Sage Creek

by Jill Gregory

  “You’re going to need to hire more people besides me and Karla, that’s my prediction. A Bun in the Oven is going to draw folks in droves.”

  Then her gaze paused at the pictures framed on the walls.

  Sophie had kept the same prints and paintings that had been here when the place was Roy’s. She’d re-matted and reframed the scenes of cattle, horses, and weathered old cabins in shiny black metal frames. They were familiar and nostalgic, summoning up images of Montana life, yet the frames made them fresh and contemporary.

  “What a lovely idea.” Gran nodded approvingly. “Like keeping that old cash register. Mixing the old with the new.”

  “Some connections are meant to be continued, not broken,” Sophie murmured.

  She’d thought about it often as she’d worked on the redesign.

  How the past and the present were inextricably linked, for better or worse. This new space she’d created, this bakery, had its roots in the long-standing diner that held warm memories for everyone in town, herself included. She wanted something of Roy’s to remain—even as A Bun in the Oven tried to carve a place for itself.

  Maybe the homey spirit of the diner could live on within these walls. Sophie had given them new life and her own touch, but she hoped some of the love and energy Lil and Roy had expended here would remain.

  Gran headed toward the kitchen, her face beaming. “It’s charming. Just the way a bakery should look.”

  The next few hours were a blur, and later, Sophie would barely even remember filling the cases with loaves of sourdough and honey whole wheat bread, raspberry Danishes, blueberry pies, chocolate chip pecan cookies, crunchy almond bars, and thick slices of lemon pound cake.

  And cinnamon buns. Trays and trays of cinnamon buns.

  Karla arrived at 8:50 and the first customer came through the door at nine A.M. on the dot just as Sophie hurried out from the kitchen.

  He was tall, dark, and handsome and regarded her seriously from beneath the brim of his hat.

  “Morning, ma’am. I’ll take five of those cinnamon buns there, and a dozen of those cookies. Got myself some hard-working wranglers with a sweet tooth, every one of ’em.”

  “I’ll handle this,” Sophie told Karla, without taking her eyes from Rafe. Karla glanced back and forth between them with a dawning smile, and then busied herself setting out cream and skim milk in clear pitchers beside the cappuccino machine.

  “My very first customer,” Sophie murmured as she counted out the fragrant cinnamon buns and cookies into white paper sacks.

  “And your favorite one, I hope.”

  “You’re definitely in the running.” She met his eyes and smiled as the now familiar tingles shot through her. Rafe always looked good, but today he looked especially good in a navy polo shirt and jeans, his dark hair almost touching his shoulders, his eyes warm and amused on hers.

  When she looked at him, she remembered the way that magnificent rock-hard body felt beneath her fingertips, the way she felt when he touched her, but she carefully pushed away the thoughts.

  Today was not a day to be distracted. Rafe could distract her without even trying. But she needed to be sharp, cool, professional.

  His next words, quietly spoken as Karla disappeared into the kitchen, captured her attention, though in a completely different way.

  “I just came from meeting with the sheriff.”

  Her heart jumped. “He talked to Crenshaw?”

  Rafe nodded. “Crenshaw claims he was at a casino over in Bozeman Saturday night. From five o’clock until after ten, playing poker. But so far, Hodge hasn’t found anyone to confirm it. The manager, the bartender on duty that night, the waitresses, and the regulars—not one of them remembered seeing him.”

  “So what happens now?”

  “Hodge says he’ll dig a little deeper on Crenshaw, but . . .” He shrugged. “There’s no other suspects. No evidence. So unless someone can place Buck in Lonesome Way that night and prove he’s lying about being in Bozeman, Hodge doesn’t have much to go on.”

  “I still can’t think of any reason he’d slit my tires. Or why anyone else would. But it can’t be a coincidence that someone’s gone after my car twice now—”

  She broke off as she saw several wranglers in chambray shirts, jeans, and worn, dusty boots; Lissie, Martha, and Dorothy; and several other women she recognized from the library fund-raiser meeting headed toward her door.

  “I do believe my morning rush is about to start.”

