She caught the eye of the diner's bulky, grizzly-whiskered owner as he tended hamburgers on the grill. When she flicked a meaningful glance at Jeb and then at the jukebox, Willie acknowledged her silent request with a curt nod. He flipped four burgers and slapped cheese slices on top of each one, and then he stalked over to the jukebox.
The music stopped a moment later. That provoked a few groans and halfhearted protests, but the jukebox was free and everyone knew that while Willie could listen to country tunes all night long, he got cranky if the kids played too many rock songs.
Still ignoring the curious stares and raised camera phones, Jeb perused the laminated dessert menu and wondered aloud why Willie wasn't serving his homemade apple dumplings anymore. When two teenage girls sidled nervously toward him, pens and notebook paper in hand, Laney headed them off.
"I'm sorry," she said with a sympathetic smile, "but he doesn't give autographs."
So much for a relaxing supper with Jeb. She was about to suggest leaving when Willie reappeared and led the way to a back-corner booth he had just reclaimed.
"Don't know how you celebrities stand all this fuss," he grumbled as his broad forearm moved in quick strokes to wipe the table with a wadded cloth.
"Thanks for unplugging the jukebox," Jeb said.
"You bet. I don't like that noise, anyway. When you switch to country, let me know." Willie flung the cloth onto an empty tray carried by a passing server and pulled an order pad from the pocket of his stained apron. "What'll it be?"
"Cheeseburgers and rings," Laney said, amused as always by his brusque manner. "Why else would we come here?"
"Some people enjoy my sparkling personality," Willie returned without expression. He dipped his craggy head and wrote something on the pad, and then he pointed his stub of a pencil at Laney. "You still drinking diet pop?"
"Yes, thanks."
"And the rock star?"
"Just water," Jeb said.
Willie nodded and walked away. When he delivered their drinks a minute later, he muttered a gruff, "Good seeing you, Jackson" before returning to his grill.
Warmth curled through Laney as she watched him go. "I have always adored that man."
Jeb gave her a long, considering look. "I'll put him on our list of eligible bachelors, then."
"There's a list?" Laney was too startled by that possibility to react to Jeb's teasing about her supposed romantic interest in a man old enough to be her grandfather.
"There will be," Jeb confirmed. "We're going to be methodical about this."
Laney reached for her drink. "Don't even think about following me around with a checklist on a clipboard, Jeb. If I wanted to be humiliated, I'd just ask the Graces to find me a husband." She took a swallow from her glass and grimaced. "Yuck. Willie gave me sugary pop."
Jeb turned to signal a server.
"No, don't." After the day she'd had, Laney was overflowing with empathy for harried restaurant workers. "These poor people are swamped." Her gaze settled on Willie, who was back to tending his grill beneath a hand-lettered sign reading, If there's a line at the door, eat up and get out.
"Have my water, then." Jeb swapped drinks with her and gulped some cola. "So how many guys go to the church singles thing?"
Laney thought for a moment. "Fifteen, maybe? But Jeb, I'm not sure this is such a good—"
"How many of them do you know?"
"Most of them, I guess, although I rarely see them except at church. But listen, Jeb, I don't—"
"Fifteen single churchgoing men." Drumming his fingers on the table's edge, Jeb was too absorbed by his own thoughts to notice Laney's growing unease. "There should be at least two or three good candidates in a group that size."
"Yes, but I really—" Laney broke off as a pretty redheaded teenager set a plate in front of Jeb.
Apparently unable to peel her adoring gaze off of him for even a second, the girl absently shoved the other plate in Laney's direction. It glided across the table like a hockey puck on ice, and only Laney's quick reflexes prevented it from ending up in her lap.
Amusement flared in Jeb's eyes. "Nice save, princess."
Laney started to smirk at him, but she got distracted by the tantalizing aroma of sweet onions and savory beef curling up from her plate.
"Oh, this is exactly what I needed tonight!"
"I know." Jeb's smile was broad enough to activate the dimple in his left cheek.
