“Give me a fishing pole. Good pair of waders, and I’ll show you true serenity.” Boone cackled and waggled his eyebrows at Abby. “What do you say, Abby? Want to join me for an afternoon of fishing? It’ll help you put this entire morning in the rearview mirror.”
Wes glanced at Abby. “Abby. You okay?”
“Sorry.” Abby rubbed her temples and gave her head a slight shake. “I’m feeling a little light-headed.”
“You need something to restore your spirits.” Boone set his soda glass down. “It’s been one heck of a morning.”
Wes rounded the bar and guided a very pale-looking Abby onto a stool.
“Sit tight.” Boone headed into the kitchen. “I’ve got just the cure.”
Wes rested his arm on the back of Abby’s stool and kept his gaze locked on her, ready to catch her if she listed sideways. “Can I get you something? Water? Ginger ale?”
“Just need a moment.” She rested her elbows on the bar and dropped her head into her palms.
He listened to her inhale and exhale in a series of deep-breathing exercises. His fingers twitched against the stool. He wanted to rub her back. Return the color to her cheeks and the fighting spirit to her attitude. He wanted her angry at the morning’s fallout, not sick from it. “Does this happen often?”
“I’m back.” Boone’s boisterous return scrambled Abby’s reply. Boone set a bowl of his triple-spiced chicken tortilla soup on the bar and slid it right under Abby’s nose.
She gasped and jerked away like she’d inhaled toxic fumes. Her hand instantly slapped over her mouth. She stumbled off the stool, swayed against Wes’s chest, then sprinted for the bathroom.
Wes lowered his arms and watched Abby’s erratic departure.
“Never seen anyone revive like that from one small whiff of my soup.” Boone tapped his cheek and sniffed the steam rising from the bowl. “Usually takes most people eatin’ two helpings to come back around to themselves again.”
Wes frowned. “That’s because you usually give your soup to people who’ve had a little too much to drink when we’ve announced last call.”
“I’ve served it in the morning with coffee. It truly is a cure-all.” Boone picked up a spoon and eyed the soup bowl as if he wanted to ensure the recipe hadn’t been altered. “Besides, Abby hasn’t been drinking.”
Exactly, Wes thought. He went down the hallway toward the bathrooms.
“Think she’ll mind if I eat the soup?” Boone called after Wes. “Don’t seem right to waste a perfectly good bowl.”
“Help yourself.” Wes knocked on the women’s bathroom door, announced himself and peered inside. Only silence greeted him. He called Abby’s name.
She finally appeared, one hand pressed against the shiplap wall. More color had left her cheeks and lips. Her gaze skipped past him, refusing to settle.
He held the door open. “I’m thinking fresh air on the patio.”
Her head bobbed in agreement. She shuddered and made for the wide back doors.
Wes remained within hand-holding distance. Alert and aware of her every move. Her every uneven breath. Her unsteady gait.
She dropped into one of the closest lounge chairs and rested her head on the thick cushion. Her eyes closed. Her voice was sandpaper-rough. “I skipped breakfast today.”
He didn’t doubt that. He’d only ever seen her with a coffee cup in hand since her arrival five days ago. Never a bagel, a pastry or even a sugarcoated doughnut. Surely, she ate during the day. Surely, it wasn’t his concern. “Breakfast is the most important meal of the day.”
“I was too busy preparing my meeting presentation to eat.” She barely opened her eyes to peer at him. “You’ll see how good it is when you read it.”
“I’m sure I will.” But first he wanted to see her looking like herself again. He adjusted the other chairs around the glass-topped wicker table.
“I used to skip breakfast all the time. No problems.” She squeezed her eyes closed again. The color drained from her face. Even her grimace paled. “But that was before...”
Wes stilled and waited.
“Before I got pregnant.” She touched her stomach. “It seems babies, even eight-week-old ones, require their moms to eat regularly.”
