“Sometimes people want to fail without realizing it—for many surprising reasons. So sometimes I have to deal with that issue first before coming up with restructuring solutions.”
“Huh. That’s interesting. In a sad way, I mean. I’m not sure that sounds like my dad, but I’m glad he’s getting you, Zeke.”
“Of course. I also won’t be billing him, so no worries there.”
Her eyes widened. “Wait—what? He’s a client.” She knew what Zeke billed per hour. He didn’t come cheap. Two free hours of his time was a lot. But it wasn’t like her father had more money to spend on this business right now.
The dazzling smile was back. “He’s your dad. End of story.” He glanced at his watch and before she could say anything, he added, “I’d better get going. See you later.” And was out the door.
Molly had thought she was in love with Zeke Dawson before? This generosity to her, to her family, tipped her over into another realm entirely. So now she had epic love for a man in love with someone else? Her best friend, no less?
Even if Danica wasn’t a factor, there was the matter of Zeke not wanting to be a family man, to have kids. And Molly was a package deal. Love her, love her little girl, love all things family. Then again, as he’d said, the right woman could turn that around.
She glanced out the window just in time to see Zeke getting into his car parked a few doors down, almost in front of Bear Ridge Realty. There’d been two spots right in front of Dawson Solutions when she’d arrived; she’d taken one and recalled how she’d been surprised to find he was already in the office since he hadn’t parked two feet from the door. There was a spot available in front now, too. He’d obviously parked in front of Danica’s office to up the chances of “running into her” every time he went to his car. Realtors were constantly coming and going. So was the busy consultant.
Epic heartache was on the way, like a bullet train when she was positioned on the tracks way up ahead, knowing it was coming fast and unable to do anything about it.
* * *
The one thing that wasn’t wrong with Tim’s Tasty Tacos? The tacos. Delicious. Zeke sat on a little round stool by the large window where Tim Orton took and served orders—not that he’d taken or served any in the thirty minutes Zeke had been here. In that time, two people had approached the truck. One to ask Tim if he had swordfish tacos—no, he did not, sorry—and another to ask where the spin studio was. Two doors down.
It was prime lunchtime, too: 12:50. The truck should have a line of folks.
As Tim cleaned the already spotless stainless-steel counter, Zeke could see the family resemblance to Molly in the man’s worried face—and in the brown curls poking out from under his Wyoming Cowboys baseball cap. Tim was tall and wiry with an open, warm face and easy smile.
“The good news is that the tacos are delicious,” Zeke said, crumbling up his napkin and putting it in the cardboard tray his lunch had been served in. “The ground beef was seasoned perfectly, the lettuce crisp, the cheese fresh and the salsa just right. But here’s a basic rundown of what I’ve noticed could be impeding business.”
Tim, clearly eager to hear, sat on the stool across from Zeke. He pulled out a small notebook from his shirt pocket and a tiny pen. “Ready.”
“Number one,” Zeke said. “Location, location, location. I’m sure there’s a reason you chose to park in front of a playground full of snow that gets no visitors or foot traffic.”
Prairie City had a vibrant two-mile long shopping district with side streets full of interesting shops and townhomes. Yet the truck was parked at the tail end of the shopping area and across the road where there was a small park that no one visited in February. A food truck in winter could work because the orders were quick and to go. But surely Tim had to know location was everything.
“Well, the city council people gave me a few options for location,” Tim said. “I thought the park would still attract people since it cuts through a residential neighborhood on the other side. But yeah, I suppose I could park in one of the other two spots I was offered. One is in front of the library and the other is up at the start of Prairie Avenue by the big health club.”
“Near the health club is a juice bar and a big yoga studio. Unless you’re serving tofu tacos in kale wraps, I’d avoid that spot, too.”
Tim laughed and looked hopeful, that at least he hadn’t picked that option.
“Now, over by the library sounds like a solid location.” Zeke pulled out his phone and brought up the library on his map app, including nearby shops.
“But there are so many options for food there,” Tim countered. “That great fish-and-chips place. A bar and grill. That terrific little Italian bistro. The Chinese restaurant.”
