by Angel Smits
“I paid for a babysitter.” Sylvie tried to defend herself, but even she looked defeated.
Emily leaned back in Wyatt’s big desk chair. “I’m not going to make any final rulings today. There will need to be another full hearing.” Emily paused for a long time, thinking. Tara wished she could read her sister-in-law’s mind.
Finally, she spoke again. “But we are going to settle a few things. Morgan, I know your attorney has filed a motion for full custody. I’ve read it.” She looked up from the computer screen. “Is that still what you want?”
Morgan didn’t hesitate. “It’s not about what I want.” He took a deep breath. “It’s about what’s best for Brooke.”
“Give me a break,” Sylvie said under her breath.
Emily looked at Sylvie. “Do you have something to say at this point?”
Emily gave Sylvie every chance to explain her comment. Tara held her breath, hoping for Brooke’s sake that for once Sylvie could put her daughter before herself.
“She’s my daughter.” Sylvia said and Tara’s hopes faded. “I know what’s best for her.”
“Taking her away from her home, from a father she obviously loves and who loves her in return is in her best interest how?” Emily asked.
“You saw how she reacts when we talk to each other.” Sylvie threw her arms wide. “I had to get away.”
“For a year?” Emily asked.
“Yes. I had things to do. Being a truck driver’s wife sucks.”
“Hmm.” Emily paused before she asked, “If Brooke hadn’t gone to Tara’s diner, if we weren’t here today, would you have any plans to take your daughter to her father?”
Morgan’s sharp intake of breath was loud in the room.
“Why would I do that?”
Tara closed her eyes, afraid of what Morgan was feeling and thinking. When she opened her eyes again, he hadn’t moved, but his gaze dark. His anger and anguish filled the room.
“Morgan?” Emily’s voice broke in, and he slowly returned his gaze to Emily.
“Yes, ma’am?”
“I’m granting your motion for full custody. It’s temporary, until a formal hearing can be held.”
Tara figured this was the part where Emily would probably bang a gavel or something if they were in an actual courtroom. She’d never been in Emily’s courtroom, but she had a feeling it was a fair and just place.
“But—” Sylvie tried to protest.
“Don’t push your luck.” Emily faced Sylvie. “I get the impression you took that little girl away from her father a year ago for no other reason than spite. You’re the one who’s put her at risk. You’ve barely taken care of her.” Emily’s anger was rising.
“I did my best.”
“Maybe,” Emily conceded. “But it’s time for someone besides you to judge that. Dutch?”
“Yes?” The older man stepped forward.
“You’re my court witness on this. I know you don’t file motions, but can you put that in your report and submit it to my clerk?”
“Yes, ma’am, I sure can.” The older man didn’t even bother to hide his grin.
“You’re all crazy.” Sylvie stomped her foot, the thick carpet stealing most of her thunder.
“You’re right. The court will be looking more closely into this, if for no other reason than to settle custody of Brooke over the long haul.”
Sylvie walked toward Morgan. “This isn’t over.”
Morgan sighed, but the look he gave her lacked any anger. Tara wondered what he was thinking, what he was looking for.
“Sylvie, get your act together. Figure you out. I won’t take Brooke away from you. You’re her mom, she loves you, but we have to do what’s best for her right now.”
Time ticked by as their gazes clashed. Sylvie’s eyes shone, but whatever emotion she was feeling, whatever thoughts she’d let in, she quickly blinked away. Her eyes turned cold again and she stalked out of the room. The kitchen door slammed behind her.
Emily sighed, turning to Morgan. “She’s probably right. This isn’t over.”
“I know.” He smiled. “But it’s better than it’s been in ages. Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me. I’m just doing my job.” She turned to Dutch. “Guess we’d better make sure she doesn’t try to take Brooke again.”
“Oh, I’m her ride. She ain’t going nowhere.” The older man nodded but headed to the door. “Besides, she’d have to get her away from Juanita.”
