by Dawn Atkins
“Really? That’s so great. I’m so glad. Help me clean up and we can talk about the renovations.”
“The…what?” But CJ had flitted off and he had no choice but to follow her. He washed dishes, while she put away food, and rattled on about painting the interior, reupholstering the benches and making a new sign to reflect the fresh new menu. Damn, what had he said yes to?
She reached over his head to put away the pepper jar. He steadied her at the hips, liking the weight of her in his hands, the curve, the give of her flesh. And she smelled so damn pink.
CJ turned to him, leaning against his arm. “So will you do it?”
“Will I…”
“Sketch the new sign. Weren’t you listening?”
“Doing my damnedest.” He blew out a breath. “Yeah. I’ll sketch it. I’ll build it. I’ll reupholster the benches and get Evan to help me paint the place.”
“But you have your show and all.”
“I’ll fit it in when I can.”
CJ looked stunned. “Are you sure?”
Hell, no. But he was too far gone to back out now. He was under her spell, swept up in all her energy and fire. Whatever she needed, he’d do—bag her happy buns, frost her rolls and rinse grit from Rosie’s greens. Hell, if she asked, he’d probably build a gazebo and a koi pond out back. “Of course I’m sure.”
She squealed and threw her arms around him. Just like that he had her body against his, the soft give of her breasts, her warmth, the weight of her in his arms.
CJ backed away with a shaky breath.
It took Jonah a second to see straight. “If you’re serious about all that baked crap, you’ll need a display case. Lighted. Rotating shelves. I’ll see what I can put together.”
“That would be amazing.” She stepped forward, as if to hug him, then thought better of it, bouncing foot to foot. Finally, she held out a hand for him to shake.
He linked fingers with her and gave her small hand a squeeze. It seemed like the most natural thing to do.
She squeezed back. Her eyes flitted all over his face, similar to the way she zipped around his kitchen. When they let go, his hand felt too empty.
Jonah couldn’t offer her much, but he could do this. Cook for her. Paint and build and sketch. He’d need a small motor for the shelves....
“This will be fun, won’t it?” she said.
“It’ll be a hell of a lot of work.” The fun would be being in the eye of her hurricane and watching her fly, seeing her zest for everything she did. “And fun. That, too.”
Their gazes tangled. CJ looked so happy that he got another hot oil pop. By now his chest should look like a shot-up highway sign. She took a ragged breath and swayed closer. A few more inches and she’d be in his arms…
The pay phone by the johns rang. CJ jumped like she’d been bitten. Her eyes went wide. “I’ll get it. You can go. I’ll finish up.”
She wanted him out of here. Was she expecting the call? On the pay phone? Why? There was the café phone and Rosie’s upstairs.
He went to check the food order, then headed out, pausing to say goodbye to her. CJ stood in the hall, frozen and pale, her eyes blank.
“Who was on the phone?” he asked.
“Nobody. Nothing. I’ll see you tomorrow.” She turned for Rosie’s stairs.
Something was wrong. The call had been bad. It wasn’t his business. Rosie was nosy enough for ten people. CJ wouldn’t want to talk about it. He knew that already.
Jonah stood, jaw locked, fists working. Stay or go. Decide.
It was the look on her face that got to him. She’d looked scared. Really scared. He turned on his heel and headed up the stairs after her.
* * *
CARA TOOK THE stairs on numb legs. Barrett was after them. The call from the domestic violence counselor confirmed it. When she’d arranged to get Beth Ann’s school records, the secretary had told her that someone claiming to be from Beth Ann’s pediatrician’s office had called for her new address to send her immunization records.
The secretary had thought that odd. Cara confirmed that the doctor whose name the person used wasn’t Beth Ann’s. It had been a ploy by Barrett or someone he’d hired to locate them. It also meant Barrett had talked to Cara’s mother and learned the name of her school. Probably Cara’s, too.
She’d expected this. She knew Barrett would try every tactic, but now it was real. It was as if Barrett’s hand had reached through the phone and grabbed her by the throat. She felt faint.
“Wait.”
Jonah’s voice from the bottom of the stairs startled her. She turned and he took the stairs two at a time, stopping below her so they stood eye to eye. “You’re in trouble. The phone call was bad news.”
“No. I’m not. It’s…okay.”
“It’s not okay. You’re shaking. Let me help you.”
“You can’t help me.” No one can.
“Try me,” he said.
For a second she wanted to. She wanted to fall into his arms and let him tell her it would be all right, even if it wouldn’t be. But the social worker had been firm: Tell no one. People talk. They forget their promises. They slip. They get tricked.
“I really can’t.”
“Are you in danger? Because I’ll—”
“Stop. Please.” She had to give some explanation or he’d keep pushing. “It’s a mix-up at the school where Beth Ann—” She put her hand to her mouth, horrified that she’d used her daughter’s real name. “I mean Bunny. Her school records are wrong and—”
“Her real name is Beth Ann.”
“Forget I said that. It’s important.”
