The Novels of Nora Roberts, Volume 4

by Nora Roberts

  Clean red floors, she noted, scrubbed white counter. The few empty tables had their lunch setups. There were photographs on the walls—good ones to her eye. Black-and-whites of the lake, of white water, of the mountains in every season.

  She was still getting her bearings, gathering her courage, when one of the waitresses swung by her. “Afternoon. You’re looking for lunch you’ve got your choice of a table or the counter.”

  “Actually, I’m looking for the manager. Or owner. Ah, about the sign in the window. The position of cook.”

  The waitress stopped, still balancing a tray. “You’re a cook?”

  There’d been a time Reece would have sniffed at the term good-naturedly, but she’d have sniffed nonetheless. “Yes.”

  “That’s handy, ’cause Joanie fired one a couple of days ago.” The waitress curled her free hand, brought it up to her lips in the mime for drinking.

  “Oh.”

  “Gave him the job in February when he came through town looking for work. Said he’d found Jesus and was spreading his word across the land.”

  She cocked her head and her hip and gave Reece a sunny smile out of a pretty face. “He preached the Word, all right, like a disciple on crack, so you wanted to stuff a rag in his mouth. Then I guess he found the bottle, and that was that. So. Why don’t you go right on and sit up at the counter. I’ll see if Joanie can get out of the kitchen for a minute. How about some coffee?”

  “Tea, if you don’t mind.”

  “Coming up.”

  Didn’t have to take the job, Reece reminded herself as she slid onto a chrome-and-leather stool and rubbed her damp palms dry on the thighs of her jeans. Even if it was offered, she didn’t have to take it. She could stick with cleaning hotel rooms, or head out and find that dude ranch.

  The juke switched numbers, and Shania Twain announced joyfully she felt like a woman.

  The waitress walked back to the grill and tapped a short sturdy woman on the shoulder, leaned in. After a moment, the woman shot a glance over her shoulder, met Reece’s eyes, then nodded. The waitress came back to the counter with a white cup of hot water, with a Lipton tea bag in the saucer.

  “Joanie’ll be right along. You want to order some lunch? Meatloaf’s house special today. Comes with mashed potatoes and green beans and a biscuit.”

  “No, thanks, no, tea’s fine.” She’d never be able to hold anything more down, not with the nerves bouncing around in her belly. The panic wanted to come with it, that smothering wet weight in the chest.

  She should just go, Reece thought. Go right now and walk back to her car. Get the hose fixed and head out. Signs be damned.

  Joanie had a fluff of blond hair on her head, a white butcher’s apron splattered with grease stains tied around her middle and high-topped red Converse sneakers on her feet. She walked out from the kitchen wiping her hands on a dishcloth.

  And she measured Reece out of steely eyes that were more gray than blue.

  “You cook?” A smoker’s rasp made the brisk question oddly sensual.

  “Yes.”

  “For a living, or just to put something in your mouth?”

  “It’s what I did back in Boston—for a living.” Fighting nerves, Reece ripped open the cover on the tea bag.

  Joanie had a soft mouth, almost a Cupid’s bow, in contrast to those hard eyes. And an old, faded scar, Reece noted, that ran along her jawline from her left ear nearly to her chin.

  “Boston.” In an absent move, Joanie tucked the dishrag in the belt of her apron. “Long ways.”

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t know as I want some East Coast cook who can’t keep her mouth shut for five minutes.”

  Reece’s opened in surprise, then closed again on the barest curve of a smile. “I’m an awful chatterbox when I’m nervous.”

  “What’re you doing around here?”

  “Traveling. My car broke down. I need a job.”

  “Got references?”

  Her heart tightened, a sweaty fist of silent pain. “I can get them.”

  Joanie sniffed, frowned back toward the kitchen. “Go on back, put on an apron. Next order up’s a steak sandwich, med-well, onion roll, fried onions and mushrooms, fries and slaw. Dick don’t drop dead after eating what you cook, you probably got the job.”

  “All right.” Reece pushed off the stool and, keeping her breath slow and even, went through the swinging door at the far end of the counter.

