Last Chance at the Someday Café

by Angel Smits

  He looked out the windshield toward the diner again. He wanted to walk across that asphalt and tell Tara, wanted to share this accomplishment, this first step to actually having a chance with her, but he couldn’t.

  Sylvie was the first step. Now he had to find Brooke. Then, and only then, would he be free.

  * * *

  IT ONLY TOOK a few minutes to reach the diner. Sure enough, water was pouring over the banks of the creek. What had been a quaint meandering creek was now a raging rush of water.

  Wyatt turned to one of the men and tossed him the keys. “Go wake up Gordon Currington. Have him open the hardware store so we can get some sandbags.”

  The man nodded, then tore out of the lot as fast as the pickup would go.

  “Come on.” Wyatt led the way into the diner.

  Tara looked around. There weren’t any customers, but Wade and Wendy were in the kitchen trying to block the flow of water from under the door. Every towel and linen she owned was stuffed in the doorframe. It was helping, but there was still a rivulet of water meandering across the tile floor.

  “I disconnected and turned off the gas,” Wade told DJ as he looked at the big stove. DJ nodded. Wendy sloshed through the water, carting dry goods from out of the storeroom. The water hadn’t reached it yet, but it was headed that way.

  Tara’s heart sank. She blinked away the burning in her eyes. Was there anything left to lose? No! She’d worked too hard for this. She would not lose.

  “Where do you want this?” A voice came out of the storeroom and Jack appeared in the doorway with his arms full of sacks of flour.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked.

  He glanced over at Wendy, who blushed furiously. Tara looked closer. The waitress’s hair was mussed, her lips swollen as if they been well-kissed.

  “Offering a hand,” Jack said, waiting for direction.

  “Put that on the counter out front.” DJ stepped in, his own arms full of supplies. “Come on.”

  When the man with Wyatt’s pickup returned a short time later, the bed was full of bags filled with sand. The rest of the men, along with Tara and Wendy, worked to build a wall of sandbags around the back of the diner.

  Almost as if the creek knew it was beat, which Tara knew was nothing more than her exhausted brain being wishful, the creek started to recede. The water meekly slipped back into its banks.

  DJ was mopping up the mess that had reached several feet into the kitchen.

  “I can do that,” Tara said.

  “So can I.” DJ smiled at her. “Mom taught us all how to mop, Tara.” He laughed. “It’s okay to let someone help you, ya know.”

  She smiled. “I know.”

  Wade had made a big urn of coffee and she poured them each a cup. “Here.”

  DJ took it and set it on the steel baker’s table. Putting the mop bucket away, he came back and took a deep drink. “Heaven. Come on, hon. You need some sleep.”

  “So do you.” She sipped her own coffee, as if it would ward off the impending exhaustion.

  They went into the dining room to find the morning crew just arriving with the sun. Kaitlyn frowned. “Are we open?”

  Wade shrugged. “Disaster averted. Looks good to me.” He’d reconnected the gas and turned on the stove. “Robbie here yet?”

  “Yeah,” the day cook called as he walked in. “What can I do to help?”

  Nearly everyone was here. Her brothers, their crew who’d helped her throughout the night, her staff. All these people were here to help her keep going, to help her business succeed.

  Everyone but Morgan.

  “Thanks, all of you.” Tara cleared her throat. “You’re awesome. I love you all,” she whispered, her emotions running high.

  The roar of a truck engine broke the silence of the quiet morning. Everyone turned to watch Morgan’s semi-tractor pull out of the parking lot. Morgan was behind the wheel.

  “What the heck?” Jack ran to the door, staring out through the wet glass. “Was that Sylvie with him? He found her?”

  You could have heard a pin drop.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  TARA WATCHED MORGAN’S TRUCK, minus the long trailer, move through the nearly empty parking lot.

  The sunrise was sneaking between the fading storm’s cloud line and the horizon, outlining the frame of the truck with a pretty, red-gold glow.

