The Last Chance Cafe

by Linda Lael Miller

  “Wait here,” Chance said. “I’ll switch on some lights and turn the furnace up a notch or two.”

  Hallie waited, holding tightly to her daughters, relishing the delicious heat flowing from under the sleek dashboard. A light winked on inside the house, then another, and something awakened in Hallie’s heart, bittersweet and hopeful. Unconsciously, she laid a hand to her chest, as if to keep the feeling from escaping.

  “Where’s the horse?” Kiley asked, all business.

  Hallie chuckled. “In the barn, probably,” she said.

  “Can I ride him?” Kiera put in.

  “No promises,” Hallie answered.

  Kiley sighed with temporary resignation, settled against Hallie’s side, and nestled there. Hallie relished having her close, having both her children safe within the circle of her arms. She’d learned, in the last two days, to appreciate the simple things.

  In due time, after the radio had pumped out two more of Johnny Cash’s ballads and a Patsy Cline medley, Chance returned from the house and opened the door on Hallie’s side.

  “It’s still pretty cold in there,” he said, “but the furnace has kicked in, so the place will warm up pretty quickly, I think. I laid a fire for morning.”

  Hallie’s throat tightened a little, with gratitude and relief. “Thanks,” she managed.

  He reached in, taking Kiley in one arm and Kiera in the other, and favored Hallie with a brief grin. “We’ll see if you’re still singing the same tune after you’ve met Trojan,” he said.

  “Trojan?” Hallie queried, literally following in Chance’s footsteps as they trudged toward the house.

  “He’s a miniature horse. Known in some quarters as Jessie’s Folly,” he said, pausing on the roughhewn porch. “She’s got a couple of full-size ones, too. A mare named Dolly, and an old gelding she calls Sweet Pea. Wonder the poor fella doesn’t die of embarrassment, hung with a moniker like that.”

  Hallie tried to imagine herself feeding these animals, cleaning up after them, grooming them. The prospect was overwhelming, considering that she’d never even looked after a goldfish.

  Then they were inside the house, with its two-story rock fireplace, its hooked rugs and rustic furniture. Colorful weavings graced several of the otherwise plain log walls, intricate portraits of Indian women, exquisitely depicted. There was a desk across from the fireplace, with a plastic-covered computer on its surface.

  The floor was fashioned of gleaming pine planks, mellowed with age, and a gigantic loom, surely antique, stood in one corner, framed on all sides by windows. A set of stairs led to a mezzanine of sorts, lined with a total of six doors.

  “The kitchen’s that way,” Chance said, pointing to an archway to their right, “and that’s the downstairs bathroom there, at the base of the steps. The bedrooms are all on the second floor, and there’s another bath up there, too. You’ll find sheets and towels and all that in the linen cupboard, and you should have hot water by morning.”

  Hallie turned in a slow circle, there in the middle of the floor, trying to take it all in. The very threads in the weavings seemed to vibrate with an energy all their own, and even though the heat was just beginning to kick in, the atmosphere in that house felt like an embrace.

  Kiera headed for the bay windows overlooking the front yard. “This,” she said, with authority, spreading her tiny arms wide and twirling with sudden exuberance, “is where the Christmas tree goes.”

  Hallie’s heart ached. “This isn’t our house, honey,” she reminded the child. “We’re just visiting.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of Chance. He was turning his hat in his hands and looking somber, but if he wanted to say something, he held it back.

  “No,” Kiera insisted. “We belong here.”

  Hallie was too tired to argue the point. She turned to Chance. “You’ll show me what needs to be done?” she asked. “For the animals, I mean?”

  “First thing in the morning,” he agreed, a little gruffly. “I’ll be over as soon as I finish my chores.”

  “Good,” she said, walking with him to the door. “And thanks.” She nearly choked on the word, and on the emotions that came with it. “Thanks for everything.”

  He smiled. “Lock the door behind me,” he said, and she nodded, and he was gone.

  She fastened the latch, went to the nearest window, and watched as Chance became a shadow, and finally disappeared, leaving no trace except for the faint gleam of taillights and the whir of his truck’s engine. Then she turned to face her children, summoning up another smile.

