The Coldwater Warm Hearts Club

by Lexi Eddings

  “That’s a relief. I was beginning to think I was losing my touch.” He leaned back on his palms. “But I’m still ahead. I give seven or eight flips about you.”

  Was that his backhanded way of telling her he loved her?

  Before she could ask him to explain what he meant by seven or eight flips, he grinned, splayed his legs before him, and patted the space between his knees. “Come here. I’ll be your lawn chair while we watch the rest of the light show.”

  She slid into the space and leaned back on his chest, resting her arms on his muscular thighs. “You make a wonderful lounger.”

  “Just call me your La-Z-Boy.”

  Then they went silent while the fireworks from the marina’s barge lit up the night sky. The crowd gathered along the lakeshore below ooh-ed and ahh-ed as each explosion became more spectacular. Occasionally Jake’s arms tightened around her, especially after the screaming whiz-bangs and cherry bombs went off, but he didn’t have any more moments when he lost track of what was really happening.

  As the finale of pinwheels, Roman candles, and bursting shells faded and the stars came back into bright focus again, Lacy decided she could help Jake deal with his PTSD. She could calm him whenever he had an episode. If she knew what to watch for, maybe she could even help him prepare for a flashback.

  If she was stalling about committing to a relationship with him, it shouldn’t be because of this.

  Maybe she shouldn’t stall at all.

  As Jake’s heart thumped against her spine, she wondered why she had. It had nothing to do with him, she decided. Jake was a great guy.

  It was about her need for control.

  Her life had descended into chaos in Boston. She’d felt so helpless when Bradford ran off and left her to deal with the mess of his embezzlement. If she didn’t get mixed up with another guy, she’d never be at someone else’s mercy again. Her hand would be firmly on the helm of her life.

  But Jake wasn’t Bradford.

  Even in the middle of a flashback, his first instinct had been to protect those around him. She could trust him.

  She should trust him.

  “Jake,” she said softly.

  “Hmm?” He bent to nuzzle her neck.

  “I was thinking you should come to my place for supper tomorrow night,” she said. “And bring Speedbump with you.”

  “I thought you said Effie would kill him.”

  “I was exaggerating.” She hoped she was. “Anyway, if you and I are going to be together, our animals need to learn to get along.”

  Jake gave her a squeeze and kissed the crown of her head. “You want us to be together?”

  She nodded, not trusting her voice at first. Then she whispered, “But I think we should go slow.”

  “Slow is good. I’m a patient guy. I’ve wanted you since the day you walked back into the grill, but it’s taken me a while to convince you. Slow is kind of my wheelhouse now,” he said. “Speedbump and I will be over tomorrow as soon as I get the Green Apple closed for the night.”

  “Effie and I will be looking for you,” she said, relaxing back into him. “But we’ll keep a sharp eye on that cat. Just in case.”

  * * *

  Fortunately, Effie the Unsociable only felt the need to box Speedbump’s ears with her velveted claws once. After that, the dog was respectful of her personal space and they reached a fragile interspecies truce. Now that their pets were getting along, or at least tolerating each other’s presence, nothing kept Jake and Lacy from seeing each other every evening.

  Either she came over to his loft or he joined her at her place for dinner and a movie in. Jake was pleased to discover that they were both Trekkies and neither of them understood what had possessed Fox to cancel Firefly. Sometimes for a change, they went out to catch the late show at the Regal, where they necked like teenagers in the back row.

  Once, they’d hit the Opera House when the big band was playing and after a jerking two-step that had them laughing together, Jake managed a creditable waltz with her. Holding her on the dance floor—any excuse to hold her, for that matter—made him thank God all over again for getting him out of Afghanistan. Even if he’d had to leave part of his left leg behind.

  Days turned into weeks and the rhythm of Jake’s life turned into the steady thump of counting the minutes until he could see Lacy again. When they weren’t working, they were inseparable.

  Jake even talked her into going to Wednesday-evening chapel with him. Twilight was giving way to deepening night as they walked back toward the Square after the service. Lacy was quieter than usual.

