by Sara Davison
Chapter Seventeen
The dark, stone staircase descended sharply in front of him. Jude clutched the flimsy wooden railing so tightly his knuckles cracked and whitened. Where is she?
“It’s only fifty-nine steps. You can do it.” Her voice came to him, drifting through the gathering twilight, laughing, teasing. Jude stared down the rough stairway, carved into the side of the rock face. He knew how many steps there were. How many times had they counted them as they’d scrambled up and down them as kids? But that had been in the summer, in daylight. This evening the stones were covered in ice and a dusting of snow marred only by her footprints.
He’d had a long, hard day at work, and all he wanted to do was go home and crash in front of the TV. He called her name, hoping she would come, knowing she wouldn’t. It had never been possible for him to talk her out of doing something once she had an idea in her head, no matter how crazy it was.
He peered through the trees growing out of the rocks, barely able to see her making her way along the rough shoreline. He called her name again. She didn’t turn, but her laughter wafted up to him and his jaw tightened. Seriously?
He was going to have to go after her. He stomped down onto the first step and paused. Really don’t feel like doing this. It wasn’t so much the fifty-nine down he objected to but the fifty-nine back up.
A loud crack shattered his thoughts, followed by a scream that turned the blood flowing through his veins as cold as the ice spider-webbing beneath her feet. No.
Jude scrambled down the stairs, stumbling and slipping on each one until the fifty-nine felt like hundreds more than that, only managing to keep from tumbling down head over heels by grasping the wooden railing and sliding his hand forward until slivers dug into his palms. He called her name, but no sound broke the silence that had descended over the river, thicker and deeper than before.
Crashing over rocks and fallen logs that littered the pathway, he made his way to the spot where, fifteen feet from shore, a black hole in the ice gaped like the mouth of some hideous predator. His chest clenched. Why had she gone out there? They’d been strictly warned not to go anywhere near the ice. What was she thinking?
He groaned. She’d been thinking what she was always thinking—that rules were made to be broken. Only this time more than the rules had been broken…
Shoving back the fear that threatened to overwhelm him, clouding his thoughts, he took a few running steps out onto the ice, lowering himself to his belly and crawling toward the hole when he was a few feet away. Nothing broke the surface of the water, no flailing hand, no one gasping for air or trying to climb out. The water was as still and dark as if the surface of it had never been breached.
Frantic, Jude shoved an arm into the hole, chunks of ice breaking away beneath him. He called her name again as he dragged his arm through the frigid water. His fingers touched nothing but icy liquid. He lost track of time as he slashed through the water over and over, only stopping when a large chunk of ice broke away beneath his shoulder and he had to scramble away from the hole or he’d go in too.
It was too late.
Flipping over onto his back, Jude let out an anguished scream, his numb, dripping arm flung over his eyes. She was gone. And it was all his fault.
A siren shattered the stillness and Jude bolted upright in his bed, his damp T-shirt clinging to his torso. For several seconds he concentrated on drawing in one ragged breath after another then he flung the floral bedspread off himself and swung his legs over the side of the bed. Where was he?
Dazed, he lowered his face into his hands. Gradually, his heart rate slowed enough that he could lift his head and look around. Oh yeah. The Wayside Motel. He was back in Elora. His Ninevah. The place God had been telling him to go for a long time and he’d been resisting. Even though part of him had really wanted to go. That part that, until now, had been outmuscled by his fear. The siren outside the window had nothing to do with him. Not this time, anyway.
Light flowed around the edges of the heavy brown curtains and he glanced at his watch. 9 a.m. Summer was likely already out, pounding the pavement again the way she had the last couple of days. Better drive around town a bit, see if he could find her. And maybe he could scrounge up a decent cup of coffee while he was at it.
Jude stumbled across the room to the dingy washroom. Gripping the porcelain sink with both hands, he stared at himself in the mirror. His hair was disheveled and two days’ worth of stubble dotted his chin and cheeks. He looked like what he was—a man on the run. From himself as much as anything else. A man haunted by his past.
He looked away from his reflection and reached for his toothbrush. Unfortunately, since he’d returned to the town he hadn’t been sure he’d ever see again, that past was very aggressively asserting itself into the present.
Chapter Eighteen
The heavenly aroma she’d inhaled when entering the bakery the day before wrapped around Summer now, helping to settle the fluttering in her stomach as she walked inside.
“Ana!” Daphne rounded the counter and came toward her, arms outstretched. After seeing her approach her husband the same way, Summer braced herself, but Daphne skidded to a stop inches in front of her and flung plump arms around Summer in a tight embrace. “You came back.” She stepped away but didn’t let go of Summer’s arms.
A few patrons—a man in a business suit who’d been tapping on a tablet with a stylus and a woman in a black wool sweater reading a book—glanced over, but otherwise no one paid much attention to the two of them. Did Daphne greet so many of them that way that they no longer took notice? If so, she had a real gift with people, because she had definitely made Summer feel special.
Daphne let go of one of her arms, but kept her grip on the other so she could tug Summer to the counter. “First of all, what can I get you?”
