Lone Star Legacy

by Roxanne Rustand

  “No wonder you had such great ideas for the layout of my café,” she teased.

  He grabbed a couple of earth-tone rattan place mats from a drawer, set them with two place settings of bronze-and-copper glazed stoneware plates, and served the omelets with thick slices of dark Russian rye spread with butter. “My cleaning lady brings me the bread,” he said with a smile. “She’s sure that I must be starving, since I live alone.”

  The omelets were perfect—fragrant with the onion and garlic and chunks of honey-glazed ham, the bread a perfect contrast. Beth closed her eyes, savoring the first bite. “I didn’t realize I was hungry until now. This is sheer bliss.”

  “Thanks. Basic stuff, though. I’ve never tackled the kind of pastries you made for the café.” The laugh lines at the corners of his eyes deepened. “Those cowhands had no idea just how special your food is.”

  She paused, her fork in the air. “But you were right, you know. Serving the wrong menu probably confounded every one of the guys who showed up today. They were looking for something down-home and filling, not fancy. I’ll be lucky if any of them come back…and when the word spreads, no one else will show up, either.”

  “I wouldn’t be so sure.” Joel finished off his coffee and went over to the pot to refill his cup, then topped off Beth’s glass of tea. “I called Walt on the way over here. He’s been talking up your place to every one of his clients. Loraine is at it, too.”

  She’d felt edgy for hours. At the thought of the kindness of so many people in this small town, she felt her eyes start to burn. “That’s so nice of them. Really.”

  “It’s just what people do around here—help out, if they can.” He saluted her with his coffee cup. “And believe me, ordering food at the bars in town is just asking for trouble. Your place will catch on in a hurry.”

  But not everyone is optimistic. Beth’s appetite faded. “Do you know anything about the restaurant in Horseshoe Falls? The woman who owns it once told me that Crystal’s didn’t have a chance.”

  “Well, she’s wrong.” He took his plate to the sink, rinsed it and dropped it into the dishwasher. “Walt says that other place went belly-up a couple times in the past, and it’s struggling this time around, too.”

  Beth idly pushed a section of omelet to one side of her plate. “I suppose that would explain her attitude.”

  “Want to scope out the competition?”

  She looked up, startled. “What?”

  He smiled. “We could run over there for supper sometime. Your café closes by early afternoon, anyway. What about Friday?”

  “Well…” She felt herself starting to flounder. It wouldn’t be a date, of course, just a quick dinner with a friend. Yet, it was getting harder to stay behind that line of simple friendship, because Joel had become so much more than simply a man she’d contracted for renovations.

  They’d both kept a careful, cautious distance since the dance. Yet, with each passing day, she saw something new and deeper in him that drew her at the most elemental level. She knew, without doubt, that he was a man she could trust…with her heart, and with her life.

  Which made it all the more important to keep those barriers in place.

  “This would not be a date,” he added dryly. “In case you’re worried. You could consider it covert market research. If that place is having trouble getting established, we can do a comparison study and see what you should be doing differently at Crystal’s.”

  She dissolved in helpless laughter. “Then by all means, we’d better go.”

  THE FOLLOWING MORNING, Joel sighed as he finished installing the final dead-bolt lock set on the front and back doors of the house, and stepped back to assess his handiwork.

  The doors were all solid-core oak. Coupled with two-inch bolts of case-hardened steel and oversized strike plates, it would take a determined burglar to get through them. The old-fashioned windows were a different story. They were each a good six feet tall, and could be easily breached by breaking the glass.

  Beth stepped out of the café’s kitchen, wearing a flour-dusted apron. She’d arranged a play corner for Sophie, with a bright red rug, child-size table and chairs and a chest overflowing with toys. Now, she set a glass of milk and a sandwich on the table and settled Sophie in her chair with a hug and a kiss.

  The sheer Norman Rockwell domesticity of it all never failed to touch the empty places in Joel’s heart. He turned away sharply, and busied himself with collecting his tools.