  “Well,” she said, “what do you say we make up a bed and get some sleep?”

  The girls, wide-awake again, would probably have preferred to stay up all night, exploring, but by the time Hallie had chosen a bedroom for the three of them to share, made up the large four-poster bed, seen to the brushing of teeth, the washing of faces, the putting on of pajamas, and the saying of prayers, they were both exhausted again.

  They crawled between the cool, crispy sheets, the three of them, cosseted by mounds of quilts, Hallie lying in the middle, with a child cuddled against either side. Soon, both Kiera and Kiley were sound asleep, but Hallie, weary though she was, stared up at the rafters and wondered. Had her luck finally turned, or was this run of good fortune just a cruel prelude to yet another disappointment, another battle, another headlong rush for safety?

  Joel had friends in high places, friends with as much to lose as he had, and more, if Hallie turned Lou’s evidence over to the proper authorities. How long would it be until they found her, found her children?

  Chance parked the truck in the aisle of his barn, and the dogs came out to meet him, barking a jubilant greeting. The border collies, Smoke and Magic, could be counted on to throw him a welcome-home party, whether he’d been gone for an hour or a week, and he laughed, glad to see them, scuffling with them a little before he looked in on the horses. Rookie, the Palomino yearling who’d tangled with a cougar two weeks before, and gotten the worst of the bargain, was huddled in a corner of his stall, head down, ears askew.

  “Hey, Buddy,” Chance said quietly. “How’s it going?”

  Cocoa, the bay mare across the way, nickered conversationally, as if to comment on the colt’s progress, which seemed minimal to Chance. The outer wounds, savage as they were, were healing nicely, but for Rookie, the hurt went deeper. It seemed he’d given up, decided to sit out the rest of his life.

  Chance acknowledged the mare’s input with a few cordial words, opened the gate, and stepped inside Rookie’s twelve-by-twelve-foot quarters. The floor was thick with cedar shavings, the automatic waterer was working just fine, and the feed Chance had put out earlier was untouched.

  He stood at a little distance from the small horse, calm and quiet. Rookie tried to melt into the cinder block wall behind him.

  Chance remained where he was, unmoving except for the hand he extended to the animal, in unspoken invitation. Rookie began to pace frantically, caught in his corner.

  Chance took a step backward. Something about that little critter put him in mind of Hallie O’Rourke, though he couldn’t have said why—it was just a feeling, really. He lingered for a few more moments, then left the stall, taking time to scrawl a note to himself on the dry-erase board next to the tack room door. Call Doc Whitman.

  After that, the dogs tagging at his heels, he spoke to each of the twenty-odd horses in his keeping and then, lifting his collar and pulling his hat down, he fastened the barn doors for the night and headed for the house.

  It was old, but solid, a lot like Jessie’s place, only bigger. Trace Qualtrough and his wife, Bridget, from whom Chance was directly descended, had built the house themselves, way back in the eighteen-hundreds, and it had stood the test of time. He was the only Qualtrough left, though there were McQuarrys aplenty, all claiming Bridget’s son, Noah, as an ancestor, and there were Shaws and Strattons, too, along with one or two Vigils. The original tract of land, left by one Gideon Mc
Quarry to his four granddaughters after the Civil War, was still in the family, though considerable acreage had been added along the way. Chance’s chunk was the largest, at nearly 2,000 acres, followed by Jessie’s spread, which added up to about 1,500. Jase had rented out his share, and moved to town when he married Katie, right out of college. Chance leased the plot that had originally been settled by Skye and Jake Vigil, mailing away a check every six months to some outfit in Hollywood.

  Entering the house through the kitchen, Smoke and Magic keeping him company, he flipped on a light, brewed coffee and set the timer for morning, then refilled the dogs’ dishes and headed upstairs. His office adjoined his bedroom, and he stopped there, watching the red light blink on his answering machine, hesitating for a long moment before pressing the play button.