Pregnant. Abby was pregnant. As in having a baby. And seemingly surviving on a continuous supply of his decaf coffee. She had to take better care of herself. She had to know that. Someone had to remind her. Not him, but someone. Then that same someone needed to look after her to make sure she listened. Again, not him, but clearly, the woman needed someone.
“I didn’t want you to think failing at my job made me sick.” She rolled her head on the cushion and eyed him. The rasp in her voice seemed to diminish her conviction. “I’m not that weak.”
He’d never once considered Abby weak. A complication—definitely. But not weak. “Do you really think you failed today?”
“Well, this was a setback.” She waved toward the patio doors leading into the bar. “However, I’m not done trying, not by a long shot.”
He appreciated her resilience. Boone would call it grit. Then remind Wes there was nothing wrong with that. But grit wasn’t enough to explain her appeal. Or his continued interest in her well-being as if he was invested. Certainly, this would pass. She was pregnant and deserved someone who would stick by her side. That wasn’t him, even if a tiny part of him wished otherwise. “I’ve got hot tea and crackers in the kitchen. Sit here until I get back.”
“That sounds like an order.” Her eyebrows wrinkled as her frown deepened.
“It is.” He’d look after her for now. Like he would any one of his customers. But that was all. She was on her own once she stepped outside the Owl. As it should be. “You can’t take on the town if you aren’t taking care of yourself.”
She conceded by removing her flowery sandals, tucking her bare feet onto the chair and curling deeper into the cushions. Wes grinned and accepted his victory.
He walked inside the Owl and paused to watch the trio huddled at the other end of the bar. His favorite cowboy duo, Sam Sloan and Boone, were seated on their usual bar stools. And Ilene Bishop, his favorite bartender and mom of his friend, Evan Bishop, stood on the other side of the bar.
Ilene had retired from the Bishop family cattle ranch, leaving the work to her only son, Evan. But the widow had quickly discovered she had too much free time and had applied to work at the Feisty Owl. That had been a month after Wes had arrived in town. Ilene had become an essential part of the staff.
And an instant coconspirator with Sam and Boone.
Not that Wes minded. Until the trio looked like they did now: intent, serious and clearly up to no good.
Wes walked behind the bar and kept his voice casual. “What are you three chatting about?”
Ilene straightened and reached for the apron she always kept on the hook near the swinging door. “Just catching up.”
“You saw each other only yesterday.” Wes shifted his gaze from one to the other.
Ilene turned around to fiddle with her apron ties. Boone studied his soup as if he’d lost his contacts in the bottom of the bowl. And Sam busied himself choosing a package of crackers from the basket despite the crackers all being the same brand and flavor. Yup—they were up to something. Wes rubbed his chin. “You all were even in this exact spot. Yesterday.”
“Doesn’t mean we don’t have new things to discuss.” Sam crumbled several crackers into his soup bowl.
“I watched the news last night.” Wes’s voice was as bland and dry as Sam’s crackers. The last time these three had looked like this, they’d assisted the runaway bride and reunited her with her groom. “Other than the cow running loose on the interstate and the new weather reporter, it was more of the same.” Just as Wes preferred it: predictable and quiet.
His entire military career had been anything but predic
table. And the only time it was quiet was during the dead silence of a mission, and his heartbeat had echoed inside him, and adrenaline had surged. He craved a different lifestyle now, and he refused to apologize. Or let anyone, including this trio, disrupt that.
Ilene set a basket of crackers on a tray, next to a steaming teapot and empty mug. “It’s ginger and lemon tea. It’s good for settling stomachs quickly.”
Wes glanced at Boone. “What exactly did you tell them?”
Ilene shoved the tray into Wes’s hands and nudged him around the bar. “We can talk later. Abby needs you.”
Wes planted his boots and resisted.
Ilene nudged him harder, adding a poke into his ribs. “She’s alone and pregnant, Wes. You have to help her right now.”
Wes waited a breath, then finally nodded. Clearly, Boone hadn’t wasted any time getting Ilene and Sam fully up to speed. Now he needed to figure out just what they were planning next. “I’m going. I’m going.”
