The Accidental Bride

by Christina Skye

  “Never had coffee like this at Camp Pendleton,” Walker said dryly. “Probably would have started a riot. You’re a dangerous person, Jilly O’Hara.”

  Jilly looked down quickly, feeling the blush flare up again, heating her face. “Glad you like it. Finish that and I’ll get you another. It’s on the house.” She peered over the counter. “And what about some jerky for your handsome friend? I found another piece last night and I happen to have it with me.”

  Walker grinned. “Yes to the drink. What do you say about some jerky, Winslow?”

  The dog whined, banging his tail loudly on the polished wood floor.

  “I’ll take that for a yes. Kind of you, Jilly.”

  “Not a bit. They’d probably dry out before I got home anyway.” She reached around the counter to offer Winslow his treat. Then she vanished back out of sight, hoping Walker wouldn’t notice her flush.

  “How about a refill on that mocha latte?” she called to Jonathan’s young friend by the window. “I can make it a harmless on a leash if you need to go.”

  “Huh?” The girl sat up sharply. “Gosh, I’m going to be late. What’s that mean, what you just said?”

  Jilly moved smoothly, working as she talked. “Harmless is a decaf. Or in some places it means no-fat milk. Regional preference. On a leash means to go.” She leaned over the counter and held up a to-go cup, smiling. “I made yours low-fat but full caffeine. You look like you could stand another shot.”

  “I’d better not. Sorry—Jilly, is it? I hope you’re here the next time I come. But I’d better run. My brother gets mad if I’m late.” With a shy smile, she strode outside, glancing up and down the street.

  “Her brother sounds like a real jerk. Can’t an adult female get a simple cup of coffee without looking over her shoulder in a panic?”

  “It’s not quite so simple.” Walker rubbed his neck slowly. “Sara has epilepsy. Her parents are dead and her brother’s very protective. She’s taking a new medicine now, too.”

  “Small town. So you know all the gossip. That makes a lot more sense. I’m really sorry to hear that about her.”

  Walker nodded, staring at the street. “Bad break.” Clouds were moving in from the north, and aspen leaves tossed and danced in the wind.

  Walker turned the coffee cup slowly. “It’s not much fun to be sick, or in pain. I think she’s had her share of both.”

  Jilly propped her chin on one palm, studying Walker. “Sounds as if you have, too.”

  “Could be.” He shrugged and turned away, clearly ready to drop the subject. “What about that vacation your friends arranged? This doesn’t look like time off.”

  “Any more relaxation and I might kill someone,” Jill said wryly. “I need noise and bustle and work. It’s the way I’m wired.”

  “So why are your friends convinced you need a rest?”

  Jilly looked down, cleaning the counter carefully. “Because they’re bossy,” she muttered.

  “And because they care about you,” Walker corrected. “I’d say something happened to make them worry. Maybe something to do with that dizzy episode you had at the airport yesterday?”

  “I survived, didn’t I? And you’d better finish that coffee before I lose all my control, leap over this counter and wrestle it away.”

  “Swore off caffeine, did you?” Walker rubbed his jaw, trying to hide a smile. “Yeah, I’ve been there, too. You can have the rest of it.” He measured the cup. “Shouldn’t be enough to cause much trouble.”

  His eyes glinted with humor, deep blue drifting into rich gray. Jilly couldn’t seem to look away, feeling as if she could study that face forever and still not know all its secrets. To distract herself, she pulled his cup around, smelled the excellent aroma and then finished the last of his cappuccino with a sigh.

  “Not bad, if I do say so myself. But no more for me. I promised my friends—and myself—that I wouldn’t have any coffee.” She saw a woman in a wool sweater walk by the shop, glance in and wave at Walker. Two men in worn jean jackets passed next. When they saw Walker they waved and nodded.

  “Does everybody smile in this town? Or are you just Mr. Popularity?”

  He gave a tight laugh that sounded almost like a cough. “People don’t stand on ceremony much here. They can’t afford to. If a blizzard dumps ten feet of snow in an hour and you need to be towed out, you’d better be on good terms with your neighbor who has the snow plow.”