  “So, how’s it going?” Beth called out. She came across the room and bent to study the gleaming brass interior handle. “Mmmm…I love that old-fashioned look. Fits in perfectly with this place.”

  “The most important thing is that they’re stronger than what you had.” He tipped his head toward the six double-hung windows facing the street. “You’ve also got better locks on them, but they’re still a weak point.”

  “The security system people called this morning. They’re scheduled to come in two weeks.”

  Joel hefted his toolbox and opened the door. “A good thing. But the value is contingent on the ability of the cops to show up, and we both know how long the response time is around here.”

  “Still…”

  “Still, you’ve got new keys, in case that guy had an old one. Your security system signs and emblems in the windows might be a deterrent. And, you have a safe place to stay at any rate.”

  She touched his arm as he started out the door. A light touch that barely brushed his shirt, yet it made him stop dead in his tracks and sent a rush of warmth to places that had absolutely no business showing any sort of interest in a woman who simply needed his help and nothing more.

  “I want to thank you, and I’m not sure if I’ve let you know how much this means to me.”

  He turned and looked down into blue, blue eyes that held a suspicious sheen of moisture, even though he knew she was one tough lady who held her emotions in check. “No problem,” he said gruffly.

  She hesitated, then wrapped her arms around his neck and gave him a swift kiss on the cheek. “I can’t tell you how good it is to feel safe…after such a long, long time.”

  Bemused, he watched her pivot and disappear into the kitchen. It took another minute for him to gather his thoughts and go out the door. Safe?

  He’d do his damned best to keep her and the little girl safe from whoever was threatening them with harm.

  But could he keep her safe from himself?

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  FRIDAY NOON BROUGHT in two retired schoolteachers, the banker and a potbellied trucker who was passing through town, Walt noticed with satisfaction as he took the same table he’d had for three days in a row.

  Beth straightened her red-and-white checked apron and strolled over to Walt’s table with a smile. “Glad to see you back again.”

  He pointed out the lunch special of the day, a Reuben, deli slaw and homemade chicken barley soup. “Can’t stay away,” he announced, loud enough for residents in the next county to hear. “Never had food good as this, anywhere.”

  The trucker glanced at him over the top of his menu, then went back to reading it, his brow furrowed. “I’m hungry for a half-pound burger ’n’ onion rings,” he muttered when Beth came to his table. “Where’s the real food on this thing?”

  “You come through this area often?” Beth asked.

  “Every week or so. Why?”

  She tipped her head and smiled. “We just opened, and I’ll consider this an investment in you. I’d recommend what Dr. Walt just ordered. If you aren’t happy, then your lunch is on me. Either way, I’ll toss in a dessert. Deal?”

  His frown faded. “I’d say that’s a mighty good one, sister.”

  Walt ground his teeth. Since her opening day, Beth had revamped the menu, adding steakhouse-style sandwiches and heartier soups to the fancy stuff, but it was still going to be an uphill battle. The fools around here didn’t realize just how good her food was—or how much that sweet little gal needed a break.
r />   He leaned back in his chair and hooked one booted foot over his opposite knee. “Dandy place, I guarantee,” he called out.

  Sophie looked up from her play table in the corner where she was serving tea to her dolly, and ran over to him. “Wanna have lunch with Maisie ’n’ me?”

  He grinned and lifted her onto his knee. “I’d love that, squirt. But I’m expecting an old friend, and I think we’re both too big for those little chairs.”

  “I got real tea,” she wheedled, looking up into his face. “And cookies.”

  Laughing, he tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. “Maybe next time. If I keep eating your mama’s cookies, I won’t be fittin’ in my jeans much longer.”

  “I nearly growed out of my shoes,” she said with a proud smile. “And my purple jeans.”

  The bell over the door sounded, and Loraine walked in. Pretty as a yearling colt she was, with those long, lean legs and easy grace. In her faded jeans, open-collared white shirt, and heavy, squash blossom Navajo silver necklace, she could have been an art gallery owner or some pricey Realtor…yet he knew she rode herd on a thousand cattle with just two hired hands, and no one was better help come branding and vaccination time.

