Jenna chuckled. "Go for it, sweetie."
"C'n I have coffee, too?"
"Nice try, and you know the answer. Juice or milk."
For a second, the grump face reappeared, but then, on a sigh, Blair said she'd like the blueberry pancakes with orange juice. Please.
"How about some bacon or sausage with that?" Ruby asked.
Blair visibly shuddered. "I don't eat meat."
Ruby's brows lifted, but all she said was, "And what about you, baby?" to Jenna. "You want the blueberry pancakes, too?"
"Actually, no, I think I'll stick with a bowl of Special K and a grapefruit half."
Now Ruby laughed. "Lord, no wonder you're so skinny. But if that's what floats your boat, who am I to say? Okay, we'll get that right out to you—"
"Oh, wait!" Jenna called out to Ruby as she started to leave. "I just remembered—I'm supposed to bring back breakfast for Mr. Logan, too."
"Mr. Logan? Which one?"
She and Blair exchanged glances. "There's more than one?"
"Three, as a matter of fact. Brothers. Although one's a doctor, not a mister. Which one you want breakfast for?"
"Uh…Hank." Shouldn't the P.I. have told her there were brothers? "The one who runs the Double Arrow."
That was worth a frown and a pair of crossed arms underneath a prodigious bosom. "You stayin' out there?"
"We're renting one of the cottages for the month, yes."
"Where you from, honey? If you don't mind my asking."
"D.C. Why?"
"And you came all the way out here to stay in one of Hank Logan's cottages?"
Jenna tried to staunch the uneasiness beginning to fester in her stomach. If her and Blair's staying there looked odd to this Ruby person, who else might find it suspicious?
Then Blair chimed in with, "My aunt's a writer. She's here doing research for her next book."
Ruby's gaze drifted back to Jenna. "Is that a fact? You written anything I might have read?"
Feeling the familiar panic rising in her throat as several heads in the vicinity turned in her direction, Jenna mumbled her pen name. Ruby's face lit up.
"You're kidding? You're Jennifer Phillips? Who writes those Stella Moon books? Land, honey, I've read all of those so many times, they're like to fall apart. Hey, Jordy," she yelled back toward the counter, where a big, bald black man in a sparkling white T-shirt and apron was manning the griddle, "guess who's sitting right here in our diner? Jennifer Phillips, that writer I've been telling you about!"
"No fooling?" Jordy glanced over his shoulder, never missing a beat as he flipped what looked like dozens of pancakes onto several plates, garnishing them with bacon or sausage before setting them out on the counter and hollering to the two waitresses. Then, wiping his hands on a towel, he came out from behind the counter and over to Jenna's table, his wide grin showing off a gold tooth that coordinated quite nicely with his earring.
"You sure do write some good books, Ms. Phillips. I never can figure out whodunnit until the end, and I almost always do with other mystery writers."
After a minute's conversation, Ruby and Jordy went back to the kitchen, but not before five or six other patrons left their seats and came over, all apparently tickled to death to meet her, asking if she'd mind autographing their copies of her books for them while she was there and what her next book was going to be about and if she needed any ideas, you know, in case she got that writer's block.
To Jenna's surprise, the panic that invariably made her palms sweat and her stomach knot up so badly she'd stopped doing book signings altogether never really developed. Why, she didn't know, other than maybe, even though it didn't make any sense, these people didn't really feel like strangers.
Ruby brought their breakfast over to them herself, shooing everyone away "so these people can eat their breakfast in peace." Then Ruby asked Blair how old she was, and when Blair said thirteen, Ruby said Sam Frazier had a girl the same age, he had a farm just out behind the Double Arrow, and wouldn't it be nice if Blair and Libby Frazier could get together, since Ruby imagined that Libby, who apparently had five younger brothers, might appreciate having another girl to talk to?
Not until a young woman came in, her arms loaded with what looked like pie boxes—"Six apples, three peaches and three cherries, right?" she called out to Ruby, who went to relieve her of her burden—did peace finally descend. About halfway through her grapefruit—which was plump and sweet—Jenna looked over to see Blair looking at her with a funny expression on her face.