Their young server seemed to lose her breath at the sight. "Can I get you anything else?" she squeaked.
"He'll want some mustard," Laney said. "Thank you."
The girl pirouetted away and returned seconds later to plunk down a yellow squeeze-bottle in front of Jeb.
"Anything else?" she breathed, still trying to absorb him with her eyes.
"No, we're good." Stone-faced, Jeb stared at the girl until she blushed and scampered off.
As Laney munched a crisp onion ring, Jeb lifted the top bun of her burger and removed the tomato, which she never wanted. He added it to his own sandwich and applied some mustard.
"We eat like married people," Laney observed.
Startled gray eyes flicked up to meet hers, but Jeb offered no comment.
"That reminds me," Laney said. "Remember Sarah Jane Swenson from high school? She was in the class between yours and mine."
Jeb appeared to think about that as he gathered up his burger and took a bite. Holding Laney's gaze, he took his time chewing and swallowing.
"Cheerleader," he said finally. "Curvy brunette. Drove a black Mustang convertible."
"Count on a man to remember those details," Laney said dryly. "She was also the smartest kid in school."
He nodded. "Sarah Jane the Brain. What did she grow up to be, a rocket scientist?"
"No, an attorney. She married Alex Peterson—remember him from school? She divorced him about a year later, and then she married and divorced another guy. And now she's thinking about getting married for the third time."
"How can somebody that smart be that dumb?"
"She does seem to have trouble with commitment," Laney conceded. "But she knows a lot about men, while I . . ." Laney abandoned that sentence when she realized Jeb's attention had wandered.
He stared into space, frowning, his head tilted to one side as though he was concentrating on some faraway sound. Guessing that a lyric or a snatch of melody was jelling in his mind, Laney wasn't surprised when he abruptly set down his cheeseburger and yanked a paper napkin out of the holder on the table.
"Laney," he said urgently. "Pen?"
She delved into her bag and produced a ballpoint, and then she waited quietly while he scribbled on the napkin.
After a minute, he glanced up. "Why'd you mention Sarah Jane?"
"She lives in the Cities," Laney said. "But her mom's still here in Owatonna, and a couple of weeks ago they came to the tearoom. I said Sarah Jane was looking radiant, and she said it was the excitement of getting to know her new man."
Jeb nodded as he added guitar chords over the words he'd written on the napkin. When Laney fell silent, he looked up again. "And?"
She bit into an onion ring, then held it out and stared at the broken circle. "Getting to know a new man isn't thrilling for me. It's stressful. I always worry that I'll do or say something wrong."
"Laney." Jeb laid the pen on the table. "If a guy doesn't love you the way you are, it's stupid to change for him."
"Well, of course," she said, annoyed that he thought she needed to be told that. "I just try to show my best side, that's all. Do you think it's easy, competing in a world overrun with beautiful, fascinating women like Sarah Jane?"
Jeb made an impatient noise in his throat. "You're beautiful and fascinating." The gruff words were accompanied by an irritated look that said she was being ridiculous.
As a compliment, his response left a lot to be desired. But Laney's heart was warmed by the reminder of her best friend's unswerving loyalty.
"And when you find the right person,
" Jeb went on, folding the napkin and tucking it into his shirt pocket, "it'll be exciting getting to know him. Trust me."
"Trust you?" What could Jeb know about falling in love? Laney sat up straighter, disturbed in a way she didn't comprehend. "Are you telling me that you—"
"No," he said, looking appalled.
Laney's amusement and relief at that swift, emphatic denial were quickly overtaken by regret. As much as she hated to think of him eating the tomato off some other woman's cheeseburger, Jeb deserved to fall in love like a normal person. But that would probably never happen.
What his parents had done to him was beyond tragic. If he had known any tenderness in his early childhood, the horror of his mother's suicide had wiped it from his memory. His drunken father and that coldhearted Mrs. Lee had done even more damage, forcing Jeb to bury his emotions so deep that even after years of patient digging, Laney had barely uncovered them. So it was highly unlikely that some nice woman was going to come along and persuade Jeb to risk loving her.
