“Not a good idea. Once word gets around, you’ll have people lined up out the door causing traffic jams.”
She laughed. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
She spent a few more minutes describing the museum-like apartment. “Early to bed for me,” she said. “I’ll be up doing breakfast prep at five thirty. Sleep easy, cowboy.”
“You, too, city girl.”
His father closed the refrigerator. “Was that Katie? She all settled in?”
“Yeah,” Luke said. “Sounds like she plans to stay for a while.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
KATIE LAID HER phone down, still smiling over Luke’s joke about the chicken pie. He had tasted it in the past when his mother used the same recipe, but most men didn’t remember a meal even as long as it took to digest.
She looked around the cozy apartment. She had explored the kitchen cabinets, which held only basic cooking utensils. She’d have to buy a few tools to prepare her own meals here. The notion of going down to the Queen’s kitchen after spending so many hours there held little appeal.
A glass-fronted bookcase beside the green brocade sofa held a few paperbacks—plenty of room for her cookbooks and the few novels she’d brought from her mother’s house. The floor lamp with its fringed silk shade cast a peachy glow over the mahogany coffee table and the Brussels carpet, whose rose-and-green pattern had faded to a soft sepia. The furnishings were worn but clean and had been good quality when new; the atmosphere was one of carefully preserved gentility rather than shabbiness.
Katie started water running in the tub while she undressed and hung her grooming kit on a hook in the bathroom.
She tipped a few drops of lavender oil into the hot water—she would never again use the woodsy scent she’d loved before her husband’s perfidy.
Footsteps echoed on the stairs as she was slipping into her pink terry robe after her soak. Lucy hung her purse on a mirrored coatrack by the door and dropped on the sofa with a sigh.
Katie joined her. “Good sigh or bad sigh?”
“Frustrated sigh,” Lucy said and sighed again. “Mike and I just went another few rounds about my acting career.”
“Have you been engaged long?”
“Too long, according to Mike. And he’s right, but I hate to give it up just when I’m starting to get more than walk-ons.” She sat straighter with a sparkle in her eyes. “You can’t imagine the high of going into character just before you step on stage.”
“You’re right, I can’t,” Katie said. “I blew my lines in the senior play—that was the beginning and end of my acting career.”
“I can’t ask Mike to relocate to New York. His family has been ranching the same land almost as long as ours, and his accounting business here is starting to take off.”
She jumped to her feet and began pacing the cramped space. “He gets to New York when he can, and I come home between productions, but he wants to get married so we can start a family.” She waved her arms. “Other actresses have kids—what’s so bad about that?”
Katie shook her head in silent sympathy. She would have been thrilled to have half a dozen children and stay home with them, maybe homeschooling as Jo Cameron was doing.
Lucy flopped on the sofa again. “I just hope he doesn’t ruin the rest of my time here before I leave for New Hampshire.”
Katie stood—time to cut this off before saying something she might regret. “I brought a couple of sweet rolls up from the kitchen. I think we could both use some carbs.”
They shared the pastries and hot chocolate before Lucy took her turn in the bathroom. Katie barely registered the creak of the springs when Lucy climbed into the far side of the bed.
* * *
THE BREAKFAST SHIFT went smoothly, with Katie and Lucy swapping cooking and serving as needed. Marge had always baked fresh bread and pastries for the early risers, but customers seemed satisfied with the offerings from a bakery down the street.
“You think you can handle breakfast now?” Lucy asked. “I can ask Sue if she’d like to come in earlier, as soon as she gets her kids off to school. She’d probably be glad of the extra hours.”
She scrubbed at a spot on the stainless steel prep table. “To tell the truth, I’ll be glad to get to the ranch. I need to do some thinking without spending every evening with Mike.”
Katie pitied Lucy’s dilemma. She had suffered no doubts about marrying Brad. They were in love, they would live happily ever after while he worked and she stayed home raising their children. What could go wrong?