Wes closed the patio door and set the tray on the glass-topped table. He sat in a chair across from Abby, filled her mug and handed it to her.
Abby sipped the tea. “Don’t you have a bar to go manage?”
“Ilene Bishop came in early for her shift.” Wes linked his hands behind his head and leaned back in the chair. “She runs the bar and the staff better than I do most days.”
“Then, you intend to sit out here and watch me drink this tea.” The discontent in her voice gave away her annoyance.
Wes muted his laughter. “And I’m going to watch you eat the crackers. Don’t forget those.”
She picked up a package of crackers and looked at him. “Is this the part where you ask me about my pregnancy?”
“I believe people’s personal business should remain personal.” He added a slight warning to his tone. He wouldn’t pry into her life the same as he expected her to remain out of his. They weren’t building anything here. He was simply following orders from Ilene and looking after Abby. For now.
She nodded and bit into a cracker. “Have you always worked at the Feisty Owl? Did you start your career busing tables, then eventually step into the manager’s role?”
He tilted his head and studied her.
She laughed, drawing much-needed color back into her cheeks, and motioned between them with her half-eaten cracker. “This is what two people do, Wes. Friends talk.”
“Is that what we are now?” They’d graduated from acquaintances to friends. Nothing he couldn’t manage.
Her voice softened. “I’d like to think so.”
He watched her. And turned the idea of them being friends over in his mind. “Do you always pry into your friends’ personal business?”
“I haven’t had many friends.” She shrugged one shoulder. “That’s not exactly true. It’s more that there hasn’t been anyone I’ve wanted to talk to and get to know in a long time.” She paused, sipped her tea and added, “Does that make sense?”
Unfortunately, it made too much sense.
CHAPTER EIGHT
ABBY STOOD, raised her arms over her head and lowered into a squat. All the while she kept her gaze fixed on the dark alcove. The one Tess had disappeared into minutes after ordering Abby to remain seated.
For the past hour that they’d been in the general store, Tess had been carrying boxes from the alcove into the main room. And Abby had been secretly stretching every time her cousin disappeared into the alcove. Neither one of the alcoves nor the storeroom had working lights. Abby couldn’t see Tess, but she heard her mutters and muffled groans. The scrape of wooden crates across the floor alerted Abby that she had more time to move and bend. She rolled onto the balls of her feet and called out, “You know I can help you clear out that space.”
Tess stepped over the velvet rope blocking the alcove and adjusted a dented box in her arms. “You know, you can also keep your feet up and not have a repeat of yesterday. I love you, Abby, but you gotta love yourself.”
Abby plopped back onto the stool. She crossed one ankle over the other on the crates Tess had stacked up for a foot stool. Her foot tapped an irritated beat.
There were several things she’d rather not repeat from yesterday.
Her morning sickness was only one of them. It had woken her at sunrise like an unpleasant alarm and appeared to be sticking around, even as their Sunday morning edged toward the noon hour. Also sticking around was her suddenly all-too-consuming interest in Wes. She’d fallen asleep thinking about Wes. Dreamed about him. And, worse, followed his instructions to try toast for breakfast. Keep it simple. Keep it plain, Abby, but make sure you eat in the morning.
As if he knew the first thing about being pregnant and suffering morning sickness. But he had known exactly how to make her feel better yesterday. And that’s what kept her thinking about him. He was stubborn, infuriating and kind. He’d been attentive without hovering. He’d been present without acting judgmental. She could’ve stayed in that chair beside him for hours, talking or silent. It wouldn’t have mattered.
And that was what stuck with her the most.
And tangled her insides like the dense cobwebs covering every corner of the storeroom and the alcoves inside the Silver Penny.
Abby followed her cousin’s path through the uneven aisles. Wes had filled Tess in when he’d walked Abby back to the store yesterday. Abby hadn’t needed the escort. But she’d liked it.
His tattletale ways she very much disliked. It had only made Tess worry more. Not helpful.
Abby had finally convinced Tess they could get some work done if she promised to sit while doing it. Abby swallowed her sigh and smiled at her cousin. “I meant I can do more. I ate breakfast this morning, so there won’t be a repeat of yesterday’s dizzy spell.”
