“On second thought,” she held up her hand, “why don’t you come in for a cup of tea and you can tell Frank and your family there was no one hiding behind the shower curtain.”
Jamie’s eyes circled round as the full moon, the whites shining just as bright and Abbie had to laugh.
“Thank you, but if you don’t mind, I’ll just walk you to the door and take a rain check on the tea.”
“Not going to check behind the shower curtain?”
He hesitated a beat too long and she knew he was actually considering it.
“Come on in,” she laughed. “You can even check under the bed if you like.”
Hands in his pocket, he walked heavily beside her. “You a mind reader too?”
“No.” She stuck the key in the lock and ignored the little line forming between his brows at the number of deadbolts on her door. It had been a long time since she used them all, but knowing they were still there if she needed them helped her sleep more soundly.
Inside she flipped on the lights, tossed her keys on the nearby table, and spun around to face Jamie. “Last chance?”
Looking over her shoulder to the far end of her tiny house, he shook his head. “I think I can report back that all is well.”
“Suit yourself.” She stood slightly behind the open door.
For a half a second he paused as though reconsidering the checking under the bed thing, then moved forward. “See you tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow,” Abbie echoed.
Keeping his eye on the house, Jamie took a few steps backward along the walkway before turning toward his car.
The front door shut, she locked a single deadbolt. Maybe even back when she’d bought the place, three had been a bit excessive.
Anxious to get off her feet and crawl into bed, she resisted the urge to peek through the curtains and watch Jamie’s truck roll away. Instead she stood, hand hooked around her neck, rolling her head and stretching until the last sounds of the rumbling engine dissipated into the night.
Tomorrow, when she wasn’t brain dead after functioning all day on only the few hours of interrupted sleep she’d gotten, she’d have to come up with a Plan B. For a crazy minute she wondered if Aunt Eileen could cook as well as she could wait tables.
CHAPTER SIX
“This shouldn’t be so difficult.” Sean set the whipped cream from dessert into the refrigerator and turning to face his sister-in-law, kicked the door shut with his foot. "The stubborn man is taking three steps forward and two steps back. That foot is going to take forever to heal at this rate.”
"I swear that man makes an old mule seem reasonable.” Aunt Eileen closed the door to the dishwasher and pushed the button.
Sean tipped his head in the direction of the bedroom hallway. "Anybody taking bets on whether or not he's in there right now strapping on a boot, planning his escape?"
"What are we going to do?” Eileen leaned against the counter. “He has a point. Jamie can't cook at the café forever. Soon he’ll have his hands full working on the pub.”
"True enough, but it hasn’t even been a week. The ink on the bill of sale has barely had time to dry. There are a whole lot of new plans that have to be made before the first hammer gets picked up. That’ll give Frank some decent healing time—if he’ll cooperate."
Eileen knew Sean was right. Without the corporate backers and the family now making the decisions, there were already a few changes Jamie wanted to put back into the designs that Crocker had vetoed. Nothing major, but enough to require an architect to make adjustments delaying the start of demolition phase, and none of which was going to happen so soon that Frank had to push himself. “Okay, I know that, and you know that. Question is, how do we convince Frank?"
"I'd have better luck tying a bull’s testicles with one hand."
She bit back a laugh. Why did everything that sounded so funny always have to hold a glimmer of truth? She wished just this once that Sean wouldn’t have been spot on in his comparison, but dealing with an uncooperative pissed off bull would be a lot easier than dealing with Frank. As if proving her point, a crashing noise loud enough to be heard in the kitchen sounded too much like a raging bull trapped in a chute.
Tearing off down the hall, she arrived at the door in time to see Frank sprawled on the floor sans crutches. Stubborn didn’t even begin to describe this thickheaded cook.
“Don’t just stand there,” Frank barked. “Crutches are next to the bed.”
