Last Chance at the Someday Café

by Angel Smits

  Finally done, Morgan set down the weights. “Okay, spit it out.” He grabbed the towel and his water bottle, letting himself cool down before diving into whatever Jack was working on.

  “I’m looking for a load for you so this trip won’t be a complete waste.”

  That quieted Morgan’s next comments. Their company had several over-the-road hauling contracts. But what Jack was best at, and what had made them successful, was his brokering skills. The rest of the crew worked on everyday loads. But Morgan had a mission that had nothing to do with their regular customers, and if Jack could get him one-time loads, it paid well. As long as you weren’t picky about what was riding behind you.

  And Morgan wasn’t. Morgan was freestyling as he hunted for his ex, who’d taken off with their daughter before the divorce and custody agreement had been finalized.

  Nearly a year had passed since Morgan had seen his daughter, Brooke. She was supposed to start school this fall, and Morgan refused to think about her doing so anywhere but home, refused to even entertain the idea that she might actually not start school at all. Sylvie wasn’t that organized or dedicated to anything.

  Despite finishing his workout, Morgan nearly started lifting the weights again. Frustrated energy was the worst to burn off.

  “So where you headed next?” Jack asked, without looking up from the computer screen.

  When Sylvie had first disappeared, and Morgan had decided to hunt for her and Brooke, Jack had bought him a map of the entire United States that dominated one wall.

  They both knew Sylvie well enough to know she wasn’t going to take Brooke out of the States, but there were forty-eight of them and he’d driven through most of them trying to find her.

  That US map had eventually been covered up by a new one of just the western states. It had taken only a couple months to narrow down where she’d gone. The network of truckers Morgan and his crew knew had provided a lot of the early information. Following the trail of credit cards had also helped—until Sylvie apparently realized she was leaving a trail. Now it was a map of just Texas. At least she’d stayed in the same state.

  “Here.” Morgan swept his hand over the western part of the state, waving his hand over the area west of Austin. “There was a charge on one of her old cards last week.”

  “It could have been stolen,” Jack suggested.

  “Yeah. Or she could be just passing through.” But he couldn’t ignore even the smallest clue. The small bedroom communities he was heading to were kitschy tourist towns with streets lined with old junkshops, eclectic restaurants and run-down motels. Sylvie territory.

  No place for a child. Especially his child.

  His frustration at not having found her, and at being stupid enough to get involved with someone like Sylvie in the first place, bubbled to the surface in the form of guilt. His protective streak was too ingrained, but she hadn’t wanted his protection, hadn’t ever planned to stay.

  What if he never saw Brooke again? Or worse, what if the next time he saw his daughter, she was an adult who came to find him and wanted to know why he’d never looked for her, never found her? He swallowed the panic and resisted the urge to smash something.

  “Get out of your head, Morgan.” Jack’s voice broke into his thoughts.

  “And you wonder why I listen to the music?”

  “No, I don’t wonder.” Jack did look at Morgan this time. “Let’s get you a load, if we can. Hopefully, we can at least cover the fuel.”

  “Hey.” Morgan pulled out a chair, spinning, then straddling it, stacking his thick arms on top of the back. “How much is this straining the business? Is it making it too rough on you?”

  Jack didn’t stop typing, his fingers smacking the keys loud and hard. “No. We’re tight, like we always are, but we’re good.”

  “Are you sure?” The tension Morgan could see in his brother’s shoulders denied the reassurances.

  “Even if we aren’t?” Jack stopped typing and looked up. “She’s important to me, too. She’s my niece, Morgan. This is my mission, too. So get to work. I’ll get you a load.” He went back to typing.

  “Thanks.” Morgan stood and carefully put the chair back. “I’m taking the truck for a bath. I’ll start my checks after we grab dinner.”

  Jack nodded. “I’ll have your route mapped out by then.”

  Outside, the afternoon sun was bright, but the wind was cold, cutting through him. He’d left his jacket in the truck, not needing it this morning. He smelled damp in the air. Sucky start of a run.

