“And the TV people are promoting it,” she added. She breathed in the cool air. “I love this time of year.”
“Not too hot, not too cold?”
“Exactly. It could snow or rain. We had snow on Easter morning the first year I was here.”
“And where were you before?”
She saw no harm in telling the truth. “New York.”
“City?”
“Yes.”
“You’re a long way from home.”
“This is my home.” She kept her voice light, but it was the truth. The apartment above the Dahl was her home now, and she was lucky to be alive to appreciate it.
“So, what happened in New York? You told Winter you had a broken heart, which was very kind of you, by the way. She likes you.”
“I like her, too,” she said, watching the girl get farther and farther ahead of them. “It was a very ugly, very sad divorce.” It was strange to say it in such a matter-of-fact way. Would I had a breakdown and he left me have been better? No. Probably not.
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
She tried for a lighter tone. “That’s why people sing the sad songs, right?”
“Yes, but I write happy ones, too.”
They had crossed the park and were close to the More Than Willing house. Jerry’s, larger and more ornate, stood next to it. Its windows were dark, which meant that the irritating man was still frolicking in Los Angeles without a care in the world.
Iris’s house was lit from top to bottom, including the light on the front porch. Aurora could hear the television from outside. It sounded like basketball.
“I’m going in,” Winter said, hurrying up the steps. “I’m tired. And I want to tell Iris about the horseback riding lessons.”
“Wait,” her father said. “We’re walking Aurora home.”
“You don’t—” Aurora began, but Jake stopped her.
“I do,” he said. “It’s after ten, and I don’t care how small a town this is, you shouldn’t be walking alone at night.” He called after Winter, “Tell Iris I’ll be back in fifteen minutes. Stay in the living room with her until I get back.”
“Sure. Good night, Aurora!”
“Good night, Winter.”
They watched her until she was inside.
“An interesting child,” Jake drawled, tucking Aurora’s arm closer to his side when she would have removed it. She didn’t want to be the object of such casual charm, the easy flirtatious way this man had of making her feel like the only woman in the world. She knew better, but she enjoyed the protective warmth despite her misgivings. The sidewalk was even here, and there were two streetlights illuminating the way.
“You’re lucky to have found her.”
“She found me,” he said. “Or I should say, the lawyers did. Lucia hasn’t told you this?”
“She hasn’t said much, except that you hadn’t been married long before your wife left.”
“Yeah. The thrill of following the band had worn off and she wanted to go home.”
“And you didn’t want to move to England?”
“I never had the chance,” he said. “Our marriage was a ridiculous mistake. I was relieved when she said she was leaving.”
“And you didn’t know she was pregnant.”
“No clue. All I felt was embarrassed to have gotten myself into a mess like that. Merry was bipolar and had stopped taking her medications. She came from a wealthy family and she missed the lifestyle, so she left. She didn’t want me to know about the baby because she was afraid she wouldn’t be able to move back to England.”
“Would you have stopped her?” Or would he have taken the easy way out and gone on with his life as if nothing had happened? She wondered what kind of a man he was, and hoped for his daughter’s sake that he was ready to be a father now.
“No,” he admitted. “But I would have gone over there to take care of my child. I don’t think I would have trusted Merry, not at that time. She told me she’d met someone else and she wanted to go back to her ‘real’ life.”
“Does Winter know that?”
“I’ve told her, but I don’t think she believes me.”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m sorry for both of you.”
“Don’t feel sorry for us,” he growled. “I don’t need your sympathy.”
“That’s not—”
“I just thought you should know that I’m not a deadbeat dad, that I am not the kind of man who walks out on my kid.”
“Why?”
“Because,” he said, frowning. “It just... matters.”
“All right.” She didn’t know how to respond to that.
“We’re here.” He stopped in front of the Dahl. “Do you go in here or around the back?”
“Either way,” she said, fishing her keys out of her pocket. “It seems strange that it’s so dark.” She grimaced. “It’s not a typical Saturday night.”
“I’ll come in and wait until you get the lights on,” he said as she unlocked the door. “Besides, I want to see the bear Owen was so worried about.”
She switched on the lights after pushing open the heavy door. The room smelled like furniture wax and stale beer. She blamed the old paneling for the beer. She waited for Jake to enter and then locked the door behind him.
“I don’t want anyone to get the wrong idea and think I’m open.”
“Wow.” He stopped a few feet from the door. “This is a huge place.”
“It goes back quite a ways.” She gestured toward the back wall, behind the pool tables. “Back there are the bathrooms and storage. And the stairs to the apartment.”
“Can I walk you up?”
She shook her head. “That’s not necessary. And besides, I’d have to lock the door behind you after you leave.” She pointed to the deadbolt lock.
He glanced around the room. “It’s a great bar, Aurora. You can tell it’s been around for a long time.”
“Since the town began.” She ran her hand along the top of the bar itself. “Other buildings haven’t survived. The man I bought it from inherited it from his father.”