  Glancing over his shoulder, he turned back with a smile. “Catch you later. How about supper tonight, you, me, and Ivy at the Double Cross? We can celebrate your first day.”

  It took her by surprise, but in the best possible way. “You’re on,” she heard herself say before the bell tinkled over the door and customers began to stream in.

  After that, the day flew by like a spinning kaleidoscope. At lunchtime, there was actually a wait for tables and booths, and the chatter of customers mingled with the aromas of the bakery to create a pleasant hum of activity centered around people, coffee, food.

  Naturally, Doug Hartigan came in when things were at their most hectic. Sophie was giving Karla a hand at the counter, since there was a line outside the door. She watched Hartigan avidly scan the contents of all of her glass cases as if looking for something in particular—and not finding it. He placed an order for a turkey sandwich on sourdough and a slice of blueberry pie.

  “Sophie, do you have any brown sugar chews?” he asked quietly as she was ringing up Erma Wilkins from Top to Toe.

  Idiot. If she had them, wouldn’t they be on display?

  “No.” She handed Erma her bowl of soup and a cinnamon bun and gave her change back from a twentydollar bill.

  “My great-aunt Deedee used to make brown sugar chews when we visited her in Tennessee.” The man sounded wistful. “They were always my favorite. I was wondering if you ever plan to have them on the menu.”

  Not a chance in hell, Sophie thought. “Not planning on it.” She kept her voice as neutral as she could. “Will there be anything else?”

  “No, uh, nothing else.” She saw disappointment in his eyes before he lowered them and dug out his wallet. Perhaps not only about the chews, Sophie thought, but she couldn’t be sure. Then she forgot all about Doug Hartigan and his brown sugar chews as a rowdy family of six, all tourists, stepped up to the counter and placed the biggest order of the day.

  When there was a small lull at two o’clock in the afternoon—only one customer in a half hour—she forced both Gran and Karla to sit down at a table for their sandwiches and bowls of hearty bean soup. She, in the meantime, grabbed coffee and, later, a roast beef sandwich, in between whipping up more cookies, almond bars, and with Gran’s help, another cake.

  “Middle school and high school lets out at two forty-five.” Gran’s braid had a few loose strands, but other than that she looked calm and together and totally in her element. “If I don’t miss my bet, a lot of those kids—the ones who would have normally gone to Roy’s for Cokes, fries, burgers, or pie, will head over here and check us out.”

  I hope so, Sophie thought. Not just because it would be good for business. She wanted to see Ivy, see how her first day of middle school had gone. It was a big step, and to Ivy, still a child, but tilting toward tweendom, it probably felt huge. It would take a while before she learned that every step in life, both big and small, was filled with both pitfalls and promise.

  As Sophie crossed the bakery to the front door a short time later, stepped outside a moment into the sunny September air, and gazed up Main Street toward the middle and high school, she hoped that Ivy had found her first day filled with more of the latter than the former.

  A horde of middle schoolers were tramping along Main Street with their backpacks and roller blades and athletic shoes, their voices shrill as they called to each other and swarmed toward A Bun in the Oven in noisy groups of twos, threes, and fours.

  She scanned them more than once, searching f
or a certain slender eleven-year-old with a mop of bright curls, but there was no sign of Ivy.

  Chapter Twenty

  Sixth grade sucked. There was so much homework—more than she had in a whole week of elementary school. The teachers were a lot stricter than they’d been in fifth grade. And she and Shannon had only two classes together out of the whole day, though at least she had three with Val.

  Still, thank heavens for lunch.

  Ivy was rushing to meet Shannon and Val after the final bell rang, but she’d lost her locker combination somewhere in her backpack, and she couldn’t find it for ten whole minutes.

  She texted Shannon to wait for her—they were going to A Bun in the Oven, and she couldn’t wait to see Sophie and how the bakery looked and everything—but just as she grabbed her history book from her locker, her cell rang and she knew—not that she knew how she knew, she just did—who it was going to be.

  “Baby, I’m going to be another couple of weeks,” her mom said, without even saying hello first. Disappointment stabbed through Ivy.

