The trash truck roared and grumbled to a halt behind the ancient motor court, and the memory vanished. Blue squeezed her fingers into a fist to hold it to her as she grieved. She rolled over and sat up, opening the pressed board drawer of the nightstand bolted to the wall and withdrew the notebook she’d bought at Walmart with such high hopes. It was battered already from much handling, and inside the pages were too barren, but she retrieved the ballpoint pen labeled Curly’s Truck Stop and quickly began writing.
It was a memory, she was almost certain, and not one of the fractured drug dreams from her lost years. So much of her life was only fragments, and few of them fit together yet.
But they would. One day she’d have a life story, a history as others did. Somehow dredging through the pasts of others seemed to be a road to her past, and each time she managed to reunite a person with his or her mementos was a down payment on what Blue wanted more than to continue existing.
She wanted a past she could live with. A family that was hers. For someone to know her, to miss her. To care.
If only that could be Dilly.
But Dilly was gone, and Blue didn’t know where. Didn’t know if Dilly wanted to be found.
Why would she?
Except…there had been good times. Her precious little daughter, her princess with white-blond hair and jewel-blue eyes had once looked at Blue with wonder in her gaze.
When Blue had been awake and present, that is. When she’d been fully in this world and not some far galaxy, cresting on a high, a man…
But Blue had dropped the delicate silvery ribbons that tied her to her fairy-child daughter.
And someone had taken her baby girl away.
Blue bent double, sagging beneath the weight of her failures. What parent lost her child, especially a child as beautiful, as sweet, as her Dilly?
In jail, Blue had dried out, had gone through the twelve steps…except that she couldn’t make amends to the single most important person she’d hurt.
Dilly.
Until she could, whether or not her daughter could ever forgive her, Blue couldn’t settle, couldn’t make a real home. Desperately she wanted to make a home for Dilly. Prayed it wasn’t too late.
But she knew she had to accept that she might have lost her chance. Regardless, she had to keep looking, had to find her child. Had to see that she was safe and healthy. In service of that aim, Blue admitted her fault to every person she met, hoping that somehow, someday, someone would cross Dilly’s path and let her know. Would speak those words Blue repeated to everyone, accepting her humiliation as her due.
I let my child be stolen from me, and I don’t expect her forgiveness, but I need to tell her that I never stopped loving her, not one single hour of one day.
She would never stand straight and tall, never find her place in the world until she’d done that. Dilly could tell her to go to hell, but Blue had to know she was safe, however long the search required. For now, she just had to keep walking this path with no markers, wondering every day if she had strayed too far without knowing, if she had missed the crucial turn. If maybe the daughter she longed for was across the street or around the corner, tantalizingly close but in the end, devastatingly too far.
I did not deserve to be your mother, Dilly.
Please…be safe.
Chapter Two
That evening at Ruby’s Dream, the high-end restaurant Scarlett McLaren had opened in the newly-restored former courthouse, Henry heard Scarlett laughing. She wasn’t back at the diner yet after the maternity leave forced on her after the near-tragedy of her delivery, but she had returned for this one night at Dreams as a prelude to her return to full-time work as the talented chef she was. Man, it was great to have her back, even for one night.
He watched as Brenda related a story and moved a few steps closer while he focused on the complicated quail entree Scarlett had created.
“You should have seen the look on Jackson’s face when Big D volunteered to help me in the greenhouse.” Brenda’s blue eyes sparkled, and he tried not to resent that it was the geek in skinny jeans and hipster glasses who could make her laugh when no one else could.
Or at least he couldn’t, he reminded himself. She was shy with everyone, but he’d thought they were friends, at a minimum—maybe more.
No, not more. They couldn’t be. Not when he wasn’t even sure how old she was. She seemed so young in some ways, so worn down and older than her years in others.
Life hadn’t been easy on Brenda, of that much he was certain.
He understood how that could be. He’d been raised in a small town outside San Antonio by the grandmother who’d taken him in when his parents were killed in a car wreck. After he’d graduated from high school, however, he’d remained, caring for his grandmother until her death. Then he’d set out hitchhiking for…he’d never been sure where, really.
