence for his father, Tate was still adjusting to the concept.
“Doesn’t look like there’s any place to sit here, either,” Tate said, glancing around the crowded tables.
But his father ignored him, and when Tate realized where his father was headed, he almost groaned aloud.
Renee sat at a small wooden table, leaning close to her mother, the sunlight glinting on the waves of her caramel-colored hair. Her hands fluttered as she spoke, emphasizing a point she was making. Brenda laughed and Renee joined in, the sound settling in Tate’s soul.
He couldn’t help but think of the steady litany of complaints that had personified Molly’s relationship with her own mother. He couldn’t ever remember her laughing with her mother, let alone having lunch with her or working with her.
Or making the sacrifices Renee was willing to make for her own mother.
As his father drew closer, Renee’s mother looked up, and her smile widened as her hand brushed her hair away from her face. “What a pleasant surprise,” she said, glancing from Tate to his father. “Why don’t you two join us,” she said, pointing to the two empty chairs at their table. “We have lots of room.”
Tate guessed, from the faintly smug look on Mrs. Albertson’s face and his father’s hasty agreement, that this was a setup.
What was his father doing? He of all people, knew exactly who Renee was.
However, that was forgotten as they settled themselves at the table. Tate was far too aware of Renee sitting across from him. Her blue-and-orange-flecked nail polish, a whimsical touch for someone who seemed so practical, sparkled in the sun as her restless fingers fiddled with the locket hanging from her neck.
His father and her mother were chattering away like old friends, but Tate’s mind went suddenly blank.
Tate took a spoonful of soup, wishing he didn’t feel so awkward in her presence. Though they had already spent a couple of afternoons together, there existed a curious discomfort between them. He knew part of that unease had to do with the fact that Renee was Addison’s biological mother.
Tate would be fooling himself if he didn’t admit that another part of the awkwardness had to do with the struggles he was dealing with. Renee was a beautiful woman, a caring daughter and faithful friend. Where did she fit in his life?
Then, as he looked over at her, their eyes met. Tate knew he should look away but didn’t want to.
Her eyes were an intriguing mix of green and brown bordering on hazel. Her lashes were thick, and her eyebrows had an intriguing arch to them, emphasizing her heart-shaped face.
Just like Addison’s.
Reality lumbered into the moment, and Tate dragged his gaze away.
“And how was your weekend?” she asked, her quiet voice startling him. “I understand you went out to Evangeline’s ranch to ride?”
“How did you know?” he asked as he sprinkled salt into his soup, trying to keep himself busy.
“Evangeline told me.” She gave him a self-conscious smile. “I don’t mean for you to think that we were gossiping. It’s just, well, she’s one of my best friends. We talk a lot.”
“I guess that’s all part of small-town life,” he said. “Gotta get used to that.”
“And if you’re not careful, whatever you say here will get passed around by way of the
Mug Shots Messaging Service.”
“The what?” he mumbled around the food in his mouth.
Renee waved her arm toward the people gathered on the outside deck. “This place always has people coming and going. They talk, they share information, and it spreads all over town.”
Tate laughed. “Actually, the day at the ranch went well. Addison is getting better on her horse. I’m hoping to take her out on a longer ride soon. Tanner offered to let me come to his ranch and ride the trails.”
“That sounds like fun.”
“Do you ride?”
“Evangeline and I would take our chances on the horses her father occasionally brought to the ranch. I wouldn’t call it riding as much as hanging on.”
“Sounds risky, riding unfamiliar horses.”
Renee laughed. “We were young and foolish and had the usual dreams preteen girls have about horses. That they wanted to be our friends.” She shook her head as she brushed some crumbs off the table beside her plate. “Just one of the many silly notions young girls have.”
Her voice took on a plaintive note, and he wondered if she was referring to Addison’s biological father. Though she had told him what he needed to know, he caught himself wondering at the relationship.
And if she’d had any since then.
“Addison seems to have the same romantic view of horses you do,” he said. “She doesn’t realize that horses are a friend that could easily kill you with one well-placed kick.”
“Now there’s a lovely thought to carry with you next time you go near a horse,” she said with a chuckle.
Her laughter was infectious and Tate joined in, easing the tension between them. They grew quiet, then Tate’s attention was caught by his father’s laugh.
“Are you sure that’s how it happened?” Arlan was asking as he leaned closer to Renee’s mother.
“Have I ever lied to you?” she returned.
Tate watched them a moment, confused at the flirtatious tone in Mrs. Albertson’s voice. And his father’s. Tate hadn’t seen him smile like that since his mother died.
What was this all about?
He caught Renee glancing at her mother, then at him, her expression as quizzical as his.
“Are you seeing what I think I’m seeing?” he asked, leaning closer and lowering his voice.
“I’m not entirely sure what you’re seeing,” she returned, her voice equally low and filled with confusion. “But I’m starting to understand why she insisted on sitting at a table for four.” Renee turned her head toward him at exactly the same time he looked at her.
Their gazes connected. Held. And as Tate looked into her eyes, he felt as if his soul was slowly drifting from its moorings. For a moment he let himself wonder about him and Renee.
Then he drew back and clenched his fists. He couldn’t do this. Couldn’t allow himself to get pulled into Renee’s life.
“With both you and your mother here, who’s minding the store?” Tate asked, bringing them back to reality.
“We have a girl who comes in to help us from time to time,” Renee said, pleating her napkin. “She also comes in every Monday to work the lunch hour so my mother and I can have our lunch date.” Renee turned away from him, toward her mother. She reached over and laid her hand on her mother’s arm.
The action was so natural it produced a twinge of melancholy in Tate. Renee had a warm, loving relationship with her mother that, for a moment, made him miss his own mother.
“Look at all of you, so cozy and precious,” a voice called out from the sidewalk running alongside the patio.