Summer would have preferred to start with an update on the job situation, but she tamped down her impatience. “I’ll have a coffee and,” she stepped back to survey the counter, “an apple-cinnamon muffin, please.” Hmm, if she did end up working here, she’d have to be careful not to consume Shawn’s amazing offerings too often. Or maybe she’d keep walking up and down the steep main street every day to burn off the excess calories.
Daphne handed her the coffee and muffin and nodded to the bar where they’d sat the day before. Summer meandered over to what she was already coming to think of as her stool and settled onto it. When she bit into the soft, crumbly muffin, she couldn’t repress a sigh of appreciation, in spite of her angst. “So good.”
Perched on the stool beside her, Daphne beamed and smoothed the apron over her thighs. “Good. Now down to business. Shawn has agreed to hire you part time—at least twenty hours a week—until April. After that, business starts to pick up so, no promises, but we’ll try to give you full-time hours at that point.” She clasped her hands in front of her chest. “What do you think?”
Summer set down the muffin and brushed cinnamon and sugar off her fingers. The offer wasn’t exactly solid, but it would give her an income she could likely live on for the next few months. She smiled. “When can I start?”
Daphne unclasped her hands and clapped. “I was hoping you would say that. And by the way, I might have hinted to Shawn that your presence here will increase the male traffic through the door, hope you don’t mind. So how about starting right now?”
Her new boss apparently had a habit of slipping potentially unwelcome information into a conversation and then either abruptly leaving the room or switching topics before the other person had time to react.
As long as Summer’s new employers didn’t expect her to encourage anyone to keep coming back, she could live with it.
Summer’s head started to spin again, but she straightened on the stool. Sé valiente. Have courage. “Now is perfect. Let me finish this amazing muffin and then I am at your service.”
When the bells jangled again, Summer glanced over. The sound might become annoying at some point, but it still sen
t shivers tingling across her skin, as if a moment of magic in a movie was occurring. And speaking of movies… The man who walked in could have been coming straight off a set himself. She looked away quickly and busied herself wiping down the counter as he stood, hands in the pockets of his leather jacket, gazing at the menu board behind her.
His light-brown hair was short and slightly disheveled, the kind that guys could simply run their fingers through and look amazing, which drove Summer crazy. When she tossed the cloth under the counter and lifted her head, a pair of hazel eyes met hers, his intense look—was that sadness? anger?—sending the words she’d been about to say tumbling from her brain.
Head injury. She excused herself, a little lamely, for her momentary lapse of concentration and cleared her throat. “What can I get you?”
His eyes cleared as thoroughly as though the emotion had been swiped off like chalk from a blackboard. “What do you recommend?”
It seemed imprudent to tell him she’d only sampled two of Shawn’s concoctions, so Summer settled for, “The chocolate croissants are the best I’ve ever had.”
One side of his mouth turned up slightly. “Sounds good. I’ll take one chocolate croissant and a cup of the strongest black coffee you have on tap.”
In spite of herself, Summer couldn’t help returning his grin. That was a new one. She ran her finger down the menu taped to the counter to find the cost of each item and punched it into the cash register Daphne had quickly shown her how to use before dashing out to get her hair cut. Thankfully, it was the simple, old-fashioned kind that only required the cashier to punch in the price of each product and hit enter to get a total. “That will be 4.25 please.”
He tugged a wallet from the back pocket of his jeans and pulled out a five dollar bill. “Keep the change.”
Summer blinked. She hadn’t been expecting anyone to tip her for handing them a pastry and a cup of coffee over the counter. She grabbed three quarters and held them out. “No, please. It’s no trouble.”
He held up a hand. “I insist. I hate carrying change around.”
“Well, all right. Thank you.” She slipped the coins into the pocket of the red apron Daphne had given her. As soon as she had a chance, she’d find a jar to use for tips. That way, if anyone else gave her money, she’d drop it in there and make sure it got to Shawn, who deserved it far more than she did.
Summer grabbed a large paper cup and filled it nearly to the brim with steaming coffee. Whatever kind Shawn and Daphne used was one of the most incredible she’d ever smelled, and she inhaled the aroma as she carried it over to the counter and set it down. “Would you like a lid?”
“No thanks.” He inclined his head toward the table in front of the fireplace. “I think I’ll drink it here.”
“All right.” Summer waved a hand. “Go sit down and I’ll bring you your croissant.”
“Thanks.”
She tried not to let it, but her gaze followed him as he wandered over to a table, set down his cup, and pulled a laptop out of the bag slung over his shoulder. Her inhibitions seemed to have lowered greatly in recent weeks. Head injury. Summer grabbed a plate and headed for the platter of croissants. How many things was she planning to blame that on now?
When she carried the plate over to the table, he moved the computer out of the way so she could set it in front of him. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Enjoy.” Before he could say anything more, she strode away, retreating behind the counter. Didn’t he work? What guy his age had time to sit around a coffee shop in the middle of a Wednesday? No te metas en lo que no te importa.
That was true. It wasn’t her business. What was her business was her new job. And she needed to concentrate on it, and on remembering the last few years so she could tell the police who had attacked her.
And with apologies to Hallmark, that was all she planned to think about until the trouble she was in had been resolved.
