Last Chance at the Someday Café

by Angel Smits

  He’d dared to touch her. Dared to reach out for something he wanted. Was he crazy? He knew better than to reach too high. That had never gotten him anything but pain.

  Morgan didn’t have room for regret.

  But it knocked on the door of his conscience now. He hadn’t lied to Tara, not really. He should have kept his distance, should have kept his libido under control. No, this was all on him.

  How would she know he was married? There wasn’t any sign of a wedding band—now or past—on his left hand. Hadn’t been since Sylvie had taken off.

  Oh, he’d filed for divorce. He’d done everything he was supposed to—except make it final. He had to find her to do that, but when he did... And not because he was pining away for Sylvie. No, mostly because he didn’t want to traumatize Brooke. His lawyer had assured him that he’d get custody of his daughter with little question from the courts.

  Especially after Sylvie had taken Brooke away like she had. The lawyer had gone on to explain that they could put a warrant out for Sylvie for violating the provisions of any custody agreement.

  Morgan could turn Sylvie into a criminal in a heartbeat—and terrorize his daughter when the cops swooped in and arrested her mother. His soon-to-be-ex-wife wasn’t smart enough to keep her temper under control. She’d make a scene. It would work in his favor.

  But Brooke would be the one to pay the price, and Morgan wasn’t willing to take that risk. Or give Sylvie any weapons against him. He’d stay married and alone if he had to, if that were the case.

  He’d stay away from Tara and the temptation she represented.

  And there she was, back again, front and center in his thoughts. Tara. He could almost feel her, almost taste her sweet kiss. Taunting him with what he couldn’t have.

  His curses flew around the room, filling the air with a deep blue. He tossed his drink at the trash and, missing, he returned to the pull-up bar.

  One.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  THE STREET FAIR was in full swing. With a break in the constant rain the past few days, the vendors, visitors and Tara were taking advantage of the opportunity to get outside.

  “Hi, Tara,” rang out from several booths as she walked along, perusing the offerings at each one. She liked this town, these people, and on the whole they supported her business. So she tried to support them and theirs.

  Today she’d brought a basket of Addie’s amazing cookies, each wrapped up so she could hand them out as thanks. She stopped at the tin sculptor’s booth first.

  Dave was doing a brisk business today. He looked up as she approached and smiled. “I’ll deliver your sculpture the first of next week if you’d like.”

  “That would be wonderful.” She’d already cleared a spot by the door for Mr. Squirrel. “I wanted to bring by a gift for you, to thank you for all your support.” She pulled out a package of cookies that she’d wrapped in a ribbon. His eyes lit up.

  “Are those the famous Hawkins cookies I’ve heard about?” He rubbed his hands together in anticipation.

  “They are Addie’s specialty. Enjoy!” She set them on the table and he whisked them underneath with a flourish. She moved on to the next booth, smiling and anticipating the new addition to her decor.

  She was inspecting a bracelet in the next booth, thinking it would be a great birthday gift for her sister Mandy, when she felt a tug on the hem of her shirt. Surprised, she looked down, thinking she’d caught it on something.

  Instead she found herself staring into the wide eyes of the little girl who’d been in the diner with her babysitter a few nights ago. “Oh, hello.” She smiled and knelt to be at eye level with her.

  “Can I have one of those?” the girl whispered, pointing at the basket of cookies. Her eyes were wide, and she didn’t return Tara’s smile. Tara noticed she didn’t have the purple dragon with her, and there were smudges of dirt on her face and hands.

  “Of course, you can.” She reached for the cookie and watched the girl lick her lips. “Did you have breakfast, sweetie?” It was still early in the day.

  The girl shook her head.

  Tara looked around. “Are you with the babysitter?”

  “No.” Her ponytails bobbed. “Mama’s at work for only a little bit. Her boss is there so I’m not ’posed to be there.” She was still staring at the cookies. “Mama told me to stay out of the way.”