  She didn’t notice, but Joanie did, that she’d torn the tea bag cover into tiny pieces.

  It was a simple setup, she decided, and efficient enough. Large grill, restaurant-style stove, refrigerator, freezer. Holding bins, sinks, work counters, double fryer, heat suppression system. As she tied on an apron, Joanie set out the ingredients she’d need.

  “Thanks.” Reece scrubbed her hands, then got to work.

  Don’t think, she told herself. Just let it come. She set the steak sizzling on the grill while she chopped onions and mushrooms. She put the precut potatoes in the fry basket, set the timer.

  Her hands didn’t shake, and though her chest stayed tight, she didn’t allow herself to dart glances over her shoulder to make sure a wall hadn’t appeared to close her in.

  She listened to the music, from the juke, from the grill, from the fryer.

  Joanie tugged the next order from the clip on the round and slapped it down. “Bowl of three-bean soup—that kettle there—goes with crackers.”

  Reece simply nodded, tossed the mushrooms and onions on the grill, then filled the second order while they fried.

  “Order up!” Joanie called out, and yanked another ticket. “Reuben, club san, two side salads.”

  Reece moved from order to order, and just let it happen. The atmosphere, the orders might be different, but the rhythm was the same. Keep working, keep moving.

  She plated the original order, turned to hand it to Joanie for inspection.

  “Put it in line,” she was told. “Start the next ticket. We don’t call the doctor in the next thirty minutes, you’re hired. We’ll talk money and hours later.”

  “I need to—”

  “Get that next ticket,” Joanie finished. “I’m going to go have a smoke.”

  She worked another ninety minutes before it slowed enough for Reece to step back from the heat and guzzle down a bottle of water. When she turned, Joanie was sitting at the counter, drinking coffee.

  “Nobody died,” she said.

  “Whew. Is it always that busy?”

  “Saturday lunch crowd. We do okay. You get eight dollars an hour to start. You still look good in two weeks, I bump in another buck an hour. That’s you and me and a part-timer on the grill, seven days a week. You get two days, or the best part of two off during that week. I do the schedule a week in advance. We open at six-thirty, so that means first shift is here at six. You can order breakfast all day, lunch menu from eleven to closing, dinner, five to ten. You want forty hours a week, I can work you that. I don’t pay any overtime, so you get stuck behind the grill and go over, we’ll take it off your next week’s hours. Any problem with that?”

  “No.”

  “You drink on the job, you’re fired on the spot.”

  “Understood.”

  “You get all the coffee, water or tea you want. You hit the soft drinks, you pay for them. Same with the food. Around here, there ain’t no free lunch. Not that it looks like you’ll be packing it away while my back’s turned. You’re skinny as a stick.”

  “I guess I am.”

  “Last shift cook cleans the grill, the stove, does the lock down.”

  “I can’t do that,” Reece interrupted. “I can’t close for you. I can open, I can work any shift you want me to work. I’ll work doubles when you need it, split shifts. I can flex time when you need me over forty. But I can’t close for you. I’m sorry.”

  Joanie raised her eyebrows, sipped down the last of her coffee. “Afraid of the dark, little girl?”

  “Yes, I am. If clo
sing’s part of the job description, I’ll have to find another job.”

  “We’ll work that out. We’ve got forms to fill out for the government. It can wait. Your car’s fixed, sitting up at Mac’s.” Joanie smiled. “Word travels, and I’ve got my ear to the ground. You’re looking for a place, there’s a room over the diner I can rent you. Not much, but it’s got a good view and it’s clean.”

  “Thanks, but I think I’m going to try the hotel for now. We’ll both give it a couple of weeks, see how it goes.”

  “Itchy feet.”

  “Itchy something.”

  “Your choice.” With a shrug, Joanie got up, headed to the swinging door with her coffee cup. “You go on, get your car, get settled. Be back at four.”

  A little dazed, Reece walked out. She was back in a kitchen, and it had been all right. She’d been okay. Now that she’d gotten through it, she felt a little light-headed, but that was normal, wasn’t it? A normal reaction to snagging a job, straight off the mark, doing what she was trained to do again. Doing what she hadn’t been able to do for nearly two years.