Jude slumped against the back of the chair. Although he’d watched her face carefully as he’d approached the counter, Summer had given no indication that she recognized him. That was probably for the best if what her father had told Jude was true.
He shoved the last bite of chocolate croissant into his mouth. He wasn’t a huge sweets person, but Summer was right—it had to be the best baked good he’d ever tasted. If he was going to come in here often, he’d have to resist ordering one every time. He swiped a napkin over his mouth and reached for the coffee. How often could he come in without anyone becoming suspicious? Or recognizing him? Jude blew out a breath. That was a chance he’d have to take. He needed to lay the groundwork, gradually get Summer to trust him, so he could get her back to Toronto.
Part of him was tempted to simply take the gun out of his bedside table drawer at the Wayside Hotel, wait in an alleyway as she walked home from work, and use it to force her to come with him, explain everything later, but pulling something like that would not end well. Summer was a fighter, as he well knew, and she would either be able to resist him or draw an awful lot of attention to the two of them in the process.
Jude opened his laptop, studying her surreptitiously over the top of it. A blonde woman had come into the shop and gone straight behind the counter, patting her hair in a way that suggested she’d had it cut and wanted Summer’s opinion. Summer said something and the two of them laughed. His chest squeezed. When was the last time he’d heard that sound from her?
Focus, Jude. Stay the course. He tore his gaze from her. If his plan was going to work, he had to stick to it. Be patient. Slowly build a relationship with her. Woo her, even. See if he had any more success with that tactic. Jude played idly with a napkin as he sipped his coffee. His boss’s impatience aside, he was willing to take his time and make sure he did it right this time.
He’d let her slip through his fingers once. He had no intention of doing it again.
Chapter Nineteen
Summer swept the floor behind the counter, over and over the same spot as her gaze strayed continually to a table by the window. A woman in her sixties, white hair styled in a short, elegant cut, sat there. Her daughter—the young woman who had stood at the counter, her young son strapped to her chest, the first time Summer had been in the shop—had settled across from her.
The two women had come in several times during the first couple of weeks Summer had worked there. Every time they came in, they each ordered a cup of peppermint tea and shared a piece of pastry. They stayed an hour or so, taking turns holding the eight-month-old boy, Jamie, and talking and laughing together non-stop.
Summer finally gave up on the sweeping and propped the broom in the corner. Grabbing a cloth, she began wiping down the counter, her attention still drawn to the threesome by the window. She had no recollection of ever sitting and chatting with her mother, let alone laughing. Daphne came up behind her and leaned in to whisper, “That’s sweet, isn’t it?”
Summer stopped wiping and contemplated her new friend. Judging from the wistfulness in her voice, her relationship with her mother wasn’t that warm and fuzzy either. “You don’t get along with your mother like that?”
Daphne scrunched up her freckled face. “Definitely not. I’m not sure my mother ever stopped yelling at my dad long enough to say more than a few sentences to me. I honestly can’t remember ever hearing her laugh. And I haven’t seen either of them for a few years now. Their choice.”
That hurt Summer’s heart. How could anyone treat adorable, sunny Daphne that way? Summer touched her arm. “I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry, too, for you.”
She blinked. “What do you mean?”
“I was watching you watching them. You don’t have that kind of relationship with your mother either, do you?”
It was going to be awfully hard for her to keep anything from Daphne. That thought bothered Summer less than she thought it would. “No, I guess I don’t.” The memory of her parents’ betrayal stabbed through her again, and she tossed the cloth under the counte
r. “Do you mind if I take my break now? I could use a little fresh air.”
Daphne’s smile held sadness. “Sure. But if you ever do want to talk about it, I’m here.”
“Got it. Gracias.”
Summer shoved open the door with her shoulder and stepped into the back alley. An icy breeze swept down between the two buildings, sending clouds of snow swirling around her legs. Slumping against the stone wall, she let out a long breath.
An acrid smell drifted on the breeze and she glanced around. No one appeared to be in the alley, but a cloud of smoke definitely hung in the air between the two buildings. Whoever had been smoking had been here in the last couple of minutes. Why would they be hanging around the dumpsters behind the café? She shook her head. Probably kids, or maybe someone cutting through the alleyway to get downtown.
Summer strolled out to the sidewalk and around the block, praying as she walked, each step easing a little of the angst Daphne’s caring comment had stirred up inside her like silt from the bottom of a pond. When she came back around to the back door of the bakery, calm had replaced the angst. Thank you, God.
Bells jingled as she returned to the counter. She glanced over and her face warmed. It was him again. Movie star man. He’d been in several times since she’d started working. He had to be new in town too, since Daphne had told Summer she’d never seen him before.
“Hey,” Daphne hissed at her, “es tu novio.”
The flush of heat spread down Summer’s neck. The man was certainly not her boyfriend. They only talked briefly when he came in. That intense look she’d seen in his eyes the first day hadn’t reappeared, thankfully, but still she kept their exchanges brief and professional. Summer shot her friend a warning look before turning to the man. The first couple of times he had come in, she’d tried to pawn him off on Daphne, but her friend would have none of it, so now she didn’t even bother. “Good morning.”