For a moment she saw herself back in the spacious home Brad had built, with every convenience and luxury at her fingertips. And look where she was now, living alone in a tiny apartment and working her buns off in a small-town café.
And loving it.
When Sue arrived, she agreed with enthusiasm to start coming in at nine, and the lunch shift passed without incident. Katie was becoming more familiar with the menu and where to find utensils and ingredients. She could handle the job as long as she had good help like Sue and Roger.
After closing at three, Katie sat at her own kitchen table making a shopping list while Lucy packed her belongings.
“I need a few things for the kitchen,” Katie said. “Any good thrift shops in town?”
Lucy’s expression said she was too polite to ask if Katie couldn’t afford to buy what she needed new.
“I like to browse shops like that,” Katie said. “I’ve found really good stuff from time to time, better quality than the new crap at big box stores. And I’m helping local charities.”
Lucy’s face cleared. “Well, the Methodist church has one, and the local humane society sells donations, too.” She wrote several addresses on the notepad by the phone. “And there’s always Walmart if you strike out with these.”
She zipped her weekender, carried it to the door and then turned back. “I can’t tell you how much this means to me. To all of us, really. We’d wade through fire for Marge just like she would for us, but she needs more than part-time piecemeal help. I couldn’t go East and leave the Queen drifting.”
She flung her arms around Katie. “I declare you officially a Cameron.”
The apartment seemed very quiet after Lucy clattered down the stairs. Katie had never lived alone. She had gone from her childhood home to live with Brad’s parents after their wedding and then to the elegant house from which she had fled. Now the mundane task of shopping for her own apartment assumed the excitement of an adventure.
She opened the window over the kitchen sink and drank in the rustle of new leaves on the big tree behind the building. She couldn’t see the Animas River, but she could hear its voice, rushing in spring spate.
Enough daydreaming—finding what she needed might take several stops, and she needed to buy groceries, as well. She’d have plenty of time to explore every corner of her new domain after she finished her errands.
Her phone rang as she gathered her shopping list and street map. She recognized Aunt Joan’s number on the caller ID. She had called her aunt while on the road and again to let her know she would be staying put for a while without revealing her location. Now her heart thudded with apprehension—what emergency has prompted this call?
“Are you all right?” Aunt Joan said without a greeting. “Brad was here looking for you. He said he’s sure something terrible has happened to you and begged me to tell him where you are.”
“He was trying to play you. I hope you didn’t fall for it.” Relief made Katie’s response sharper than she intended. She softened her voice. “I was afraid he’d contact you. Honestly, I’m fine, Aunt Joan. I have a job and a nice apartment and wonderful new friends.”
“So if he asks me again...”
“Tell him nothing. He’s lost the right to know anything about me. And don’t let him
bully you. I wish I could tell you where I am and what I’m doing—”
“I get it,” Aunt Joan said. “If I don’t know, he can’t trick me into telling. Just be careful, sweetie. I’m your substitute mom now, your designated worrier.”
“I’ll tell you everything when I come back to settle things with Brad. Give Blondie a hug and a biscuit from me.”
Ending the call with her aunt, Katie descended to Main Avenue, locking the door behind her with an ornate brass key that matched the age of the building.
At the church thrift shop, she bought a pink English teapot with four matching cups and saucers—early twentieth century—plus a silver-plated casserole spoon and three brand-new red-and-green-striped dish towels. The humane society’s shop also had kitchen wares. She was mulling the choice between a red or a silver blender when she heard a familiar voice.
“Just bring a cart out to my car and load it up. I’m dumping twenty years of excess baggage.”
Katie peeked over the top of the display shelf. Marge Bowman, now using only one crutch, was deep in conversation with the blond hiker-type woman behind the counter. “If I can’t work,” Marge said, “at least I can clear out my house. I haven’t had this much fun since Hector was a pup. I’m finding things I never knew I had, stuff the last owner left behind.”
