FROM THE OUTSIDE, THE Twisted Jalapeño didn’t look like much. There was a simple hand-painted sign, nothing that would light up at night and draw diners from the dark road, and the parking lot was scarred with potholes. Lorelei was undeterred, though. There was a small dive in Philadelphia, nestled among bigger buildings, where she could have happily eaten her own body weight in their cornflake-crusted macaroni and cheese.
Sam opened the door to the restaurant for her, and a hostess with black curly hair brightened at the sight of them. “Back so soon, señor Travis?”
“Working here all day made me crave the food. Rosie, this is Lorelei. Tonight’s her first time at the Jalapeño.”
“Nice to meet you,” Rosie said with a welcoming smile. “If you’ll follow me?” She led them to a minibooth for two. “Your waitress will be out shortly, but I can go ahead and put in a drink order. We have an excellent beer list and daily margarita specials, including our signature chili lime ’rita.”
“I’ll stick with water and lemon,” Lorelei said quickly. She had no intention of imbibing any more alcohol today. Her face warmed as she recalled telling Sam he didn’t need a suit to look good. Probably doesn’t need any clothes to look good. The heat blossoming in her cheeks flared even higher and she opened a menu, keeping her gaze lowered. Sam asked for a glass of iced tea and the hostess promised someone would be by momentarily with a basket of chips and the house salsa verde.
The food selections weren’t limited to the tacos, nachos and fajitas Lorelei expected. Among the more commonplace favorites she could have found at a dozen other Tex-Mex places were dishes with an unexpected twist to them. Hence the restaurant name, she realized as she scanned the list of entrées. Pork with cucumber-wasabi salsa, curried lamb burritos and spice encrusted chicken with Texas red grapefruits.
Lorelei’s curiosity was piqued. “You like fusion food?”
“I have no idea what you just said,” Sam said, still studying his menu. “But I like good food, and Grace’s recipes are very good.”
“She’s the one in that contest Ava mentioned?” Lorelei was pretty sure the local chef entered was Grace something.
Sam nodded. “Her grandparents started this place, then her dad ran it for a while, but now it falls on Grace and her two brothers. I’m not sure either of them has been much help lately. One is getting divorced and the other is a police officer. He was injured on the job and is still recovering. In my opinion, this place should be packed every night. Grace has been busting her butt trying to reinvent it.”
She couldn’t help noticing that he sounded admiring of Grace’s work ethic, instead of snarling the way he did whenever Lorelei’s career was mentioned. “Well, if the food is as good as you say, I’ll definitely be back a few times before I leave town.”
A blonde waitress brought them their drinks and took their dinner order. Sam chose the fish tacos and Lorelei went with the chipotle-coffee buffalo steak fajitas.
“You hungry enough for an appetizer?” he asked her.
Lorelei nodded eagerly. All she’d eaten today was breakfast in her car, followed by a small selection of cheeses and some palate-cleansing crackers.
“We’ll start with the pot of pork and peppers,” he told the waitress.
She beamed at him. “Excellent choice! Personally, that’s my favorite thing on the menu.”
After the young woman had gone, he explained to Lorelei, “They slow-cook pork with jalapeños and serranos until it’s practically mush. Uh, it tastes better than I’m making it sound.”
Luckily, that turned out to be true. The spicy pork was incredibly tender and simply fell apart if she tried to stick a fork into it. Instead, she used her spoon to ladle some onto a warm flour tortilla, then nearly moaned at the taste. “Wow.” She almost regretted that she had fajitas on the way. “I could happily eat a double order of this and call it a night.”
Sam grinned. “I do like a woman with a healthy appetite.”
As they ate, he pointed out some of the things he’d accomplished in the restaurant that day. Discussion naturally turned to her day and they chatted about the afternoon she’d spent with Ava.
“I always think about Ava being friends with Mom,” Lorelei said, rolling up another tortilla. “I sometimes forget she and her husband knew my dad really well, too. It was nice to hear anecdotes about him when he was alive and still healthy. I don’t know which is worse—losing someone suddenly or having plenty of time to fear the worst and dread it happening.”