  Then Jack’s words sunk in. Sylvie was in the truck with him. Tara had seen them leave the fight together, seen Morgan’s arm around Sylvie, holding her tight. He’d been searching for her for a year. Was Brooke with them? Had he finally gotten everything he’d been searching for? Since the trailer was still here, she knew he’d be back.

  Tara looked around. At her staff, who looked as exhausted as she felt, at the men from her brother’s ranch and her brothers who’d gone with her to the fight. They’d stayed up all night stacking sandbags to keep the water out of her diner. At everyone who wasn’t Morgan.

  Tara shivered, as much from the cold and damp as her own doubts. If he had everything he’d been searching for, where did she fit in?

  “Damn him,” she whispered, her breath fogging the glass of the door that she hadn’t even realized she’d walked to. Damn him for making her forget her priorities and want something else—want more. Wasn’t this exactly what she’d warned herself about?

  Turning, she faced the crowd. Every one of them stared back, some in trepidation—her brothers mostly—others openly curious. “Don’t worry,” she assured DJ and Wyatt. “I’m not going to lose it.”

  Instead, she walked through the empty dining room, through the prep area and the kitchen, to her office. She grabbed her purse and her jacket, then marched out. “Everyone go home. You were awesome last night. You saved us.” She hugged Wendy and Wade. “Robbie, you and Kaitlyn can handle today?” At the man’s nod, she walked outside and climbed into Wyatt’s truck.

  The men piled into the truck bed, much as they had last night, only more subdued. They were exhausted. So was she. She closed her eyes, leaning her head back on the seat.

  “You want to come out to the ranch?” Wyatt spoke in nearly a whisper.

  She shook her head. That was the one thing she wanted to do more than anything, go back home where it was safe and Juanita and Addie—and maybe even Emily—would take care of her.

  “I need to come back in a few hours.” The diner was firmly set as her focus. “But thank you.” She tilted her head sideways and rested it on her big brother’s strong shoulder. That would have to be enough. For now.

  * * *

  MORGAN HAD GONE past this kitschy T-shirt shop a couple dozen times. Always on an early-morning or late-night run. Never when it was open. He felt like a fool. He should have been more thorough...and more what?

  He shrugged. Hindsight was twenty-twenty. He didn’t have time to second-guess himself.

  Sylvie dozed, sleeping off whatever crap she’d put into her system, while he sat in the driver’s seat and stared out the window at the still-closed store. Maybe he could mentally make the doors open sooner, make the owner, her boss, what was his name—Jimmy?—open the damned doors.

  Time stretched out. Despite the long, punishing night, adrenaline wouldn’t let him sleep.

  Twice, he thumbed his phone to life and considered calling Tara. Twice, he cleared the screen before he finished dialing. She’d been so out of her element last night and had looked completely lost. He’d liked that, liked the contrast that she was to this awful world he couldn’t seem to escape.

  What would Brooke think of Tara? Actually, they’d already met. What did Brooke think of her? She’d already taken a liking to Tara’s cookies, apparently. No big surprise there. Brooke had always loved sweets, and Tara made amazing desserts.

  Something in his chest ached at the
image of Brooke sitting at Tara’s counter. His hand itched to touch her, to hold his little girl. He wasn’t so sure he’d ever be able to let her out of his sight again. But he’d have to. She needed to go to school, to live a normal life. A healthy life.

  Sylvie snorted in her sleep, and Morgan rolled his eyes.

  Yeah, Tara was from a different world. One he had no business wanting, but one he ached to be a part of anyway.

  He glanced at Sylvie. He’d never felt with her what he felt for Tara and part of him felt the guilt—just a part. He’d been telling the truth when he’d told Sylvie they never should have gotten married. They shouldn’t have.

  But he’d been lonely, looking for a home, a family to come off the road to. At one point, Sylvie had offered that illusion, but it had been short-lived. Too soon, she’d gotten tired of playing house and he was itching to get on the road and away.

  The few good memories he’d held on to took a beating whenever she did something like this.