  Even after all these years, he felt his mouth go dry and his heart hitch a little whenever he saw her—and the darnedest thing was that it seemed to be getting worse.

  Maybe he needed an adjustment of his heart meds.

  “Sophie.” Beth made a subtle motion with her hand. Sophie glanced between Loraine and him, and reluctantly slid off his knee. “I gotta go.”

  He almost reached for her to come back, because having Sophie around made it easier to find something to say.

  “Walt.” Loraine slipped off her sunglasses and set her ivory straw Stetson crown-side down on the chair to Walt’s right. She took the chair across from him.

  “Lorrie.” Silence lengthened as he fumbled for something else to say—feeling foolish and tongue-tied for the first time in decades.

  From somewhere behind the swinging doors into the kitchen, Walt heard Beth snort. A moment later, she bustled backward through the doors and served the trucker, then stopped at Walt’s table. “So, you two,” she said brightly. “Have any plans this weekend?”

  She still helped out at the clinic for a few hours every afternoon, and she’d been dropping hints for the past week, encouraging Walt to make a move. Now, with a handful of words, she’d just laid the cards on the table.

  But words didn’t change a lifelong friendship into something different, just like that. And they didn’t erase the risk of soul-deep loss, if a closer relationship faltered and failed, and destroyed what they had nurtured for decades.

  “Uh…I’m moving a herd to a new summer range,” Loraine said, shifting in her chair. Her gaze skated to the vicinity of Walt’s face, then veered away. “What about you?”

  “On call, as always.”

  The brief, awkward moment was past, and now her face filled with sympathy and a glint of humor. “You need a break, Walt. You’re too old to keep up with all that.”

  “And I’d say you’re—” He bit back the sort of easy reply he’d always made as a wave of deep loneliness spread through him. He had his housekeeper, who was waiting with supper before she headed home to her own family. His dog.

  And this spring, he’d had Joel. But at the end of the day, it was always an empty house.

  A house that echoed with memories so old that now they seemed as yellowed and tattered as the photo albums he kept on a shelf. There’d been a time when his wife’s face had filled his thoughts, his dreams. He’d been faithful and true to her memory. But now, he sometimes had to look at those photographs to even see her clearly.

  And through all the decades since his wife’s death, there’d been Lorrie, whose dry humor and steadfast friendship had made those years brighter.

  Maybe he’d been a fool.

  He met and held Loraine’s gaze. “I’d say you’re right, and that it’s time for us old folks to go live a little.”

  Her eyes flared wider, and by gosh—was that a faint blush? His heart lifted. “So what do you say, dinner this Saturday?”

  “My cattle…” she protested weakly. “I’ve got to—”

  “Hell, Lorrie.” He lowered his voice. “I think we’ve waited long enough, don’t you?”

  “DECENT FRIDAY NIGHT CROWD,” Joel said. He lowered his menu and surveyed the tables in the Horseshoe Falls Steak House. “So, what do you think?”

  “Nice. A bit too noisy.” They’d walked through the bar area, filled with lean, muscular young cowboys and young gals in tight T-shirts knotted at slim midriffs, many of them dancing to the overloud music of Strait and Keith. Back here in the restaurant area, maybe half the tables were filled. “I’d say that Crystal’s Café and this place are reaching totally different market shares,” she added. “Anyone who buys my café would need a bar, music and later hours to compete for this kind of clientele.”

  “I hope they’ll keep it just as it is.” He tapped his menu. “This is a commonplace Texas steak house. You have—originality.”

  She laughed. “So I hear, all too often. It’s starting to pay off a little, though. Between Gina and Walt, I’ve had quite a few patrons coerced into a first visit who’ve come back for a second.”

  “And you’ve been open less than a week.”

  “Offering free food that first day was probably the reason, though.”

  “Don’t forget all those tips people left. They liked the food, and they probably left more than the actual menu price.”