Of course, her parents had never wanted to talk to her about that possibility. They’d steadfastly insisted everything would be okay as they continued reading books on alternative treatments and miraculous cancer-fighting diets and consulting new age “healers” who were little better than charlatans in Lorelei’s mind.
She glanced at Sam. “Did you have any warning that your dad was going to die?”
He gave a harsh chuckle. “My dad was an intimidating man who seemed larger than life, especially to a kid. Maybe he’d been warned by a cardiologist, told to watch his blood pressure or take a damn vacation for once, but none of that trickled down to me. Even if I’d known, I would have assumed he was mean enough to win a fight with the Reaper. He had a coronary at his office and was dead by the time the ambulance got him to the hospital.”
“I’m sorry.” And not just for Sam’s boyhood loss, but for bringing up such a melancholy subject over great food. “I’m a lousy dinner conversationalist, huh? I guess listening to Ava talk about old times got my mind wandering down this path.”
Sam seemed to understand her need to revisit the past. “Wanda told me your dad had cancer?”
“The diagnosis was grim from the beginning.” They’d never admitted that to her face, but she’d strained to hear the whispers on the other side of closed doors. “My father refused the radiation and chemo, which he called poison. He’d read just enough ‘spontaneous recovery’ stories to believe something like that could happen to him. Mom kept chirping about the power of positive thinking, like all we had to do was want him to get better enough and he would. You’ve seen the Peanuts Halloween special where Linus waits in vain all night for the magical pumpkin to come, then vows to try harder the next year? I felt like that, like I just hadn’t hoped sincerely enough. Dumb, isn’t it?” Her mouth twisted in a bitter, self-deprecating smile, inviting him to laugh along at her childish folly.
But Sam’s expression was somber. “Lorelei—”
“Here you go!” The waitress’s voice seemed too loud and too perky. But the food she carried smelled wonderful, reigniting Lorelei’s flagging appetite. After the woman had admonished them to be careful of the hot plates and gone on to her next table, Sam tried again to voice whatever he’d been about to say.
But Lorelei cut him off with an emphatic shake of her head. “You know what? This all looks fantastic, and I think we should dig in.”
He watched her for a moment, and she thought he might speak his mind anyway. Lord knew he wasn’t shy about doing so. But then he asked, “You want to try a bite of my tacos?”
“Yes. Thank you.” Both entrées were delicious and she strove to enjoy them, putting aside her bleak reminiscing.
“So I’ve traveled all over the state,” Sam began, “and know a lot about regional cuisine here in Texas. But I’ve never been up north. What’s good in Philadelphia?”
She was grateful for the chance to talk about her adopted home, the place where she’d shucked her past and became the person she was meant to be. “I guess a cheese-steak sandwich is the most obvious. A lot of lifelong residents love turtle soup, but I haven’t been able to acquire the taste.” She told him about her favorite Stromboli vendor near her office and how much she loved holding a warm soft pretzel on a cold day. “And there are many cold days.” The mornings when she had to shovel snow were th
e times she felt most nostalgic for Texas.
“They sell giant pretzels at the festival,” he reminded her. “I’ll have to get you one.”
She flashed him a wry smile. “You’re giving me the inn in exchange for staying. I don’t need the added incentive of a pretzel.”
“Y’all doing okay over here?” The bouncy waitress had returned. She refreshed their drinks, smiling extra brightly at Sam before departing again.
Lorelei laughed. “I think our server has the hots for you.”
He blinked, looking startled by the observation. “What? Why would you say that?”
“For starters?” She dragged a napkin around her glass. “There’s this puddle of water because she couldn’t take her eyes off you long enough to pour.” Lorelei watched him fidget in his chair. Don’t tell me the big, strong cowboy is embarrassed! “Oh, come on, Travis. You can’t be that oblivious. Women probably ogle you all the time. You’re…”
He raised his head sharply. “Yes?”