“That’s something I’d almost like to see.” Emily laughed and smiled at Morgan. “Go get your daughter. I think she’ll be happy.”
“Thank you.” Morgan’s voice cracked. “Thank you all.”
Tara watched him leave, watched the gratitude shine in his eyes. Wishing for so much more, she heard his silent goodbye.
CHAPTER TWENTY
TARA STOOD IN the parking lot of the Someday Café and stared at the disaster that had been her diner. It had taken two days to clear the roads of Haskins Corners so the town’s inhabitants could return and begin picking up the pieces of their lives.
Roadblocks still limited who could enter this side of town. Today was Tara’s first chance to see what was—and wasn’t—left.
Mud and debris that looked like entire trees had wedged between the back door and the huge pine tree that had fallen from the creek bank. The familiar cab of Morgan’s truck was nearly buried in the muck. She couldn’t see through the branches well enough to know how badly damaged it was.
Wyatt, DJ and half the ranch crew had come with her. Wendy and Wade were meeting them here soon.
They couldn’t get to the back door, much less through it. Walking slowly around the building, Tara went to the front door. She couldn’t open it, either. It took DJ and Wyatt nearly ten minutes to clear enough mud from the doorway to open it.
Driving here, down the battered streets of town, she’d seen what had happened to the other businesses. She could tell who had worked to try to save their business, just as she could tell who hadn’t been able to do anything. The swift current had swept so much away, had broken walls, damaged Sheetrock and stained everything.
At least here, the structure was still sound.
Just full of filth that she had no idea how to get rid of. One shovelful at a time, she guessed.
Finally, the guys shouldered the doors open, and Tara stepped inside. And gasped.
Mud lay nearly evenly over the wood floor she’d had refinished a few short weeks ago. A thick, gray-brown blanket. Just inches above the top, on the faint blue walls, an uneven brown line marked where the water had risen to.
But, other than the counter and the stools bolted to the floor, the room was empty. “Where’s the furniture? My tables. My chairs!” It was all gone. She stared out the windows at the pile of sticks and twigs caught in the mud.
Her heart broke.
Even her chair from Mom’s house. Gone.
She wanted to cry. She wanted to fall to her knees and wail. Not that it would do any good and not that she’d do that in the thick mud. But, oh, how she longed to release all her pent-up pain.
“Oh, no!” Wendy came through the front doors and froze. “It’s awful.” Carefully, she picked her way through the muck to come over to Tara. They hugged for a brief moment before surveying the mess again.
“It could be worse,” Wyatt said.
Tara knew that. They’d all seen the house on Elm Street on the way here. The big Victorian that had sat at the creek bank for a century now sat precariously on the edge of...well, of nothing. A big gaping hole where the river bank had been last week.
“I guess.” Wendy took a couple steps toward the kitchen. “How bad is it in there?”
Tara hadn’t yet looked. The brand-new industrial stove wasn’t something t
hey’d even tried to move. It would have been foolish, but she wished they could have saved it. Her eyes burned. She had to look, but she didn’t want to. Her imagination hurt too much.
Wendy lifted her chin and did the deed for her, shouldering open the swinging doors that were frozen in the mud. The sound of scraping between the door and the floor was loud. She stepped through and even from here Tara heard her gasp.
She couldn’t look. She just couldn’t. Her heart, what was left of it, was already broken.
“Come here,” Wendy cried. “You have to see this.”
She didn’t want to. But she was the boss, the owner, the person who would ultimately have to decide if they were going to work to reopen. Or give up. She’d have to look eventually.
Slowly, her steps heavy in the goop, she moved to the door. She didn’t have to push against it as Wendy already had. The mud held it open.
Wendy was only a couple steps in front of her. Frozen. Staring.
Boxes. Dozens of them, every single one that had been in the pantry or the freezer, was stacked around the big stove. They were soaking wet, with mud climbing up their sides. But—moving closer, Tara squinted, not believing what she was seeing. Yes, there was dirt on the floor, but only about an inch deep. The stove was coated in grime, but not caked in mud like the rest of the diner.