  “Even my trucker did.” At Joel’s raised eyebrow, she told him about her bargain with the trucker who’d wanted the half-pound burger and onion rings. “He actually paid for his lunch, and promised to be back with his buddies. So I guess there’s hope—though every time I offer a deal, I try not to think about the whopping bill coming from my food supplier at the end of the month.”

  A waitress approached, and did a double take when she noticed Beth. After taking their order she scurried away.

  “She must’ve recognized you,” Joel said quietly. “Five-to-one odds that she’ll pass the word about a fellow restaurateur in the house.”

  She must have, because a moment later Tracy appeared at their table, in a snug black silk dress, her ebony hair swept into a complicated chignon. A heavyset, balding man in a western suit stood at her elbow.

  “Nice of you to come in,” she said with a tight smile. “Beth Lindstrom, Joel McAllen, I’d like you to meet my husband, Peter.”

  “We’ve heard good things about your place,” Beth said. “Congratulations.”

  “Peter’s oldest son is the new manager. We’re helping him get on his feet.” Tracy flicked an unreadable glance at her husband. “He’ll do very well here.”

  “Yes, indeed,” Peter boomed. “Fine young man. Honest as the day is long, and he shows a lot of promise. So, you’ve got that little café in Lone Wolf, right?”

  “She’s planning to sell out this summer, honey.” Tracy fluttered a hand in dismissal, then looped her arm into the crook of his elbow. “Maybe we can pick up the place and use the land for your new warehouse.” She smiled down at Beth. “That would make things easier for you, wouldn’t it—a quick sale?”

  Beth stiffened. “Warehouse?”

  “Oil well equipment—casings and such.” Tracy shrugged and looked up at her husband. “I really don’t know much about all of that, though.”

  Joel bared his teeth in a smile. “You’ll both have to stop in at Crystal’s for lunch sometime and say hello.”

  “Yes. Yes, of course.” Tracy steered her husband away. “Sometime soon. Enjoy your dinner.”

  Beth looked down at her clenched fists and forced them to relax. “I’ve never done a thing to that woman, yet she either snubs me or insults me.”

  Joel watched Tracy and her husband make their way through the tables. “Jealousy, maybe.”

  “Jealousy? Over what? She’s go
rgeous, thin, and it looks like she snagged a nice, rich oilman, too.”

  “Ah, but you’re younger.” Joel winked. “Independent. And much, much prettier. I imagine trophy wives always worry a little about newer models coming along.”

  Beth rolled her eyes at his obvious exaggeration.

  “So Miss Texas over there probably has quite a competitive streak when it comes to other women.”

  Now that, she could believe. “Maybe we should just head back to Lone Wolf.”

  “And disappoint Sophie?” Joel stood and reached for Beth’s hand. “You said she was excited about spending the evening with Gina’s daughter. So, while we’re waiting, want to try a little Texas two-step?”

  “I…don’t know.”

  “C’mon,” he said, with a gleam in his eye. “You’ll like it.”

  His voice was deep and seemed to rumble clear through her, promising that she’d like a whole lot more than just this dance. Beth hesitated, then let him lead her out onto the crowded dance floor.

  As soon as she stepped into his arms, he swept her into a turn that left her breathless and laughing, and she knew going home would’ve been the far safer choice.

  She was at eye level with his collarbone, her right hand gently held in his left, pressed close to the hard, muscular wall of his chest. She could feel the throbbing beat of the music in the floor beneath her and the plaintive words of lost love echoing in her head, until it was just the music and Joel, and everything else around her seemed to fade away.

  The air between them seemed to heat and intensify with a sense of anticipation and hunger that had no place on a dance floor filled with strangers, yet she could no more pull away from his arms than she could’ve flown.

  The music changed to something soft and seductive.

  Joel tucked her head against his chest and slowed down. “Nice,” he whispered, and they dropped to a slow, rocking rhythm within the press of the other couples surrounding them.

  It was too nice. She could feel the steady beat of his heart against her cheek. The warmth of him. The wonderfully deep, secure feeling of being protected in his arms. If the music never ended, she—