She shrugged. “You know…you.”
A slow, purely masculine grin lit his face, making his expression one of the sexiest she’d ever seen. “Uh-huh. Well, that certainly settled the matter.”
She fought the urge to throw her soggy napkin at him. “Stop fishing for compliments. It’s unbecoming.”
“Not fishing,” he protested. “I’ve already hit my quota of compliments for the day. What with your remark about how good I look even without a suit—”
She groaned. “It’s not very gentlemanly to bring that up.” Mellowed by the fading remains of her wine buzz, she had been far too open with her thoughts. If Sam hadn’t left so soon to take a shower and change, would she have wound up confessing how often she’d thought about him kissing her? “I was hoping you’d forgotten.”
“Forget an admission from you? You are many things, darlin’, but forgettable is not one of them.”
She was afraid to ask what the “many things” entailed. There was a good chance they wouldn’t all be flattering. Conversely, anything too flattering could boost the simmering awareness between them. She was relieved they’d gone out for dinner tonight, somewhere safely public. The rest of her stay should be easier to manage with the festival to keep them busy.
“So, friendly waitresses aside, you have any ongoing romantic relationships?” Surely if there were someone serious in his life, he—or Ava—would have mentioned it by now. Lorelei certainly hadn’t crossed paths with any women coming from the direction of Sam’s bedroom.
“Not really. I travel a lot, keep an erratic schedule. I have lady friends in different towns who I’ll maybe call for dinner if I’m coming through.”
Dinner followed by breakfast? When he wanted to be, Sam was charming. It wouldn’t be difficult for him to rack up a “lady friend” for every zip code he visited. Then again, he didn’t really give off the vibe of a player. He was unabashedly plainspoken, not the type to string women along with slick phrases or insincere promises.
“I’m not looking for anything lasting right now.” He made a face and added a muttered, “Although some women can’t seem to get that through their heads.”
He seemed too irritated for it to be a general comment. “You have a specific stalker?”
“As a matter of fact. But it seems impolite to tell you who.” He affected a look of comical fear. “Besides, I’m pretty sure if we accidentally say her name three times, she materializes.”
Lorelei laughed. “Well, we wouldn’t want that.”
“Sam!” A tiny, dark-haired bundle of energy in a bright red chef’s jacket hurried to their table—obviously not an unwanted stalker, since he looked delighted to see her.
“Grace, dinner was wonderful, as usual. And you’ve made a new convert tonight.” He swept a hand in Lorelei’s direction. “Grace Torres, meet Lorelei Keller.”
The chef’s pretty features puckered in a frown. “Wanda Keller’s daughter? I’m so very sorry for your loss. She was a lovely woman. She often visited my aunt in the nursing home and listened to her spin tales, like the time Tía Maria swears she encountered La Llorona.”
At Lorelei’s blank look, Sam explained, “The weeping woman, a figure in Hispanic folklore.”
Grace nodded. “Mi tía looked forward to those afternoons. Your mother will be greatly missed. Dinner is on the house for you two!”
After what Sam had told her about the restaurant’s struggles, Lorelei was touched by the offer but loath to accept. “Oh, let us pay! Please.”
“Out of the question. Your money is no good here.” Grace winked. “At least, not tonight. But you’ll come again soon, yes?”
“Definitely,” Lorelei agreed. “I was already planning to return while I’m in town.”
“Will you be here long?”
“Only through the festival. But I may have to come back once or twice before the inn’s final sale.”
“You’re not keeping it?” Grace asked, sounding surprised. “Taking over the family business?”
Lorelei recalled what Sam had said about this restaurant, how it had been passed down through three generations. “Mom didn’t buy the inn until after I’d moved away for college. I don’t really see it as the family business.”
“Understandable,” Grace said after a moment. “Well, good luck finding new owners. You two enjoy the rest of your meal.”
