Hallie couldn’t have been much more than thirty, but the way she sighed, she might’ve lived through a century since breakfast, and a turbulent one at that. “We can’t go back,” she said patiently, and she sounded like she was about to burst into tears. “We’ll find a new place to live. A wonderful place, I promise.”
“I need to piddle,” the other child interjected. Chance sensed that, small as she was, Kiera was used to heading up domestic peacekeeping missions. It seemed to him that kids had to grow up too fast these days.
“Let’s go, then,” Hallie said, and they all trooped down the hall to the rest rooms.
When they returned, Madge was just setting three plates on their table. Cheeseburgers and French fries, full orders all around. Chance watched Hallie’s reflection in the age-streaked mirror behind the cash register.
“I didn’t order all this,” she said, sounding a little desperate.
Madge glanced in Chance’s direction, probably blowing his cover. He’d offered to pay for the food, though he didn’t want anybody else to know it. “Don’t worry about it, honey,” Madge told the young mother. “It’s covered.”
The kids were already tucking into the food in a way that made Chance wonder how long it had been since they’d had a decent meal, but Hallie stood stiffly beside the booth, her chin high. She spoke in an agitated whisper. “I wasn’t looking for charity!”
Madge recovered her aplomb, gestured to take in the crowd of customers filling the café to the baseboards, then smiled at Hallie again. “You ever wait tables, kiddo? I could use some help right now, tonight. I’ve about run my feet off, the last six hours, and that snow doesn’t show any signs of letting up.” As if to lend veracity to her story, a sudden wind shook the front door and made the fan rattle in the ventilator behind the big cookstove in back. The storm had begun in the early afternoon, as a mere skiff, not an unusual phenomenon in the high country of Nevada in mid-October, and worked itself into a hissy-fit of apocalyptic proportions. “You’d be doing me a favor,” Madge finished.
Silently, Chance blessed Madge and her kindly heart, and took another sip of his coffee. She might have told Hallie that he’d staked her and the kids to the cheeseburgers and let it go at that, but she’d chosen instead to respect the other woman’s pride. When Hallie didn’t say anything, Madge leaped back into the breach.
“You just have yourself some supper and quit your worrying. You can work off the bill by pouring coffee and helping me clean up later.”
Hallie sighed again, gave a brisk little nod of agreement, then sank gratefully into the booth and started to eat. Madge rounded the counter, picked up the coffeepot, and gave Chance a long wink as she topped off his cup. He glared at her for almost giving him away, though he knew there was a smile lurking in his eyes, and she chuckled and shook her head. There were people he could intimidate with hardly any effort at all, but Madge wasn’t one of them.
The weather got worse over the next hour, but the crowd began to dwindle all the same. Sheriff Jase Stratton, a distant relation of Chance’s, being descended from the original McQuarry bunch, same as he was, and a former best friend at that, showed up with his four-wheel drive and, without so much as a howdy-do for Chance, began squiring the members of the Ladies Aid Society to their various homes, four at a time. The truckers went on down the road, their rigs equipped for hell and high water, and young Ben Pratt, a budding entrepreneur, started a little taxi service with his snowmobile, charging two bucks a passenger for every trip.
Chance, who drove a good-size truck himself, remained where he was, on his usual stool at the Last Chance Café, nursing what must have been his eighteenth cup of coffee and watching surreptitiously as Hallie O’Rourke showed herself to be a diligent worker. The kids, full of cheeseburgers and fries, were asleep on the vinyl seats in their booth, Madge having covered them with an old sweater and a raggedy afghan she kept in the rear storeroom.
When Hallie came to a stop across the counter from Chance, coffee carafe in hand, he started a little, caught off guard, and she favored him with an attempt at a smile. “Too much of this stuff is toxic, you know,” she said.
He gave his cup a little shove in her direction, to indicate that he wanted more poison. He’d head for home soon, try to get a few hours of sleep. No need to hurry, though, since there was nobody there waiting except the dogs and the horses, and they had each other for company. “Thanks,” he said, when she broke down and poured the java. It was bottom-of-the-pot stuff, potent enough to fuel a tractor.
