Second Chance (Cold Springs Series Book 1)

by Henderson, Nancy

  However, since becoming a resident of Cold Springs, Sam didn’t think she’d have a choice but to know, unfortunately.

  “We were just going into the city and wondered if you needed anything.”

  Theresa went to one of the windows and touched the yellow chicken curtains. “You’re not keeping these are you?”

  “Until I get something new,” Sam answered. Tacky curtains were the least of her worries at the moment.

  Mother whipped a notepad and paper out of her large handbag. “Curtains,” she muttered to herself as she counted each window. “We’ll stop by the mall.”

  “I thought you were going to reupholster the booths.” Theresa wrinkled her nose to exemplify her distaste.

  “I plan to when money starts coming in.” Sam tried to hide her irritation. She didn’t want her mother picking out her curtains any more than she wanted Theresa’s decorating ideas. Jean’s wasn’t a place people came to for atmosphere. It never had been. People came for hot coffee and hearty, home-cooked food, which was what Sam intended to give them. Eventually, she planned on replacing the less-than-pretty things like the booths and the cracked tile in the bathroom, but it could wait until she was making a profit. Now was not the time.

  Mother adjusted her purse onto her shoulder. “Jean never cared what the place looked like.”

  “Jean worked damn hard here.” Burt spun around. His arms remained folded across his chest, his angry gaze on Mother.

  “I never said she didn’t.”

  “See that you don’t.”

  Mother sighed. “My sister never had a knack for décor. That’s all. She did work hard here. Too hard. I don’t want to see my daughter working herself into an early grave like Jean did.”

  “I’m used to hard work, Mom.” Sam appreciated her mother’s concern. Being a literary agent was hard work, but it was different. Sam surmised she was in for a surprise once the reality of running a restaurant kicked in, but she looked forward to the challenge. It was a much-needed change of pace and a chance to carry on Aunt Jean’s legacy.

  Remembering Burt’s coffee, she went to the stove behind the counter and lit the burner to heat up some water. Nothing.

  “Darn.”

  “Not working?” Burt asked.

  “What?”

  “It was just a minute ago when I made my coffee.” Sam filled a cup of water and stuck it in the microwave to heat. “I’m afraid your coffee won’t be the best this morning, Burt.” She glanced toward her mother and sister. “Coffee?”

  “It’s instant.” Burt smirked. “Better run.”

  Mother adjusted her purse. “We’ve got to be going.”

  “That’s too bad.” Burt chuckled.

  Sam sighed. “I’ll call someone later.”

  “Call Ian,” Burt said. “He’s local and he’s good. Won’t cost you an arm and a leg.”

  “Ian Woods?” Mother and Theresa said the name with the same unbelievable tone.

  “No,” Theresa snapped.

  “Absolutely not.” Mother agreed.

  “Ian paid his dues.” Burt spun around in his chair, his tone heavy with the same defense he held for Jean.

  Sam sat down at the counter. “What do you mean ‘paid his dues’?”

  “He murdered someone!” Mother proclaimed.

  Sam nearly choked on her coffee. “Right in cold blood.”

  “Who—”

  “I don’t know. Does it matter? He’s a murderer.”

  “That’s not what happened, and you know it.” Burt shot her a venomous look.

  Sam thought for a moment. As an agent, she’d read countless murder mystery manuscripts. Like books, real life always held two sides to the story. “Maybe it was an accident.”

  “It was no accident,” Theresa said.

  “Does it even matter?” Mother asked. “He’s not trustworthy.”

  “He’s more trustworthy than you,” Burt shot at Mother.

  “You can’t talk to my mother like that,” Theresa said.

  “I just did, and nobody was talking to you anyway.”

  With that, Mother and Theresa stormed out.

  “Don’t worry about Ian. He’s all right. You can trust him.”

  “What did Ian do to go to jail?”

  “It’s not my place to say, but he’s a good man.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  “Thanks, John.” Ian extended his hand to John Taylor, co-owner of Hank’s Lumber.