  She took her time walking back to her car, letting it all sink in.

  When she walked into the mercantile, Mac was ringing up a sale at a short counter opposite the door. The place was what she’d expected: a little bit of everything—coolers for produce and meat, shelves of dry goods, a section for hardware, for housewares, fishing gear, ammo.

  Need a gallon of milk and a box of bullets? This was the spot.

  When Mac finished the transaction, she approached the counter.

  “Car should run for you now,” Mac told her.

  “So I hear, and thanks. How do I pay?”

  “Lynt left a bill here for you. You can run on by the garage if you’re going to charge it. Paying cash, you can just leave it here. I’ll be seeing him later.”

  “Cash is good.” She took the bill, noted with relief it was less than she’d expected. She could hear someone chatting in the rear of the store, and the beep of another cash register. “I got a job.”

  He cocked his head as she pulled out her wallet. “That so? Quick work.”

  “At the diner. I don’t even know the name of it,” she realized.

  “That’d be Angel Food. Locals just call it Joanie’s.”

  “Joanie’s then. I hope you come in sometime. I’m a good cook.”

  “I bet you are. Here’s your change.”

  “Thanks. Thanks for everything. I guess I’ll go get myself a room, then go back to work.”

  “If you’re still looking at the hotel, you tell Brenda on the desk you want the monthly rate. You tell her you’re working at Joanie’s.”

  “I will. I’ll tell her.” She wanted to take out an ad announcing it in the local paper. “Thanks, Mr. Drubber.”

  The hotel was five stories of pale yellow stucco that boasted views of the lake. It harbored a minute sundry shop, a tiny coffee and muffin stand and an intimate linen tablecloth dining room.

  There was, she was told, high-speed Internet connection for a small daily fee, room service from sevenA.M. to elevenP.M. and a self-service laundry in the basement.

  Reece negotiated a weekly rate on a single—a week was long enough—on the third floor. Anything below the third was too accessible for her peace of mind, and anything above the third made her feel trapped.

  With her wallet now effectively empty, she carted her duffel and laptop up three flights rather than use the elevator.

  The view lived up to its billing, and she immediately opened the windows, then just stood looking at the sparkle of the water, the glide of boats, and the rise of the mountains that cupped this little section of valley.

  This was her place today, she thought. She’d find out if it was her place tomorrow. Turning back to the room, she noted the door that adjoined the neighboring guest room. She checked the locks, then pushed, shoved, dragged the single dresser in front of it.

  That was better.

  She wouldn’t unpack, not exactly, but take the essentials and set them out. The travel candle, some toiletries, the cell phone charger. Since the bathroom was hardly bigger than the closet, she left the door open while she took a quick shower. While the water ran, she did the multiplication tables out loud to keep herself steady. She changed into fresh clothes, moving quickly.

  New job, she reminded herself and took the time and effort to dry her hair, to put on a little makeup. Not so pale today, she decided, not so hollow-eyed.

  After checking her watch, she set up her laptop, opened her daily journal and wrote a quick entry.

  Angel’s Fist, Wyoming

  April 15

  I cooked today. I took a job as a cook in a little diner-style restaurant in this pretty valley town with its big, blue lake. I’m popping champagne in my mind, and there are streamers and balloons.

  I feel like I’ve climbed a mountain, like I’ve been scaling the tough peaks that ring this place. I’m not at the top yet; I’m still on a ledge. But it’s sturdy and wide, and I can rest here a little while before I start to climb again.

  I’m working for a woman named Joanie. She’s short, sturdy and oddly pretty. She’s tough, too, and that’s good. I don’t want to be coddled. I think I’d smother to death that way, just run out of air the way I feel when I wake up from one of the dreams. I can breathe here, and I can be here until it’s time to move on.

  I’ve got less than ten dollars left, but whose fault is that? It’s okay. I’ve got a room for a week with a view of the lake and the Tetons, a job and a new radiator hose.

  I missed lunch, and that’s a step back there. That’s okay, too. I was too busy cooking to eat, and I’ll make up for it.