  “It can’t be helped,” her mom continued quickly. “I need more money to make the trip, so I gotta work another few weeks is all. I don’t want you to worry, baby. Just wait a little longer. You haven’t told your dad anything, have you, sweet girl?”

  “No.” She’d almost said “No, Mom,” which would’ve been a big mistake, because Susie Tyler was only two lockers away and she’d have noticed that Ivy said “No, Mom” on the phone and she’d tell everyone and everyone would be talking about it, because they all knew Ivy didn’t have a mom. At least, not a mom who lived in Lonesome Way.

  “Why so long? I mean, can’t it be sooner?” How much money did it take to drive to Lonesome Way? She couldn’t believe she’d have to wait weeks, and keep the secret even longer. It felt like a big iron anchor around her neck, keeping this secret from her dad, from everyone. And she was annoyed about the timing of the phone call too. Right now, when she was late and had to meet her friends, and maybe they wouldn’t wait for her, and it was hard to talk when other kids were around....

  Why couldn’t her mom have called when she was in her room alone doing homework or mucking out stalls or someplace where there weren’t a bunch of people around?

  “I’m not real good with money, and to tell you the truth, I lost a lot of what I had,” her mom said real fast, sounding defensive and a little bit desperate. “I had a lucky feeling and so I sat down in this private backroom poker game run by a guy I know. But it didn’t work out and I lost three hundred and forty bucks. Because that’s just the way my luck is rolling these days, baby girl.” Lynelle sighed.

  “So now I gotta earn it back and I’m stuck in this dump of a town a little longer. But I’ll call you again right after I get to Aunt Brenda’s house. Just make sure you don’t say one word to your dad, okay? And, baby, I can’t wait. I bet you’re such a big girl now and I know you’re beautiful!”

  No, I’m not. I’m okay, Mom, maybe not butt ugly, but I’m nowhere near beautiful.

  What if she’s disappointed when she sees me? The thought stabbed Ivy like a thorn as she stuffed her phone in her backpack. For a moment she had to bite her lip to keep from crying.

  Which would be a total disaster.

  Everyone around would think she was a baby. Worse, a loser.

  But all this time she’d waited to see her mom again and now she had to wait longer. But she’s coming, Ivy reminded herself. That’s the important part.

  But what if she doesn’t like me?

  Ivy’s stomach gave a sudden lurch as she rushed down the hall. Her mom hadn’t liked her all that much anyway—or she wouldn’t have left, right? What if she expected her to be this gorgeous, perfect kid? Her mom had been gorgeous. She’d been Queen of the Rodeo when she was fourteen. She’d had five marriage proposals, and that didn’t count the one from Dad. She was almost famous, at least on the rodeo circuit.

  And me . . . I’m not anything like her, Ivy thought, suddenly panicking. She took deep breaths to try to calm herself down, feeling almost as upset as she had at the hospital when Aunt Liss thought the baby was coming early.

  She wished she could be more like Sophie. Sophie always managed to seem calm and not afraid. Her dad was the same way. Solid, in control. Lately, never knowing when her mom was going to call, if she was really going to come back, and if her dad would find out she was keeping secrets from him, made Ivy feel scared and worried and guilty all the time, but there was nothing she could do about that.

  She didn’t want to get her mom mad at her. Or hurt her dad’s feelings. Or make him think seeing her mom was more important than him.

  She hurried outside, relieved at least to see there were still a ton of kids around. But no Shannon and Val, she realized after a moment, weaving her way through the kids still milling around on school grounds, searching through all their faces, still not seeing her two best friends.

  Didn’t Shannon get my text?

  Maybe they got tired of waiting. I’ll catch up to them at A Bun in the Oven.

  A big group of kids were way up the street, laughing and shoving each other, maybe going to the bakery too.

  WHERE R U? Ivy texted Shannon, then slung her backpack over her shoulders and started to run toward Main Street.

  “Hey, wait up, you dropped this.”

  She skidded to a stop and spun around in response to the voice behind her. Nate Miles was holding up a copy of Lois Lowry’s The Giver. In chagrin, Ivy realized it must have fallen out of her backpack when she slung it over her shoulders. She had to read the first three chapters tonight.