His first stop had brought him to Sweetgrass, and somehow Ruby had convinced him to stay long enough to accumulate some travel funds. Two years later, he was still there.
“Henry, have you got this?” Scarlett asked. “I need to see if Spike delivered that last dessert selection.”
“I’m on it.”
“What would I do without you?” Scarlett smiled. “We’d be so lost.”
He fought not to blush, but inside…man, he felt great.
After she departed, Brenda lingered.
“You okay?”
She nodded. “I never asked how long you’ve been here.”
“Two years now. Why?”
“Do you think you’ll stay?”
“I hadn’t thought about it much, but…yeah, I’d like to.”
“Why?”
“Because this is home now. Or it feels that way.”
“Does that surprise you?”
“It does. This was only supposed to be a quick stop for a few days.” He frowned. “Two years…wow. What about you?”
“I like it here very much. I wish—” She halted, but not before Henry noted the sorrow in her gaze, the longing. He never pushed her, but he wondered where home was for her? Nobody knew, and she wasn’t saying.
“Okay,” Scarlett said, returning. “Let’s keep the orders coming. You’ll plate the quail, Henry?”
“I will. Does it look okay?”
She spared a glance from the saucepan she had placed on the burner. “Looks perfect.” She smiled up at him before returning her gaze to the food. “Is this just temporary for you, Henry, or do you want to keep going with your cooking? Take it to the next level?”
“Seriously?”
“You could—” She glanced over. “If you were willing to cut loose and experiment. That’s the big difference between a chef and a cook. Cooks follow recipes. Chefs have to think outside the box and invent. Are you an inventive sort, Henry? I’ve never seen you try.”
He thought about her question. Being inventive, cutting loose…he’d never really had the option before. “I don’t know,” he said honestly.
“What do you love?” she asked him. “What gets your heart racing?”
He couldn’t stop his glance from flicking toward the slender blonde who was never far from his mind.
Big D and Vinny had arrived through the back and were flirting with her. She was laughing again.
He glanced back at the food, disgusted with himself. “I don’t know. I never thought about it as an option. I wasn’t raised to cook, but I learned in order to help out my granny. She cooked for other folks a lot, but it got to be hard on her.”
“What were you raised to do?”
“Be a farmer. I like to make things grow.”
“Really?”
He shrugged. “I don’t want to farm a lot of land, though. I like gardening. I used to experiment a little in my grandmother’s kitchen garden, trying out unique vegetables and such.”
Scarlett stared at him. “Henry, you know I want a garden specifically for our restaurants, don’t you? How come I never knew you liked to garden? Could I interest you in he
lping me plan one? I’m buying local produce, as you know, but I really want to experiment with plants no one around here is growing. Are you any good at it?” She shook her head. “Forget I asked. I bet you are. You’re so careful with everything you do.” Her eyes were wide with wonder. “So much has happened that I had to put the plans on hold, but I’m ready to crank up this kitchen garden. We’ve got some space at Nana’s in her old garden plot next to her house and the diner, but Ian and I also have room at the ranch, not far from where we’re building our house. Can we take a look at them tomorrow?”
“Sure.”
“What have you tried to grow? I want all the herbs I can lay my hands on, and greens…what have you found workable?”
“Radicchio, arugula,” he began. “We need a greenhouse for some of them, though kale will do fine outdoors, as will spinach.”
“Henry!” Delight suffused her features. “Could we start now? Have some ready for winter?”
“Setting up is the hardest part. Getting the soil ready, but—”
“What?”
“We could use potting soil at first, just for this winter, if you don’t mind the expense. And we should be composting from both here and the cafe, creating our own soil for spring. We have time to get beds ready if we start now.”
Scarlett flung herself at him, squeezed him hard, tiny though she was.
“Um, I need two trout specials and one of the quail,” Brenda said, watching them curiously.
But she’d never ask.
“Hey, Miss Flower Girl, did you know Henry is a gardener? We’re going to have my gourmet gardens, after all, thanks to him!”
