Already engrossed in the challenging lock, Abbie missed his near fumble. “This one seems to be stuck."
"Let me try." He reached around her and pushing at the ornate clasps, shoved them apart. "Dang it." Yanking his hand away, he quickly shoved his thumb into his mouth.
Frowning, she glanced in his direction. "You cut yourself?"
Nodding, he eased his thumb away from his mouth, swiped at the red droplets and pinched his thumb.
On her knees reaching for his hand, she hesitated midway between them and then shifted back onto her haunches. "We should have Brooks take a look at that."
"It's just a prick." Jamie lifted his gaze from his thumb to Abbie, surprised to see the hint of panic in her eyes. Nothing like the other night, but nothing he was used to seeing. "Hey, it's no worse than a paper cut."
"Yes.” Abbie nodded, slow to shift her gaze away from his thumb and back to the trunk. “But still."
"Look at me." He waited a long beat for her gaze to meet his. Studying her blank expression, he considered the woman he’d worked with all week and the one he’d encountered a few nights ago. Something was very wrong. “Want to tell me what this is all about?"
She blinked a few times. "The latches are old and rusty. You might need a tetanus shot."
"Had one.” He brushed the back of his knuckle along her cool cheek and softened his tone. “Want to tell me what's really going through your mind?"
CHAPTER EIGHT
Willing her mouth to find the words, Abbie squeezed her eyes shut and blew out a deep sigh. For the second time tonight, and the first in forever, she wanted to talk about that night. "It's a long story."
"I'm not going anywhere." Jamie remained calm and still beside her.
"What about Sunday supper?" She knew she was stalling. A part of her wanted to hop up and scurry away, but another bigger, deeper part very much wanted to tell Jamie how jumpy she’d been since that ridiculous knife had sliced through the ketchup covered piece of meat. More than anything she was angry with herself for letting something so ridiculous set her back so unexpectedly.
"Guess I'm not very hungry." His voice dropped, soothing her like a sip of aged whiskey. “Tell me.”
"Don't know where to start." She sucked in another deep breath.
Jamie smiled at her. "What’s your favorite color?"
"Purple." She forced a smile back at him. "Yours?"
"What kind of an Irishman what I be if my favorite color weren't Kelly green?"
Her smile came more easily this time. Her own fingers pressing into her palms uncurled. "Is it?"
Jamie nodded. "Though sky-blue comes in a close second."
"I like blue too."
"Favorite food?"
"Easy.” Her shoulders relaxed. “Lobster. Less than a pound. With lots and lots of butter."
"Ah, I detect somebody perhaps has a New England background?"
She tapped the tip of her nose. "Dad was from New Hampshire. Every so often we'd go visit. Grandma always made us lobster the day we arrived. It was my favorite part of the trip."
"Beach or mountains?"
"Not so fast.” She slid her legs out from under her. “Your favorite food?"
Jamie chuckled. "Oh come on. The way to a man's heart is through his stomach. Everything is my favorite food."
"None of that." Abbie shook her finger at him. "There has to be one special thing."
Tilting his head back Jamie studied the cobweb-covered rafters as though an answer were stitched alongside one. Dropping his gaze to meet hers, he held out his arm, extending his pinky. "Promise never to tell my mother or my Aunt Eileen?"
She linked her pinky with his. "Promise."
"I used to date a gal who came from an Italian family. Every once in a while she'd make meat sauce from scratch. It took all day. It was out of this world, but when she used it to make her lasagna. Oh. Heaven.”
"Grams lived in New Hampshire but she hailed from an Italian neighborhood in Boston.” Fingers still entwined, she flashed a toothy grin. “I'll bet Grams’ recipe against your ex’s sauce."
He shook his head. "Easy pickings. I've had Frank's lasagna."
“That's nice,” she shrugged, pulling her hand away, “but Frank doesn't have Grams’ recipe."
"Ooh,” he sucked in a breath through his teeth, “a super-secret sauce recipe. You're on.” Leaning back against a crate he shot her another question. "How long have you known Frank?"