“Fine.”
But Jonah now knew they had false names. He suspected they were in trouble. Cara’s heart pounded in her ears. This wasn’t good.
“Please don’t ask for more,” she said. “I’m okay. Really.” She did not want a man to take over her problems. Barrett had done that, made choices for her, decisions that should have been hers. Jonah wanted to take over, too. He already had guessed too much.
“I have to go.” She ran up the last few steps and into Rosie’s apartment without looking back.
Inside, the panic hit full force. Barrett was hunting them down. They had to run, catch the bus in the morning and just go, go, go. She’d saved nearly a thousand dollars. Maybe Rusty would let her owe him the rest on the car.
You’re in good hands. Jonah’s words offered a flicker of respite. Enough that she was able to think it through.
Nothing had changed. Barrett hadn’t learned a thing from the school. There was no reason to run. She’d promised Rosie she would stay. She had to tough it out. You can handle this, she told herself. You have to.
CHAPTER TEN
SOMEHOW, CARA pushed through the week, determined not to let her worry show. At night, panic washed over her like a fever, but she forced herself to think about the café and the changes they were making, and managed to get enough sleep to function.
She was grateful that Jonah had taken her at her word, that she was all right, though she felt his eyes on her a lot. He wanted to dig, to help, to take some action on her behalf. But this was her crisis to survive.
The new dishes and the renovation plans kept them too busy for much personal conversation. Ernesto turned out to be a genius baker and a damn good sous-chef. He was a quick learner and he had a great palate.
By Friday, they’d added all but one of the new dishes and they
sold decently. There’d been a trickle of new diners curious about the changes. So far, her ideas seemed to be working.
The café renovations were coming together, too. She’d consulted with Jonah and Rosie on the colors, deciding on lilac and mustard for the walls with white wainscoting to break up the blocks of color. Jonah had found the perfect fabric for the stools and booths—white vinyl with confetti polka dots. She loved the new sign he’d sketched—a whimsical teacup with a curlicue of steam spelling out Comfort Café.
Cara thought they made a great team, with Jonah’s artist’s eye and her instincts about the food and ambiance. Fighting the physical attraction was exhausting, but the work was fun, just as she’d hoped. She and Jonah clicked the way she’d always thought a married couple would, working together, facing life’s challenges, with shared values, mutual respect and heartfelt support for each other.
Stupidly, Cara kept slipping into a fantasy that they were together. It was an illusion, she knew, but it felt so good to have a man who cared about her, listened to her, enjoyed her, wanted her. A man with no hidden agenda or ill intent. A good man.
They’d earned a break, so Saturday night they were taking Beth Ann bowling at the Wash-Bowl-N-Brew. Jonah wanted to ask Evan to help paint the café…and check up on him, though he hadn’t said that out loud.
“I don’t need camp,” Beth Ann said from the backseat of the extended cab of Jonah’s truck.
“It’ll be fun,” Cara said. She had signed her daughter up for the YMCA’s day camp starting Monday. Beth Ann needed to be with kids her own age. Rosie would drive her there and Cara would pick her up after the café closed. “Remember the good-luck bun last night? Clasped hands for You’ll make a friend?”
“You faked that,” Beth Ann said.
“I swear I didn’t.”
“You fake the fortunes?” Jonah asked in a low voice. “I’m shocked.”
“Only in an emergency,” she muttered to him, then turned to Beth Ann. “You can invite kids out for good-luck buns in the café maybe. Or when your birthday comes, for a party.”
“You invite them for your birthday,” she grumbled.
“You’ve got birthdays coming up?” Jonah asked.
“Bunny’s is in two weeks, mine’s in three.”
“Ah.” He found Beth Ann in the mirror. “So, Squirt, how old will you be? Thirteen?”
“No, ten,” she said, sounding annoyed, but clearly pleased he’d guessed she was older. “Rosie can’t drive me those days she’s visiting Frieda.”
“We’ll work something out, don’t worry.”
Rosie was having the mass in her stomach removed the following Monday in an outpatient surgery center in Tucson. Her cover story was that she was visiting her friend for a few days.
“Just how did you convince Rosie to be away for the big sale?” Jonah asked. Rosie’s parking-lot sale was that weekend.
“I have my ways,” she said, wishing she could tell Jonah the truth.
“Smart move. She’d try to buy it all back, no doubt. And what the hell got into her to sell off the store space?” He shot Cara another look.
Cara squirmed in her seat. Her promise to Rosie was killing her. “The café project energized her.” That much was true. Every time Cara expressed a doubt about one of her ideas, Rosie nudged her on. When Cara had wavered on the billboard because of the six-month lease, she’d said, Grow some ovaries, girl. I’m the one writing the check.
Rosie believed in her. That truth lit a fire in Cara every day.
“Something’s up with her. Out of the blue she books four days with a friend she says is a bossy old bat? Then she gives me this speech—Leave the damn nest, Jonah. Fly to New York and, for God’s sake, get on with your life.”
