The Ranger's Passionate Love

by Nicole Jordan

  My meal was fine, but no more. The menu felt generic and the meat, though clearly fresh, managed not to be truly succulent or spectacular. Don’t get me wrong – it was acceptable. The chef can clearly cook. What this new restaurant lacks, however, is personality.

  We, who were so used to Mrs. Tylden’s age-old family recipes and personal touches, can’t help but feel like the entire experience, from the food to the decoration, is as bland as the new place’s name itself – “The Cafe.”

  At best, this is a place for leaf-peepers who want to think about Madison Avenue for a bit. Maybe somewhere else this would be fine. Way out here, though, where people have to go out of their way to eat out, it just isn’t going to cut it. My advice: stay home and make your own sandwiches. You’ll get more out of it.

  Kyara read the review. Then she read it again, her eyes watering.

  “I ... Uh ...” she tried to rally in front of her young helper. Crystal moved over, giving her a quick hug.

  “Um...” said Kyara, still trying to get over the shock. She’d never been judged to be so ... boring. “Thanks.” She shook herself, forcing her eyes back to the counter in front of her. “We should get back to work. This place isn’t going to prepare itself.”

  Crystal looked at her questioningly, then backed off a step. “Good idea, Ms. B.”

  They worked in silence after that, the teenager quietly pretending she couldn’t see the tears gathering in Kyara’s eyes.

  Kyara walked among the stands of fruits and vegetables, just trying to breathe them in. There was something about fresh food. The smells, complex and tantalizing, helped calm her down. The colors, a hundred shades of green at this time of year, were reassuring. She could almost stand at the fresh herb stand and take it all in, the thyme, the garlic, the new grown basil, four hours.

  Almost.

  The greens weren’t quite right. Where were the collards? The Okra? What was the local obsession with corn?

  Just like that, she was pulled out of the fantasy world the food had helped her find, and back into reality. He farmer’s market might have been charming, the day lovely, but she didn’t belong here. It wasn’t home, and it never would be. She was in a strange place, all on her own.

  At least she had a few things for dinner tonight. Not food for the restaurant. That had been faltering along for a few weeks now, but at least she hadn’t gotten to the point where she could supply it out of the local farmer’s market.

  A few people were still drifting in each day, usually for lunch. Crystal’s peers came by in the afternoon, hanging out, sharing plates of fries, sneaking kisses with one another.

  Kyara felt like she should shoo them out, but what would be the point? Then she’d just be staring at an empty dining room.

  Just like it had every day for weeks, Kyara’s mind picked over the review, obsessing over each word. At her most bitter, she’d thought about just arranging for “Just fine, but no more.” To be put on her tombstone when she inevitably ran out of money and starved to death.

  That was absurd, of course.

  She knew she’d break down and call her brothers if it got that bad.

  That, however, came with its own risks, its own pain.

  Why didn’t I think to ask about the previous owner? Kyara asked herself for the thousandth time. I mean, here it was, a ready-to-go kitchen in the middle of nowhere. No one around who knew me. Surrounded by chatty neighbors who would let me know if anyone came into town. It seemed so perfect. Why didn’t I question? I could have found out about Alice Tylden. I could have known I couldn’t compete. I should have known that I would never be able to measure up.

  The fact was, even though she’d counted on the smallness of the community to protect her, she’d never thought about how hard it would be to be accepted into that community in the first place.

  Totally caught up in her thoughts, now spiraling down and down, Kyara didn’t even think about the world around her. Turning, she ran into someone, hard. He was as sturdy as a brick wall. Kyara tumbled backwards, her bag of vegetables spilling everywhere.

  “Excuse me! I didn’t see you,” she babbled. At the exact same time, he blurted out, “I’m so sorry.”

  They each paused to take a moment, his hand already extended down to help her up.

  He was tall and broad shouldered.

  His simple black t-shirt skimmed over the taut muscles of his arms and chest and tapered nicely into his jeans, showing off his waist. His hands seemed rough with work. When she took the offered hand, though, it was gentle.

  His eyes were probably the most striking thing about him. They were a gray-green, like light playing off a pond. They matched his smile – easy and genuine, but with a hint of something hidden underneath.

  He began talking to her as he bent to help her gather her lost produce.

  “I really am sorry about that, Ms. Bell. I should have noticed you turning there.”

  Kyara looked at him with a quirked eyebrow.

  “You know my name?” she asked. Is he blushing a little?

  “Um, yeah.” He admitted. “We don’t get a lot of new people in the area.”

  Kyara allowed herself to laugh a little for not having thought of it.

  “Yeah, I should have figured. I’m guessing that outsiders are kind of a thing around here,” she allowed. Plus, she added mentally, I’m probably the only black person around for sixty miles. “But, you should call me Kyara, not ‘Ms. Bell.’”