  And this was her staying out of the way? Granted, Haskins Corners was a small town and kids often ran around in the park and playground. And the townspeople kept an eye on each other’s kids like it was second nature. But little ones like this were seldom far from a watchful set of eyes. Tara looked around to see who was looking toward them. She saw no one.

  “Where does your mom work?” Tara had half a mind to go have a chat with the woman. The girl must have sensed her intent, as she shook her head slowly and started to back away.

  Tara frowned and lightly put her hand on her shoulder. “I’ll gladly give you the cookie, but how about we get breakfast first? There are some really good waffles at one of the booths.” She didn’t dare take her away from the fair in case her mother came looking for her.

  “Might serve her right,” Tara whispered to herself. To the girl she said, “Come on.” She extended her hand, just as she would to her nephew Tyler if he were here. The girl took it more readily than Tyler did now that he was a grown-up nine-year-old.

  “Do you like bacon?” Tara asked, planning a complete meal.

  “Ever’body likes bacon.” The girl rolled her big, brown eyes.

  “Most people do, you’re right.” They reached the booth and Tara ordered them each a waffle with bacon and a cup of orange juice. She wasn’t hungry, but she didn’t want the girl to eat alone.

  She led her to a picnic table near the playground and set their meal on the worn wood. “Hop up.” Tara lifted her, noticing as she did how thin and tiny she was.

  “Do you need help cutting that?” Tara asked as she took her seat across from the girl.

  “It’s big. Yes, please,” the girl whispered and Tara gladly took on the task, soon handing her the fork. It only took an instant for a bite of waffle to disappear.

  “You know, I’m not sure I know your name.” Tara made conversation, hoping to learn something to help this sweet child. “I feel like I know you. I’d like us to be friends.” She nibbled on the crispy bacon. “I’m Tara.”

  “I’m Brooke,” the girl said around another bite of waffle. “I’m gonna go to school soon. Mama says that’ll make her life easier.”

  Tara bet it would. No need to find childcare if the school system was taking care of them. Tara had heard Addie talk about the number of kids who really struggled because their parents weren’t involved. The topic was definitely a hot button for her sister who taught in Austin.

  “There you are.”

  Tara looked up to see the babysitter from the other night stalking toward them. She stopped at the edge of the table, her hands on her hips. “What are you doin’?” she asked Brooke.

  “Eating.” Brooke shoved another bite in, not having finished chewing the other one.

  “Slow down, sweetie.” Tara reached over and patted her arm. “There’s no rush.”

  “We gotta go. Your mom called, and she ain’t getting off like she thought. You’re coming with me.” Brooke’s face fell, and she slowly set down her fork, turning to climb down.

  “Please, let her stay and at least finish her breakfast,” Tara said in what she hoped was an authoritative voice that the babysitter would follow. Looking closer now, Tara realized she was a kid herself, a teen with an attitude to match.

  “Make it quick, kid.” She sat beside Brooke with a thud. “I’m meeting Jake in five minutes. He’s my boyfriend,” she told Tara.

  Slowly, Brooke put her legs under the table and
picked up her fork. She finished half the waffle and all the bacon before she spoke again. “I’m full.”

  Tara smiled. “Good. You don’t have to eat any more.”

  “Can we keep it so I can have some tomorrow?” Brooke looked at Tara, pleading in her eyes.

  “Waffles don’t keep,” the babysitter offered. “It’ll be gross by tomorrow. Come on, we gotta go.” She stood, impatiently.

  “Tell you what.” Tara leaned toward Brooke. “You know where I work, right?” Brook nodded. “I own the diner, so I can make you a new waffle anytime you like.”

  “Anytime?”

  “Yep.”

  “Even for supper?”

  “Even for supper. Anytime you’re hungry, you come see me. We’re friends, remember?”

  “Come on.” The teen had already walked several yards away.

  Brooke hastily climbed down, then instead of hurrying to catch up, she looked at Tara. “I like being your friend,” she said, then turned and ran behind the other girl. The crowd quickly swallowed them up, but not before Brooke looked back one last time and waved.

  Tara tried not to worry about the little girl, but she did feel better now. It was a start.