"Since my first day waiting tables in Dallas. Everyone warned me to steer clear of the gruff former Marine. He barked orders at everybody as though they were his recruits. Bad ones."
"But he didn't fool you?"
Abbie shook her head. "No matter how hard he yelled, I could always see the twinkle in his eyes. Except once."
Jamie straightened. "The reason you froze when the kid wielded his knife the other night."
"It wasn't the knife alone that threw me off. I’ve seen plenty of knives. Frank uses huge ones to butcher beef. No, this was the perfect storm. That particular type of hunting knife, the ketchup, the juice from the burger, even combined I still could have held it together, but when he waved the dripping knife under my chin while talking." The fingers of her left hand dragged her shirt collar away from her neck, exposing a thin white line, then she leaned forward clasping her hands together in front of her. “That’s when it all came flooding back.”
Jamie's strong hand covered hers. "What happened?"
Already she’d told Jamie more than she would have any other person. She knew if she chose to stand up and walk away, he wouldn’t ask again. But she didn’t want to walk away. She wanted him to understand the part of her life that changed her world and tried to steal her soul. "After I’d been at the restaurant a few years, a new girl came to work with us. Nice. Sweet. Natalie went to college during the day and worked the dinner shift with us. I'd only met her boyfriend once, but something about him just rubbed me the wrong way. Reminded me of a snake oil salesman. Lots of charm and smiles but vermin underneath. Anyhow, his behavior shifted, became more controlling of where she went, what she did, trying to separate her from her friends, but she was smart enough not to fall for it."
Jamie's thumb began swirling motions across her wrist, giving her something comforting to focus on as she spoke.
"When Natalie broke it off,” she continued, “he kept at it. Calling her at all hours of the day and night, showing up on her doorstep. Badmouthing her to her neighbors and anyone who would listen to him. The police couldn't do anything about it until he made the mistake of hitting her in front of witnesses."
"Restraining order?" Jamie asked
Abbie nodded. "For all the good it did us. Everything came to a head on a Sunday night. Natalie and I were the only two waitresses left. Frank was the main cook. A couple of other guys, kids actually, were working the kitchen with him. Manager was in the office. We didn't bother to lock the doors until the last customer had left."
She could feel the tension in Jamie's hand tightening to match her own.
"It all happened so fast. One minute we were cleaning up and the next Henry Wiggins stood in front of us waving a gun. It was crazy. He fired into the ceiling to get everyone's attention. Carolyn, my manager, came running out from the office, her cell phone in her hand. He whirled the gun at her and fired. I swear my heart literally stopped. She must've seen it coming because she ducked left behind the salad bar. I didn't know it at the time but she’d dialed 911 as soon as she’d heard the shots so the police were listening to everything.
"In the kitchen, Frank realized right away what was happening. Doesn’t take much for a Marine to recognize the sound of gun shots and take action. I don't know that he knew it was Natalie’s ex, but he knew we were in trouble and managed to get the entire kitchen staff out the back door."
"He stayed."
It wasn't really a question, but she nodded anyhow. "Henry fired another shot at one of the tables, sending the glassware flying. He was so focused on sc
aring Natalie and me that he hadn’t realized Frank was in the building until he crawled out to bandage a woman's arm that had been cut badly by the shards of shattered glass."
She took in a calming breath and Jamie squeezed her hand. So engrossed in living the story, she didn't notice when he had laced his fingers with hers.
"By now there was a first officer at the scene." A nervous smile tugged at one side of her mouth. "DJ. Though I had no idea who he was at the time. He developed a rapid rapport with this character. When the hostage negotiator arrived, Henry would only keep talking to DJ. Your cousin did pretty good with him, considering the guy was truly certifiable. One minute he’d be sweet talking Natalie and the hostages, promising he wouldn’t hurt anyone, that he just wanted Natalie to give him a chance to make her happy, and the next he was Dr. Jekyll firing the gun, making threats, accusing Natalie of cheating on him. Then DJ would talk to him and calm him down all over again. Talk about an emotional roller coaster. At some point DJ asked if he was hungry, and Henry screamed I'm not eating any of your poisoned food. Frank spoke up, offered to cook him anything he wanted, said he could watch and make sure it was safe to eat. Frank even offered to eat it first. Apparently, food, like music, can calm the savage beast."