“And the bear,” he said, eyeing the beast. “He’s bigger than I imagined.”
“I like him,” she confessed. “I wasn’t too sure at first, but now we’re great friends.”
“Iris said you usually have a band on Saturday nights.” He walked over to the distant corner where large black speakers sat on a raised platform.
“I invested in my own sound system last summer,” she said, sliding onto a padded leather stool. She watched him walk around the room, look at the two huge televisions that hung above the mirrored walls lined with bottles of liquor and beer taps, check out the two pool tables and eye the moose head next to the wall clock on the back wall.
“It’s a great bar,” he said, walking over to her. “Why did you buy it?”
“It was for sale,” Aurora said. “I know that sounds glib, but it’s the truth. I was here and it was for sale and I bought it.”
“Just like that?”
“Just like that.”
“Any regrets?” He sat on the stool next to hers and swiveled to face the room, just as she had done.
“No.”
“You’re a mysterious woman, you know that?” He turned toward her and smiled.
“Yes,” she said, ignoring the way her body responded when he looked at her like that. She didn’t want to melt toward him and hope he kissed her. She didn’t want to run her palm along the hint of beard on that square jaw. She didn’t want any involvement whatsoever. She liked her life the way it was, simple and uncomplicated.
Jake looked at her for a long moment and then stood. “I’ve got to be going. Iris likes horror movies and Winter won’t admit she ge
ts nightmares. I’d better go before Iris starts making popcorn.”
She slid off the stool and followed him to the door. “Thanks for walking me home.”
“Sure,” he said, bending to brush her cheek with his lips. He did it so casually and naturally that Aurora didn’t have time to react, not that she would have stepped away. “Good night.”
“Good night.”
She waited for him to leave, then twisted the dead bolt lock shut and turned out the lights in the main room. She walked through the silent, dark room and around the corner to the stairs to her apartment. Her predecessor, Mick, had redone the place just a few years before he sold it. There had been a woman, he’d said, and she was particular.
Aurora thanked that unknown woman every day for the skylights, the hardwood floors and the modern kitchen with its granite counters and stainless-steel appliances. Not that she cooked anything, but they were there in case she ever had the urge. And they were sparkling clean.
At the top of the stairs she turned to walk down the narrow hall that led to the front of the building and its tall, narrow windows that overlooked Main Street. The kitchen took up one side of the room, and the living area took up the rest. What would have been the dining room table was Aurora’s sewing space, and she liked spreading out her fabric and designing her quilts. At those times, she thanked Mick’s girlfriend again for providing the extra light. She kept her extra fabric and quilting supplies in large plastic totes lined up against the wall. Someday she’d have shelves built for them, but for now she was content.
The far wall, covered in bookcases, the television and all of her audio equipment, concealed her bedroom and bathroom, which were both large and luxurious. There was no old pine paneling up here, just walls painted creamy white and a multicolored Oriental rug Aurora had found in an antique shop in Great Falls.
She didn’t have a sofa, but instead used a chaise longue upholstered in ruby chenille and an oversize chair, which both faced the television, and a massive rectangular glass coffee table, something Mick had offered to leave for her when he moved South.
But Aurora rarely used the television. On the table sat a violin case, which housed the most important thing in her life. She loved to play the Pietro Guarneri, but rarely played anything more complicated than scales and simple runs. It was worth far more than the Dahl and the hot dog building. It was her most precious possession, not because she had loved it since she was twelve, but because it reminded her of what she’d had before her world ended.
Aurora bent over and reverently opened the case to look at the violin. She lifted it carefully, attached the shoulder rest and removed the bow from its holder. Then she tested the sound, adjusted the tuning and practiced her scales for a brief but satisfying hour. Her fingering was a bit stiff, she noted. And she needed to work on her third position. She’d grown lazy.
Tonight, she thought, running through her practice routine, had been a lovely evening.
And yet it was good to be home. Alone.
* * *
ROBBIE LIKED TO USE Google. Winter owned an iPad, an iPhone and a small notebook computer, but she’d discovered that the internet service in Willing had its good days and bad days.
She’d give Robbie something to do. He’d be at his grandmother’s all weekend and she kept him busy with chores during the day—his grandmother believed in chores—but she went to bed early and Robbie didn’t do anything but text and tweet stuff. He also loved to research. He was one of the smartest kids in her school because he was relentless, his grandmother said. She boasted of his “intellectual curiosity,” which Winter assumed meant that he was a snoop. He’d found pages and pages of information on Jake for her. She knew the names of his songs, the artists who sang them, the places he’d lived in and the names of his band members (former and present).
Her father loved spaghetti and detested golf. He collected guitars and wished he had a dog, not a cat. There were old rumors about him and Willie Nelson’s daughter.
Winter wanted to know more about Aurora. The woman was the coolest person she’d ever met. And Jake smiled at her. And listened to her when she talked. If there was a chance that Jake was going to make Aurora his girlfriend, then Winter wanted to know more about her than that she had really impressive taste in cowboy boots.