"What now?"
"Nothing. It's just that it must be so cool, to have all those people saying how much they like your books and stuff." She crammed a huge bite of pancake into her mouth and said around it, "I mean, I would think it was, anyway."
"Well, yes. It is." A wry smile tilted her lips. "It's certainly a nice change from rotten reviews."
"Then why don't you do book signings anymore?"
Jenna's fingers tightened around the serrated spoon. "You know why, honey."
Her brows dipped. "How come it's okay for you to be scared of something, but if I say I am, you tell me I have to face it anyway?"
Jenna took a deep breath, then dared to meet her niece's gaze, deciding the din of chatter and clanking silverware on stoneware was sufficient to mask their own conversation. She'd never really understood the debilitating shyness that had made her childhood a living hell, or why it had pretty much faded away for so many years only to make a cruel and equally puzzling comeback after Phil's death. The only thing she did understand about it was that she never knew when it was going to strike. And that she'd gotten tired of fighting it, unless she had to.
Like now.
"It's not okay for me to be afraid, Blair. And as far as facing things that frighten me…" She stopped, thinking about why they were here, about how whatever decisions she made could change her world. Then the memory of Hank Logan's unapologetically harsh features crashed into her thoughts, speeding up her heart rate, making her skin go clammy, her stomach lurch. Speaking of facing things that scared her.
"I don't mean to come across as sounding callous, sweetie," Jenna said. "Or as if I don't think your fears are valid. I do understand, I swear." She shook her head, frowning at her grapefruit as she dug out a segment. "I also know what it's like to let them cripple you."
"But you were fine just then—"
"Blair, please." Jenna lowered her voice. "I know I was. But I don't know why I was. So can we please just drop the subject—"
"I am so sorry," Ruby said, reappearing at their table. "With all the excitement, I completely forgot to take Hank's order so I can have it ready for you when you get ready to go. Although I can probably guess—bacon and egg sandwich, side of hash browns and a chocolate shake, right?"
In spite of her quaking stomach, Jenna smiled. "I take it he comes in regularly?"
"Baby, men are so predictable, it's pitiful. Even though, no, actually, he hardly comes in anymore, not since he moved back. But when he was a kid, he'd come in here just about every day, order the same thing each time. I'd be real surprised to hear he'd changed his stripes."
"He hasn't," Jenna said, and Ruby laughed. After calling out the order to Jordy, she turned back to Jenna.
"And how about you? Can I get you anything else?"
"No, I think that will do," Jenna said, reaching for her purse. On the other side of the restaurant, she heard the whirrr of the old-fashioned milk-shake machine. She looked up in time to see Jordy dump in enough thick, rich, gooey chocolate syrup to coat the entire state. She felt her lips part, her eyes glaze over, as lust swept through her.
She looked up into Ruby's knowing, dark eyes, connecting on a level as basic as life itself. "On second thought…"
"Jordy?" Ruby called over.
"Yeah, baby?"
"Need another chocolate shake over here—"
Blair raised her hand.
"Make that three."
Jenna and Blair looked at each other a
nd started to giggle.
* * *
After he'd fixed the john, Hank had a moment's tussle with himself over whether to go on back to the office or stay put and wait for his breakfast right there. Either way, he'd have to talk to Jenna. Of course, if he hadn't asked her to bring back his breakfast, it wouldn't even be an issue, now would it?
He decided to stay. What the hell, he'd already left a note on the office door, in case anyone needed to find him. Well, you never knew.
The metal toolbox clattered mightily when he set it on the porch, right behind the railing. Plunking his butt on the steps, he lit up, then leaned back on his elbows, scratching his chest through the "This Old House" T-shirt Ryan's new wife Maddie had given him as a joke last Christmas. He'd taken a fast shower after Jenna's wake-up call, so at least he smelled okay. Still hadn't bothered to shave, though. Seemed a waste of time.