“Really? You never told me you like to grow things, too.” Henry knew she loved her work at the flower farm far more the waitressing she did out of gratitude to Ruby. “I’d love to learn. Maybe I could help you.”
Henry got a little breathless at the thought, but she worked too hard as it was. “You already have two jobs.”
Her glow faded. “Never mind. It was just a thought.” She turned to go.
Scarlett glanced up at him after Brenda left. “Oh, Henry…”
“What?”
“You two…I don’t know which of you is the most shy. How are you ever going to get the girl if you run away every chance you get?”
“I can’t get the girl.”
“Of course you can.”
“She’s all caught up in Big D.”
“Honey…” Scarlett touched his arm. “Big D can’t beat you, unless you give up without trying.”
He frowned. “She’s young. I don’t know how young, do you?”
Scarlett watched her, too. “No. Nana and I suspect she’s not of legal age, but we haven’t pried. In some ways, she’s like a doe just waiting to flee.”
“She’s lonely. And afraid.”
Scarlett looked up at him. “But she knows she has you.”
He lifted one shoulder. “As a friend, that’s all.”
“That’s not what I see.”
He nodded toward Big D and Vinny. “She doesn’t giggle around me.”
“She doesn’t take them seriously, that’s all. They’re easy. But you fill a special place in her life, Henry. Don’t tell me you don’t know that.”
His head whipped to face her. What?
Jeanette walked up right then. “Table six wants to meet the chef and thank her in person for the best meal they’ve had in years.”
Scarlett’s face glowed. “Well, I can sure take time for that.” She took off her apron and headed through the double doors.
Leaving Henry staring after her, frowning.
And trying not to get his hopes up.
That night after closing, Henry waited for Brenda as he often did, so they could walk together the immense distance—all four hundred yards or so of it—to Ruby’s house, where each had been given a place to stay when they found themselves in Sweetgrass with nowhere to live.
As they crossed the courthouse grounds, Brenda glanced over, as she always did, toward the spring for which the town was named. Once she’d thought she’d seen her, The Lady from the legend, but she’d never told anyone for fear of seeming foolish.
“Are you looking for the Lady?”
Her gaze whipped to his. “Do you believe in her?”
Henry shrugged. “I thought—” He shook his head.
“What?”
He ducked his head. “Once I imagined I saw her, but I’m sure that’s all it was—my imagination. It’s only a story.”
Brenda pressed her lips together. If there was anyone who wouldn’t make fun of her, that person was Henry. “I, uh—” She hesitated, then plunged ahead. “I thought I saw her, too, not long after I got to town.”
“Really?”
“Maybe she’s real.”
“Nah. Anyway, no one’s talked about her in a long time.”
“I heard she mostly appeared to lovers who were fated to be together.” She had to smile at his raised eyebrows. “Well, anyway, I like the story. It’s romantic.”
His eyes softened in the moonlight. “Are you a romantic?”
“Me? No. Not since—” She halted.
“Go on. Please. I won’t make fun of you, honest. I’d just…” He shrugged again. “Nobody knows much about you, and I…well, I’d like to.”
“You’re a good friend.”
He grunted. “A friend.” His tone dripped with distaste.
She touched his arm, surprised at herself because she wasn’t a toucher. Not anymore. “I haven’t had many friends, and no one in a long time.”
His gaze sharpened. “Why not? Why wouldn’t everyone want to be your friend?”
She was eighteen at last, she reminded herself. No one could take her away if she didn’t want to go. “I—my—we moved around a lot when I was younger.”
“You and who?”
“My…mother. But she’s gone now.”
“I’m sorry. So where is your dad?”
“I don’t have a dad. I never did.”
“I’m sorry.”
She believed he was sincere, but she really didn’t want to have to explain her life, so she hoped he wouldn’t ask.
He didn’t. “Mine was great. He was a farmer, and he taught me to love the land. He used to take me fishing before—” He shook his head. “There was an accident. Both of my parents died.”