  “Penny for your thoughts,” he said.

  “They’re worth more than that.”

  Jake fished a quarter out of his pocket and offered it to her. The rest of his cash had been dropped into the collection plate. “This is all I’ve got on me.”

  “Better keep it, then. Looks like ice cream is on me tonight.”

  “Fat chance.” He still had his debit card. Call him old-fashioned, but he wasn’t about to let Lacy pay for anything when they were together. “Did you mind going to the service with me?”

  “Not too much. Not as much as I thought I would.”

  “But you were uncomfortable.” Sitting beside him in the pew, she’d been fidgety and her left knee had jittered through most of the short homily. But before and after the service, everyone had greeted her with hugs and smiles. “You grew up in that church. Why does it bother you to be there now?”

  “It’s not the church. It’s me,” she said. “It’s been so long. I got out of the habit of going when I was back east.”

  “Not cool enough for you?”

  “Wow, that doesn’t make me sound shallow at all.”

  She stuck out her tongue and pulled an adorable face at him. He didn’t know how she managed it, but Lacy even made being snarky seem cute.

  “But maybe you’re right,” she admitted. “I was all about fitting in then and none of the people I knew in New England had much of a spiritual life—except for Shannon. She’s Wiccan, but don’t go thinking she worships the devil or anything like that. Shannon is good people. She’d give me a kidney if I needed one.”

  “So you weren’t tempted to try the religious flavor of the month with your Wiccan friend?”

  “No. Like my dad always says, I’m as independent as a hog on ice. Not going to church, or giving any other religion a try, was more about wanting to do things for myself instead of relying on someone else to help me.”

  “Someone like God.”

  “Yeah, Him or any of His close friends.” She cast a glance and a smile up at him. “When I first came home, I had this weird, oh, I don’t know, caricature, I guess, of church people in my mind.”

  “You thought we were all holier-than-thou bigots and homophobes.”

  “Something like that.”

  “I understand why you might think so. That’s the rap we get, and sometimes we deserve it. We don’t always live the love we’re supposed to,” Jake said. “The problem with the church is that it’s just chock full of sinners.”

  She laughed.

  “Most of us know that about ourselves,” he said, “but sometimes we forget.”

  “I don’t think you’re a sinner, Jake.”

  “That’s because you can’t read my mind.” He stopped and hugged her close.

  “I might surprise you.” Lacy stood on tiptoe and kissed him.

  She was right. He had wanted a kiss. “Good guess.”

  “A safe one. You’re a guy, after all.”

  But Jake wanted more than a kiss. He wanted everything with Lacy, every day, every night—all night—for the rest of his life. He just hadn’t worked up the courage to ask her yet.

  “But back to church people,” Jake said as, still holding hands, they started walking toward the ice-cream shop again. “Have you changed your mind about them?”

  She nodded. “However nosey the church folk in Coldwater are about the lives around them, the nosiness really
is motivated by caring. I’d sort of forgotten that part of living in a small town.”

  “I know what you mean. When I came home from Afghanistan, it felt like I was being invaded at first, what with everybody interested in everything going on with me and my new leg,” Jake said. “But then it started feeling good to know I wasn’t alone. I was connected. I had lots of people pulling for me. Praying for me.”

  “It’s hard to turn your back on people who care about you, isn’t it? Most folks are so wrapped up in themselves, it’s a total surprise to have someone invest their energy in you and your troubles for a change.” She leaned her head on his shoulder as they walked. “Since I came home, I’ve been blown away by the unexpected kindness of this town—church people, my coworkers, the Warm Hearts Club, even total strangers. And I’ve learned that I’m not as independent as I thought I was.” She started walking slower. “I’ve really made a mess of myself.”

  “You don’t look like a mess to me.”

  “Well, I am. Like a duck, calm on the surface, paddling to beat thunder underneath,” she said. “And I wouldn’t mind being on the Methodist prayer chain so much anymore.”