  There’d been way too much rain this year. And the season wasn’t over yet. The last time he’d gone out, he’d been stuck in El Paso for two days, unable to get back because of the flooding. This time, if he got stuck, maybe it’d be closer to either Sylvie and Brooke, or home.

  The big Peterbilt roared to life, purring beneath his hands, rumbling as he pulled across the yard. Nearly a dozen trailers sat parked inside the fence. These were empty right now, but by tomorrow, Jack would work his magic and the trailers would be out of here, on their way to being loaded, then delivered.

  Two men headed toward the office. Phil and Brian—good men. Jack knew the crew better than he did these days. When was the last time Morgan had taken the chance to chat with them? He missed that. Missed time with his brother. He closed his eyes for an instant. He just missed downtime.

  But finding Brooke was more important.

  And if he missed anything, it was her.

  He drove out of the yard, under the big steel sign he’d been so proud to hang—Thane Brothers Trucking. He’d worked damned hard to build this company. Hell, he still did, but what good was it doing any of them?

  Damn Sylvie. He sighed and flipped on the stereo. Blaring the hard rock forced the emotions out of his head. He steered to the truck wash, not letting himself dwell on what did—or did not—lay ahead on this trip. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could do this, how much longer he could ask Jack and the others to shoulder his share of the load.

  Sitting there, waiting for the attendant to guide him into place, Morgan wrestled with his indecision.

  This run had to be a success. He had to find Brooke. When he’d first reported them missing, the authorities had done what they could. They kept him informed. But it wasn’t fast enough. Yesterday wasn’t soon enough to have his daughter back.

  Morgan was running out of time. He knew it. He’d never stop looking, never stop searching for her. But he also knew Jack was lying to him. Things were tight, too tight. Jack needed him to get back in the office, to help run the company they’d built together. Morgan needed to do his job. He owed Jack and his crew that.

  Damn it.

  He couldn’t ask his brother or his men to sacrifice anything more. This had to be his last run. Either he found them and came home—or he didn’t and he gave up on this quest.

  It was the right decision.

  So why did it make his heart ache?

  * * *

  TIRED BEYOND BELIEF, Tara brushed the soft blue paint around the last doorframe. Doing the painting herself was one way she could save money on this venture. Over halfway done, she smiled. Done. What a lovely word.

  Once these two walls were finished—and the furniture brought in—the Someday Café would be one step closer to reality. She’d be one step closer to true independence.

  “Hello?” A woman’s voice came across the empty dining room, startling Tara. She’d thought she was alone. Her arms ached, and she hoped to finish soon. She didn’t have time for interruptions.

  Still, she settled the brush on top of the paint can and turned. She knew she didn’t look her best. A shadow of blue teased at the corner of her eye. Honestly? She had paint in her hair? Again?

  The woman standing in the doorway wasn’t anyone Tara knew. “Can I help you?” She wiped her hand
s on the tail of her paint shirt.

  “Uh, yeah.” The woman stepped forward, extending a hand tipped with black-lacquered fingernails. “I’m Sylvie.” Her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I thought you might be hiring.”

  She was, but something about the woman jarred Tara. Maybe it was the black nails? Or maybe the pink-and-blue spiked hair? No. She squinted, trying to figure it out. The midnight blue lipstick on the lips that sported two metal rings? What’d they call those things? Snake bites? Ouch.

  The youngest of six kids whose father had died when she was two, Tara had been coddled and nearly spoiled by her family—which sometimes left her ill-prepared for a world beyond their loving arms.

  And leery of strangers. Like this Sylvie. But Tara knew it wasn’t the woman’s outer appearance that made her pause. No, it was the bloodshot eyes that lacked any warmth or caring.

  “We won’t be open for a few more weeks.”

  “Oh, that’s okay. I have a job at the T-shirt shop—my real one—so I’m not in any big rush.”