  Ian had no doubt that John would have gladly returned the shake to anyone else. Instead, John glared at Ian’s outstretched hand like he was a leper. Ian quickly pulled it away, emotions from humiliation to down right fury fighting for control.

  The anger won, always. Anger was his protector. It made everything right when the world dumped on him. Justified things when life threw nothing but shit his way. It was his court, judge, and jury and it never discriminated.

  They told him that he would get these reactions, and Ian knew he would, but it still did little to prepare him for small town life. Everyone had their nose in everyone’s business. They always had, and it had never bothered him before now. Maybe it had been a mistake coming back to Cold Springs. His P.O. said he’d made the right move and that people would eventually get used to him. He’d told Ian that most ex-cons had a better chance of making it on the outside if they went back to their hometown near their family. He’d said acceptance and trust took time and he needed to be patient. A damn lot of time. Ian should be used to dealing with time.

  Leaving the lumberyard office, Ian hopped in his truck, an old beater that Burt had landed from a vehicle auction for him. It had more rust than metal, and the bed was crooked, but it got him from point A to point B, and that was all that mattered.

  He didn’t know where he’d be if not for Burt. They had never been more than acquaintances before Ian’s incarceration, but it was during his imprisonment that Burt had visited Ian. Burt had told him what the town was saying about him—which Ian surmised was a hell of a lot worse than Burt let on—and that he didn’t blame him for what he’d done. Burt had been the only one to validate his crime, not that it was right, but the reasoning behind it. Burt had made him feel less of a monster, and for that, Ian owed him everything.

  Ian had to find more clients if he was going to make a go of this business. Burt had told Ian’s parole officer that he was Ian’s employer, that he was backing Ian’s business until it became financially sound on its own. The P.O. gave Ian three months to be making a solid profit, meaning each month he needed to be in the black which would have been damn near impossible without Burt’s help with things like setting up, getting such an affordable truck and a place to stay, not to mention all the free meals he provided.

  Still, the fear of failure always haunted him. He had won two construction bids just north of Watertown, far enough away where word of his past hadn’t traveled, but he needed more clients if this business was going to survive long term.

  He drove down Main Street, seeing Jean’s Diner. Part of him wanted to stop and see if Sam had read his contract yet, but the sensible part of him said to just leave her alone. She had his cell number, and she would call when she was finished with it.

  Burt said she’d never married and had no kids. “No baggage” was his exact words. There was a time before prison when Ian couldn’t understand the meaning of baggage, but now, to know the security of a warm and loving family waiting on your return after a long day of work…Ian could even fathom how good baggage must feel.

  Sam Stone had certainly changed since high school, but so had he, and not for the better. Sam, however…she was no longer that gangly kid who had asked him to prom. The beanpole awkward girl with glasses was cute and sexy as hell, and where had those glasses gone? She must have contacts now.

  He wondered why she had chosen to come back and what she hoped to gain by opening Jean’s place back up. Maybe she just wanted to carry on her memory. He certainly couldn’t blame her for that. The little diner had alw
ays been the backbone of this town. It was a place everyone gathered and talked about everything and everyone. That certainly wasn’t likely to change.

  And you’re not likely to find anything but trouble around her either.

  Yeah. He didn’t need any more trouble. He’d gone through enough for one lifetime.

  ~ * ~

  Sam grabbed her cell phone from the counter. “Hello?”

  “Samantha Stone?”

  “Yes.”

  “This is Mike from We-Move-It Movers. We can’t find your house.”

  The call took Sam completely off guard. They weren’t scheduled to arrive until two days from now, but she needed her things and she was more than willing to make this work.

  “We just drove the whole length of Main Street. We don’t see an address.”

  “How about if I stand outside and flag you?”

  “That’ll work. We’ll make another pass.”