  A uniformed police officer got out of his cruiser and stopped to speak to a woman with a baby. When he glanced over and saw Walker, he nodded, tipping his hat.

  “Very friendly,” Jilly murmured dryly. “Want to tell me what’s really going on?”

  Walker’s eyes darkened. “I’d better get going.”

  Jonathan pushed open the front door, looking harried. “Sorry I took so long. New teller.” He stopped when he saw Walker and broke into a smile. “Hey, Walker, good to see you.” Jonathan leaned down to scratch Winslow behind the ears. “How’s it going up on the mountain, buddy?”

  Winslow lifted one paw, which Jonathan shook gravely. Then he glanced behind the counter. “Wait, did you pull those shots, Jilly? And you ground new beans?”

  “You were almost out. Plus the grind was off for your machine. A coarser grind works best on that model.”

  Jonathan scratched his head. “I could swear the rep told me to use fine.”

  “They changed that recommendation last month.” Jilly had seen a memo on the subject.

  “Don’t tell me you’re in the coffee business? Man, that’s sweet.” Jonathan looked at Walker’s empty cup and smiled. “Fast worker, too. You didn’t tell me you were a pro.”

  “Two summers do not a professional make,” Jilly said. “But I remember the moves. And I use the same espresso machine in my restaurant. Or I did.” She cleared her throat.

  “You’ve got a restaurant? Of your own? That’s awesome.” Jonathan’s voice rose so fast it broke with his excitement. “Where? How many can you seat? What kind of cuisine?”

  “In Arizona. Forty max. And the theme is American organic and light fare specialties with a local produce base. That’s just a talky way to say that I use whatever best produce is in season. Good produce is everything.”

  Was, she reminded herself. Painful memories hit her hard.

  “Man, we really have to talk. I like this shop, but I’ve totally wanted to be a chef forever. I’ve got a few thousand questions to ask you.” Jonathan set a bag with pastries and utensils beside Walker’s Thermos.

  “Thanks.” Walker reached into his pocket. “How much do I—”

  “Forget about it. It’s on me.”

  “I don’t want to forget about it.” Walker frowned. “How much, Jonathan?”

  The lanky shop owner crossed his arms and glared right back. Jilly was pretty sure they’d had this argument before. “I told you. It’s on me.”

  Jilly raised an eyebrow. “Hey, are you two arguing? I was just about to name this The Friendliest Town in America.”

  Walker took the Thermos and the bag of pastries and put a ten-dollar bill on the counter. “It’s not an argument. It’s an ongoing…conversation,” he said calmly. “Thanks for the coffee, Jonathan. By the way, have Jilly make you her specialty. It’s a—what did you call it?”

  “Double espresso. With lots of foam,” Jilly added with a cheeky smile.

  “Right.” Walker picked up his dusty cowboy hat from the table and scratched Winslow behind the head. “That cup could just about make a grown man weep.” He walked to the door and patted his leg. Winslow raced to his side. “Don’t work too hard, Jilly. You’re supposed to be on vacation, remember? Maybe one of these days you’ll tell me why.”

  He gave Jilly a long look and then pushed open the door for Winslow.

  Two elderly ladies passed, smiling at him and calling him by name. Jilly thought that Walker looked uncomfortable at the attention.

  What was going on here?

  “Hold on.” Jonathan
leaned under the counter for a newspaper and some magazines. He shoved them into a big paper bag and headed to the door. “I keep the papers and a few magazines for Walker. He forgot them today. I wonder why?”

  When he came back from his errand, Jonathan looked thoughtful. “So you know Walker? He doesn’t say much to anyone. Just comes in once a week for coffee and some reading material, usually when he and Winslow are headed out for a survival or training drill.”

  “What do you mean, he doesn’t talk to people? He seems normal to me.”

  “Yeah, that’s the funny part. He must like you a whole lot because he never hangs around. Not ever. Not,” Jonathan said slowly, “until today.”