  “Have you got a request you’d like put on the chain?” he asked, concerned.

  “I probably should, but it’s something I hate for anybody to know about.”

  He understood that. Pride still kept him from going to that free mental health clinic at Bates College. Somehow, saying that he had a problem with flashbacks out loud to someone with a degree on their wall would make it more real. He knew it was false pride, but he hunkered behind it anyway.

  “Whatever this thing is you’re dealing with, Lacy, you can tell me.”

  She sighed. Then she explained for the first time how badly in debt she was and why.

  “My pay from the Gazette doesn’t amount to much. It’s all I can do to make ends meet with what I bring home. I’ve been eating up the last of my savings to make the payments to the O’Learys.” She sighed. “And just this week, I hit the bottom of that particular barrel.”

  “Lacy, let me help you.”

  “No way,” she said, “Even if you had a hundred thousand dollars, I wouldn’t take a penny from you.”

  Jake chuckled. “Well, I don’t have a hundred grand, so no worries on that score. But I do own the grill and the building it’s in free and clear. I’m sure Mr. Dutton over at the bank would give me a loan against that property, and at a much lower interest rate than you’re paying those hoods in Boston.”

  “No, Jake. I love you for offering, but I can’t let you risk your livelihood for me.”

  “You love me, huh?”

  She swatted his shoulder. “You know what I mean.”

  Unfortunately, he did. She didn’t love him. Not that way.

  At least, not yet.

  Hadn’t his dad always said a woman’s “maybe” was what kept a wolf wolfing? He’d do anything for Lacy. He’d be willing to take the debt over entirely if she came along with it. He wanted her to trust him to solve this and make everything all right. It’s what a man did for the ones he loved. “Getting a loan is no problem. Why don’t you let me decide what I do with what’s mine?”

  “No. I mean it. I won’t take money from you,” she said. “I only told you because . . . well, I don’t want it on the prayer chain, but . . . maybe you could pray for me.”

  He stopped and kissed her again. “I already do.”

  Chapter 26

  Miss Holloway’s drama students are looking for donations to fund their first annual field trip to a theater festival in Hot Springs. The freshman class is celebrating its final presentation of Macbeth.

  If you want to support the end of high school drama, please contact the school office.

  —from the Fighting Marmots Notes section of the Coldwater Gazette

  “Have you got that chili together yet, Lester?” Jake asked as he flipped a dozen burgers for the hungry lunch crowd that had gathered in the Green Apple.

  “Almost,” the old man said. It was Lester’s first day out of the county lockup. More importantly, it was his first day on a job in decades. He was a little slow to complete the tasks Jake assigned him, but he tackled everything willingly enough. “I just need to stir in the jalapeños and then it’ll be ready to simmer for a while.”

  School was nearly out for summer, but the folks in Coldwater Cove were huddling through an unusual cold snap. Thermometers struggled to reach the low 60s during the day and dipped into the 40s at night. Mr. Mayhew was worried sick about his “knockout” roses being shocked by the unseasonal temperatures. He wondered loudly to anyone who expressed the slightest interest, and even some who didn’t, if the whole daylight savings time conspiracy wasn’t responsible for the problem.

  As if anyone can do anything about the weather, Jake bit back when Mayhew accosted him at the market. Mr. Mayhew would wish for a bit of this coolness once the dog days of August rolled around. But for now, a brisk wind swept mostly fussy customers through the Green Apple’s door.

  Jake decided to put his Lazy Man Chili back on the supper menu. It was sure to warm up their insides and it was an easy enough recipe for even a novice cook to throw together.

  Lester Scott certainly qualified. He wouldn’t know a pair of tongs from a ladle if they pinched him on the butt.

  Having a parolee in his kitchen was more work for Jake than help at the moment, but he reminded himself a dozen times that morning that this arrangement was supposed to be for Lester’s benefit, not his. The Warm Hearts Club experiment was the old vet’s ticket from homelessness and alcoholism back to a more normal life. Jake was determined to do what he could to make sure Lester had a chance.