Sean shimmied around her and crossed the large bedroom in a few long strides. Holding the requested crutches in one hand, he outstretched the other to help Frank off the floor. “I know you’re used to giving orders, but in this house it’s customary to find a spot for the word please.”
“Sorry ’bout that. Please and thank you.” Balancing on one foot, he placed a crutch under each arm and swung himself the few steps to the bed then landed heavily on the mattress. “Don’t know how those boys do it.”
Eileen didn’t understand — which boys doing what? Frank’s expression was subdued, somber. He looked beaten.
“I forgot,” Frank muttered, leaning the aluminum aids carefully against the wall. “Woke up out of a sound sleep needing to take a leak. Got up, took one lousy step on the good foot, then one with the other and landed hard on the floor like a felled tree.”
Sean nodded and Eileen scrambled around to reposition an extra pillow under Frank’s leg, wondering what she was missing.
“A few weeks and my life will be back to normal.”
“If you follow Brooks’ orders,” Sean cut in.
Frank nodded and blew out a sigh, sinking more comfortably into the bed pillows. “I knew,” he tapped his temple, “but I didn’t understand.” The same hand dropped to tap his chest.
There was no doubt in Eileen’s mind that the pain in Frank’s eyes had nothing to do with his injured foot.
“Too many of our boys are sent home with a new normal.” Breathing out another sigh, Frank looked from Sean to Eileen. “In our minds we believe we understand what too many of them have gone through. Then standing up to find your leg won’t hold you, well, this,” he tapped his injured leg, “is true understanding. And let me tell you, it sucks. For those few minutes I might as well not have had a leg. I have no right to complain. From now on we’ll do this the doc’s way. Higher than my heart and no walking off into the sunset.”
Sean didn’t say a word for a long moment, merely dipped his chin in assent before glancing across the room and back. “Want some help to the bathroom?”
Frowning, Frank stared blankly at him. A moment later his expression more relaxed, he shook his head. “No. Guess I don’t have to go after all.”
“Very well. Think I’m going to call it an early night.” Sean brushed passed his sister-in-law, giving her arm a gentle pat on his way out the door.
Tempted to fluff the pillows again, Eileen had spent enough years around men to know the gesture wouldn’t be appreciated and retreated a step instead. Her mind wandered to a short time ago when Ethan had come home after the surgeries to save his leg. She hated that it was the thought of all the servicemen who’d lost limbs that subdued Frank into taking care of himself, but she hated even more that anyone had ever lost a limb at all. “If you need anything—”
“I know.” Frank waved a hand at the bell on the nightstand. “Just ring.”
“Rest well.” At least now she wouldn’t have to worry about Frank making things worse. Closing the bedroom door behind her, the sound of Sean in the kitchen surprised her. Standing by the sink, staring out the window, he’d set two mugs on the table and didn’t flinch when the kettle began whistling.
Without saying a word, she turned off the gas, and kettle in hand, poured steaming water into the empty mugs.
Not till she set the kettle atop the stove again did Sean seem to notice she’d returned to the kitchen. “I meant to do that.”
“I know.” Eileen smiled up at the man she’d spent well over twenty years learning t
o read with the ease of the written page. “Want to tell me what’s rolling around between your ears?”
Sean chuckled. That was the same thing she’d heard her sister ask him or the kids a thousand years ago. Tugging on his ear, he smiled at her. “Don’t suppose I’ll get away with immortality of the crab?”
“Nope.” She poured sugar and milk into the tea and happily grinned at the use of her sister’s other pat response. “Not this time.”
Lumbering slowly to the seat in front of the hot tea, Sean took his place at the table. “We’ve been blessed.”
Eileen nodded.
“We got all our boys back.” He wrapped his hands around the warm mug.
She nodded again. “We did.” Except for Brooks and Adam with years of post-graduate education under their belts, and Finn who was practically married to the ranch before he’d even hit puberty, all the Farraday men had spent at least some time serving their country. Of those who’d been deployed overseas, it was only Ethan they’d come close to losing. That they knew of.