Katie came out from her covert and greeted Marge.
“Here’s my rescuer, Liz,” Marge told clerk. “If she hasn’t decided to hightail it.”
“Far from it,” Katie said. “I am glad to see you out and about. Lucy left for the ranch after we closed, and I just realized we didn’t talk about money.” She held up a hand. “The Queen’s money, not mine.”
“And tomorrow’s Friday, so Sue and Roger need paychecks.” Marge looked at her watch. “It’s nearly supper time. Come home with me—I made a big pot of soup this morning, more than I can eat in a week. You can tell me how things are going and we’ll talk money. Tomorrow I’ll park myself in the office at lunchtime and write out checks.”
Katie helped Liz empty the back of Marge’s SUV, items ranging from faded towels for the kennels to bed linens and a box of Fiesta dishes in vintage colors.
“We’ll probably have a special-event sale for some of this,” Liz said, squinting at the stitching on an embroidered tablecloth. “Maybe an auction. I’ve never known Marge to own a pet, but she’s always been generous to us.”
She narrowed her eyes at Katie. “I don’t suppose I can interest you in adopting.”
“Not right now—I’ve got all I can handle taking care of the Queen.”
Liz sighed. “Can’t blame me for trying.”
Katie followed Liz inside and paid for the red blender while Marge collected a receipt for her donations.
Katie drove behind Marge’s vehicle to a Victorian cottage painted in shades of lime green and salmon. A twin to the tree behind her apartment shaded the postage-stamp front veranda; a rambling rose still in bud sprawled under the bay window.
She opened Marge’s car door and offered her hand to help her step out. Marge glared at her for a moment and then accepted.
“I hate needing help, so excuse me if I act cranky,” she said. She cleared her throat. “Thank you.”
Katie just smiled and followed Marge’s halting progress to the back stoop, a worn slab of sandstone. Inside, Katie exclaimed with pleasure—she was back in her grandmother’s kitchen in Marblehead, Massachusetts. The furnishings were even older than those in the apartment. A black iron range, converted from wood to gas, dominated the space. Hand-painted stoneware dishes stood on the shelves of a white Hoosier cabinet complete with flour sifter. A round oak table with matching pressed-back chairs sat under a window overlooking the backyard.
“You like antiques?” Marge asked.
“I grew up with them, but they were just beautiful things we used every day.”
“I’ll give you the whole tour another day, but right now I feel like I’ve been rode hard and put away wet.” Marge sat at the table with a soft groan. “Maybe I overdid it today just a hair. You can put supper on. I left the soup to warm—salad fixings are in the icebox and bread in the bread box. Pour us some wine if you’ve a mind to.”
Katie accepted her new role as Marge’s kitchen maid as a sign of acceptance. She lifted the lid on the big soup kettle and stirred the simmering contents, pale beans and thick broth with fragments of pork swimming to the surface.
“Senate bean soup,” she said. “I’ve died and gone to heaven.”
She turned the flame up and stirred again, her mouth watering with anticipation. She found a bottle of red wine, assembled a chopped salad and cut crusty French bread into thick slices. The soup was bubbling by the time she had set the table and poured the wine into glasses etched with the name of a Napa Valley winery.
Only after they had eaten for a few minutes in silence did Marge launch her interrogation. “What in the name of all that’s unholy is wrong with Lucy? She stopped in to see me a few days ago practically in tears. I haven’t seen her this done up since her mother died.”
Katie rolled a mouthful of bean soup over her tongue, the best she’d ever tasted.
“Well? You’ve spent close time with her, and Lucy isn’t the silent type.”
“I really shouldn’t say...” She didn’t want to breach any confidences; neither did she want to offend her new boss.
“Of course you should. I’ve known Lucy since she was seven years old—I’m the closest thing to a grandmother she has in these parts.” Marge banged her fist on the table, making the cutlery and Katie jump. “It’s Mike, isn’t it? Drat that girl—she’s going to throw away a man in a million for some foolish notion about being an actress.”