  “I’m sure you’re mistaken.” Jilly turned away, to hide a little buzz of pleasure. “He just liked the coffee.” She couldn’t help glancing outside. Walker was opening the door to a big green pickup. “I can help you with the machines, if you want.”

  “Great. Maybe you can take a look at my newest machine. It’s been squirting espresso.”

  “Okay. Are you watching the shots as they fall? Are you stopping them when you see blonding? And you’re changing your grind as the beans age?”

  Jonathan looked confused. “Nobody told me to do that. I don’t want to mess anything up.”

  “You’ll be fine. I’ll show you what to do.” Outside Winslow jumped up on the passenger seat, turned around once and then settled at the window. Jilly watched Walker slide behind the wheel.

  Two more people passed and waved at him.

  “What is it with this town? It’s starting to feel like Stepford Wives. Why does everyone smile at Walker and Winslow?”

  Jonathan’s face turned grave. “You don’t know?”

  “Know what? I just got here last night. What’s the big secret?”

  “He’s a real hero, Jilly.” Jonathan put his elbows on the counter, looking gravely after Walker’s green truck. “He and Winslow saved a whole platoon over in Afghanistan. Nearly got themselves killed, too. Walker’s still recovering. He’s more than welcome anywhere in this town. In any home, shop or office, and he always will be,” Jonathan said fiercely.

  Something squeezed at Jilly’s chest. “So that’s why you wouldn’t take his money.”

  “Damned straight, and you can bet he won’t ever pay for anything in here as long as I own this place.” Jonathan pulled open a drawer and dropped the ten-dollar bill in beside half a dozen others. “Once it reaches two hundred dollars, I’ll deposit it in his account at the bank. Nobody gave those two a parade when they came home. Winslow was hurt pretty bad, and Walker got special therapy for the dog. More than he got for himself, so I’ve heard. Walker’s still got to pay off all those expenses. His family—well, that’s a story for another day.” Jonathan shook his head. “The postmaster’s son was in his platoon. So was my cousin. And Walker’s going to get help from us, whether he likes it or not. It’s the least this town can do to say thank you to a hero.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  JILLY COULDN’T SPEAK as the dusty green truck drove away in the sunlight. “He didn’t tell me,” she murmured.

  “No, he wouldn’t.” Silence stretched out. Jonathan leaned against the counter, watching clouds drift over the peaks to the north. He shoved his hands into his pockets. “I only wish I was half as brave and tough as Walker is.”

  He stopped, coughing to hide his embarrassment. He shifted some cups and pulled out a yellow pad. “If you don’t mind, I’m ready to take notes. Let’s start with those grind instructions.” He glanced up the mountain and then checked his watch. “We’re supposed to have rain later, and you don’t want to be riding a bike back uphill in a storm. I’ll close up early and drive you to the resort when we’re done.”

  * * *

  JILLY WAS A GOOD TEACHER. Experience had made her thorough and detailed. She didn’t rush Jonathan, explaining how to time a shot of espresso for maximum flavor. After that, she worked on his steaming technique for milk.

  All the time she worked, Walker kept invading her thoughts, along with images of war and the hammer of gunfire. Now she understood why he rubbed his right shoulder when he thought no one was looking. It also explained the almost tangible loyalty and intelligence that shone from Winslow’s eyes and the protective way Walker stroked the dog’s head, as if they were an inseparable team.

  So Walker seldom stayed long in town? Didn’t he miss being around people?

  She had seen the curiosity in his eyes and the pleasure when he’d tasted her coffee. She knew there was interest. Maybe more than simple interest.

  As Jonathan cleaned up, he continued to cross-examine her about his machines. Jilly promised to return the following afternoon for a refresher course.

  “No way. I don’t want to interfere with your vacation. You should chill.”

  Jilly gave a dry laugh. “Too much relaxation will kill you. Working today at your shop was the most fun I’ve had in weeks. I love being busy.”

  “See? That’s what I love about chefs. You’re all driven. Totally nutty. But in the totally best way,” he added quickly. “You know what you love and you just charge ahead. That’s the way I want to be.”