“It’s like Frank said. We know here,” he tapped his temple with one finger as Frank had done, “but we can’t possibly truly understand what it’s like to lose a part of us until it’s actually gone.”
Thinking of Helen and how badly Sean had hurt for so long, she held in a sorrowful sigh. Not appreciating what you have until it’s gone was a sad, honest truth. An image of the letter tucked deep in her dresser drawer reminded her some lessons could only be learned the hard way.
****
After almost a week on the job as the café cook, Jamie had developed a healthier respect for restaurant staff. Unlike his cousins who had served time in the military, Jamie didn't fully appreciate the stamina of a former Marine until doing Frank's job all these days. It wasn't so much the job that was the challenge as much as doing it for 16 hours a day, all on his feet. From what Jamie could tell neither Abbie nor Frank took a lunch or dinner break.
Abbie pushed through the kitchen doors and standing in the threshold waived her thumb over her shoulder. "Adam and DJ just walked in looking rather dower. Chase is on his way too. As soon as you finish that last order, they’ve asked you to join them."
He didn't like the sound of that one bit. What would have his cousins and Grace’s husband meeting grim-faced at the café? "Did they say something about Uncle Sean or Aunt Eileen?"
"No." Shaking her head, Abbie took another step inside, letting the doors slam shut behind her. "Something about the city council, which tells me it may have something to do—”
"With the pub," he finished for her.
Over the last few days, bit by bit, he'd been convincing Abbie that having two establishments in town could succeed. From the concerned look on her face over the future of his new venture, he hoped that meant he’d won her over to his way of thinking. The idea of losing the fragile foundation of his rather unconventional friendship with Abbie, and having it replaced with the cautious treatment of a rival, didn’t sit well with him—at all.
She waited in front of the pass shelf for the two meals, and grabbing one in each hand, tipped her head toward the door. "Go on, hurry up."
Except for the young couple a few booths away from his cousins, and two tables of locals gabbing over coffee at the other end of the café, the place was pretty much empty in anticipation of closing time. Rather than slide into the booth, Jamie grabbed a seat and flipping it around, slid it over to the end of the table, straddling it so he could get up quickly if needed. "Tell me which one of you buffoon’s wives locked you out of the house this morning?"
Like matching bookends, Adam and DJ's eyebrows shot up high on their foreheads.
"Don't look at me that way. The only possible reason for such sour expressions is if your wives have kicked you out of bed."
Adam rolled his eyes and DJ leaned back blowing out a sigh.
“Another teen got his hands on some backwoods hooch and wound up in one of your offices?” Jamie teased.
“Lord no.” Adam shook his head. “Don’t wish that on anyone.”
“It’s not about our wives or a bad still,” DJ said quietly.
He didn't like the shiver running up his back. He’d been joking about the wives and the moonshine but maybe he’d been wrong and this wasn’t about the pub. "Something with the family?"
"Not the way you mean." DJ spotted Grace’s husband coming through the door and waved him toward the table. As soon as the in-law had settled into the booth, DJ leaned forward. "Why don't you fill Jamie and Adam in from the start with what you told me, then tell us all what more you have to report after the emergency council meeting."
“Emergency?” Adam muttered. “Has the city council ever done that before?”
DJ shook his head. “Not that I know of, which is why as soon as I heard it was going to be closed to the public, I knew we’d want to get some facts sooner than later.”
Chase nodded. "There are some perks to being married to the town’s legal counsel. She and the mayor are in a meeting still, but here’s what I’ve got so far. According to my wife, the only smart thing in the original contract between Crocker industries and old man Thompson was the no-fault kill clause. That allowed Jake to back out of the agreement at any time for any reason prior to the execution of final contract so long as he returned all earnest money received with the letter of intent."
"No one ever said old man Thomas was a fool." Adam looked to his brother-in-law. "Can we skip ahead a little bit and get to what’s going on now?"