“I saw her in a play in Connecticut, Marge. If I had that kind of talent, I might have a hard time walking away.”
“If she wants to act, we have a theater company right here in Durango. They’d probably be thrilled to have someone with her talent and experience.”
Katie shook her head. How could she explain to Marge the difference between making it in New York, even off Broadway, and performing in local theater productions?
“Mike seems like a sweet guy,” she said. “I hope they work it out, especially since Luke’s sort of working for him now.”
“Luke’s working for Mike? What could Luke possibly do for an accountant?”
Katie explained the screening tasks Luke had taken on. “He really seemed to get a kick out of it,” she said. “I guess he did a good job, because Mike brought him a second batch a couple days ago.”
“Sometimes I didn’t think that boy would survive to his twenty-first birthday. What he put Jake and Annie through.” Marge shook her head. “Never any meanness, just stunts that could have gotten him killed. He and Tom may look like twins, but they’re as different as chalk from cheese.”
Watching the bull-riding videos with Luke, Katie hadn’t noticed the resemblance between the brothers, but Tom had been wearing a helmet with a face shield.
“At least his parents got a little break with Tom,” Marge said. “Seems like he was born grown-up. He never gave them a minute’s worry until he started riding bulls. Now he and Luke are both out of the arena, so Jake and Shelby can breathe a little easier.”
Except Luke might never walk again.
She glanced sideways at Katie. “What do you think of Luke?”
The question caught Katie by surprise. “I think he’s...remarkable,” she said. “He goes at everything full-out, doesn’t he? Win or lose. I think he sees being in a wheelchair as just another challenge.”
“I don’t believe for a minute he’s going to stay in that wheelchair. So you like him?”
“Of course I like him—I like all the Camerons I’ve met.” Was Marge trying to play matchmaker?
“Even if he never wal
ks again?”
“Marge, I haven’t meant to be secretive—I just didn’t feel like burdening people with my troubles.” For the second time since arriving in Colorado, Katie told her story.
“So you ran away,” Marge said with a note of disapproval in her voice.
“I left,” Katie said. “I couldn’t stand the sight of Brad or even the sound of his voice. But I left on my own terms.” She described the measures she had taken for her own security and the parting gift she had left for him.
Marge laughed and slapped the table. “Dang, girl. You’re bad. Don’t you wish you could have seen his face when he found that in his bed?”
Katie grinned in spite of herself. “And I talked to my lawyer before I left. I’ll never be able to trust Brad again, and I don’t intend to try.”
Marge sighed. “So you’re married.”
“At the moment. But even if I weren’t, Luke being in a wheelchair wouldn’t be a deal breaker for me. I can barely remember a time when my dad didn’t walk with a cane, sometimes crutches, after a construction accident. And then Mom developed lupus—up and down, mostly down. Maybe they had physical limitations, but they were my heroes.”
Her voice had risen in her vehemence. She took a deep breath. “Sorry, I got carried away. My husband is a fitness freak—he plays tennis and golf and works out at the gym, but he’s got a damaged soul.”
“My goodness,” Marge said.
They finished the meal with coffee and a bourbon-sauced bread pudding that made Katie’s taste buds swoon.
“Give me a list of what you need for the apartment,” Marge said as Katie began washing the dishes in the big cast-iron sink. “I’m still mucking out cupboards and drawers.”
Katie left with a quart container of the soup—and the recipe—and a plastic bowl of the bread pudding, which she doubted would survive until morning.
There was still considerable foot traffic on Main Avenue from the restaurants and pubs. A middle-aged couple offered to hold Katie’s leftovers and purchases while she unlocked the door. Her door, leading to her new home. She thanked them and climbed the stairs to survey her little kingdom. Loneliness, even heartbreak, might visit her in these rooms, but in this moment she was content.
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