A mountain jay squawked overhead, setting off a twittering chorus from sparrows and finches. It was going to be hot as hell later, but right now the breeze messing with his still-damp hair was just the right temperature, gliding like a woman's fingertips over his skin. Except for his growling stomach, he might almost believe he was at peace. Except he knew he wasn't. And probably never would be. Some things, you just don't make peace with.
The force shrink had suggested he find something to keep him too busy and too tired to brood. A six-month leave had been the plan. Except then this place had come on the market, dirt-cheap, and he'd snapped it up, even though he'd had no idea what he thought he was going to do with a guest lodge. Still didn't. But damned if the shrink hadn't been right—if it was mind-numbing you were after, nothing beat day after eighteen-hour day of grueling manual labor. Still, it was like learning to live without a limb; you adjusted, and you got by, but you never knew when the phantom pain would strike. And that alone was enough to make him vow to never set himself up for that kind of pain again.
Hank stared at the cigarette in his hand, frowning for a second or two, then lifted his gaze toward the lake, sparkling in the distance. Maybe he'd take a dip later, after he finished redoing those gutters on Number 6….
He stood when he heard Jenna Stanton's Toyota chugging up the road. Kinda on the old side, the car was. But then Toyota owners tended to hang on to the things until they rusted out from under them.
She pulled up alongside the cottage; both doors swung open, both females emerged, sucking like mad on straws poking up out of Ruby's bright-red take-out cups. A plastic bag swung from Jenna's left hand, the white foam carry-out box clearly visible through it. Hank's mouth started to water.
From underneath the brim of her cap, questions flickered in those chilly blue eyes. She handed him the bag, the kid making a great show of swatting at the air in front of her. The girl's eyes were blue, too, he saw. Darker, though.
"Smoking is so gross!"
The straw popped out of Jenna's mouth. "Blair!"
"No, she's right, it is," Hank said, grinding the cigarette into the dirt with the toe of his workboot. "I just happen to like gross things."
The young gal shuddered, then stormed up the steps and on inside, making loud slurpy noises with her straw. The screen door slammed shut behind her; Hank looked at Jenna. "She out to save the world?"
"One deluded soul at a time." She sucked on her own straw for a moment, then said, "So. We have water again?"
"Yep. Much as you want. And only when you want. I changed out the kitchen sink washer, too, since it was about to go." Which is what he should do—go, instead of standing here and chit-chatting like some yahoo. "The cat will back me up, seeing as he watched my every move."
"Wow." More sucking. "You're talented. And Meringue's a she."
"I should've known." Then, for some oddball reason, he sat back down on the steps and dug his breakfast out of the bag, adding, "Anyway, my daddy's motto was if you can't fix it, you shouldn't own it."
After apparently giving the matter some thought, Jenna sat, too, leaning up against the opposite railing. "Too bad that philosophy doesn't work with kids," she said, shoving a strand of hair back up under the hat.
"Eh, your daughter's not so bad. A bit anal, maybe, but then, I suppose she just takes after her mother."
When several moments passed, Hank figured he'd probably ticked Jenna off. But before he could make up his mind whether to apologize or not, she said, "Blair's not my daughter. She's my niece."
He'd nearly had his chompers around that sandwich, boy, the doughy white bread all soaked with bacon grease just the way he liked it. Now he looked up. Jenna was still sucking on that straw. He thought for a moment, then took a bite anyway. "Where's her mama?"
She lowered the cup, toyed with the plastic lid for a moment. "She died a few months ago."
Hank swore softly, then took another bite of the sandwich before its innards slid out of the bread and landed in his lap. "That's rough on a kid. I was a senior in high school when my mama passed, and it was still hard." He wiped his hands on one of about fifty napkins Ruby'd sent along. "I guess she's entitled to be a little…you know."
Jenna didn't smile so much as her face seemed to relax. "Yeah. She is."
"So she lives with you now?"