Someone—most likely Wade and maybe Morgan helped—had created the barrier. They’d protected her livelihood.
Tears burned her eyes, blurring her vision as she stared at the stove, safe and salvageable. Beautiful. Blinking, she felt the damp spill over, sliding down her cheeks, probably leaving tracks in the dirt she felt on her face.
“They saved it,” Wendy said unnecessarily. “We can reopen.” Her excitement grew. “We can do this.”
Tara felt some of Wendy’s enthusiasm, which quickly faded as she looked around. It would take days...weeks to clean everything. How long would it take to get the necessary inspections done? She had to file an insurance claim. Mentally, she began making lists.
Voices and footsteps broke into her thoughts. Wade must be here. She needed to thank him.
Instead of her evening cook, half a dozen men she’d never met before came through the front doors. Jack led the way.
And Morgan pulled up the rear. Brooke was with him and wore a pair of bright purple rubber boots. She carried a toy shovel in one hand and a little bucket in the other.
Suddenly, Tara noticed everyone was carrying a grown-up version of Brooke’s toy. What—?
“We’re here to help,” Jack said, smiling almost as brightly at Tara as he was at Wendy—almost. “These men work for us.” He introduced everyone. “We hauled in supplies. Now we’re here to help you.”
“Oh, that’s not necessary,” Tara said.
“Don’t turn down free help.” Wendy nudged her. “It is free, right?”
Morgan nodded and approached Tara. “It’s the least we can do for all you’ve done for us, right, Brooke?”
His gratitude rang true, so why did she feel disappointed? The shadows were gone from under his eyes, even though his face still sported pale versions of the bruises. He looked younger, too, from the happiness Tara knew he was feeling.
Brooke tilted her head and smiled at Tara. She looked happier, too, her hair now neatly combed and shiny. Two purple bows held her ponytails back.
“Did your dad do your hair?”
Brooke giggled. “No. He goofed it up. Uncle Jack did it.”
Jack actually blushed. “Okay, people. We’ve got work to do.”
The men who’d come with them set to work, scooping shovelfuls of dirt and mud into buckets and a lone wheelbarrow. Brooke took tiny scoops and with a determined look on her face, took each one to a bucket nearly as big as she was.
“Thank you,” Tara said to Morgan as he worked and kept an eye on his daughter.
He stopped, crossing his big forearms atop the wooden handle of his shovel. “Like I said, it’s the least we can do.” He reached over and flipped one of Brooke’s ponytails. “Right, honey?”
Brooke didn’t stop scooping, carrying the little shovelful slowly, deliberately to the bucket. “Yep,” she finally answered once she dumped the mud. “Daddy said he wouldn’t’ve found me without you.”
“Hey, that was all you.” Tara forced herself to smile at Brooke.
“How long ’fore you can make more cookies?” Brooke looked up, hopeful.
Tara’s heart sank. “I don’t know.” She tried to shake off the sadness that loomed over her. “You can have the first batch. Promise.” She forced herself to smile at Brooke. The girl grinned back, and Tara’s heart warmed.
Time passed as the truckers joined the men from the ranch in the cleanup. Taking turns shoveling, carrying full buckets to the creek bank.
Tara and Wendy worked on moving boxes away from the stove. “I—I can’t believe it’s all gone. All my furniture.” Tara only realized she’d said it aloud when everyone fell silent.
Morgan stepped closer, frowning at her. “Wade didn’t tell you?”
“Tell me what?”
“Come here.” Morgan took Tara’s hand in his, guiding her out the front door.
“What are you doing?”
He simply smiled and stopped when they reached the big trailer. He took a deep breath, and Tara wanted to know what he was doing. It distracted her from wanting so much more than gratitude and favors. So much of what she couldn’t have.
“Let’s see if my plan worked.” With a series of clanks and thumps, Morgan unlocked the back doors. His burly arms flexed as he pulled the heavy metal doors. They thumped hard against the trailer’s outer walls.