  Katie’s voice filled the room. She sounded weary. “Hi, Chance. Obviously, I was hoping you’d be there. I need to talk to you about Jase. Call me, or stop by the bookstore tomorrow if you can. Thanks.”

  The next call was from the vet he’d made a note to contact in the morning. “Hey, Chance. It’s Doc. Just wanted to find out how the Rookie’s doing. I’ll catch up with you later.”

  Chance sighed, waited for the third and last message to play. “Hi. This is Hallie O’Rourke. Your number was on the blackboard by the kitchen phone, so I decided to call and tell you—well—thanks. For finding the girls and me a place to stay and giving us a ride out here and everything, I mean.” A long silence followed, while she tried to figure out what else to say. “I guess I’ll see you in the morning. Bye.”

  Click.

  Chance erased the first two messages, and let the third one play over again, smiling a little as he listened. Half an hour later, when he stretched out in bed, he cupped his hands behind his head and reflected on Jessie’s firm belief that every house ought to have a woman living in it. There were times, like right then, when the idea seemed to have uncommon merit.

  3

  H allie was jolted awake by the sound of knocking and, for several fevered seconds, she couldn’t remember where she was. She tensed in a spasm of fear, relaxed again when she felt her children curled against her sides, and memories of the night before seeped slowly into her mind. She scrambled out of bed—Kiera and Kiley stirred, but did not awaken—wrenched on jeans and a flannel shirt, and hurried down the back stairs. It was barely light outside, and Chance Qualtrough was standing on the porch, peering in through the frosted oval of glass in the door. He wore an expression of good-natured irritation, and she wondered how long he’d been waiting out there.

  Hallie shoved a hand through her tangled hair, in a futile effort to make herself presentable, undid the bolt, and let him in.

  “You must be a city girl,” he said, with a grin, whisking off his hat and hanging it on a peg close at hand. He didn’t remove the long gunslinger’s coat he wore. In that getup, he looked like the real thing, a trail boss, or an old-time outlaw. “Bet you haven’t even put the coffee on.”

  Hallie stifled a yawn and closed the door. A glance at the bay windows revealed a pristine, icy-white world. The snow had stopped, the sun was out, and it was probably cold enough to give a polar bear chilblains. “I’ve been called a lot worse than a ‘city girl,’ ” she said. Truer words had never been spoken, she reflected, thinking of some of the fights she’d had with Joel, before and after the divorce. “What time is it?”

  Chance chuckled, made for the kitchen, started the process of brewing. Watching him, Hallie felt as if she’d stepped back in time. The man, the coat, the cocky grin and the banter—all of it was oddly familiar, a memory of something that had never actually happened. “Hell, it must be six o’clock by now,” he said, eyes dancing. “I’ve got half a day’s work done already.” He looked her over. “You got a decent pair of boots?”

  She glanced down at her bare feet, wriggled her toes. “Just sneakers,” she said.

  He left the coffee-maker to do its magic, went out onto some kind of porch back of the kitchen, and rummaged audibly for a few minutes. He returned with a pair of lace-ups and an old jacket of red plaid wool. “These are Jessie’s,” he said, holding up the boots. “They might fit you. You’ll probably find some work socks upstairs in her room.” He glanced at the window over the sink, the early morning light playing over the strong planes and angles of his face. “Better get a move on. We’re burning daylight.”

  Hallie nodded. “I’ll be right back,” she said, and headed for the stairs.

  The twins, sound asleep when she left the room minutes earlier, were already out of bed and fully dressed, their curly brown hair uncombed, their eyes wide with excitement. “Is it time to take care of the horses?” Kiera wanted to know.

  Hallie laughed. “Yes,” she said. She scrounged a pair of heavy woolen socks from a dresser drawer, sat down on the edge of the bed, and pulled them on. Jessie’s boots were a snug fit, but they would do for the time being. This was, after all, not a permanent arrangement.

  In the bathroom, she splashed water on her face, ran a brush through her hair, and pinned it up in back with a plastic clasp. “You two can watch, but you have to stay out of the way. Horses can be dangerous.”