She put the pot back on its burner and started wiping down the counter with a cloth. Chance didn’t flatter himself that she was lingering on his account. The café was warm and bright with light, and her kids were asleep. She had no place else to go, except back out into the storm.
He thought about Jessie Shaw’s log house, standing empty across the creek from his own place, and inspiration struck. It seemed sudden, but he reckoned the idea had been sneaking up on him right along. “You need somewhere to stay for a few days?” he asked.
She froze, right where she stood, Hallie did, and her eyes narrowed. He was glad she’d set the pot down, because she looked like she wanted to douse him with something, and scalding-hot coffee would not have been his first choice.
Chance laughed, held up a hand. “Hold it, ma’am,” he said. “You just jumped to a wrong conclusion. Jessie’s a relative of mine, and she’s been away on a business trip for the last week or so. I’ve been keeping up the chores over at her place. You know, making sure the pipes don’t freeze, and feeding her livestock, stuff like that. Fact is, I’ve got enough to do on my own spread, without spending half the day on the other side of the creek.” He watched as Hallie’s brown eyes widened out again, this time with cautious interest. “She’ll be back shortly, but in the meantime—well—do you know anything about horses?”
She hesitated, and he knew, without knowing how he knew, that she wanted to lie, to say she knew all there was to know about equine management, but couldn’t bring herself to do it. He weighed the small insight, filed it away. “Not a thing,” she admitted, with a little sigh.
“Well, it’s not too hard to learn,” he allowed. Was he crazy? He knew next to nothing about this woman, and there was a good chance that she was trouble. Here he was, all the same, offering to let her stay in Jessie’s house, unsupervised. She could strip the place bare, burn the furniture for firewood, for all he knew. Set up a drug-running operation, or hide a body under the floorboards. Hell, he thought, he’d been watching too much satellite TV—he needed to get himself a life. “I could show you the basics.” He paused. “Of looking after horses, I mean.”
Hallie bit her lower lip, and eagerness flared in her face, like a flash of muted light. She glanced at her sleeping kids. “No strings?” she ventured. Her meaning was clear enough, and she hadn’t wasted many words getting it across.
Chance met her gaze squarely. “No strings,” he promised.
She hesitated again, then nodded. “Okay, then,” she said, and went back to her counter-wiping with a spurt of fresh energy.
Madge, a guardian angel clad in pink nylon, stood in her tiny office, with her hands resting on her ample hips, smiling at Hallie. “Chance Qualtrough?” she said, dropping her voice to a virtual whisper, even though the door was closed, and somebody had just cranked up the jukebox out front. “He’s all right. His people have been out there on Primrose Creek since pioneer days. They done all right for themselves, all of them. Jessie, she’s a famous artist, a weaver. Shows her work all over the world. And the sheriff—he came in a while ago—that’s Jase Stratton. He’s one of them, too. There’s a fourth one, Sara Vigil, she lives in Hollywood and produces movies. Chance leases her share of the land.” Hallie ran her hands down the thighs of her worn jeans, thought of the cowboy, probably still parked on the same stool at the counter. He was good-looking, with his dark blond hair and blue eyes, and he didn’t seem dangerous, but Hallie had learned to be careful. Learned
it the hard way. She tried to ignore the little twinge of envy she felt, hearing that he had a family, and that his roots ran deep into the Nevada soil. “Does he hang around here a lot?”
Madge chuckled, a fond, raspy sound. “No more than any of the other regulars,” she said. “He likes to take his breakfast here, and I’ve never seen a body that could hold more coffee. He’s got himself a nice little ranch and a few cattle. Raises horses, too. The fancy kind. He’s got a Thoroughbred stud over there that’s worth a wad of money.”
“That’s impressive,” Hallie admitted, a bit grudgingly. She was impressed, but not because Mr. Qualtrough was well-off. She knew only too well that money and possessions were small comfort when the proverbial chips were down.
“Anyway,” Madge sighed, “I got an opening here, if you want a few days’ work to tide you over. Bear’s girlfriend, Wynona, is supposed to be coming in on the bus sometime next week to lend a hand, but she isn’t very dependable, and if you make a good showing in the meantime, you might get on permanent.”