“Oh, Henry…” Again she touched him. “I’m so sorry.”
“At least I had them until I was twelve. We were happy. Were you happy with your mom before she died?”
I don’t know if she’s dead. But how did she explain Mère to a normal person? “Sometimes. When she was okay, she knew how to make life fun like nobody else I ever met.”
“When did she die? How old were you?”
She stared at the ground. “I don’t know if she’s dead. One day she just…left. I was eight.”
He halted and faced her. “Wait—so who took you in?”
“No one. There was no family, at least not that I knew. I was put in a foster home.”
He took her hand for the first time ever. “I’m so sorry. I had my grandmother, and we didn’t have much money, but she loved me and took care of me the best she could. Was your foster home all right?”
“Which one?”
“Oh, Brenda…”
“No—don’t feel sorry for me. It’s over now, and I made it through. I’m here, and I don’t ever want to leave.”
“I only stopped here for a few days to work and make the money to go on after Granny died.”
“This place gets to you, doesn’t it?”
“Yeah. It does.”
Then they were at the back door of Ruby’s house, where each of them had a room upstairs at opposite ends of the hall.
“I’m thinking of moving out,” he said.
“Why? Where would you go?”
“I don’t know, but it’s just…I’m too old to be boarding here, especially since Ruby won’t let me pay rent.”
&nb
sp; “Judge Porter and Mrs. Oldham are way older than you, and they live here.”
“Yeah, but the judge can’t live alone. I can.”
She was surprised at how stricken she felt. “But you’ll stay in town?”
“Would you care?”
She pressed her lips together, then lifted her eyes to his. “You’re my friend.”
In the pale light, she wondered if she’d imagined the grimace. But then he shook his head. “I’m not planning to leave. I just…I’d like to have my own place where I could grow a little garden—”
“But aren’t you going to make a garden for Scarlett? Wouldn’t it be more convenient if you lived here?”
He studied her. “Does it matter if I’m living here?” Then he flushed. “Never mind.” He turned to open the door.
She wasn’t used to people caring where she was or what she did, not since Miz Mabel. But…it did matter to her. “Yes,” she said quietly.
He tensed, his back to her, then slowly he revolved toward her. “Did you say something?”
She lost her nerve. And shook her head.
Resignation crept over his features as he held the door open for her to pass through ahead of him.
She halted. You are such a coward. But she wasn’t used to letting herself want things or ask for them, just as she hadn’t told Jackson how she’d been trying to come up with a way to buy into the flower farm. No way she’d ever be able to, not on a waitress’s salary. Not even if she saved every penny Veronica paid her—which mostly she had.
After Mère had left, she’d learned hard lessons about closing herself up to need and want and longing. To getting by and asking for nothing.
But this was Henry, her friend. She scooted to get in front of him and made herself look up at him. “Yes, it matters.”
The stunned look on his features gave way as he began to open his mouth to respond.
But she didn’t have any answers, and she’d lost the last of her courage. “Good night,” she said and raced up the stairs to get ready for bed.
“Good morning, folks. Welcome to another beautiful day in Sweetgrass Springs,” greeted local eccentric and new radio host Harley Sykes into the microphone. “From wherever you are out there in the universe, let’s just say you’re missing out on something special if you’re not right here with us at Ruby’s Diner. Why, I just had me some ham and eggs that looked like they could be on the cover of some gourmet cooking magazine. I promise you even Cracker Barrel envies us how Ruby and Scarlett cook the world’s most perfect over-easy fried eggs.” He cleared his throat. “I should have complimented Henry Jansen and Laura Cameron, as well, though Henry isn’t with us today, as he’s outside making plans for Scarlett’s new kitchen garden. ’Course then I’d have to leave out Scarlett, since she’s not officially back from maternity leave yet. She is, however, outside right now, putting her head together with Henry, her expert gardening consultant. They’ve been out there ever since Henry returned from his daily run. You know he runs ten miles every day of the world, folks? I don’t really understand why anyone would want to do that, but he’s as faithful as the sunrise, that Henry is.”
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