  It was different with Tara. With her, there was no itch to leave, no longing to get away. Just the opposite. He never wanted to leave. He’d learned that lesson the hard way.

  “You got any aspirin?” Sylvie stuck her head through the space between the seats and brought reality roaring back. Her hair was a mess, her makeup was smeared and he didn’t even let himself notice anything else—too depressing.

  “Cupboard above the fridge.”

  He heard her rummaging around. She didn’t say thanks. Didn’t speak anymore, for which he was glad. He wasn’t yet beyond the point of wanting to give her a piece of his mind.

  “Let’s go.” She yanked a brush—his hairbrush—through the tangled mess of her hair as she slipped into the front of the cab. He cringed. Luckily, he knew where to buy a new one.

  “Give me a minute.” Morgan climbed out of the truck and came around to open the door for her. Not that he was being a gentleman—he didn’t trust her.

  “Don’t you go pissing Jimmy off,” Sylvie said as they finally entered the cluttered little shop a few minutes after it opened.

  Too late. Jimmy was the same asshole from the street fair. There was no sign of anyone else.

  “You’re late,” the man said as Sylvie walked in.

  “It’s not my fault,” she whined.

  “That’d be mine,” Morgan said, waiting for Jimmy to look at him.

  Jimmy jumped, then narrowed his eyes and decided somewhere in his pea brain to stand his ground. “What do you want?”

  “Oh, nothing much.” Morgan strolled through the center aisle. “Just my daughter back.”

  “Who?” Jimmy stared at Morgan for an instant, frowning. Then he turned to Sylvie. “This is your old man?” He took several steps toward her. “This is the washed-up fighter?”

  Morgan ignored that comment, knowing Sylvie frequently manipulated the truth. She moved toward the cash register at the back of the store, as if putting a barrier between herself and Jimmy—and Morgan. Morgan followed her.

  “Don’t go acting surprised,” she said, a lot braver behind the counter. “I told you all about him.” She reached beneath the register and pulled out a neon orange purse.

  “Where you going?” Jimmy asked.

  “Away from here.” She looked at both men, slinging the long strap of her purse over her shoulder. “I got things to do, and I certainly can do better than either of you.” She stomped away from them along the length of a counter that ran along the back wall, toward a curtain that obviously covered a doorway.

  Her body language spoke volumes and Morgan, used to looking for tells in his opponents, read her intent. Damn. She was going to run. He vaulted the long counter, landing hard against the doorframe on the other side just as she slipped past the curtain. Beyond the fabric barrier was a storeroom filled with boxes set every which way. By the time he reached it, the back door stood wide open. And Sylvie was nowhere to be seen.

  He ran out the door, jumping down the broken steps into the alley. He couldn’t hear footsteps, didn’t hear her retreat. Had she really gone? Or was she hiding somewhere in that mess inside? He turned, intent on going back to look, but froze.

  Jimmy stood in the open doorway, a shotgun aimed straight at Morgan. “You get out of here, or I’ll call the cops and tell ’em you were breaking in.”

  “No, you won’t.”

  Sylvie had said she didn’t know where the babysitter lived. Was that the truth? Did Jimmy know? “Tell me where Brooke is and I’ll leave you alone.” Morgan leaned closer to the man, glaring at him. “Maybe I should be the one to call the cops.”

  “I don’t know or care where she is.” Jimmy gave the gun a shake, as if using it to emphasize his words. It looked old enough that being rough with it might make it go off. “So, get out of here.”

  Still, Morgan couldn’t give up. Not yet. The ache in his gut at losing Sylvie now, at the idea of not getting Brooke after all this, ate holes through him.

  Morgan backed up and lifted his hands. “Look, I’m going. See?” Getting shot right now wouldn’t solve anything.

  “Yeah, you keep going. And tell that bimbo you brought in here that she’s fired.” He looked up and down the alley. “You hear that, Sylvie? You’re fired.”

  Then Jimmy turned and slammed the door. Morgan heard the lock click in place.