Hallie swallowed. “Thanks,” she said, wondering how long she dared hang around Primrose Creek. She’d need a place to stay, once this Jessie came back, even if she succeeded at waitressing, and two hundred and twenty-eight dollars was nowhere near enough to rent a house or an apartment, even in a little town like that one. Maybe there was a motel, and she could pay for a room by the week.
Madge didn’t miss much, that was evident by the expression of kindly speculation in her eyes. She took one of Hallie’s hands and gave it a motherly pat. “Take things one step at a time,” she said. “A few days looking after Jessie’s place, that’ll give you a chance to catch your breath, get your bearings and the like. You can earn a little money here—it’s just minimum wage, but the tips are decent. Maybe enough to get your rig fixed.”
Hallie couldn’t speak for a few moments. She was in big trouble, no question about it, but there were blessings, too. Just a couple of hours ago, she’d been stranded on a snowy highway, essentially homeless, with two children, one cheap suitcase stuffed with equally cheap clothes, chosen by size and price in a discount store. When the truck gave out, she’d laid her forehead on the steering wheel and breathed deeply until she was sure she wouldn’t cry, and offered a desperate, silent prayer for help. Now, after a two-mile walk in the cold, half-carrying one or both of the twins the whole way, she’d stumbled into this place, met these people. Kiley and Kiera had eaten their fill, and they were warm now, and safe, dreaming little-girl dreams as they slept. For now, for tonight and tomorrow and a few precious days beyond, everything was all right.
“Well?” Madge prompted. “Have I got me a waitress, or not?”
Hallie smiled and put out a hand to seal the bargain. “You’ve got a waitress,” she said. “Thanks again, Madge. I swear I won’t let you down.”
Madge was all business, hustling her out of the little office, back to the main part of the café. “Good,” she said. “I’ll expect you around eleven-thirty tomorrow morning, weather permitting. You can work lunch and supper.” She paused, briefly worried. “I don’t mind tellin’ you, it makes for a long day. We don’t get out of here till midnight sometimes, me and Bear, but you can knock off around eight o’clock. Meals are included, of course, and you can bring the kids with you as long as need be. They seem well-behaved.”
Hallie felt a little rush of pride. Maybe she wasn’t such a bad mother, after all. Okay, she wasn’t exactly rising out of the ashes of her life, phoenix-like, not just yet anyway, but she could see a glimmer of light, faint as a distant star, through the wreckage. There was reason to hope. “They’re the best kids in the world,” she said.
Madge smiled. “Let me just fix you up a little care package to take out to Jessie’s place. Lord, she’d be relieved to know somebody was actually staying there, holding down the fort.” The older woman peered through the kitchen doorway, hands braced on the framework. “You better fire up that truck of yours, Chance,” she called to the handsome cowboy. “Get the heater going. Don’t want Hallie or those little girls coming down with pneumonia before they even get out there to Jessie’s.”
He nodded, pulled on his battered hat, and tugged at the brim, a real gent. Hallie felt a stir, part anticipation, part fear, as she digested the fact that she and her children were about to ride God knew how far, to God knew what kind of place, with a total stranger. Under normal circumstances, she wouldn’t even have considered taking a risk like that, but now, on this snowy October night, she was fresh out of choices.
Madge put together a box of provisions—bread, milk, cheese, a small can of coffee, eggs, a package of breakfast sausage and half a pecan pie—while Hallie woke the twins and shuffled them back into their coats.
“Where are we going?” Kiley wanted to know.
“Is there a bed?” Kiera added. “With covers?”
Before Hallie could come up with an answer to either question, Madge was right in there. “You’re headed for a real nice place, with lots of beds and blankets. There’s a hill for sledding, and a barn, too. In the summer, you can swim and fish for trout in the creek.”
Hallie bit back a protest. By summer, they’d be long gone, she and the twins, miles from Primrose Creek, Nevada, with new identities and new lives, or back in Scottsdale, if they were unbelievably lucky. Of course, she wasn’t ready to reveal that, as kind as Madge had been. “There are horses, too,” she offered, a little tightly. “We’re going to help take care of them.”
The look in Kiera’s eyes made her wish she hadn’t mentioned the horses. “Really?” the child whispered, in sleepy awe.