“Yet no Mexican food,” Zeke said.
Tim tapped his pen against his chin. “Huh. Good point.”
“Aside from the places you mentioned, there’s a coffee bar, a bookstore and the movie theater right around there. Now, when folks come out of the latest Marvel movie, for which they spent a small fortune on tickets and popcorn and soda and Milk Duds, they might want to go less expensive for dinner. So they’re going to be excited about the taco truck. Which brings us to point number two.”
Tim had his pen ready again.
“Tacos are small-ish and get eaten in about six bites,” Zeke said. “Six bucks for a six-bite item, especially from a food truck where the quick to-go factor is a huge draw, is too high. Even five is too high. Four dollars—just right. Most people will order two tacos, hand you ten bucks and get change. People like change. And you want to come in less expensive than the fish-and-chips place, which offers a take-out menu where most things are ten bucks or more.”
“Oh, this is gold.” Tim was nodding slowly. “I think you’re onto something there.”
“And gathering spots like the coffee bar and bookstore will have foot traffic all day, your tacos providing the perfect lunch, dinner or snack at an affordable price.”
“I’ll move today,” Tim said, jotting down notes. “And will make a new menu board with my prices.”
Zeke nodded. He was glad that Tim didn’t seem to be in the “wanting to fail without realizing it” camp—that would make success all the more easier. “Which brings up point three. The menu board. You offer one kind of taco and one kind only.”
“That’s right. Ground beef tacos with cheese, lettuce and a great mild chunky salsa. The standard and most popular. Plus, by serving one kind, I can take the order, assemble the tacos in five seconds because there’s no thinking involved, and serve the customer. That lets me be an efficient one-man show.”
“I do like ground beef tacos,” Zeke said. “They remind me of childhood. And people do like to be reminded of childhood even when those weren’t the best of times. But my favorite? Shredded pork. My brother Ford isn’t much of a meat eater and always gets black bean dishes at Mexican restaurants—he’d want black bean tacos with chunky hot salsa. My sister loves chicken tacos with medium salsa. My nephew Danny? Fish tacos—believe it or not. Haddock, cod—with no salsa, no nothing actually. And I know all this because we went to Margarita’s Mexican last week for the Taco Tuesday special. Oh—and that guy who stopped by earlier? He wanted swordfish.”
Tim’s eyes widened. “Swordfish costs a fortune.”
“True. But haddock or cod doesn’t, and if he’d seen either of those are the menu, he might have ordered. I’m thinking you could offer five kinds of tacos. You’ll need a helper, especially because you’re going to get very busy. But even paying an employee you’ll still come out way ahead with all these changes. Make the menu board easier to read and more colorful, offer a daily special and all I’ve said so far is a solid start to attracting a huge customer base.”
Tim brightened. “I’ll ask my wife if she wants to come aboard. We can take turns with all the various jobs in the truck. We’d be equal partners. I th
ink we’d both enjoy that very much. Partners in business and life.”
Zeke liked Tim Orton. “Sounds great to me.”
“No one knows about that better than you and your family,” Tim said. “First your grandparents were partners in running the guest ranch, then your dad with his wife.”
You mean wives.
Zeke had a sudden memory jolt of his stepmother, Leah Dawson, Noah and Daisy’s mother, telling his father they needed to be partners on the ranch if they were going to get it back to its glory days. Bo had actually told Leah “not to worry her pretty little head about all that,” and she’d given him an earful about condescending to her and if he didn’t start listening he’d run the place into the ground. It was pretty much there, at that point, that Bo was drinking his workers’ paychecks and any profits.
Zeke and his brothers had learned how not to treat women by watching their father. Of course, commitment had never been any trouble for Bo Dawson; he’d committed easily and often, but the word hadn’t meant much. Zeke had learned early on that committing only to his work meant he’d never let anyone down. No one was waiting up for him. No dashed expectations or hopes. Family wouldn’t interfere with business. Business wouldn’t interfere with family.