  Kiley gave Hallie one of those looks that always made her feel as though their roles had been suddenly reversed, Kiley the mother, herself the child. “Not if you whisper to them,” the child said, with authority.

  Hallie didn’t roll her eyes until she’d turned her back and started out of the bedroom. A few hours spent watching Animal Planet and the Discovery Channel and the kid thought she was Monty Roberts. You had to admire that kind of confidence, though.

  The scent of strong coffee filled the downstairs rooms and lifted Hallie’s spirits a little. Chance had poured himself a mug, though the pot was still brewing, and he stood leaning casually against the counter, in front of the sink, sipping. Seeing Hallie, he set his cup aside, reached for a second one, and filled that, while coffee dripped onto the burner and sizzled there, making a cheerful morning sound.

  She thought of the message she’d left on his answering machine the night before, thanking him for the help he’d given, and hoped she hadn’t sounded needy.

  “You’ll have to doctor it yourself,” he said, holding out the cup with one hand. “There’s probably some sugar around here somewhere, but if you need cream, you’re out of luck.”

  She couldn’t help smiling, even though the man made her nervous, and she reached out to accept his offering. “Black is fine,” she told him, and sipped.

  He looked past her, to the girls, who were getting into their coats. “Mornin’, ladies,” he said gravely. “Are you planning to lend us a hand out in the barn?”

  Both girls nodded.

  “She thinks we’re too little,” Kiley confided, cocking a thumb at Hallie.

  Chance favored Hallie with an amused look, though the expression in his eyes was a measuring one. “Does she, now?” he replied. Then he turned and headed for the door.

  Moments later, they were all slogging through the deep, hard-crusted snow, headed toward the large red and white barn, set well back from the house. There was a spacious corral surrounded by a rustic rail fence, and even as they approached, Hallie keeping to Chance’s boot prints, Kiley and Kiera goose-stepping along after her, the horses began to nicker and whinny inside. It was a chorus of impatience.

  The sky was a bright, high-country blue, and the pungent scent of pine trees roused a festive feeling in Hallie, reminding her of long-ago Christmases with her mother and Lou. Her heart, heavy for so long, rose a little.

  The barn doors were tall, and secured with a wooden bar. Chance raised the latch and swung them open. They creaked on their hinges. “You’ll want to be careful about closing these at night,” he said. “We’ve had some trouble with cougars.”

  Hallie stopped in her tracks. “Cougars?” she echoed.

  “Wildcats,” Chance explained, quite unnecessarily, looking back at her over one shoulder.

  Cougar
s. Instinctively, she groped for her children, pulled them against her sides, much as she had done before going to sleep the night before. Kiera clung to her blue-jeaned thigh, while Kiley, typically, tried to pull away.

  “They don’t attack people, right?” Hallie managed, in a small voice. “The wildcats, I mean?”

  Chance met and held her gaze. “They’ve been known to,” he said. “In general, though, they’re more likely to go after livestock—especially foals and calves.”

  Hallie looked from side to side, half-expecting to see a big, slavering cat slinking toward her and her children, moving soundlessly over the diamond-scattered snow. Remembering the long walk she and the girls had made into town after the truck finally gave out, she shuddered. Suddenly Scottsdale and Phoenix, with their singular perils, didn’t seem quite so frightening. “Oh,” she said, sounding lame.

  You can do this, insisted the voice of her better self. You have to do this.

  It wasn’t as if she had a whole lot of choice. She gave the girls a shoulder-squeeze and started moving again, following Chance into the barn. Her cash on hand was severely limited, her truck was in critical condition, if not dead, and if she failed to make things work here and at the café, the three of them would literally be homeless, sooner rather than later. She didn’t dare access her bank accounts; Joel would find her within hours if she did.

  Jessie Shaw’s barn was a spacious structure, with lofts, a large tack room, and an area for storing bags of feed—alfalfa, bran, some kind of sweetened oats mixture. Bales of hay or grass filled one end of the building, and there were six large stalls at the other.

  The twins headed straight for the stalls.

  “Look,” Kiley crowed, peering through the rails at the smallest horse Hallie had ever seen, “he’s little. Is he still growing?”