The Trouble with Joe

by Emilie Richards

  So she was sentimental. Why wasn’t he surprised?

  Adrian continued in, brushing the curtain as he rounded it. “Good morning.”

  She looked up, startled. “I didn’t hear you coming.”

  Irrelevantly, he noticed what beautiful skin she had, almost translucent. Tiny freckles scattered from the bridge of her nose to her cheekbones. They hadn’t been noticeable until now, with sunlight falling across her.

  “I heard you talking about gardening.”

  Her cheeks pinkened, but Lucy only nodded. “Your mother told me spring was her favorite season. She loved to walk around town and look at everyone’s gardens. Sometimes we dreamed together.”

  What a way to put it. Had he ever in his life dreamed together with anyone?

  He knew the answer: with his mother.

  Almost against his will, his gaze was drawn to her, looking like a marble effigy lying in that hospital bed. It was hard to believe this was the vivacious woman of his memory.

  “We had a garden when I was growing up,” he said abruptly. “In Edmonds. We didn’t have a big yard, but it was beautiful. She spent hours out there every day on her knees digging in flower beds. I remember the hollyhocks, a row of them in front of the dining-room windows. Delphinium and foxgloves and climbing roses. Mom said she liked flowers that grew toward the sky instead of hugging the ground.”

  “Oh,” Lucy breathed. “What a lovely thing to say.”

  “She talked like that a lot. My father would grunt and ignore her.” Damn it, why had he said that? Adrian wondered, disconcerted. Reminiscing about his mother was one thing, about the tensions in his family another thing altogether.

  “I’m sorry,” Lucy said softly. Perhaps she saw his face tighten, because instead of asking more about his father or when his mother had disappeared from his life, she said, “I thought about starting a small flower bed under my front windows this spring.” Almost apologetically, she told him, “I don’t have very much time to work in my yard. I wanted to take Elizabeth with me to the nursery to pick out the plants. She has such a good eye.” Her hand crept onto the coverlet and squeezed the inert, gnarled hand of his mother. “I wish she’d wake up and say, ‘When shall we go?’”

  She sounded so unhappy, he thought with faint shock, she loves Mom. How did that happen?

  “I’m surprised to see you here again this morning.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “Because Dr. Slater tried to bully me into staying away?”

  His mouth twitched. He doubted Ben Slater knew how to bully anyone. Although... “I have a friend who took a class from him in med school. Tom says he’s a tough grader.”

  “You checked up on him.”

  “Wouldn’t you have?” he countered.

  The pause was long enough to tell him how reluctant she was when she conceded, “I suppose so. Did he get a satisfactory rating?”

  “A gold star. He’s the best, Tom says.”

  “I could have told you that.”

  But he wouldn’t have believed her. They both knew that.

  When he didn’t respond, she asked, “Have you made a plan yet?”

  He looked back at his mother, watching as her chest rose and fell, the stirring of the covers so subtle he had to watch carefully to see it. “Move her to Seattle. What else can I do?”

  As if he’d asked quite seriously, Lucy said, “Leave her here for now. Until Dr. Slater says she can go to a nursing home. And we even have one of those here in Middleton, you know.”

  God, he was tempted. Leave her to people who cared. Whose faces she’d recognized if she opened her eyes.

  Abdicate.

  He shook his head reluctantly. “I don’t have time to be running over here constantly. And it sounds as if the chances are good she won’t be waking up.”

  Lucy pinched her lips together. After a long time, she said, “I suppose that’s true.” She gazed at his mother, not him. “How soon will you be taking her?”

  “I don’t know. I’ll get my assistant hunting for a place with an open bed.”

  Now she did turn a cool look on him. “Won’t you want to check it out yourself?”

  “Why do you dislike me?” he surprised himself by asking.

  With a flash of alarm in her eyes, she drew back. “What would make you think—”

  “Come on. It’s obvious. You think I should have found her. Taken care of her.”

  Her chin rose fractionally. “I suppose I do.”