  But it was still up to Lester to make the journey.

  “Order up!” Jake rang the bell to alert Ethel to the Green Plate burgers lining the pony wall counter that separated the kitchen from the dining area. The harried waitress hurried to retrieve them.

  There had been another snafu during the lunch rush. The Green Apple rib plate was always a little messy, but Lester had been extra heavy-handed when Jake allowed him to spread on the barbecue sauce. The ribs might taste great, but they were a serious danger to a diner’s wardrobe. Ethel had trotted between the tables, making sure everyone who’d ordered ribs had a couple of napkins tucked under their chins and another draped over their laps.

  “Aprons wouldn’t be amiss,” she’d muttered and then ordered customers to remove their ties or scarves and thoroughly cover anything they didn’t want ruined. No doubt about it. The ribs were risky.

  Jake made his way over to the stove where Lester was stirring the batch of bubbling chili in an industrial-sized stockpot. Along with premium ground beef and four kinds of beans, Jake’s chili recipe called for sliced mushrooms, bell peppers in assorted colors, stewed tomatoes, and chopped onions along with a secret mix of spices.

  “Looks good.” But the proof is in the tasting. Jake dipped in a wooden spoon to sample the broth. When he barely touched it to his lips, they burned. “Whew! That’ll open up your sinuses.” If he’d swallowed a bite, he’d have singed his whole gullet. “Man, could you have used any more jalapeños?”

  “Nope. I dumped in the whole can.”

  “The whole can?” Jake swallowed hard. “Lester, why didn’t you follow the recipe?”

  “I did.” He picked up the directions and ran his finger along the appropriate line. “See here. It says ‘Jalapeños, one C.’ One can, right?”

  “One C means one cup. You put in half a gallon.” This chili was eight times hotter than Jake’s usual batch. “Unless you’ve got a cast-iron stomach, it’s inedible.”

  Lester’s shoulders drooped. “First the ribs, now this. I screwed the pooch again, didn’t I?”

  “Big time,” Jake said, not troubling to mask his frustration. There were several pounds of ground chuck in that chili, not to mention all the other ingredients. Fresh veggies were pretty spendy this early in the season. He hated to see it all go to wast
e.

  “Want me to take it out to the alley and dump it?” Lester asked gloomily.

  Chili this corrosive was likely to burn its way through the metal Dumpster.

  It was also Lester’s first attempt to cook anything by himself. Jake shouldn’t have left him to his own devices. Now he couldn’t let him fail just because he hadn’t been able to give Lester the supervision he needed.

  “No, let’s not give up yet,” Jake said, his mind churning furiously. “Maybe we can fix it.”

  “You think so?” A tentative smile stretched Lester’s weathered face. “An army grunt and a jarhead, ain’t nothing we can’t do if we put our backs to it, eh, boss?”

  Their backs wouldn’t help this chili one bit. Jake had to put on his chef hat pronto. But before he could form a plan, he was interrupted by another round of orders from Ethel—two Reubens, a chicken club, and a chef’s salad. He started working on them while he gave Lester instructions, starting with something simple. “Leave that chili on to simmer and start another batch. There are a couple more stockpots in the storeroom. But this time, leave out all the spicy things.”

  Lester scratched his head as he studied the recipe again. “Jake, um, which ones are the spicy things exactly?”

  Jake took a Green Apple Grill pen out of his shirt pocket and crossed out onions, cayenne pepper, cumin, and freshly ground chili powder. “Instead of that, put in some ground-up cloves.” The spice was known to numb the mouth a bit. “No, on second thought, I’ll add that myself later.”

  If Lester had a hand in it, this new batch would be swimming with cloves. He’d probably end up with something numbing enough to prepare someone for dental work. Lester disappeared into the storeroom and reappeared with a second stockpot.

  Jake layered corned beef on pumpernickel for the Reubens, cut them in halves, and arranged the sandwiches with chips and a dill pickle on a green plate. “Once you get a second batch of chili made, we’ll combine the two and then freeze half of it.”