  “Nice to meet you, Kyara,” he said. He seemed almost wary, but he held out his hand again. Kyara took the opportunity to shake it, feeling his large hand almost fold around hers.

  Mmmm.

  Good hands.

  “And you are ...” she invited.

  “Oh, uh, right. I’m Ja ..., um, Jason. Here, let me help you pick up.” Jason broke the handshake, the toughened pads of his fingertips trailing across the back of her hand, a pale tan next to her rich, dark brown. His touch made her mouth feel dry.

  "Thank you, Jason," she said, watching him.

  How does he seem this confident and this awkward at the same time? Whatever, at least he’s talking to me and trying to be polite. Jason bent down to scoop broccoli back into her canvas bag.

  Plus, he’s got a great ass. Kyara blinked at herself. It had been a while since she let herself see anyone that way, never mind a white guy.

  He straightened up, taking away her view, but handing her the vegetables. He was giving her an odd look. Kyara realized she’d been licking her lips.

  “I really appreciate it,” Kyara said, trying to hide her own flush at being caught ogling. “I have to admit, it’s nice to talk to someone friendly.”

  God, was that as lame as it sounded? Now I probably just seem whiny.

  “It takes people a while to get used to each other around here,” he allowed. He realized he’d been griping a rather impressive cucumber in his hand, and hastily put it in the bag. Kyara had to suppress a giggle.

  “Although...” he started to muse “if you wanted to get to know some more people, I’d be happy to introduce you around.”

  Kyara winced, picturing herself on display like some sort of exotic pet.

  Look! I made friends with a black person!

  Every black woman she knew who had made friends with a white person had had a dose of that at some point or another.

  “Thanks, but I really do need to be getting back home. I don’t get much time off, and the restaurant needs a thorough cleaning before the fourth of July,” she said, stepping back a little. She fidgeted with some of the items in the bag, carefully moving the cucumber a little lower and out of sight.

  “Oh ... alright,” he said. To her surprise, he looked genuinely disappointed. “If you change your mind, I’m here trying to get volunteers for the Old Mill Road restoration project. We’re going out on Tuesdays. I just thought you might like to come see what it’s all about.”

  Oh, that’s it. He’s just trying to get me to volunteer for his pet cau
se. He doesn’t care about me in particular. In a strange way, the thought was both reassuring and a little disappointing.

  Then why did he seem so hurt when I pulled away?

  “What time do you usually meet?” Kyara found herself asking. Where did that come from? He’s cute, but I don’t have time for this.

  Then there was that smile of his. It was open and pleased, but with something just underneath, like he couldn’t quite believe she’d expressed interest.

  “We get a group of teens from the local Honor’s Society around eleven. Then a group of folks who volunteer after work tend to come in around six-thirty, after they get home and eat. We meet at the General Store, but you can come on out any time. The old road starts behind the store and goes from there.” He rushed his words, sending them tripping out over one another in his haste.

  Kyara did her best to give him a genuine smile, though she’d started avoiding the general store entirely, it was so unfriendly. He swallowed. I wonder if he is watching my brown eyes as carefully as I’m studying his green ones?

  “I’ll see if I can find time in the schedule,” she allowed.

  “I’m glad,” he said. His shoulders relaxed, and his smile became less guarded. “It was a pleasure to finally meet you in person.”

  “Nice to meet you, too,” Kyara said. She adjusted her bag to shake his hand, the warmth of him sending a pleasant little tingle through her fingertips. You absolutely do not have the time or energy for tingles, Kyara, she told herself firmly. Still, it had been a long time since she’d felt tingly over anyone.

  Goodbyes made, they separated. He returned to what she now saw was a little table set up with information about his project. She gave herself permission for one more glance-over of his tousled hair and rugged features. He was really attractive, but she had to wonder at his behavior when she showed some interest in his project.

  Why is he acting like I’m his momma and just let him off for having his hand in the cookie jar?

  Shrugging it off, Kyara made her way back to her car. She had a life to keep quiet and struggling business to save, after all. No time for mystery men.

  The restaurant was completely dead. No one had been in for hours. Tuesdays were usually rough, but this was completely empty. Even the AC sounded like is wasn’t really trying anymore.

  Kyara tapped her pencil on her legal pad. At the top she’d written “Ideas to Spice Up the Cafe,” in scrolling, artistic writing. Beneath the title, the page remained blank.

  She tapped her pencil again.

  This is ridiculous. No one’s coming. I haven’t taken a full day off since I moved up here, and for what?

  From the dining room, Crystal signed.

  “Ms. B., Do you mind if I leave early tonight?”

  Kyara sighed, but couldn’t argue. Wasn’t she just thinking the same thing?

  “No, that’s fine. Thank you Crystal.”

  The girl came into the kitchen, taking off her work apron and flipping her bangs out of her eyes.