  “Uh-huh.” Tara bit her tongue, holding back the question she knew she couldn’t utter. This wasn’t a real job? This place that had taken every dime of her savings and inheritance and then some? This restaurant that was her dream, and yet the hardest thing she’d ever done, wasn’t a “real” business?

  Tell her aching muscles that.

  Tara racked her brain for an excuse to end this conversation and get back to work. “Well, as you can see, I’m busy right now.” She gestured at the paint and drop cloths. “Maybe in a week or so I can get started on the applicants.” She’d already scheduled two interviews, but something told her she shouldn’t tell this woman that.

  “Sure. I’ll come back.” Sylvie smiled and spun on her heel. At the doorway, she stopped and looked back. “This will look really cool when you’re done. But that old blue is awful. White’ll really brighten up the place.”

  “Really?” Tara couldn’t hide her sarcasm. Keeping her mouth shut had never been a strength.

  “Definitely. I studied design in school for a while. White is like a blank canvas.” She spread her arms wide. “I could help you design a whole new place.”

  Tara didn’t want a whole new place. “Uh, thanks. I’ll let you know.” Tara could only stare, hoping the woman wouldn’t return. She left the way she’d come, the door slamming closed behind her.

  Tara looked at the light blue paint she’d agonized over choosing and had spent the better part of a week putting on the walls. It was perfect and would look beautiful—she hoped—with the lace curtains she’d ordered.

  The old-fashioned, homey, wood furniture was in storage until she finished painting, and the oak floor was scheduled to be refinished later this week.

  Picturing those black fingernails putting out the lace doilies she’d bought at the flea market last week made Tara cringe.

  No, Sylvie wasn’t a good match for this place. She was too rough. Too edgy. This place had no edge. It was about comfort food and relaxation.

  Turning to her work, Tara forced herself to slow down and not slap the paintbrush against the wall. Old blue? Really? She reached for the long-handled roller and started on the next wall, all thoughts of taking a break gone.

  As she worked, her brain kept time with the rhythm of the roller. Was she doing the right thing? Up. She’d worked too hard to have doubts now. Down. What if everyone thought like Sylvie? Up. Not everyone had blue hair. Down.

  The light shifted and the streak of blue in her own blond hair caught her eye again. Present company excepted. “I am not like her,” she said aloud.

  “Not like who?”

  Startling her worse than Sylvie had, DJ came into the room. Tara dropped the paint roller, which landed with a sloppy plop on the wood floor, flinging more paint in the air—most likely adding to her hair.

  “Good thing you’re refinishing that,” he said, unruffled as usual. He carefully made his way across the room. His back must be bothering him today since he moved slowly. Though he was healed, DJ would never be a hundred percent like he was before he’d been wounded in Afghanistan.

  “Why are you here?” She bent to pick up the roller and wiped up as much of the paint as she could.

  “Grumpy today?” He lifted a white bag with a familiar logo on it. Her favorite burger joint. “Is that any way to greet the person saving you from starvation?”

  “I’m fine.” Her stomach rumbled just to make a liar out of her.

  “Uh-huh.”

  He carried the bag over to the diner’s long counter. She’d covered it with an old sheet while she worked, and he pushed it away, exposing the beautiful hand-carved surface.

  Seeing it went a long way toward reassuring her that buying this place was a good idea. She’d fallen in love with the counter the first time she’d seen it, and it still amazed her it was now hers.

  The scent of her favorite burger made her mouth water. “What’s this?” She climbed up on one of the low vinyl stools that were anchored on chrome pedestals to the floor. “Bribery?”

  “A peace offering.” He had the grace to look chagrined. “We weren’t very supportive the other day.”

  “You think?” She stared at him.

  “Here.” He fished a burger out of the bag and put it on the counter. On the tail of that delicious aroma, the container of fries emitted a wonderful smell of grease and heat.

  Tara bit into the luscious burger, savoring the warm juices that exploded in her mouth. She loved to cook, but years ago, she’d learned the value of letting someone else cook sometimes. This was one of those times. She did have a danged good burger on the menu, but this one she didn’t have to make herself.