  It’s a good day, April fifteenth. I’m going to work.

  She shut down, then tucked her phone, her keys, driver’s license and three dollars of what she had left in her pockets. Grabbing a jacket, she headed for the door.

  Before she opened it, Reece checked the peep, scanned the empty hall. She checked her locks twice, cursed herself and checked a third time before she went back to her kit to tear a piece of Scotch tape off her roll. She pressed it over the door, well below eye level, before she walked to the door for the stairs.

  She jogged down, counting as she went. After a quick debate, she left her car parked. Walking would save her gas money, even though it would be dark when she finished her shift.

  Couple of blocks, that was all. Still, she fingered her key chain, and the panic button on it.

  Maybe she should go back and get the car, just in case. Stupid, she told herself. She was nearly there. Think about now, not about later. When nerves began to bubble, she pictured herself at the grill. Good strong kitchen light, music from the jukebox, voices from the tables. Familiar sounds, smells, motion.

  Maybe her palm was clammy when she reached for the door of Joanie’s, but she opened it. And she went inside.

  The same waitress she’d spoken to during the lunch shift spotted her, wiggled her fingers in a come-over motion. Reece stopped by the booth where the woman was refilling the condiment caddy.

  “Joanie’s back in the storeroom. She said I should give you a quick orientation when you came in. We got a lull, then the early birds will start coming in soon. I’m Linda-gail.”

  “Reece.”

  “First warning. Joanie doesn’t tolerate idle hands. She catches you loitering, she’ll jump straight down your back and bite your ass.” She grinned when she said it in a way that made her bright blue eyes twinkle, deepened dimples in her cheeks. She had doll-baby blond hair to go with it, worn in smooth French braids.

  She had on jeans, a red shirt with white piping. Silver and turquoise earrings dangled from her ears. She looked, Reece thought, like a western milkmaid.

  “I like to work.”

  “You will, believe me. This being Saturday night, we’ll be busy. You’ll have two other wait staff working—Bebe and Juanita. Matt’ll bus, and Pete’s the dishwasher. You and Joanie’ll be manning
the kitchen, and she’ll have a hawk eye on you. You need a break, you tell her, and you take it. There’s a place in the back for your coat and purse. No purse?”

  “No, I didn’t bring it.”

  “God, I can’t step a foot outside the house without mine. Come on then, I’ll show you around. She’s got the forms you need to fill out in the back. I guess you’ve done this kind of work before, the way you jumped in with both feet today.”

  “Yeah, I have.”

  “Restrooms. We clean the bathrooms on rotation. You’ve got a couple of weeks before you have that pleasure.”

  “Can’t wait.”

  Linda-gail grinned. “You got family around here?”

  “No. I’m from back East.” Didn’t want to talk about that, didn’t want to think about that. “Who handles the fountain drinks?”

  “Wait staff. We get crunched, you can fill drink orders. We serve wine and beer, too. But mostly people want to drink, they do it over at Clancy’s. That’s about it. Anything else you want to know, just give me a holler. I’ve got to finish the setups or Joanie’ll squawk. Welcome aboard.”

  “Thanks.”

  Reece moved into the kitchen, took an apron.

  A good, wide solid ledge, she told herself. A good place to stand until it was time to move again.

  2

  LINDA-GAIL was right, they were busy. Locals, tourists, hikers, a scatter of people from a nearby campground who wanted an indoor meal. She and Joanie worked with little conversation while the fryers pumped out steam and the grill spewed heat.

  At some point, Joanie stuck a bowl under Reece’s nose. “Eat.”

  “Oh, thanks, but—”

  “You got something against my soup?”

  “No.”

  “Sit down at the counter and eat. It’s slowed down some and you’ve got a break coming. I’ll put it on your tab.”

  “Okay, thanks.” The fact was, now that she thought about eating food instead of just preparing it, she realized she was starving. A good sign, Reece decided as she took a seat at the end of the counter.

  It gave her a view of the diner, and the door.

  Linda-gail slid a plate over to her with a sourdough roll and two pats of butter on it. “Joanie said you need the carbs. Want some tea with that?”