  “Thanks,” said the teenager. “I was out all morning working on that trail project. I’m pretty beat.”

  The thought triggered something in the back of Kyara’s memory. A quick flash of rough hands and gray-green eyes filled her mind.

  “Trail project?” Kyara asked.

  Crystal grunted from in front of the mirror, where she was already reapplying her eye shadow now that work was done.

  “Yeah,” said Crystal. “The Old Mill Road trail? That’s where everyone is tonight. They’re all out working on restoring the trail.”

  “Why?” ask Kyara. She had a pretty good idea why she was tempted to go, but not why everyone in town might head out.

  Crystal paused from puckering her lips, black lipstick poised between her fingers.

  “Oh, OK, the story: like a hundred years ago or something the only way into or out of town was the Old Mill Road, which led past, d’uh, the old mill. Although I guess at that point it wasn’t the old mill, it was just the mill, or something. Anyway, after they ran the highway through Bradford during the depression or whatever, it was easier to attach a road nearer to that, and the Old Mill Road just kinda dried up ‘cause no one used it anymore.

  “Anyway, a bunch of people in town are trying to restore it as, like, a hiking and snowmobiling path and stuff. They figure it’ll be a good community project, plus bring in the tourists.”

  Kyara turned this information over in her head.

  “I thought no one liked the tourists around here?” she asked.

  Crystal snorted.

  “No one will admit it, but the area needs the tourists to survive. We wouldn’t know what to do with ourselves if we couldn’t sell maple crap and pictures of leaves to people up from the city. So they’ll pretend that it’s a ‘community restoration project,’ but you better believe it’s to bring in the tourist dollars.”

  Crystal went back to turning herself back into the county’s only goth while Kyara contemplated her, admittedly cynical, take on the situation.

  I wonder how many black tourists come through. It may be harder to hide here than I thought.

  It would be easier if I had more friends. Plus, it’s getting really lonely.

  “Well,” Kyara said at last, “If that’s where everyone is, I guess I might as well head up there, too. You can head home, and thank you for the information.”

  Crystal shrugged. “It’s whatever. Just look for them behind the general store. The guy leading it, is, um ..."

  Kyara thought she knew where this was going.

  "Tall," Kyara filled in. "Green eyes, big arms?"

  Crystal nodded, looking relieved.

  "A totally hottie." the teen agreed. "Sometime he comes in to talk in my elective class when school's in. It's pretty much drool-thirty when he comes in.”

  Wow, she kinda called it, Kyara admitted to herself.

  Kyara watched her young employee leave. Crystal probably wasn’t actually going to go home. She had been straightforward about not wanting to spend more time with her mom, her mom’s boyfriend, really, than was strictly necessary. It was why she didn’t mind working long hours. Still, she was a good kid.

  Kyara walked over and flipped over the sign in the window from “Open” to “Closed” and went upstairs to change.

  In a surprisingly short amount of time, Kyara found herself in t-shirt and jeans walking out behind the general store. It was still light out, but the evening had settled into its usual pattern of hums, buzzes, and the whisper of leaves.

  For the first month she’d been here, she’d lain awake at night. The insect-filled night was both too loud and not nearly loud enough. Now, though, Kyara could almost sleep without straining for the sound of cars, buildings, and people all around her.

  I might actually be getting used to being here.

  The path was as obvious as Crystal had promised. Not only was it a clear break in the trees, but someone had pounded a hand-painted sign in at the head.

  “Old Mill Road. 18.2 Miles to Bradford.”

  The tall grass leading up to the trailhead was neatly mowed, creating an easy walkway. Kyara followed it, straining for the sound of voices or the crack of branches. If there was anything, though, it was far away.

  Studying the space around her cautiously, Kyara started walking, taking the time to look over the trail. From what little she knew, it looked good to her. She could see the places where the trees had been trimmed back and carefully treated with some sort of mixture over the exposed insides of the branches. It was almost picture-perfect against the background of rolling hills and the trickling of the river.

  If they're trying to rope in the tourists, this would hook me, Kyara reflected.

  The evening remained oppressively hot and muggy, though. Insects began to find her, too. At first there were just a few, but soon she couldn’t take a step without having to swat at them. By the time her foot disappeared into a hole full of mud, Kyara's mood had soured.

  This was a real
ly stupid idea Kyara berated herself. I don’t have the right clothes for this, or bug spray, or anything. I’m going to get eaten alive by mosquitoes big enough to ride before I find them, if they’re even out here!

  Just when she was ready to turn back, Kyara caught the welcome sound of voices and a revving motor. The trail looped around a hill before she finally saw people.

  Three women were grouped in back of an old, red pickup truck. It was filled with a pile of branches. They matched the mass of interwoven, spiky branches blocking the trail ahead. There was kind of a place the path continued between them, but you had to be looking for it. Mostly, it just looked like a mass of spikes and leaves.