Jamie inched closer, closing the remaining gap between them.
"For a brief few minutes, we thought DJ had finally convinced him to let us all go, but something inside snapped again. The bullet hit Frank. Natalie screamed, and when she tried to run to help, Henry grabbed her by the hair and told her she was his. Said that he was the only person she needed to worry about taking care of. Frank shook his head at us, waving his good arm, letting us know it wasn’t serious. Anger fueled by adrenaline, Natalie pulled away and screamed at Henry that over her dead body would they be together.”
Jamie winced, sucking in a short breath.
“Yeah. That's when he pointed the gun right at her and pulled the trigger. I couldn’t possibly have stopped him, but I didn’t have to. Nothing happened. I’d lost count of how many times he’d fired. He might've run out of bullets. It might've been a misfire. To this day I don't know how, but wounded and all, Frank lunged in Henry’s direction. Like an idiot, I ran right in front of Henry to reach Natalie. Before Frank could get within grabbing distance Henry had pulled me against him, squeezing the air from my lungs with one arm. The other hand held the hunting knife against my neck. I’d been so focused on the gun, I hadn’t even noticed the knife before."
"Oh, Abbie," Jamie whispered softly.
“Natalie jumped up, begging him to drop the knife. Pleading, agreeing to do anything he wanted. He seemed to get tremendous pleasure out of watching her grovel. I didn't even feel when he tipped the knife against my skin."
Mindlessly, she lifted her hand, one finger traced the tiny scar before falling back in front of her.
"Natalie was on the ground on all fours, promising the idiot anything he wanted. Frank was holding his wounded arm, promising Henry would live to regret the day he was born if anything happened to me or Natalie. And then DJ's voice broke through the haze. The same steady calm voice that had dealt all night with that lunatic. Easy and reassuring. Doing his job. Henry shifted his weight, turning his attention to the front door, loosened his grip. Next thing I knew gunfire ricocheted in the room and Henry’s arm fell away from me. I was covered in blood. His blood."
"I'm sorry."
Blinking, Abbie lifted her gaze to meet Jamie's. "I was an emotional wreck for a long time. I tried to go back to work, but I couldn't do it. Eventually I thought to hell with the get back on the horse after a fall theory and went to work for a different restaurant. That didn't matter, every time someone came up on me unexpectedly, or the cook held a cleaver in front of me, or a car backfired, I’d jump. DJ had kept tabs on me, did his best to keep me grounded. We’d have coffee every so often until he left the force and moved home. Right about then was when I gave up working nights and took a job at a pancake house during the breakfast shift. Then one day a man came in who looked so much like Henry I actually questioned if I’d really seen him killed. DJ talked me off that ledge."
“Remind me to thank my cousin.” Jamie squeezed her hand. "What happened to Natalie?"
"She finished out the semester, packed her bag, and moved home to Nebraska."
"And you decided she had the right idea?"
"Not until the day DJ called and told me there was a waitress opening at the café here in Tuckers Bluff. I don't remember saying yes. I don't remember packing. I barely remember driving to West Texas, but as soon as I pulled into the parking lot I could breathe again. By the time the café owner showed me the room upstairs to use until I settled in, for the first time in a long time, I knew everything would be okay."
"And Frank?"
"Unlike me, the former owner was the cook. When she decided it was time to retire and moved to Florida, she told me she was putting the cafe up for sale. I had a little bit of money saved, not much, but I made an offer asking her to carry the balance until I could prove to a bank that I could make a go of it. There weren’t a whole lot of people banging the door down to run a café in small town Texas. She agreed, I called Frank, and the rest, as they say, is history."
"And the kid with the knife brought it all back."