  Morgan wasn’t stupid. He had a pretty good idea that Sylvie was in that shop, hiding behind some of those boxes. He wanted to scream, and he took back all those earlier thoughts that he should protect her from Jimmy’s wrath.

  Hell. She deserved his wrath—if it was even remotely real.

  Morgan had to go half a block before there was enough space between the buildings for him to walk through. It was a narrow gap, littered with trash and weeds. He moved through as quickly as he could and found himself on Main Street.

  He stood there for a long minute, trying to figure out what to do. Chasing after Sylvie would be a waste because he really didn’t think she’d gone anywhere. Would walking through the front door be stupid, knowing that Jimmy had a gun? If he waited long enough, would she come out?

  He was heartily sick of waiting. A year was too damned long?

  “Whatcha doing?”

  Startled, Morgan turned to see a young girl beside the hardware store where he stood. She had bright gold hair, pulled precisely to the sides of her head into two ponytails. Pink ribbons held the bands in place. For an instant, his heart skipped a beat.

  If only it were Brooke. Sylvie used to try to tame their daughter’s wild curls, but after an hour, her hair was usually falling down. It had driven Sylvie a bit crazy, but he’d always thought it was rather adorable.

  “I’m, uh, looking for a friend.” The last thing he needed was the girl around an idiot with a gun. “What are you doing?”

  “Walking. My mom said I could go to the candy store by myself.” She looked back the way she’d obviously come and waved at a woman standing in the doorway of a small shop on the corner.

  He tried to smile and lifted a hand in greeting to the woman. The candy store was another two doors down. He’d bet everything he had that until this child returned to her side, with whatever candy she was going to get, that mom would be glued to that doorway.

  An ache grew in his chest. While the girl reminded him of Brooke, the woman was nothing like Sylvie. He wished... No, he was just being stupid.

  “You have a safe trip,” he said to the girl, then continued on his trek, not wanting to give that mother any more apprehension than already showed on her face.

  “Bye-bye.” The girl waved and marched on to the store as he continued down the street. Morgan waited until the girl was safely inside the candy store before shoving the front door of the T-shirt shop open again.

  He felt minimally better walking inside. There was at least one wi
tness out there. And now a couple customers were here, as well. He hoped he didn’t need their presence, but it helped.

  Jimmy was nowhere to be seen, but the jingling of the bell overhead made him appear in the curtained doorway again. Sylvie didn’t appear.

  “Prove she’s not in there.” Morgan took a step inside.

  “You...you stay back.” Jimmy still held the gun, shaking it again, as he narrowed his eyes.

  Morgan saw Jimmy glance around at the customers, heard the shuffle of footsteps heading to the door.

  Morgan had faced plenty of dangers in his life, mostly in the form of fists, but weapons weren’t uncommon. “Come on, man. Help me out.” He inched closer. “Just let me look to make sure she’s not there.”

  “I said stay back.” He aimed the gun and gave it another one of those weird shakes.

  Why was the fool so jittery? And while Morgan was glad, why hadn’t the fool shot him already? Was Jimmy high? What were he and Sylvie involved in? God, where was Brooke? What had they exposed her to?

  “Just tell me where Brooke or Sylvie is and I’ll gladly leave you alone.”

  Jimmy rolled his eyes. “They ain’t here.”

  “Then tell me where they are.”

  “What’s in it for me?”

  The speculative gleam in Jimmy’s eyes made Morgan’s stomach turn. “What are you saying?”

  “What’s the information worth to you?”

  “You’d take money to tell me?”

  “I might consider it. For the right price.”

  “What price?”

  Jimmy named an exorbitant amount, then nearly doubled over with his cackling laugh. “You’d pay it, wouldn’t you? You sucker. They ain’t worth that much, but I’ll take it if you got it.”

  Anger and something akin to panic took over. Morgan lunged for the idiot with the gun, half expecting to hear the roar of the shotgun’s blast. When he didn’t hear anything, he only briefly thanked the heavens above. He didn’t have any more time than that as something harder than any fist he’d ever met, slammed into the side of his face.