Tara could only stare. Her furniture. All of it—the chairs neatly stacked, the tables carefully placed on their sides, their legs safe and dry as they reached into the air. The buffet leaned against the sidewall as if it were meant to sit there instead of in her dining room.
And her chair from Mom’s sat front and center—dry and as inviting as ever. Her vision blurred and she hastily blinked it clear. Morgan reached a hand out and slid his palm along the seat’s edge. “When I walked into the diner and saw the meal you’d fixed Brooke on that table...” He swallowed hard. “I knew how special you were.”
Everything looked clean and dry and safe. “Morgan?” She didn’t know what else to say. “How did you do all this?”
“Wade helped.” Morgan scrubbed his hand down his face. “Damn, I didn’t realize until just now how worried I was that it wouldn’t be okay.” He took a deep breath and hung his head for an instant. “Thank God.”
Tara could only stare. First, at the furniture that was safe and sound. Then at the big tree that was still wedged against the back door. Finally, at his once-beautiful truck, now mangled by the storm.
“If your truck hadn’t been here—” She walked around to look closer at the damage. “The tree would have taken out the whole building,” she whispered. “And what the tree didn’t destroy—”
“The water would have,” he finished for her.
How close she’d come, how close they’d both come to losing everything—she looked at Brooke diligently scooping the dirt—suddenly dawned on her. Despite the day’s growing heat, she shivered. “Oh, Morgan.” She went to him. “You saved everything.”
“Tara,” he whispered, a caress, and slowly walked to her. She expected him to pull her close and maybe even kiss her, but he didn’t. Instead, he cupped her chin in his big, strong hand. “No, you saved everything.” He cleared his throat. “You saved me.”
“How—?”
“You gave me back my life, my daughter. More than that, you taught me how to live, to love.” He softly kissed her lips. “I’m being honest when I say thank you.” He paused, looking into her eyes with a depth of emotion, longing, happiness and de
sire like she’d never seen on his face before.
He moved in closer. “But that’s only a small piece of what I feel for you.” He paused and rubbed her cheekbones with his thumbs. “Long before we found Brooke, I was drawn to you. You, this place...it feels like home. No one’s ever made me feel this belonging before.”
Tara gasped, afraid to hope. Gratitude wasn’t the same as lasting, forever love. It wasn’t the same as what she felt for him.
“From the first time I met you, I’ve loved your spunk, your determination, your kindness.” He leaned in close, his warm breath fanning over her face, over her lips that wanted so badly to kiss him.
“Morgan.” She wanted to beg him to kiss her, but the words were stuck in her throat.
“Your beautiful face and body.” His voice lowered. “Your heart.” He pulled back slightly, his gaze finding hers. “I fell in love with you.”
Was this real? She met his gaze and saw more than gratitude there. Heat washed over her as he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her tight.
“Oh, Morgan. I—I was afraid to hope. You have so much in your life.”
He laughed and pulled her close. “It doesn’t mean a blessed thing without you.”
Then he kissed her. Long and hard, as if he couldn’t get enough and didn’t plan to ever stop. His words echoed in her mind. The three important ones repeated over and over.
When he finally pulled away, he looked dazed. “I—I can’t begin to hope you feel the same—”
Tara put her finger over his lips, enjoying the feel of his kiss, still soft and warm on her skin. “Don’t you even think of doubting me.” She smiled at him. “I love you, too,” she blurted. Then, because she couldn’t stand it anymore, she kissed him. Sweet and warm, she filled her kiss with every emotion she couldn’t begin to put into words.
When they stepped apart several minutes later, Brooke was standing there, staring at them. Tara’s cheeks warmed, not used to an audience. “Uh—”
“You need something, honey?” Morgan didn’t move his arms from around Tara.
“I was thinkin’. When we go to Dallas, can Tara come with us?” Brooke smiled at Tara. Morgan followed his daughter’s gaze with a look of his own.