  Sam hung up and went outside to wait for the movers. Excitement filled her. It would be good to have her personal things around again, would feel more like her. Not to say it wouldn’t feel more like home because strangely being immersed in Aunt Jean’s world was so like home it was almost surreal.

  The October sky hung low with dark clouds threatening a thunderstorm. The scent of fall loomed in the air, rotting leaves and the smell of burning firewood coming from the chimney on the house down the street. This was what she remembered about Cold Springs, and it filled her with hope.

  Half an hour passed with no traffic whatsoever. She called Mike again. “Hi, this is Samantha Stone. Where are you?”

  “We’re on Main Street. Where are you standing?”

  Sam didn’t understand. “I’m standing in front of the brick building. I don’t see you.”

  “We don’t see you either.”

  “Okay…” There must be some sort of mistake.

  She heard the sound of rustling paperwork coming through her cell. “601 Main Street, Cold Springs, Virginia. That’s where we are.”

  Disbelief smacked her in the face. “Cold Springs, New York.”

  Silence on the other end.

  “Doesn’t your paperwork say New York?”

  “Okay…well, this is a problem. We’ll have to figure this out.” More paperwork rustling.

  “You’re not going to double charge me, are you?”

  “You’ll have to take that up with the office, ma’am.”

  “But I distinctly said New York.”

  “We’ll get back to you.” The line went dead.

  “Hello?” Sam hit end on her phone and went back inside. She went straight to scrubbing the oven, eager to take her frustration out on something physical.

  “Of all the stupid things…” Great. Now she was talking to herself. What next? If she started answering, she’d have real problems.

  The one immediate action which would take her mind off her problems, she was quickly learning, was cleaning, and Lord knew she still had plenty of that to do, especially in the kitchen. Marching into the storeroom, she found a bucket, rubber gloves, and a box of scouring pads, and she thought she’d get a jump on the work ahead. She started on the grill first. The grill top was black with old built up grease.

  She put on rubber gloves up to her elbows, grabbed her bucket and scouring pads. She didn’t know how many hours had passed before she started to see the actual grill surface. Perspiration beaded her forehead and soaked her hair. She wondered when she’d last worked this hard outside of a gym. Funny, she would never need use of one now with all the physical work running this place would take. Not that Cold Springs had an actual gym anyway.

  No matter, think of the money she would save. Satisfaction slowly surfaced as the grill top began to show through the grease. When she was finished, she got down on her hands and knees and proceeded to scrub the front of the grill. She scrubbed around a small stainless steel handle. Must be a utensil drawer or something. She tried tugging it open, but it wouldn’t budge. Getting up on her knees, she used all her weight to yank on it. The smell hit her at the same time the drawer gave way.

  Black slime went everywhere, spattering her face, the walls, the newly mopped floor. The drawer hit her chest, splashing the liquid all over her white T-shirt as she fell back into the cabinets behind her. She choked back a gag. The stench had to be close to that of a dead body. What the devil was this and why hadn’t Aunt Jean ever cleaned it?

  “Sam?”

  Theresa of all people! “Don’t come back here just yet.”

  Theresa hurried into the kitchen. “Oh my Go—What did you do?”

  “I pulled on this drawer.”

  “That’s a grease trap! Didn’t you know that? Everyone knows that.”

  Theresa hadn’t cooked a meal since getting married. Shawn had hired a nanny, housekeeper, and cook the first month of their marriage. As far as Sam knew, her sister still had the service.

  Sam tried to stand but slipped in the vile ooze which congregated at her feet.

  “You’re never going to get that out of your hair. I’d give you the number of my stylist, but I wouldn’t do that to her.”

  Sam stood, slipped on the grease, and fell, whacking her elbow on the floor.”

  “Are you okay?”

  Sam didn’t answer. She bit her top lip, trying to keep herself in check. “What can I do for you, Theresa?”

  “I wanted to see how you were doing. Not so good as I can see.”

  “I’m doing fine.”

  “Mom was afraid this would happen.”

  “Oh, really? She was afraid I’d pull on this drawer and spray this shit all over myself?”