Tate heard Renee groan, then turned to see who was talking. Evangeline, her long wavy blond hair flowing over her shoulders, waved at them, her other arm clutching a large manila envelope.
“Hey, Evangeline,” Renee said. “Tate and his father joined us for lunch.”
“I can see that,” Evangeline said, the gleam in her eyes making Tate wonder if he was missing something. “Did you have a good horseback ride?” she asked him.
“I did,” Tate replied. “Addison enjoyed it, as well.”
“Awesome. Glad that worked out for you.” Evangeline glanced from Tate to Renee and winked at her.
What was that about?
“Don’t you have books to inventory? Shelves to stock? Reviews to post online.” Renee asked.
Evangeline held up the manila envelope. “Just got back from the accountant. Need to mail out the ranch’s and bookstore’s year-end stuff for my dad to sign.”
“Well, then, you better get to the post office,” Renee said, a surprisingly stern note in her voice.
Evangeline just laughed, grinned at Tate, then flounced off, the full skirt of her dress flowing behind her.
Tate was truly mystified. He glanced back at Renee, who looked apologetic and was about to say something, when his father called his name.
“Tate, we’re not busy on Mother’s Day, are we?” he asked.
“I don’t think so.”
“Great.” Without any further explanation, his father turned his attention back to Mrs. Albertson.
Okay, his father was up to something. And Tate was convinced it had as much to do with him and Renee as it did with, what it seemed to him, his father and Renee’s mother.
Trouble was, Tate wasn’t sure how he felt about it all. He glanced at Renee, and when she smiled at him, his own confusion grew. He reminded himself that Renee had her own plans, and they didn’t include sticking around Rockyview.
He wasn’t going to put his daughter, or himself, through that kind of emotional turmoil again.
Chapter Six
“So, you didn’t come by yesterday,” Renee said as Addison and Tate settled themselves at the table in the back of the store.
Tate didn’t meet Renee’s eyes as she chatted with Addison. He knew his excuse for not coming yesterday had been lame. Truth was, he’d needed breathing room from Renee Albertson. Their little “lunch date” on Monday had been too enjoyable. He had found himself thinking too much about her afterward. Wondering about her. Remembering her smile and how appealing she was.
“My daddy said he was too busy.” Addison pouted at Renee. “But I got to go to a friend’s place. Her name is Talia.” She turned to her father. “Remember when I told you that Talia wasn’t helping me?”
“Yes, I do.”
In fact, Tate had been surprised Addison had agreed to visit her after she had assumed her friend didn’t like her.
“She said that Natasha doesn’t get Math Facts and that our teacher asked her to help Natasha. That I was good enough at Math Facts and didn’t need help. I felt bad that I was mad at her. She still wants to be my friend and I said she can.
“Well, I’m glad you got that sorted out,” Tate said.
“Me too. I feel bad that I was mad at her.” Then she tipped her head to one side, smiling at the page she had just finished. “I like this page, don’t you, Daddy? Me and you and Mommy had fun on this trip.”
“Yes, we did,” Tate said, thankful that Addison’s memory of that day didn’t mesh with reality. He and Molly had had a huge fight that day, and, for Addison’s sake, he had tried to keep a fragile peace.
“Looks like you and your mom and dad went on lots of great trips,” Renee was saying, bending over the pictures Tate was sorting. “Where were these taken?”
“Toronto Island,” Tate said, forcing his attention on the pictures. “You liked that adventure,” he told Addison, trying to ignore the scent of Renee’s perfume as she stood between him and Addison.
Addison smiled and nodded. “I remember we went swimming and Mommy pushed you into the water. I laughed and laughed when you got your pants and shirt wet.”
Again Tate was thankful for her innocence. Molly had pushed him off the dock because she was angry with him, her erratic behavior becoming increasingly troubling.
“But it was a warm day, so I dried off quick,” he added.
“And then we went biking on those fun bikes that f
our people can ride, except just Daddy and Mommy biked. I got to sit and look at the fun little houses there.”
“That sounds like a good time,” Renee said. “So, what do you want to add to this page?”
“I think we should just keep this page simpler than the other ones we did,” Tate said, laying the pictures of the bike trip out on the empty page of the scrapbook. “We need to get this book done on time.”
Addison frowned as he pulled out the tape dispenser. “On time for what?”
“Um, Mother’s Day, of course, and that’s in four days.” He pulled that deadline out of nowhere, and he saw from the puzzled look Renee shot him that she also wondered why there was a rush.
“But Mommy’s not here,” Addison said, flipping through a couple of sheets of stickers.
“Well, don’t you think it would be kind of special to have it done by Mother’s Day anyway?”
“Kind of.”
“I think that’s a good idea,” Renee added, as if guessing at his reasons, as well.
Tate shot her a grateful look. Her careful smile told him she seemed to be feeling the same as him.
“Hello, everyone.”
A female voice snagged Tate’s attention. A petite, dark-haired woman stood in the doorway of the craft room. Her short hair enhanced elfin-like features. She glanced from Tate to Renee with a speculative gleam in her brown eyes and a pair of dimples flashing from her cheeks.
“Oh, no,” Renee breathed, holding her hands up to the woman as if in warning. “Hey, Mia, Mom’s out in the store if you need anything.”
“Oh, I don’t need anything. I was just talking to Evangeline.” The woman named Mia looked from Renee to Tate and then back again, grinning. “Thought I would come and see what you’re doing.”
“I’m making a scrapbook of my mommy,” Addison said helpfully. “Do you want to see?”
Tate caught Renee’s look of dismay and wondered what seemed to be the matter.
“I would love to,” Mia said, pulling out a chair beside Addison as if ready to settle in. “Why don’t you show me what you’ve done already.”
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