"All I'm saying," he continued, "is that it's a good thing you didn't marry one of those idiot boyfriends. If you want to be happy, Laney, hold out for a guy who can see what a treasure you are. That guy will be worth waiting for, so just try to be more patient."
He held her gaze for several seconds, as though assuring himself that his words had soaked into her brain. Then he addressed his supper with the gusto of a man who believed he'd just settled a problem with irrefutable logic.
What he failed to comprehend was that Laney's biological alarm clock was buzzing, and she couldn't keep hitting the snooze button forever. Not if she wanted to have five or six kids before she got too old to chase after that many.
Staring blankly at the mirrored wall next to their booth, she reached for another onion ring. Her questing fingers failed to find one, so she looked down—and saw Jeb sliding two of his own onion rings into the empty space on her plate.
"You're frowning," he said. "What are you worried about now?"
"Running out of time." Since she was filling up on onion rings, she divided her untouched cheeseburger with her knife and gave one of the halves to Jeb. "If I'm going to have a big family, I'll need to have my first baby before I'm thirty."
Jeb propped his elbows on the table and leaned in, squinting at the middle of her forehead.
"What are you looking at?" she asked.
"Just trying to read your sell-by date."
She rolled her eyes. "That is not remotely amusing, Jeb."
"Well, stop talking like you're a carton of yogurt about to go bad," he grumbled as he reached for the mustard.
Deciding she'd better change the subject, Laney pointed to the folded napkin peeking out from his shirt pocket. "Is the song any good?"
"Yeah," he said slowly, as if surprised by that. "Although it's totally unlike anything I've ever—" He stopped and shook his head. "Never mind. It needs to percolate." Applying mustard to the half-sandwich she'd given him, he asked, "Do you want your dill pickle?"
"Not as much as you do." Laney handed over the crisp green spear. "And now that you owe me a favor, how about taking me to Megan's after this so I can pick up Francine?"
He set the mustard bottle down hard enough to make the dishes rattle on the table. "I'll drive you," he said, scowling. "Just don't expect me to go to the door and exchange pleasantries with the veterinarian." He took a vicious bite of the pickle, and looked so disgruntled as he chewed that Laney had to fight a smile.
She didn't believe she was harboring any lingering resentment over her former boyfriend's betrayal—or Megan's, for that matter. But Jeb's continued indignation on her behalf was a soothing salve for her bruised pride.
They ate in silence for a couple of minutes, and then Jeb asked about the tearoom's furnace.
"I don't know what's wrong with it," Laney said on a long sigh. "But the thing's ancient, Jeb, and if it needs replacing . . ." She shut her eyes for a moment, gathering strength to continue. "Well, I just can't afford a new furnace, that's all. And the bank won't lend me another penny, so I might have to—"
No. She simply could not say those awful words.
"Sell the tearoom?" Jeb's voice was drowned out by a burst of raucous laughter from the kids at the next table, but Laney had no trouble reading his lips.
She gazed into his compassion-darkened eyes and nodded miserably. It would kill her to let go of her mother's dream, but she might not have a choice.
"I'll determine the dollar amount I can handle," she said dully. "If the estimate's under that, I'll have it fixed and just hope the dumb thing doesn't go out again this winter. Otherwise—" Her eyes were filling with tears, so she looked down at her plate and shook her head.
"Laney." Jeb's smoky voice had dropped to its lowest register. "I know you'd never accept an outright gift, so I'll make any kind of deal you want. A loan? A partnership?"
"Don't tempt me, Jeb." She tugged a paper napkin from the holder and blotted her tears. "I appreciate the offer, but it's crazy to throw money at a dying business."
"You know it would only be pocket change to me."
"That isn't the point." She unfolded the damp napkin and carefully tore an inch-wide strip off one long edge. "If I can't make a go of this on my own, then I've failed, and a cash infusion from you isn't going to change that fact."