“And now the next generation of Dawsons are running the place—isn’t that something?” Tim added, his voice wistful. “I’ll tell you, Zeke. One of the reasons I wanted to have this food truck wasn’t just to keep busy. I see this as an investment in Molly’s and that cute little Lucy’s future. All the proceeds will go straight into what I call their ‘future fund,’ whether that’s Molly having the down payment for a house of her own instead of a rental, or a college fund for Lucy.”
Zeke felt something shift in his chest, something hard. What he’d have given for his own father to have felt that way, to have considered his children and future grandchildren with how he handled himself and the ranch. Instead, Bo Dawson had trampled on everything he’d supposedly loved.
“Your dad would be so proud of you all,” Tim said, pride in his voice. “I didn’t know Bo well, but we were in school at the same time and he was everyone’s friend, got all the girls.” He smiled. “I know he had his troubles but he would be proud.”
Zeke managed a smile. “Maybe. I don’t know. He wasn’t exactly focused on the future. I don’t think he wanted anything for us.”
He hoped Molly knew how lucky she was to have a dad like Tim. He had a feeling she did.
“Oh, fathers always do,” Tim said, “even if they’re not going to win any parenting awards. I’m sure he cared deeply about you six even if in his own way.”
Zeke thought about the letters his father had left all his kids. Bo hadn’t had much to his name—the ramshackle ranch itself, his personal possessions, which amounted to broken furniture he hadn’t been able to sell to support his drinking and gambling, and some of his parents’ things in the attic, which Zeke and his siblings were relieved to see Bo hadn’t sold. Some things were keepsakes, even to Bo—like Noah and Daisy’s late mother’s wedding rings, which he could have sold but instead saved for Daisy and left them to her in the bequeathment letter. That had meant the world to his sister.
In the letter he’d left Zeke, Bo had said he had no idea how he’d gotten a business whiz for a kid but one of his brothers had sent him a local magazine with a big write-up about Zeke, mover and shaker in Cheyenne, and Bo would sure appreciate knowing that Zeke would use his “financial smarts” to get the ranch back in the black.
Of course, back then, two Christmases ago, none of the Dawsons had expected to rebuild the ranch. Once they’d all committed—though only Noah and Daisy had been willing back then to actually live at the ranch and take on the project—Zeke had handled the business and financials with Noah long-distance. Last summer, the ranch had reopened Memorial Day weekend for the first time in ten years and was an instant hit. Slowly, all the siblings came home and Zeke still operated as the unofficial chief financial officer, handling the big picture while Noah and his forewoman wife, Sara, took care of the day to day. Zeke felt good about helping out with the ranch; his father had asked from the grave, and Zeke had complied, and that gave him a certain measure of peace.
“And of course I’d love to get Molly’s opinion on the new menu, especially,” Tim said. “Molly loves tacos like crazy.”
He thought of the swordfish tacos she’d ordered on her first day at Dawson Solutions. “She’s fabulous, our Molly,” Zeke said.
The our Molly had come out of his mouth before he’d thought about it—and Zeke usually measured his words carefully. Then again, she certainly did feel like his Molly.
Tim beamed. “Oh, she sure is. She’s a real trouper. One of the strongest people I know. As dependable as the rising and setting sun.”
And lovely, too. Inside and out, Zeke thought as her face came to mind, her expressive brown eyes, the wild dark curls falling past her shoulders. He stood. “Why don’t you wrap up four tacos for the road? Two for Molly and two more for me. It’s almost a good thing you’re out here in Prairie City or I’d come by the truck a couple times a day and have to add a half hour to my daily workout.” He pulled out this wallet.
Tim held up a hand. “Are you kidding? On the house. And who knows? Maybe Tim’s Tasty Tacos will get so popular we’ll have another truck in Bear Ridge one day.”
Zeke smiled and put his wallet away. “Think big. I like it.”
Tim stood up and headed over to the taco station. “Nice of you to think of Molly, by the way. Tell her I put lots of salsa on hers. She loves the stuff.”
“I will, Tim. And feel free to call or email or text with any questions. I’m here for you as a sounding board with details and the big picture. Any time. And my services are also on the house. I insist.”