Chase took a sip from the glass of water sitting at the table in front of him. "The point is that no matter how much Crocker grumbled about losing the building there was nothing legally they could do to come after Jamie or Thompson on that deal. Their hands were tied. Grace made sure everybody's backs were covered before we got involved insuring Crocker’s annoyance would not be our problem.”
“They were seriously not happy with me.” Jamie smiled at the memory of Jeff Nimbus hollering on the phone. All is fair in love and war—and business. If Crocker could pull the rug out from under him they shouldn’t have been so surprised that he’d be willing to do the same to them.
“What no one accounted for,” Chase continued, “was Crocker not giving up on the idea of Hemingway’s here in town.”
“You’re kidding me?” Jamie sputtered. “Where do they think they can put a restaurant of that size? The few available store fronts aren’t large enough for an ice cream parlor, never mind a full-service restaurant.”
“No,” Chase shook his head. “Nothing available is an option.”
A miserable thought crossed Jamie’s mind. “Oh, don’t tell me they’re gunning for your place?”
Chase shook his head again. “They’ve requested a building permit.”
“What?” several voices called out.
“You heard me. That’s what the emergency meeting was all about. They apparently are offering some very lucrative incentives for fast action. They want to build at the end of town on land owned by Tuckers Bluff.”
“Isn’t that an interesting turn.” Adam leaned back. “Jumping from one eating establishment to three.”
“We can’t support three,” Jamie interjected. He’d done plenty of studies. Two restaurants were viable, three would do just enough damage to possibly put all of them under.
“Some of the council feels the same way.”
“Good,” Adam waved his hands. “Building permit denied. Why are we here?”
“Because,” Chase set his elbows on the table and leaned in, “some folks on the council only see dollar signs and others are on the fence because of the opportunity for more construction jobs.”
“Temporary jobs,” Jamie corrected. “O’Fearadaigh’s would be doing the same with the renovations.”
“That was Grace’s argument, but it only got her so far. Remodeling and building from scratch are two different time tables.”
Jamie didn’t like the sound of that. “Spit it out.”
&nb
sp; “There was only one thing the council agreed on unanimously.”
Everyone’s backbone stiffened in anticipation.
“Within the town limits, only one liquor license will be issued.”
“To who?” Adam asked.
“And that,” Chase flattened his palms on the table, “is what they are meeting about now.”
****
There wasn’t a single thing about the look on the Farraday men seated with Jamie that could put Abbie at ease. Brewing a fresh pot of coffee and getting a head start on filling the salt and pepper shakers were keeping her hands busy but not her mind. She really wanted to go eavesdrop, but if this was about the pub, then she had no business hovering. About to switch to filling the ketchup bottles, the overhead bell alerted her to new customers, a welcome distraction even this close to closing time.
Recognizing the two, she already knew what the orders would be. Same as always when teenagers came in. Two cheeseburgers hold the onions and a couple of colas. Caesar salad and diet drinks if they were girls.
Pushing the booth of Farradays out of her mind, Abbie smiled at the happy kids. "You boys are looking awfully chipper today."
The sandy haired teen she knew as the youngest of one of the larger ranching families beamed up at her. "Ordered a new hunting knife from Sisters. Just picked it up in time for our camping trip this weekend."
This wouldn't be the first or last kid to come through the cafe effervescing with delight over his new wilderness toy. In all the years she's lived in West Texas, Abbie still didn't understand the frontier fondness for knives and guns, but at least she wasn't afraid of them anymore. Truth was, if it came down to being trapped and helpless or having an armed Farraday or Brady, whether man or woman, young or old, she'd opt to have a ninety year old West Texas granny with a rifle any day.
Halfway to the kitchen, she spotted Jamie pushing to his feet and waved him back. With only these two kids and the few folks doing more chatting than eating at the other table, she had plenty of time to grill a couple of burgers.
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