"Just sleep on it," he urged. "Maybe—"
"No, Jeb. If the bank thinks I'm such a poor credit risk, I can't in good conscience take money from you." Tearing another neat strip off the napkin, she added, "I have to be practical. That's what Mom would have—" Her voice broke, so she gave up trying to squeeze words past the growing lump in her throat.
Jeb pushed his plate away and folded his arms on the table. "What can I do, then?"
Don't leave me, Laney's heart cried, but she forced a different set of words from her mouth. "There's nothing you can do, Jeb."
"What about the Graces?" he asked.
"They'll be disappointed. You know they see working at the tearoom as a social outlet more than anything else." Finding no relief in napkin shredding, Laney threw the whole mess onto the table. "Their house is paid for and they have their savings."
"They'll have more time for their charity work," Jeb pointed out.
"Yes. They'll be okay." If she kept reminding herself of that, the rest would be easier to handle.
"You'll be okay, too," Jeb said. "If you sell the building, you'll be able to pay off your debts and start college."
College. Laney had a knack for writing and had always wanted to take journalism classes. She'd love to be able to sell freelance articles. She could write about things like wedding traditions and etiquette, and maybe even do some light travel pieces about Minnesota tearooms and bed-and-breakfasts.
"No," she said on a sigh. "I can't leave here. Not now that Mom's gone." Even if she went no farther than the University of Minnesota, she'd be more than an hour away from the Graces—and at least twice that in snowy weather. What if something awful happened and she couldn't get home quickly enough?"
"Online courses," Jeb suggested. "You could—"
She stopped him with an upraised hand. "Not now, Jeb."
He smiled in tender amusement. "You always did insist on taking change in small doses."
"That's for sure. I'm a coward."
His dark eyebrows slammed together, forming a harsh vertical line between them. "You're no coward, Laney. And if your mom could see how hard you've worked, she'd be proud of you." His expression softened as he reached across the table to skim a clutch of curls away from her face. "Just like I am."
Startled by the intensity of his gaze, Laney stopped breathing. There was something different in Jeb's eyes. Something she'd never seen there before.
Something that made her heart begin to pound.
"How about dessert?" their young server cooed at Jeb. "We have four kinds of pie tonight. Apple, peach, lemon meringue, and pecan."
As Jeb ordered pie, Laney inhaled deeply a
nd willed her galloping pulse to slow down. Jeb couldn't possibly have looked at her the way a man looked at a woman he wanted desperately to kiss. In her emotional state, she had just imagined that.
But what she had not imagined, and what troubled her for the rest of the night, was the undeniable thrill that had coursed through her when his warm fingertips, calloused from years of guitar playing, had caressed her cheek.
Why had that simple touch scrambled her wits?
Chapter Eight
Arriving home from the tearoom at six o'clock on Saturday, Laney pulled into Jeb's driveway and spotted him in the open garage, a basketball tucked under one long arm as he bent to examine the contents of a row of shelves. She parked near the bottom of the driveway, allowing him plenty of access to the basketball hoop mounted below the apex of the garage roof.
He jogged over and opened her car door, his face drawn in an expression of concern. "How bad was the estimate?"
"It was just a burned-out thermostat," Laney said as she unbuckled her seatbelt. "I had enough in my checking account to cover it."
The vertical groove between Jeb's eyebrows deepened. "Then why don't you look happier?"
"Because the guy said he wouldn't trust my furnace to make it through another Minnesota winter."
Jeb turned the basketball between his large hands. "That's not good," he said quietly.
"No," Laney agreed.
He said nothing more; Jeb wasn't one to drop platitudes into uncomfortable silences. They both knew Laney had plenty to worry about, but her workweek was over, and she was desperate to forget her troubles for a while.
She got out of the car and shouldered her bag. "Were you looking for the air pump?"
"Yep." He bounced the ball between his feet.
"Bottom shelf of the workbench. Next to the bag of grass fertilizer."
Watching him walk away, Laney was conscious of a familiar regret that she knew the contents of his house and garage better than he did. It didn't bother Jeb one bit that his place was as full of treasures and as devoid of life as the undiscovered tomb of a forgotten pharaoh.
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