  * * *

  BEING IN THE office was strange. The floor beneath Morgan’s feet didn’t move, and the view outside the window stayed the same.

  “For gawdsake, sit down,” Jack grumbled from his desk. “You’re driving me nuts.”

  Morgan planted his backside in the desk chair—that he’d had to dust off this morning—and stared at the computer monitor. He’d never taken any classes in accounting, but he understood it. He recognized the columns, knew what they were doing with all the numbers.

  Except his brain wasn’t on work today. He fought the urge to get up and walk to the window again.

  A short while later, the rumble of a truck’s engine drew his wandering attention. A black behemoth came slowly through the arched gate. Morgan stared. That rig. He’d recognize Dewey’s setup anywhere. The shiny black paint provided a vivid background for the bright orange flames on the sides. On the front grill of the Peterbilt, evil-looking teeth grinned maniacally at traffic. “What the—?”

  “What?” Jack frowned, frustration on his brow. “Problem?”

  “What’s Dewey Franklin doing here?”

  “Probably showing up for work.”

  “Since when?”

  “Since last fall. He’s a good hauler.” Jack shook his head, then with a shrug, turned to his own computer. “He takes most of the high-risk jobs. Makes us a good buck.”

  “I’ll just bet he does.” Morgan slammed his teeth together and stalked to the door. He didn’t care how much money the asshole made for them, he didn’t want him here. Dewey—and the world Dewey represented—had no place in this business.

  “Where you going?” Jack called after him. When Morgan didn’t answer, and kept going, Jack must have thought—rightfully so—that there was trouble. “Hey!”

  Morgan heard Jack’s footsteps behind him but didn’t stop.

  “Wondered when you were gonna come back.” Dewey’s gravelly voice, laced with laughter, came around the open door of the truck’s cab.

  Morgan stopped. Not for any other reason than the smidgen of sanity he’d developed over the years. “You’re not welcome here,” Morgan ground out between his tight teeth. “Keep moving.”

  “Sorry, Morgan. No can do.” The big man lumbered out of the cab, his wide grin cutting across his face. “I got a contract.”

  Morgan slowly pivoted on his heel and pinned Jack with one of his nastiest glares.

  Jack didn’t flinch. “He’s right.”

  Frustration bubbled inside Morgan. First, he’d lost contact with his men. Now, he’d apparently also lost complete say in who even worked for them.

  It was his own damned fault. Turning, Morgan decided the office might be a better place for him. He needed to learn his own business from square one, it seemed.

  “Hey, Morgan,” Dewey called.

  When Morgan turned around to look at him, Dewey did a few punches in the air, his battered fists flying and missing Morgan’s chin—barely. “Thought maybe you were going back on the circuit.” There was an ornery glint in Dewey’s eyes.

  “What the hell are you doing here, Dewey?” Morgan stepped closer, pushing into the man’s personal space. “I thought you were here to work.” He looked pointedly at Jack again, too.

  “Ah, come on, man. You know why I’m here. Money. Ain’t that why we do anything?” He nudged Morgan with a hard elbow. “Nice gig you got here. Almost said somethin’ when I saw you in Haskins Corners the other day.” His grin grew wider, if that was possible.

  Haskins Corners immediately brought Tara’s image to mind. What was Dewey doing there? Morgan frowned. “Keepin’ tabs on me?” Not even Jack knew Morgan’s actions with any regularity.

  “Ah, lighten up.” There was an edge to Dewey’s voice.

  Morgan stared at Dewey. The man hadn’t changed in the—what?—five years since their paths had crossed. “You been fighting this whole time?” He almost couldn’t believe anyone would take the abuse that long.

  “Yeah, some. Though I do a lot of other stuff nowadays.” The beefy trucker puffed up his chest. “I do some managing.”

  Managing? What the...? “Like who?” As Dewey talked about names and faces Morgan had left behind when he’d ditched living dangerously, it dawned on him that Dewey might be just the break he’d been looking for. Had Sylvie left it all behind, as well? Or not? The questions he’d had a couple days ago, when he’d been headed to the bars in Haskins Corners but got distracted by Tara, returned. Was Sylvie still haunting the back roads of the fights? That had been where he’d first met her.