  He sounded so young, Jilly thought. So innocent in his eagerness. Had she ever been that open and confiding? “Don’t change, Jonathan. The cooking world can be brutal, with cutthroat competition and impossible hours. Sometimes the bravado is because we’re scared.”

  “You?” Jonathan turned around slowly. “I don’t think you’re scared of anything.”

  “Yeah? Thanks for the compliment, but you’re wrong.”

  “Could have fooled me.” Jonathan locked up and then the two lifted Jilly’s bicycle into the back of Jonathan’s Jeep Wrangler. As they finished, Jilly felt something cold hit her cheek. Thunder rumbled in the distance.

  “Better jump in. It’s gonna open up any second.”

  “But it was sunny. Just a little wind—” The sharp hammer of rain made Jilly scramble inside the Jeep. In a matter of seconds the whole valley had darkened. “You were right about how fast the weather changes up here.” Her teeth chattered as she rolled down the sleeves of her shirt.

  “Grab a blanket from the back. They have a great log fire every night up at the resort. You can make your own s’mores. They serve amazing local wines, too. It’s a cool tradition. Be sure not to miss it.”

  And what would happen after dinner? Would Jilly sink into bed, only to bolt awake at 3:00 a.m., unable to sleep any longer?

  It was her usual pattern over the past months. All the herbal tea and yoga exercises in the world made no difference. In the months before her collapse she had worked until she was bone-tired, dropping into bed at 2:00 a.m. and praying she’d sleep through a normal night.

  Usually dawn found her wide awake, staring at her bedroom ceiling, juggling details of a restaurant and two food lines. Every night sleeping got a little harder and dawn came a little sooner.

  But last night she’d finally gotten some decent sleep. Jilly prayed that tonight would be the same....

  * * *

  “I AM NOT A COWARD.” Jilly studied her reflection in the mirror of her room while she changed into a warmer sweater. “I am not running away from anything. If I choose to avoid the knitting area, it has nothing to do with fear.”

  The truth was that knitting intimidated her, bringing out the awkward rebellious teenager. Despite all of Caro’s instruction over the years, Jilly couldn’t seem to relax and stop fighting the process. She always dropped her needles, poked herself or twisted her yarn into a tangled mess.

  So knitting was nowhere on her agenda. She was going to find a nice, quiet spot where she could relax and think.

  As she finished dressing for dinner, she took a quick glance outside. More clouds poured over the mountains, covering the sky and the green slopes below. Digging in her carry-on bag, Jilly found a wool shawl that Caro had knitted for her. Soft and dense in a rich mix of reds and amber, the cabled shawl always made her feel like a
Celtic princess.

  But there was something inside the shawl.

  Frowning, Jilly opened the folded wool and saw a bulky envelope with her name on it. Somehow, in her exhaustion, she had missed it the night before.

  She recognized Grace’s elegant handwriting instantly. When she tore open the envelope, a folded sheet of paper and two balls of cashmere yarn fell out, along with a small wrapped package.

  Confused, Jilly sat down on the bed and began to read.

  Dear Jilly,

  So now you’ve found our gift. We debated hard about what to hide in your suitcase to surprise you.

  George Clooney wouldn’t fit. Neither would Daniel Craig. Really sorry but we tried.

  But these things did fit—and before you make a face and start muttering, please hear us out. (Us because Livie and Caro are sitting beside me, helping me write this letter.)

  We know you don’t love knitting. You say it makes you crazy and you’ll never be any good at it. But you never try long enough to get better!

  Remember that summer when you were twelve? You were determined to learn how to make soufflés. You kept us going through eggs for weeks with awful results.

  Did you give up then?

  Of course not. You just tried new recipes. And by the end of the summer… Do you remember?

  By the end of the summer Jilly had a blue ribbon from the county fair for her chocolate soufflé. She’d forgotten about that.

  She rubbed a hand over her eyes, remembering the lazy August day with all the sharing and the laughter. Could you ever have better friends than this?

  She went back to the letter.

  Fast forward a few years.

  You’ve had setbacks. You’re worrying about work, life, your future. Since we can’t change those things, we gave you something almost as good.