“Wow,” Kiley said, pushing Hallie’s hands aside to zip up her own jacket. “Do we know how to take care of horses?”
“We’ll learn,” Hallie answered, and then Mr. Qualtrough was back from the parking lot, snow-dappled and bringing a chill wind along with him.
He led the way out, carrying Kiley in one arm and the groceries in the other, while Hallie, having donned her own coat, followed with Kiera. His truck was parked a few yards from the door, humming with power, spewing white vapor from the tail pipe. The headlights turned the steadily falling snow into a shower of golden coins.
With a sort of rangy grace, the cowboy put down the box, opened the passenger door, hoisted Kiley inside, then helped Kiera and Hallie in after her. When Hallie had buckled the appropriate seat belts, he set the provisions behind the seat, shut the door again, and went around to the driver’s side. A few seconds later, they were pulling out onto the still-unplowed highway, headed away from town.
Hallie held Kiera on her lap and slipped an arm around Kiley, who was huddled beside her. “You’re sure your friend won’t mind?” she asked, mostly to make conversation. She was a person who appreciated solitude, but right now she couldn’t deal with silence. It made the world seem too vast, too dangerous.
Chance fiddled with the radio, found a country oldies station, and settled back to concentrate on his driving while the voice of Johnny Cash joined them in the warm darkness, a familiar, rumbling bass.
“I think Jessie will be pleased,” Chance said.
“She’s away on business?”
Chance nodded, squinted as he navigated the nearly invisible road. “Jessie’s a textile artist. She’s been visiting galleries, most of them back East. Schmoozing and delivering new pieces.”
“I’d like to see her work.” She searched her mind for something else to say, to keep the conversation rolling. “Is Jessie married?”
Chance shook his head. “She’s the independent type,” he said, with neither admiration nor scorn. They crept over a wooden bridge, the same one Hallie and the kids had crossed on foot on their way into town earlier. “What about you, Hallie? Do you have a husband?”
“Nope,” she answered, smiling a little. “Independent type.”
He chuckled. “Me, too,” he said. They traveled on in silence for several minutes. Johnny Cash finished walking the line, and Marty Robbins came on, c
rooning “El Paso.” A shape loomed, snow-mounded, at the side of the road. “That your truck?” Chance asked.
Hallie nodded. She’d left her things behind, after the breakdown, having her hands full with the children. She shivered, remembering how scared she’d been, and how cold.
Chance pulled in behind the battered pickup without any suggestion from her. “I suppose you have some stuff in there?”
“A suitcase,” she said.
“That’s all?”
Kiley spoke up. “Elmo’s there, too,” she said. “I bet he’s cold.”
Yes, Hallie thought. Elmo. She’d splurged on the toy, when she raided Wal-Mart for clothes for herself and the girls. After all, Kiera and Kiley had had to leave everything they owned behind.
“Bet he is,” Chance agreed. He grinned, got out of the truck, slogged through the blizzard to the other rig, and pulled open the door. He was back within a few moments, bringing Elmo and the pitiful plastic suitcase.
“I’ll come back and have a look at the engine in the morning,” he said, after handing Elmo to Kiley and stowing the suitcase in the space behind the seat. “Maybe I can get it running again.”
Hallie knew zero about mechanics, but she figured the truck was a hopeless case, remembering some of the remarks Lou had made while puttering with the engine, but she was too tired to say so, and she didn’t want to worry the twins any more than necessary. They’d already had their world turned upside down.
“Okay,” she said. Then, hastily, she added, “I don’t have money for parts, though. Or labor, either.”
He shifted his own truck back into gear, and rolled out onto the highway. “It might not be anything serious,” he said.
The windshield looked almost opaque to Hallie, as the snow was coming down even harder than before. “How can you see?” she marveled, squinting.
“I could drive this road in a coma,” Chance replied. “Lived here all my life.”
A row of mailboxes appeared in the white gloom, and they turned onto a bumpy road. Hallie sensed, rather than heard, the sluggish burble of the creek flowing alongside. At last, they stopped in front of what looked like a two-story log house.
The Last Chance Cafe Page 3