Abbie nodded. The only person she ever talked about that day with was DJ. Not even Frank dared bring the subject up. For years now the whole thing seemed truly behind her. Except for the day Meg was taken hostage at the hardware store, Abbie never really thought about it.
Sidled up beside her on the floor, Jamie draped an arm around her and whispered softly in her ear, "Is this okay?”
Nestling her head into his shoulder she nodded. "Very."
"I'm thinking we could stay here the rest of the night going through the boxes, or just sitting here like this on the floor…"
"I can just hear how that story’s going to get retold around town like wildfire."
He placed one gentle finger against her lips. "Or we can go have dinner at Adam’s, fill up with good food and maybe indulge in one of Toni’s decadent desserts. The choice is yours."
“I do love her cake balls.” Not waiting for her to think it through, her stomach growled, making the final decision. "I guess were going to Sunday dinner."
Despite feeling a little shaky, Abbie couldn't think of any place safer then at Jamie's side, except maybe a Farraday kitchen.
****
Nothing in his lifetime could have prepared Jamie for what Abbie had just told him. Crazy events like that are the sort of thing that happen to other people. People on the news. Not people you care about. And he did care. More than he probably should. If his cousin hadn’t killed the low life years ago, Jamie for the first time in his life could easily see himself hunting that devil down and taking him out like the rabid animal he was.
The entire short ride to Meg’s B&B, Jamie couldn’t get the story Abbie had too aptly unfolded out of his mind. Not even the savory smells of a delicious dinner that smacked him in the face as he and Abbie crossed the threshold could snap his thoughts fully back to the here and now, and yet, Abbie had moved on. Made a better world for herself. Yeah, he’d been right all along, she was indeed one hell of a woman.
“Don’t you look cozy?” Abbie bit back a smile. Tucked under a blanket on the big leather sofa, a book in his hands and cushions propping him and his foot up, Frank reminded him of a cattle baron of yesteryear recovering from some ranching accident.
Flipping the paperback closed, he mouthed, “Hardy har har.”
“I’m with her.” Holding a small box in one arm, Jamie pointed his other thumb at Abbie. “Is everyone in the kitchen?”
“Your aunt and some of the ladies have been in there laughing and cooking since church. I think DJ and Brooks are the only two missing.” Frank tossed the book onto the nearby coffee table. “How are things going for you at the café?”
“Great.” Jamie offered as much of a smile as he could muster after
hearing what they’d both been through.
Narrowing his eyes, Frank studied him a moment. “Would you tell me if it weren’t?”
“Of course he would,” Abbie answered, “but he won’t have to because he’s keeping the customers very happy.”
“Hmmph,” Frank grumbled and reached for the book again. “Happy, my good foot.”
Jamie smothered a smile. “I’m going to put this in the kitchen and let folks know we’re here.”
“I should clean up a little first.” Abbie brushed her hands together. More than once since leaving the dusty former feed store she’d done the same, but probably still felt as dirty as he did.
“I was thinking the same thing once we checked in. Let me ask Meg which bathrooms we can use.”
Abbie nodded, then turned to Frank. Poor guy had hoped to be back and on his feet by now, but after a week Brooks had handed down the sentence of another seven days without putting any weight on it. “Need anything from the kitchen?”
The man looked over the rim of his book to the stack of word puzzle books and empty dishes and glasses cluttering the coffee table then skewered her with an are-you-kidding-me glare.
“Guess not,” she chuckled. “Whistle if you change your mind.”
He harrumphed and again buried his nose in the paperback.
Scanning the old kitchen for Meg, Jamie dropped the box on an empty corner of counter space and continued around the island to kiss his aunt on the cheek.
“Oh, good.” His aunt smiled up from the basket of warm rolls in front of her. “We were getting ready to send a search party out for y’all.”
“You should see all the things stored in that place.” Jamie reached for a bun and Aunt Eileen playfully swatted his hand.
“Don’t spoil your appetite.”
“No, ma’am.” He uttered the only acceptable response since he’d learned how to talk.
“So glad you’re joining us, Abbie.” Aunt Eileen smiled. "I was hoping Jameson would invite you."
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