  “There’s no need for that kind of language.” Theresa put her hands on her hips and stood there as if she were about to send Sam to a time out.

  “I’m not one of your kids, Theresa.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Sam grabbed the countertop and hoisted herself up. “It means I have a brain.”

  “Are you calling my children stupid? How dare you?”

  “What? No, no I wasn’t calling your children stupid. Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “I’m not going to come here and be insulted. You know I didn’t have to drop by. I was just trying to be nice to you. Mom said this would happen. I should have listened to her.”

  Sam tried not to let her sister’s words hurt, tried not to picture Mother trying to talk Theresa out of coming over here, but it sounded exactly like something Mother would have said. Sam was certainly no expert at child rearing, but she couldn’t understand why a mother wouldn’t want her siblings to be close. It was as if Mother liked the fact that Theresa and Sam were distant. Mother had always been that way and Sam had never understood why. She sighed as Theresa turned and left.

  Not two minutes had passed when Ian Woods was standing in the kitchen.

  “What happened to you?”

  “What’s it look like?” she snapped. “I’m sorry. I’m having a bad day.”

  Sam regretted her words before they left her mouth. She had never remembered being this irritated in New York. Sure she’d had her bad days, but they hadn’t been this bad. At least they hadn’t seemed like they’d been this bad.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked, suddenly very aware of her appearance. And his presence. She was totally alone with him. An ex-convict. While Burt wouldn’t say what Ian had done, but hadn’t denied Mother’s accusations that he’d killed someone.

  It didn’t make any sense. Burt was sensible…somewhat sensible anyway. He may be a bit eccentric at times, but he wasn’t outright stupid. If Ian was dangerous Burt wouldn’t have anything to do with him. Ian was never a threat to anyone in school that Sam recalled. None of it made any sense.

  Ian said something about a contract, but Sam wasn’t paying attention. Contract? “Oh, right. I did look it over.” She motioned toward the counter where she put it this morning in case he came by.

  “I also wanted to see if the door wa
s all right. That and Burt called me. He said you had a broken stove. Do you want me to take a look at it?”

  Burt. He was trying to save her money again. He wouldn’t put her in harm’s way if he knew Ian was any sort of threat. Of course not.

  She looked up at Ian who towered like a giant in the middle of her small kitchen. How had he killed someone? What had he used? A gun? Knife? His bare hands?

  He didn’t look dangerous. Tight jeans, work boots, five o’clock shadow, and hair tousled as if he had just climbed out of bed with some hot twenty-year-old.

  Sweet mother! She shouldn’t feel attraction to him. She should feel wary of him. Ian Woods wasn’t the innocent, cocky jock from high school. He was now an ex-convict and could very well be dangerous. She should be worried about being alone with him.

  But…something. Maybe just crazy senseless desperation to make it here. She needed her stove working if she was going to reopen the diner.

  Sam cleared her throat. “Do you have the time to take a look at it?”

  One side of his mouth turned up in a half-grin.

  Sam tried to get out of his way. She hadn’t realized that she’d stepped in the grease pool until it was too late. Once she started sliding, there was no stopping. Worse than the fact she was already covered with grease or that she was falling was she was taking Ian with her. She didn’t know who had grabbed whom first. Suddenly she was clinging to his shoulders and he had his hands around her waist as they both hit the floor.

  Sam landed hard directly on top of Ian. She stared down at his stunned expression, her face less than an inch from his.

  Man…those eyes. Blue, like a sexy Caribbean pool, just like Sam remembered.

  “Oh!” She scrambled to get up. Ian’s hand was still on her waist. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah.” He released her.

  Sam quickly rolled off him. “I’m sorry.”

  He stood, offered his hand to help her up.

  Sam accepted it. It was warm and strong and immediately set her heart pounding. She stood, started to slip, but he caught her around the waist.

  “Um…” Step away, stupid! What was wrong with her? He was going to think she still had a thing for him.