  Morgan leaned against the warm metal of the truck’s frame. Casual. Seemingly uncaring, as his heart pounded in his chest. “You seen anyone else from back in the day?”

  “Back in the day?” Dewey cackled. “You act like it’s school. Though that last one, I guess you got a heck of a schooling.”

  Morgan’s joints still ached from that beating. Mack had been one of the roughest, meanest fighters in the ring. No mercy in that man’s eyes. No compromise in his soul.

  “Mack still fighting?”

  Another laugh. “Hell, no. He went even further the next fight. Near killed Jacob. No one wanted that. Tate called the authorities. Shoulda seen everyone scrambling to get out before the cops got there. Hauled all of ’em away. Tate’s got a good attorney, but Mack’s ass is in the state pen for a mighty long time.” Dewey’s voice faded, and he stared into the blue sky. “Least, I hope he’s still there. I might retire if he ever comes back.”

  Morgan thought that was probably a good idea for them all.

  “’Course you, that’s a whole ’nother story. You got potential, Morgan. I’d back you.”

  That almost surprised Morgan. He hadn’t fought in over five years. He wasn’t going to start now. Not unless... The idea of going back to that life, even temporarily, left a bad taste in his mouth.

  “Now, Morgan—” Jack stepped forward, almost in between him and Dewey. “You quit all that for a reason.”

  Morgan had nearly forgotten Jack was there. “I know.” He wasn’t going to explain now what he was thinking to Jack. Not in front of Dewey. “Just wonderin’ about some of the people I used to know.” He turned to Dewey. “There still a horde of followers?”

  “Followers? You mean the women?” He elbowed Morgan again. “You lookin’ for some action, my friend? I can get you some of that, too. Though I saw that little gal you’re so hot on in Haskins Corners last week.”

  “Who?” he asked cautiously, not wanting Dewey to know about Tara if he didn’t already. Sylvie on the other hand... “You’ve seen Sylvie?”

 
Dewey’s laugh was nearly a cackle. “She’s kinda tough to miss. You lose her?”

  Morgan nearly went after the man and his insinuation right there in the yard. He’d fought Dewey a few times, enough to know it wasn’t an easy slam dunk to beat the man. But Morgan hadn’t been thinking straight for weeks. Why start now?

  When Morgan leaned in closer, Dewey lifted his hands in the sign of surrender. “I’m just sayin’, I got an in, man.” Dewey grew quiet. “What’s the point if you’re not gonna step into a ring?” He turned away, pulling paperwork out. “I’d like to get some of my money back, but I ain’t gonna beg. You change your mind, your brother knows how to reach me.”

  “You know where Sylvie is?” Morgan asked, his voice low and menacing.

  “Maybe. You fight. Maybe I’ll get the information for you. I can get you in next weekend.”

  Was this the last puzzle piece? Was he finally going to find Sylvie—and Brooke? Morgan stepped into Dewey’s personal space, real close, real tight. “Prove to me you know where she’s at, and you bet your ass I’ll fight.” Morgan stalked away, glaring at Jack, who, slack-jawed, stared at him. “I’m taking lunch,” he told Jack and headed to his pickup. His concentration was shot. Dread threatened to overwhelm the flicker of hope he felt.

  The old Chevy was as small a vehicle as he could stand to drive after sitting in the big rig for so long. He revved the engine and took off through the lot like a bat out of hell. He didn’t have to crank the radio. It was already on full blast, heavy guitars blaring in the close confines of the cab.

  Driving past Dewey, Morgan thought about flipping the guy off but knew Jack wouldn’t like it. And whether Morgan liked it or not, this was Jack’s haven now. Morgan felt as out of place in the office as ever.

  * * *

  TARA STARED AT her brother. DJ had come in for lunch again, and she couldn’t help wondering what was going on. It was Saturday and Tammie was home. Surely he’d want to spend time with his wife instead of his sister.

  “What?” he asked around the bite of his thick burger.