She fiddled with the straw for a bit, screaking it in and out of the plastic lid. "Actually, she's been living with me since she was a baby. My husband and I raised her. My sister…wasn't exactly a constant in her daughter's life."
Hank swallowed, trying to figure out what was bothering him so much about this conversation. Cop instincts again, he decided, keeping an eye out for body language that would alert him that she was lying or something. But all he saw was a pretty lady with her hair crammed up in a stupid hat, her mouth creased some from sucking so hard on that straw.
She nodded toward his sandwich. "How's your breakfast?"
"What? Oh…good." He took another bite, then unwrapped his own straw, poking it into the little hole on the plastic lid. Some of the chocolate oozed out around the base. For some reason, Hank's throat got dry. He looked up at Jenna, her cheeks sunk in as she sucked on her own straw, and his throat got dryer. Then his lips curved up in a smile.
"That wouldn't be a chocolate shake by any chance, would it?"
She let go of the straw and smiled as well. Not full out, maybe, but it was something. "As a matter of fact, it is." Her eyes glittered like aquamarines underneath the hat brim. "This is absolutely the best chocolate milk shake I have ever had."
"See? What did I tell ya?"
She took another short pull, then lowered the cup again, her eyes narrowed. But that almost-smile still flirted with her lips. "It's not worth getting a swelled head over."
A drop of chocolate glistened at the corner of her mouth: her tongue darted out, snatched it inside like a mother taking her child out of the rain.
Swelled head, no. Other things, however…
"Oh!" She shifted to one hip to dig in her pants pocket. "I almost forgot…here's your change." She leaned over to drop the bills and coins into his hand, her fingers brushing his palm. An innocent touch, brief and meaningless. Except Jenna's cheeks flushed. And no, he wasn't imagining it. And let's just say Hank could see where things could get interesting between them. If he'd let it. If she'd let it, which was even less likely, considering that wedding ring of hers. Hank did not mess around with married women. Hell, Hank hadn't messed around with anybody since Michelle's death. Which probably accounted for why he was seeing erotic overtones in milk shakes, for cripe's sake.
"What's your husband do, if you don't mind my asking?"
Her laugh startled him, not only because that was the last thing he expected her to do and because he liked the sound. A lot.
"What's so funny?"
One side of her mouth pulled up. "The way people around here seem to think if you add 'if you don't mind my asking' on the end of a prying question, that somehow makes it okay."
She didn't seem particularly offended, though. So Hank shrugged. "I guess that way we can ask
whatever's on our mind, but it still leaves folks the option of not answering if they don't want to without being afraid they might hurt somebody's feelings." He finished off his sandwich, picked up the plastic fork to attack the hash browns. "So. You gonna answer, or you gonna take your out?"
* * *
The last thing Jenna had expected was for Hank Logan to sit himself down and get chatty. So it had thrown her for a loop when he had. But then, she suspected Hank was good at keeping people off balance. Like the way he could still look so disreputable—did the man even own a comb and razor?—but smell so incredibly good, even over the cigarette smoke. In any case, after her initial No! Go away! I don't want to talk to you! reaction, logic took over. After all, she couldn't very well get to know the man if she never talked to him, could she? And since it might look a wee bit suspicious if she made the overtures, she should be grateful for the opportunity that fate had presented her, right?
The thing was, though, she was supposed to be finding out about him, not the other way around. Still—there went that damned logic business again—if she opened up to him, maybe he'd open up to her. Besides, this was all stuff he'd find out eventually, anyway. If…things worked out, he'd need to know as much about Blair as possible. And everything that affected Jenna affected Blair.
"My husband died three years ago, of cancer," she said at last. "Almost three and a half, actually." She still wasn't quite reconciled to how little her heart twinged when she mentioned Phil's death, or to the fact that it had been ages since she'd felt guilty about laughing, or that the memories that once ached were more likely these days to suffuse her with a gentle joy. But it had taken a long, long time to get to this point. And even so, her sense of peace was as fragile as spun sugar. She would do nothing to jeopardize it.
Fathers and Other Strangers Page 3