At the back of her mind, Lorelei kept thinking about potential future owners. What kind of people might her mother want in charge of the inn—another empty-nester like Wanda herself, supernatural enthusiasts like the two who had barged in earlier this week? It wasn’t until after they’d left the restaurant that Lorelei asked Sam, “When Mom left you the inn, do you think she really believed you’d keep it?”
Sam was quiet, and it was too dark in the cab of the truck to read his expression. “Hard to say what your mom thought. She…had her own way of viewing the world.”
“That’s the diplomatic way of putting it,” Lorelei mumbled. Her peers in school had been less tactful about their opinions of her “kooky mom.”
“I didn’t mean it as an insult,” Sam clarified. “My father and mother and stepfather all bought in to the same skewed keeping-up-with-the-Joneses values that thousands of other people share. I always liked that she was unique.” A beat later, he added, “Of course, I didn’t grow up with her.”
It seemed like a big concession, his finally admitting that there might be more than just Wanda’s side of the story, and the sympathetic note in his tone warmed her to the core. She stole a glance at his profile, thrown into relief by a streetlight, and repressed a sigh. In the week she’d known Sam, he’d demonstrated loyalty, humor and dependability—and he had the face of a rugged angel. Add in an ability to admit when he was wrong and it suddenly seemed a shame that he didn’t want a girlfriend in his footloose life. Some woman might have been lucky to have him.
AS THEY REACHED THE back door of the inn, they simultaneously went to unlock it.
Lorelei drew up short to avoid a collision, and Sam stepped out of her way, moving to the side of the tiny concrete slab that didn’t quite rate back-porch status. “You go ahead,” he said. “It was just habit.” In addition to each of their sets of keys, Ava had one, too.
She unlocked the door and preceded him into the kitchen, suddenly feeling awkward. If this had been a date, this would be the part of the evening where they kissed good-night. Assuming we stopped with a kiss.
Sam leaned against the counter, glancing at his watch. “It’s still pretty early. Would I bother you if I watch television for a while?”
The individual rooms didn’t have TVs, but there was a big screen in the living room. Lorelei knew her mother had often used the DVD player to do movie nights for the guests—not just films that suited the supernatural theme of
the inn, but also holiday classics during appropriate seasons and romantic favorites when she had a houseful of couples.
“You’re welcome to join me,” he added belatedly. His tone seemed skeptical, though, as if he were trying to imagine what might appeal to both of them equally.
“You go ahead,” she told him. “I plan to fire up my computer and work on the trend study.” That was how she would have spent her afternoon if she hadn’t come back lethargic from the wine. “’Night, Sam. Thanks for dinner.”
Straightening suddenly, he stalled her with a hand on her arm. “Lorelei, wait.”
His unexpected touch was warm through the insubstantial material of her blouse. Her mouth felt dry, and she licked her lips. “Yes?”
His hand slid off of her, and he shoved it through his tawny hair as he gathered his thoughts. “About your work.” He flashed a teasing grin. “About my scowl?”
She grinned back at him, helpless not to in the face of those dimples. “What about it?”
“I said at the memorial service that most of my recollections of my father are hazy. But not all of them.” He stopped, as if sharing this kind of thing didn’t come naturally to him, then huffed out a breath. “You told me a bit about your dad over dinner. I should be able to return the favor. Especially since it indirectly affected you.”
She raised her eyebrows, curious to hear what he had to say but sensing he might withdraw if she pushed.
“There’s one very clear memory. I’d confronted him about breaking promises. He hadn’t come to a baseball game, missed my hitting a home run or something. Seemed important at the time.”
Looking at the powerful, broad-shouldered man in front of her, Lorelei couldn’t quite picture him as a little boy. But even with the gruffness of his tone, she could hear an echo of that boy’s crestfallen disappointment.
He shook his head. “I don’t really remember the game. But I recall vividly the contempt on his face. He told me to man up, quit whining. Said I needed to understand his job was more important than a bunch of kids stumbling through nine innings and that when I got older, when I had a family to support, I’d be just like him.”
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