At least, she hoped. To be safe, she’d already planned to avoid spicy food the entire day. Possibly forever.
“Sorting through these boxes is hard work.” Tess dropped the dented box beside the other boxes already lining the long counter. “We might have priceless antiques or valuable family heirlooms inside these.”
Abby opened the box and stared at a collection of tarnished vintage spoons thrown in on top of various wooden boxes. Their grandparents had no filing system. No organization. Not one box had been labeled. In one of his last letters to Abby, her Grandpa Harlan had explained the store had been in transition when they’d closed it to move north to help Paige and Tess’s newly widowed mom.
Grandpa Harlan had written that the general store only needed to find its identity and then it would be successful again. He’d believed the same for Abby, encouraging her after every job loss and every life transition. It’s like the butterfly, sweet Abigail: if it stayed a caterpillar, it’d never become a butterfly. Maybe Abby was simply destined to remain a caterpillar. “Or everything inside these boxes could be rubbish.”
“Are you okay, Abs?” Tess touched Abby’s arm. Concern radiated from her voice to her grip.
Abby wanted to be. She’d intended to be. She’d even put on her favorite yellow sunflower sandals, white jean shorts, pale green tank top and her whisper-soft, frayed-hem kimono—the outfit that always made her feel happy. Then she’d added her macramé necklace with the teardrop peridot pendant and her sun dangle earrings. All for more positive energy. Yet her smile refused to surface. “Sorry. I’m worried about this town event.”
Tess nodded. Understanding tempered her usually sharp green eyes.
On the flip side, Abby was worried about her cousin and the grief that shaded Tess like a storm cloud. Add in the pregnancy and failing to secure a full-time job, and her well overflowed with so many uncertainties and fears.
In the past, Abby had simply floated from one career to the next, certain she’d find her fit eventually. But a baby needed stability. A child needed their single parent to be strong and focused. Reliable and secure. How was she supposed to prove she
was all that if she couldn’t keep any job? But those were her concerns, not her cousin’s.
She patted Tess’s hand, then tugged the dented spoon box closer. “I’ll figure everything out, but first I’m going on a treasure hunt.”
“Treasure hunt.” Boone’s voice bounced through the store, overwhelming the chime of the shopkeeper’s bell and pulling Abby’s smile free. Finally.
Seeing Boone Bradley was like finding a letter from her grandparents in her mailbox. A letter from her grandparents had always brightened her day. Much like Boone’s arrival now.
Sam and Ilene followed Boone inside. Abby’s smile expanded. She’d met the pair only yesterday at the bar but felt like she was greeting longtime friends. Perhaps she was, in a way. Her Grandpa Harlan’s stories had often featured his childhood friends, Boone and Sam. A wicker basket swung from Ilene’s arm as she moved to pull the double doors closed.
“There’s rumored to be a treasure buried in Silent Rise Canyon.” Boone made his way to the counter. Interest and mischief in his shrewd gaze.
“One of the McKenzie sisters buried the Herring Gang’s loot in a cave in the canyon. Victoria McKenzie had declared the loot to be cursed.” Sam lifted his cowboy hat and scratched his fingers through his thick white hair as if pulling the details of the legend loose. “The Herrings had been on quite a successful robbery spree. Amassed a large loot of gold and silver coins, jewels and countless other valuables.”
Tess scooted another box onto the counter. “Is this a real treasure or merely legend?”
“As real as the silver on my belt buckle.” Sam hitched his thumbs in his jeans and lifted his chin.
“Of course it’s real. Harlan had a map guiding him to the buried treasure, didn’t he?” Boone set his hands on the counter and leaned toward the box in front of Abby like an eager kid. “He always claimed this store held countless secrets.”
Abby sorted through the box and pulled out the different-sized vintage spoons in all kinds of metals. “This looks like silverware, not a treasure map.”
The Texas SEAL's Surprise--A Clean Romance Page 7