“She did?” Her heart pinched. She was preparing Jonah for her death.
“I don’t get it. You find out anything?” He shot her another look.
“No more than before.” Her stomach clenched at the half truth. And what if it turned out to be cancer? Rosie would probably start planning her funeral. And treatment? Forget it. Rosie would fight that tooth and nail. What would Cara do then? She would have to find a way to help her. Rosie was family now.
Jonah pulled into the lot of the sprawling Wash-Bowl-N-Brew building. The car wash was dark, but the neon Bowl-N-Brew sign glowed pink, blue and yellow with a pin that slowly fell, then righted itself.
Jonah held down the seat for Beth Ann to get out, then came around to where Cara waited for him. They watched Beth Ann run inside, then Jonah turned to her.
“You nervous?” he asked. “Don’t be. I’ll take it easy on you.”
“They don’t call me Gutter Queen for nothing.” They were both pretending the tension in the air was due to bowling and not to the fire they stoked between them with every shared glance.
“You probably just need some help with your form.” He paused. “Though I don’t think God himself could improve on that.” He looked her over in a way that made her perfectly decent black capris and simple white blouse seem far too short and way too sheer. She felt hot all over.
“You’re one to talk. I’ve seen you in only a towel.”
He colored, which charmed her. It was surprisingly easy for her to flirt with Jonah. They spent a lot of time together, for one thing, but mainly it was that she trusted him not to push her.
He looked sexy as hell in butt-hugging jeans and a dark blue golf shirt that emphasized the swell of his biceps. Did bowling qualify as a tempting situation? Lately, anytime she was around him she was tempted.
They went inside. The ’60s-era bowling alley was in good shape, she thought. A singer belted Motown from the bar at the far end. Beth Ann was watching some teenagers bowl.
They found Evan behind the counter talking with a cocktail waitress who held a tray of beers. When he saw Jonah, he straightened. “You checking up on me?” he asked in a joking tone, but he looked wary.
“We came to bowl,” Cara said in case Jonah was about to bristle. “My daughter’s over there.” She pointed and Evan smiled, more relaxed now.
“Later,” the barmaid said. “I owe you, Ev.”
“Anytime,” Evan said, watching her walk away, a smile on his face. “That was Nicolette,” he said. “She’ll tell you I’m strictly seltzer and lime. Go ask her.”
“I’ll take your word for it,” Jonah said.
“Good. So what size shoes?”
After Evan had rung up their game and brought their shoes, Jonah said, “Any chance you’d be available to help paint the café interior?”
“Rosie says you’ve been turning the place upside down.”
“She did? Was she upset?” Cara asked, suddenly worried.
“Don’t you know her by now? The more she complains, the happier she is.” He turned to Jonah. “Yeah, I’ll help you paint. Long as I’m not on shift here. I can bring Nicolette, too. And, actually, I have a favor I want to ask you two.”
“Certainly,” Cara said.
“I’ve started doing some music promotion for the bar and I—”
“Yeah?” Jonah tensed.
“Yeah. Some big-name bands blow by here on the way to L.A., so I’ve started booking them for weeknight gigs. My boss likes the idea.”
“You sure that’s wise?” Jonah’s voice was sharp.
Evan looked at him. “Music is where I want to be. You know that. I’ll be making good connections. So anyway—”
“That’s where the trouble
starts, Evan.”
“You worry too much.”
Cara could see Evan was trying to stay light, but anger simmered under his words.
“As I was saying, I’ve booked Devil’s Anvil Reborn for a Thursday next month. You heard of them?”
“No, but—”
“You will. They’re getting famous. Anyway, I’d like to host a private dinner for them in the café before their show. It’d be about a dozen people—band, manager, crew. Is that possible?”
“I think so,” Cara said. “The renovations will be done, so the place should look good. It’ll be after we’ve closed, right?”
“Yeah. Five or six, I think.”
“That should work, don’t you think?” She looked up at Jonah, who was staring at Evan. “Jonah?”
“Uh, yeah. I guess.”
“Great,” Evan said. “Let me know the paint day. Enjoy your game.”
They took their shoes to their lane and put them on. She could tell Jonah was working to get past his worry about his brother and enjoy the fun. When Beth Ann picked out a huge ball, he said, “Never bowl with a ball bigger than your head, Squirt,” and traded hers for a smaller one. “Give this a try.”
“Okay,” she said and ran for their lane.
Cara’s heart tightened at the obvious affection between the two. Every time Jonah called her Squirt, Beth Ann beamed.
She’ll miss him when we leave.
Would it mean another setback? Cara couldn’t bear the thought. Any choice she made—to stay or go—seemed to have pain attached to it.
“See how this one feels.” Jonah handed her a ball.
She slid her fingers in and hefted it. “Seems f-fine.” She met his gaze and saw heat flare there. He was so close and he smelled so good that she swayed.
“My aftershave taking out your knees?” he asked.
“Plus you smell like your shop. Like fresh lumber.”