  Adrian shoved his hands in his pockets. “I did look for her some years back.” He rotated his shoulders in discomfiture. “I suppose...not that hard. I thought she was dead.”

  Her brow crinkled. “Why?”

  “Even as a kid, I knew there was something wrong with her. My father claimed she’d gone to a hospital to be treated. Then he told me she’d checked herself out because she didn’t want to get well. I was young enough to believe that if she was alive, she wouldn’t have left me.”

  She stared at him, and prompted, “Young enough to believe...? Does that mean, now that you’re an adult, you don’t have any trouble believing she’d ditch you without a second thought?”

  God. He felt sick. That rich breakfast wasn’t settling well in his stomach.

  “Apparently she did,” he said flatly.

  He felt himself reddening as her extraordinary eyes studied him like a bug under a microscope.

  She surprised him, though, by sounding gentle. “How old were you?”

  His jaw tightened. “Ten.”

  “And you never saw her or heard from her again?”

  He shook his head.

  “How awful,” she murmured, as if to herself. “Your father doesn’t sound like a, um...”

  “Warm man?” Irony in his voice, Adrian finished her thought. “No. You could say that.”

  “Have you told him...” She nodded toward the bed.

  “He’s dead.”

  “Oh.” Compassion and an array of other emotions crossed her face, as if the sunlight coming through the window were suddenly dappled with small, fluttering shadows. “Do you have other family? I didn’t think to ask if you had sisters or brothers.”

  Adrian shook his head. “Just me. Dad remarried, but as far as I know he and my stepmother never considered having kids.”

  She nodded, her gaze softer now, less piercing.

  Without knowing why, he kept talking. “His parents are still alive. I’m not close to them.” He hesitated. “My maternal grandmother is alive, too. I haven’t told her yet.”

  “Oh! But won’t she be thrilled?”

  “I’m not so sure. She might have preferred to think her child was dead. To find out she didn’t care enough to ever call home...” He shrugged.

  “That’s not fair! She forgot who she was!”

  “But then Maman may feel she failed her in some way.”

  “Oh,” Lucy said again. “Maman? Is that what you call her? Is she French?”

  “French Canadian. She lives in Nova Scotia. That’s where I was, with my grandparents, the summer my mother went away.”

  “What a sad story.”

  Oh, good. He’d gone from being a monster in her eyes to being pitiable. Adrian wasn’t sure he welcomed the change.

  When he said nothing, she flushed and rose to her feet. “I really had better go. I don’t do breakfast, but it’s time for me to start lunch.” She hesitated. “If you’d like...”

  What was she going to suggest? That she could feed him free of charge like she had his mother?

  “Like?” he prodded, when she didn’t finish.

  “I was going to say that, after lunch, I could take an hour or two and introduce you to some of the people who knew your mother. They could tell you something about her life.”
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  “Your sister started to.”

  He felt weirdly uncomfortable with the idea. But if his mother died without ever coming out of the coma, this might be the only way he’d ever find out who she’d become. Perhaps she’d even given someone a clue as to where she’d been in the years before she came to Middleton. He thought his grandmother, at least, would want to know as much as he could find out.

  After a minute he nodded and said formally, “Thank you. I’d appreciate that.”

  Lucy smiled, lighting her pale, serious face, making her suddenly, startlingly beautiful in a way unfamiliar to him. Adrian’s chest constricted.

  He thought he took a step toward her, searching her eyes the way she often did his. Her pupils dilated as she stared back at him, her smile dying. He felt cruel when wariness replaced it.

  She inched around him as if afraid to take her gaze from him, then backed toward the door. “I’ll, um, see you later then? Say, two o’clock?”

  “I’ll come and eat lunch first.” He paused. “Your soup was amazing.”

  The tiniest of smiles curved her lips again. “Wait until you taste my basil mushroom tomato soup.”

  His own mouth crooked up. “I’ll look forward to it.”

  “Well, then...” She backed into the door frame and gave an involuntarily “umph” before she flushed in embarrassment, cast him one more alarmed look and fled.