  And it tasted like heaven.

  “If you love these burgers so much,” DJ said around a mouthful, “why don’t you make them yourself? Heck, I like yours better.”

  “I could. But where’s the fun in that?”

  “It’s looking good in here.” DJ nodded to the mostly blue walls.

  “Yeah,” she agreed.

  “Hey!” Another voice interrupted them. They both turned to find Addie standing there, a box in her arms, on top of which was an identical white bag emblazoned with the same logo.

  “Beat you to it, sis.” DJ grinned, barely taking a break from his meal.

  Addie came over and settled beside Tara. “Here I thought I had a good idea.”

  “It is a good idea.” Tara reached for the new bag. “At least you all know my favorite junk food.” She grinned at Addie. “And she...” Tara nodded toward her sister with a pointed glance at DJ. “She remembered I like chocolate shakes with my fries.” She pulled out the tall cup and shoved the straw through the lid. “Yum!”

  “I brought this, too.” Addie’s voice was nearly a whisper. The box from the night at Mom’s. The recipes. “Thought you might need it.”

  “Thanks.” Tara ducked her head, concentrating on her food instead of the warm emotion flowing inside her.

  They ate until the door opened again. Wyatt came in and froze halfway across the room. His frown made them all laugh.

  “Hey, big brother,” Tara greeted him. “Come join us.” Looking at the size of the white bag in his hands, she said, “Hope you’re hungry, since there’s going to be a lot left. Is Emily with you?” She didn’t see his wife anywhere.

  “No,” he growled as he settled next to Addie. “DJ, the leftovers are yours.” He shoved the bag down the counter.

  “Was I just insulted?” DJ nabbed a spare pack of fries from the new bag with a wide grin. “Thanks for the fries.”

  “Anytime.”

  DJ shrugged. “What we don’t want, I can take home to Pork Chop and Hamlet.” His son’s pet pigs were going to feast tonight.

  Tara smiled, enjoying the food and the company.
“We’ve got enough for Mandy and Jason, too. Too bad they aren’t here.”

  “Yeah.” Addie sat back, her eyes distant as she enjoyed her own shake. Strawberry—Tara knew without even looking—Addie’s favorite since they were kids. “I miss us all being together.” There was sadness in her voice.

  “They aren’t missing us.” DJ laughed and they all joined in. Jason was in Europe on his belated honeymoon with his new bride, who was touring with a ballet company. And Mandy was with her fiancé, Lane, fighting a wildfire in Canada. Tara whispered a simple prayer that they all came home safe and sound.

  “Are you going to be ready to open in time?” Addie started to gather the trash, always busy taking care of everyone.

  “Relax, Ad.” Tara reached out to grasp her sister’s arm. “Just toss everything the pigs aren’t getting in that barrel.” The trash can was filled with a variety of boards, paintbrushes, plastic and everything she’d swept up. “Not like there’s anything to really clean yet.”

  “You don’t need any more work,” Addie admonished. “Gentlemen, clean up after yourselves.”

  The look that passed between DJ and Wyatt made Tara laugh. They looked more like the kids they used to be than the men they were. It was nice.

  Tara loved these people. Her family. Her siblings. She was proud of them, proud to be one of them.

  Wyatt owned and operated one of Texas’s most successful cattle ranches. DJ helped him, though her brother was still a soldier at heart despite his injuries. Addie was a teacher who focused on tough kids. Her other siblings, who weren’t here—though they would be if they were in the state—were just as successful.

  She was determined to be successful, too.

  She looked around at the half-done diner she was trying to turn into a popular, busy restaurant. Their comments and reactions from the other night returned and sparked her feeling of inadequacy again.

  What if their concerns were proven right and she failed? What if no one came here to eat? What if that Sylvie woman was right and it was an ugly mistake? The delicious burger turned to dust in her mouth.