What would Lady Mary, of Downton, do in this case? She would write to her aunt in London and she would get all of the information on anyone invited into her grand home and estate.
Winter had faith in Robbie. She herself had looked Aurora up on Google and found nothing but a couple of articles about the Dahl, which had its own Facebook page, but she hadn’t had a lot of extra time to search. And after failing a few nights in a row, she’d given up.
She owns a bar called the Dahl, she emailed Robbie. She used to live in New York City. Last name Jones. I think she’s rich. She’s been to Rome. Who is she? Can you find out?
CHAPTER SEVEN
HARVEY DAWSON’S RETIREMENT party was not held at the Dahl Sunday night, despite many attempts by various men in town to talk Aurora into opening it for a private party. Her Closed sign remained on the bar’s door despite numerous complaints.
Aurora told everyone the same thing: until she got her building permit for an addition to the Dahl, the bar itself would remain closed, owing to renovations.
A group of loyal Chili Dawg customers met at the café Monday morning and bought Harve breakfast. Shelly reported to Aurora that there was definitely some hostility toward Aurora for ending people’s chili-dog-eating habit. Meg passed out flyers that showed the new plans. And Harve explained to one and all that he was happy to get out of the hot dog business and thought he might get himself some alpacas for his place outside town. It was either that or buy a couple of new pickup trucks, one for him and one for his son, Harvey Jr.
Mike, Hank and Gary stood their ground, with Mike writing an editorial in his newspaper about newcomers not respecting history and tradition. Gary decided it would be a good time to visit a daughter out of state, and Hank kept fixing cars.
Aurora started screening her calls and stopped checking email. She started playing Strauss on the violin, just for fun.
“It’s like a vacation,” she told Meg. She’d walked to the café Tuesday morning to give Meg more flyers. “I’m working on a huge new quilt, one with lots of strips and tiny triangles. In blue and yellow and white.”
“Coffee or tea?”
“Coffee, please,” she said, sitting on a stool at the far end of the counter. She looked down the row of stools at the old men, who looked back. “Good morning, gentlemen.”
They mumbled greetings but weren’t enthusiastic. Aurora hid a smile. She’d dressed in her most outrageous Western boots, along with skinny jeans and a T-shirt that advertised Moose Drool beer.
“Is the demolition still on for Friday?” Meg plopped a cup of coffee in front of her.
“Absolutely. I hope the weather’s good. I think we’ll have a crowd.” She set the stack of flyers on the counter. “I think the tourists are coming in already. Did you see the show was mentioned in People magazine?”
“I did. They called the town disheveled, dusty and quaint, and referred to the café as an eatery. You know, that really is a beautiful design.” Meg picked up the top piece of paper and studied it. “You’ve combined the two buildings so beautifully, and I love the patio on the side and in the back.”
“The new part will be brick, and set back from the sidewalk fifteen feet,” Aurora said. “I’ll put a couple of little tables out there, and flowers.”
“I love the windows,” Meg murmured. “Can I book the first party when it’s done?”
“Nope. The first party is a women-only open house. You and Lucia are going to cater it.” She smiled. “I hope.”
“Definitely.” Meg lowered her voice to a whisper. “I hope yo
u’re prepared. Jerry texted last night to say he’d be back tomorrow.”
“Sure he will,” Aurora said, taking a sip of coffee. “The show is going to start.”
“He’ll be in a panic,” Meg cautioned.
“Good. Maybe something will get done. I’m not going to back down. In fact, the quilters are coming on Saturday afternoon for a sew-in.”
“What’s that?”
“We’re making quilts for the Quilts of Valor Foundation, for wounded soldiers. We’ll sew all day. I have plenty of tables and we’ll set up a cutting station on the pool tables.” At Meg’s shock, Aurora added, “I’m covering them with plywood, don’t worry.”
“I still can’t picture you sewing,” Meg said.
“Really?” Her living room had stacks of fabric decorating every available surface now that she had time to sort and clean.
“You’re not the most domestic person I’ve ever met, Aurora.” Meg smiled. “Tell me about the pizza oven.”
“Mama Marie is going to make pizzas, which I’ll freeze. What else should I have for evenings?”
“I’ll work on it.” Meg leaned closer and lowered her voice. “I’m glad someone else will be doing food here in town, because I want to spend more time at the ranch. With Owen.”
“Marie is your answer,” Aurora said. “See if she’ll take over the supper business for you. Turn this place into an Italian restaurant at night.”
“Are you kidding?”
“Why not? She’s talked about opening her own restaurant, but she hasn’t done it yet.”
“You’re brilliant.” She smiled. “Not domestic, but brilliant.”
“I’ve had a lot of free time to think,” Aurora said. “Owing to my present political difficulties.”
George Oster leaned over. “Ms. Jones,” he said, “you’ve closed the only bar in town.”
“Yes,” she said, bracing herself for another round of complaints, “I realize that.”
The Husband Show Page 11