  He stood there by the curtain, the soft beep of the machines that monitored his mother’s life signs in his ears, and wondered what in hell had just happened.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  THE CAFÉ WAS BUSY, which made it even more ridiculous that Lucy’s heart insisted on skipping a beat every time the door opened and a customer entered. Was she excited at the prospect of spending more time with Adrian? Nervous about it? She didn’t even know, but she didn’t like reacting so strongly for no good reason at all.

  For goodness’ sake, he was going to eat lunch in the café! He’d eaten here last night. She planned to introduce him to a few people. He’d probably freeze her out in between stops. He was good at that.

  Reason didn’t seem to be helping. Something had changed between them this morning. He’d let her see the cracks in his facade of invulnerability. Well, he might not have chosen to show them, but they were there. He did hurt. This wasn’t easy for him.

  And he’d looked at her. Really looked, and maybe even liked what he’d seen. For just a moment, she’d seen something on his face that had stolen her breath and panicked her.

  Common sense and reason did work to stifle any sense of expectation that he was suddenly, madly attracted to her. Okay, there might have been a brief flicker. But Lucy hated to think how she compared to the women he usually dated.

  Her hands froze in the act of tossing salad in a huge bowl.

  Dated? He could conceivably be married. When she researched him on the Internet before going over to Seattle that day, she didn’t see anything to make her think he was, and he certainly hadn’t mentioned a wife, as in, My wife will visit any nursing homes my assistant finds, which you’d think would be natural. But he was closemouthed enough that it was still possible.

  And what difference did it make if he was? she asked herself with unaccountable depression. He was here in Middleton until Tuesday. Today was Saturday. Once he was gone, she’d probably get a nice note thanking her for taking care of his mother and that was it. Oh, and the chances were his assistant would’ve written the note. Wasn’t that what assistants did?

  Mabel stuck her head in the kitchen. “Erin just called in sick. She has a cold.”

  Lucy groaned. “Oh, no. Is it bad? Or an I-need-a-personal-day bug?”

  “I didn’t recognize her voice. It sounded like she has a doozy of a cold.”

  “Which we’d better not catch.” Lucy frowned. “Okay. Why don’t you call Bridget? I was going to hire her anyway. See if she can start tonight. She’s spent enough time here she ought to be able to jump right in.”

  Mabel knew Lucy’s aunt as well as Lucy did. “Beth doesn’t want her to work.”

  “Yeah, I kinda suspected that. That’s between them. I can’t imagine she’d mind Bridget filling in.”

  “Probably not,” Mabel conceded. She flapped a hand and retreated.

  The bell on the door tinkled and Lucy’s head snapped around. For the hundredth time.

  It was him. He looked more human today, wearing running shoes, jeans and a V-neck blue jersey. Sexier, she realized, her pulse tap-dancing. Even his hair was a little disheveled.

  Unlike last night, when his single glance around the café had been distant and even dismissive, today his gaze moved slowly and comprehensively from the old-fashioned, gilt-trimmed cash register and the jar of free mints to the artwork hanging on the walls, the windows with their red-checked curtains below lacy valances, the townsfolk and tourists nearly filling the tables and row of booths along the back wall and finally the cutout that allowed her to see him.

  Their eyes met, and he nodded.

  Lucy nodded, too, hastily, and ducked out of sight, her cheeks hot. He’d caught her gaping.

  No, he hadn’t. She’d glanced up because a patron had entered the café. She always kept half an eye on the front of the house even while she was cooking. Of course she did; it was her restaurant.

  He had no reason to suspect he made her heart flutter, and she wouldn’t give him any reason to.

  What the heck. He’d probably be rude this afternoon to someone she really liked, and her heart would quit fluttering anyway.