  “Thanks. I’d be dead if I lost this.” She took the book from Nate, hoping she wasn’t blushing. He was just so cute, with his shaggy brown hair and golden brown eyes and that way he had of smiling kind of crookedly. She had one class with him. Science.

  Today they’d sat in different rows, but she’d noticed when he came into class a minute after the bell that she wasn’t taller than him this year after all. Nate had shot up too over the summer. He was at least an inch taller than Ivy, so she didn’t feel like the jolly green giant standing next to him right now. She relaxed a little.

  “Who do you have for English?” she asked. Since she was holding her English homework, it was the first—and only—thing that popped into her head.

  “Johnson.” He shrugged. “She’s making us write some lame essay tonight about—”

  “Hey, Miles,” someone yelled. “You coming or not?”

  Nate’s best friend was Jack Parrish. He and another, chunkier boy who looked like a seventh grader were staring at them.

  “Tryouts in ten! Come on!” the other boy shouted, and then he and Jack took off at a jog back toward the gymnasium.

  “Gotta go. Football tryouts.” Nate shrugged again. “See ya around.”

  He was gone just like that, racing after the other two boys. But not before he gave her another one of those lopsided smiles.

  Ivy stared after him, holding the book he’d touched in her hands, not ready yet to stuff it in her backpack.

  Maybe today hadn’t been such a totally horrible day after all.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  “I can’t believe it.” Sophie felt both drained and exhilarated as she sank down in a booth at the Double Cross opposite Rafe and Ivy. “We sold out of nearly everything.”

  “That’s great.” Ivy leaned back in the booth. “Now you just have to do it all again tomorrow. And the next day. And the next.”

  Rafe’s brows lifted. “Let her enjoy the moment, will you, Ives? Sophie’s probably exhausted.”

  “I am. But I’m also very happy.” She had to look away from Rafe, because he looked so good, and she wanted to kiss him in celebration, but she couldn’t. For one thing, Ivy was here. And for another, someone else might see.

  No one actually knew about them, not just Ivy. Sophie kept telling herself that anyone who saw them together here would assume they were just friends.

  B
ut, of course, kissing him in public would definitely take care of that. And she wasn’t sure she was ready to take that step. Or any step.

  To be honest, she didn’t know where they went from here. She’d never been very good at just letting things happen. Sophie liked to plan, to think, to shape her future. But this—whatever it was she had with Rafe—was new and different from anything else. She didn’t want to spoil it or sabotage it by analyzing too much or making it more—or less—than it was.

  Ever since Saturday night, she’d been telling herself to take it day by day. Because for the first time in a very long time, things were going more right than wrong in her life. And she was almost afraid to trust that.

  They ordered chicken wings, burgers, fries, and coleslaw. The Double Cross wasn’t crowded this early—there were only a few families seated in the booths and some tourists and wranglers sitting at the bar. But the jukebox was already blasting. Clint Black’s voice shook the rafters.

  As soon as the waitress brought Rafe’s beer, Sophie’s glass of wine, and Ivy’s Coke in a frosted glass, Rafe had them all clink and toast to Ivy’s first day of middle school and the opening of A Bun in the Oven.

  Then his cell phone rang and it was the horse breeder in North Dakota he’d been trying to reach for nearly a week. Apologizing, he excused himself to take the call in the relative quiet outside.

  “So day one—good, bad, or indifferent?” Sophie asked as Ivy sipped her Coke through a straw.

  “Could’ve been worse. I only have two classes with Shannon, which sucks. Thanks for the cookies though,” Ivy said suddenly, a genuine smile breaking across her face. “Shannon and Val said they were the best.”

  Despite that smile and her easy stream of words, Sophie again sensed something shuttered about Ivy tonight. As if she was holding something back. Or holding it in.

  It’s probably just adolescence, she told herself. That’s all. But a part of her wondered if something else was bothering the girl. A bit uneasily, she hoped it wasn’t that she was joining Ivy and Rafe for dinner.