Surprise lit up Tim’s face and he extended his hand, giving it a hearty, appreciative shake. “You’re all right, Zeke Dawson.”
For a moment, it was as if his own father had said those words with that beaming expression, and they slid right inside Zeke’s cells. He hadn’t realized how much the fatherly approval would mean.
But these days, Zeke was constantly getting surprised.
Chapter Six
On Saturday morning, Molly woke up almost relieved that it wasn’t a workday. She’d made it through five days of working with Zeke, being a vital part of his business. Every morning she’d arrived at the office with a big piece of her “switched off” so that she could be professional and get her work done and not just stare like the dreamy-eyed high-schooler she used to be, making hearts with their initials on it. That got harder and harder the more she got to know him, particularly after her father had called her singing Zeke’s praises about how he’d singlehandedly saved all of their futures and wasn’t charging him a penny. In the days following his meeting with Zeke, her dad had texted her at least three times a day with how brilliant, generous and wonderful Zeke Dawson was.
It had taken a lot for Molly not to say, I know, right? with a giant sigh, and dish to her father about how in love with the man she was. She and her dad were close but she wasn’t ready to let anyone know how she felt about Zeke. She probably never would be.
That way, no one would even guess that she was practically jumping out of her skin with excitement about tomorrow—when she and Lucy would be visiting the Dawson Family Guest Ranch with Zeke as their personal tour guide. The forecast called for fifty degrees, which was springlike in Wyoming in February. A day at the ranch, visiting the petting zoo, having lunch in the cafeteria, a hike up Clover Mountain just the three of them—no business, all personal. Molly couldn’t wait. Every day, the notion that something could develop between them seemed a possibility.
And she was grateful to be busy today. A cousin was babysitting Lucy for a few hours this morning while Molly and her parents worked on the new menu for Tim’s Tasty Tacos. Her dad had spent the previous few da
ys solidifying his ideas, and now the three of them were in the Ortons’ kitchen, recipes on index cards handed down for generations scattered on the counter next to Molly’s iPad to keep track of what the truck would offer.
“I’ll tell you,” Tim said, looking at a recipe yellowed with age for jerk chicken, “if Zeke Dawson had handed me an invoice for half a million dollars for his services, I wouldn’t have blinked an eye. Not that I could pay it, just that everything he said the other day was worth that.”
A puff of pride lit up inside Molly. “He’s definitely good at what he does.”
“And I liked how he thought of you and asked for tacos to bring back to the office,” Tim added. “After that last horror of a boss, you deserve a prince like this, Molly-girl.”
“And so handsome,” Abby Orton said with a sly smile. “Any romance in the air?”
“Mom!” Molly said. “Of course not. That wouldn’t be professional.”
“Oh, please,” Abby said. “Who can stop love?”
Molly laughed. “Um, Mom, he’s my boss. And come on. He’s as handsome as you say. And very successful. And very nice. He can have his pick of single women and there are plenty of beauties in town.”
Like Danica.
“Right, including you,” Tim said. “You’re the most beautiful gal in Bear Ridge, if you ask me. Next to your mother, of course.”
Abby smiled. “Good save, Tim.”
Molly mock-rolled her eyes. “I’m no Danica. Come on. Better to be realistic than dream of something that’s never—”
Molly clamped her mouth shut. She hadn’t meant to say any of that. She stared at the recipe card, all too aware of her parents’ eyes on her. They were no fools.
“Danica is beautiful and so are you, Molly,” her mother said, giving her daughter’s chin a gentle tug.
Yeah, yeah, Molly thought, grateful that her parents were such sweethearts but rummaging through the recipe cards to feign concentration so they’d get back to the menu board. “So, Dad, I’m in complete agreement with your plan. The truck will offer five different tacos daily, enough to lure in all tastes, but not too complicated that they slow production. Ground beef tacos in your special seasoning, shredded pork marinated in that incredible chipotle sauce, black bean with a kick of spice, chunky chicken and pan-seared haddock. The big menu board will feature mouthwatering descriptions. You can change the ‘special’ every day and charge a dollar less per taco for that one.”
Wyoming Cinderella Page 8