  When she looked out at the restaurant again, Mabel had seated him and he was studying a menu. Other people were covertly watching him. Lucy’s cousin Jen was murmuring behind her hand to her best friend, Rhonda, who owned the Clip and Curl, the competition to the Hair Do. Rhonda had been heard saying disdainfully, “I wouldn’t have washed some homeless woman’s hair. Imagine how disgusting it must be.” Lucy didn’t like Rhonda, and Jen wasn’t her favorite relative, either. Jen, who liked feeling important, would be telling all she knew about the rich lawyer who was the homeless woman’s son. The two were probably both thrilled that he’d be ridding Middleton of the scourge of homelessness.

  Jen had come by her tendency to gossip naturally. Her mom was Lucy’s Aunt Lynn. The one who was a trial.

  Lucy had worked herself up to being annoyed enough that she took off her apron and marched out, ignoring Jen and Rhonda, straight to Adrian.

  Maybe, if she were lucky, she’d start the whole family talking. Hadn’t she wished for years that she’d done something exciting enough to scandalize them?

  “I’m glad you made it,” she said.

  He looked up from the menu. “You thought I was afraid to show up?” Before she could answer, he said, “How’s the grilled-chicken sandwich with red-pepper aioli?”

  “Fabulous,” Lucy assured him. “Sam bakes the focaccia bread for us.”

  “Ah.” That apparently decided him, because he set down the menu. “This is a family enterprise, huh?”

  “No, it’s mine, except that I’ve been buying baked goods from Sam. And now we’re talking about me catering dinners for some special events she’s thinking of holding at the B and B. Like a mystery weekend. You know.” She paused. “Well, and I just added one of my cousins to the waitstaff. Although her mom won’t be happy.” Oh, brilliant. Like he’d care. “Are you ready for me to take your order?”

  His eyes held a glint. “Did you think I wasn’t going to show?”

  “No. I doubt you ever back away from whatever you’ve decided is the best course.”

  Did that sound as rude to him as it had to her own ears?

  His mouth twisted. “Oh, I have my cowardly impulses.” Then his expression closed and he said, “I’d like the grilled-chicken sandwich and a cup of your soup.”
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br />   “Anything to drink?”

  “Just coffee.”

  “It’ll be right out,” she said, and went back to the kitchen.

  Mabel was dishing up soup. Voice dry, she said, “Bridget squealed and said, ‘I can start tonight? Awesome!’”

  “She’s young.”

  “She’ll do fine,” Mabel said comfortably. “If she’s floundering, I’ll stay late.”

  Lucy smiled at her. “Thank you. You’re a lifesaver.”

  “What’d Mr. Attorney order?”

  “Adrian.” Lucy moderated a voice that had come out sharper than she’d intended. “His name is Adrian Rutledge.”

  Mabel’s carefully plucked eyebrows rose. “Didn’t mean to be insulting.”

  “It sounded insulting.” Lucy sighed. “Forget it. Rhonda and Jen are out there whispering, and that got my back up.”

  “They get my back up every time they come in here. Don’t worry.” She nodded toward the front. “Are you getting his order?”

  “Yes, and I’m going to take a couple of hours after the rush is over to introduce him to people who knew his mom. He wants to find out what he can about her.”

  “Uh-huh.” Mabel’s skepticism was plain, but she grabbed two salads and whisked out of the kitchen before Lucy could demand to know why she was hostile to Adrian.

  Lucy did deliver his food, but she didn’t have time to sit with him any more than she had with the hat lady the last time she’d come here. The better business was, the less time Lucy had to do anything but hustle. Between cooking and doing the ordering, she had precious few hours away from the café, and in some of those she kept the books, made deposits and created new recipes.

  She liked cooking. She liked experimenting, and chatting with customers, and showing everyone she could succeed. But the responsibility of owning the place and having half a dozen other people’s livelihoods depend on her was so overwhelming, she had no chance to even imagine what else she could do with her life. She hadn’t been on a date in... Lucy had to count back. Four and a half months, and that was playing tennis at the club in Port Angeles and lunch afterward with Owen Marshall. And that hadn’t been what you’d call a success. After watching him throw a temper tantrum when he lost a set to her, she hadn’t hesitated to say no the next time he called.