by Leanne Davis
Huh. Cop-man even made the tough-talking cook, whom Tara hadn’t figured out yet how to approach, fall in line for him.
She returned to the crowds of the lunch diners. So far, she hadn’t spilled anything, mixed up any orders, miscalculated the bills, or said anything out of the ordinary or that might be considered discourteous. It was harder than she thought, first with the breakfast and then the lunch crowd. The place was called Chloe’s Corner Café. Yes, the totally cliché name made Tara cringe when she first found it, but the Help Wanted sign on the door motivated her enough to enter the establishment and fill out an application.
The café did a thriving business. There was barely an hour’s lull between the huge crowds. She kept running to the kitchen and back again for hours. Her feet were sore and bruised and her brain was full. It wasn’t hard work, just ridiculous amounts of multi-tasking. It actually turned out to be much harder than she had anticipated.
But she was nearly shocked to find she liked it. The people, ranging from young kids to old couples in their eighties, were all curious about her. It was a small, unpopulated town and she was new there, which ensued in a general curiosity concerning her.
She smiled and answered their questions, keeping things simple and reasonable as she described her history, or the history she wished she had. But the friendliness the people directed toward her was rather odd, and kind of wonderful. On the streets, when she was dirty and unsmiling, sometimes begging, or huddled up at odd places, most people disdained her, or they grimaced and looked away after clutching their purses or bags more tightly. Few people were kind. Few offered her any care or advice, much less money. Few treated her as if she were even a human being.
So seeing all the smiles on the café patrons’ faces was a welcome, if unfamiliar, treat.
Until the cop. She didn’t linger at his table or allow any platitudes to be exchanged. She dumped his lunch on her way to the next table. He apparently never paid for the lunches he ate so she didn’t go back to him. Eventually, he left an empty plate and a small tip. She took both and was glad he left, already dreading his presence tomorrow.
“Well? How was your first day?” Chloe asked. She was sitting at the counter, her books spread out before her, doing some accounting.
Tara sat quietly for a moment. Her shift was finally over. “I think my feet are bruised. This place is busy.”
“Bad busy?”
“No, the day flew by. I like that part.”
Chloe grinned, her red-slicked lips sliding over her shiny, white teeth. “You were very popular too. Even had a few comments about how polite you were. Marta, the waitress you are replacing, was practically the opposite of that. Hiring folly on my part. She was a big, strapping lady, and I thought she could eagerly handle the work load. No. Nope. She complained about everything and whined. Always short and rude to the customers, she heaved herself around here like she was being asked to do something out of the ordinary when she was only doing her job.”
Tara wondered, how long it had been since she outperformed another person in anything? She couldn’t think of a single task, let alone outperforming with her attitude and conversational skills.
“How’d the tips go?” Chloe nodded to the pile of ones and fives Tara had placed in her pocket.
Tara had to restrain the urge to pull the wad of mostly one dollar bills out and greedily count them. Chloe generously let her wait staff keep all their own tips and put an extra fee on her meals in order to tip her cook.
“I think pretty good.”
“Go ahead, you can count it.”
Tara grinned in response to Chloe’s nudge. She whipped out the cash and counted it. It was much more generous than she expected. And much needed. She had rent now.
Chloe started to speak when the door opened and a young African-American child came running in. He was skinny and small, bald-headed and adorable. Another woman waved at Chloe as she stood up and headed towards the tot.
“Thanks, Mrs. Beatrix!” Wyatt called over his shoulder. Then facing forward he said, “Hi, Auntie! Look what I made today.” He whipped out a picture of handprints all over it in the shape of the letter D.
“Look at what you can do, Wyatt. I love it.” Chloe glanced up, sharing a look with Tara. She grabbed Wyatt’s hand and tugged him forward. “Tara, this is my nephew, Wyatt. He gets dropped off here every afternoon until his dad leaves work. Wyatt, meet Tara; she’s my new server.”
Wyatt grinned and his gaze quickly left her to follow his hand. In a stealth-like manner, it was moving toward the candy dish on the counter above him.
Chloe pretend-slapped his hand. “Wyatt… no candy. I’ll get you some berries and yogurt.”
Wyatt made a face and withdrew his pudgy little hand, holding it out towards Tara while saying, “Sorry, Auntie. Hi, ma’am.”
“Hi.” Tara shook the kid’s hand, utterly charmed by his manners, his sweet little smile, and his squeaky voice.
“So do you come here every day?”
He nodded eagerly as Chloe disappeared. “Yup. Mrs. Beatrix drives her grandson and me from school. She drops me here on her way home. Mrs. B is our neighbor.”
“Well, it’s very nice to meet you.”
“I don’t recognize you.”
“No. I’m new in town.”
“Really?” His coffee-brown eyes were huge to begin with, but when he was surprised or interested, they grew even rounder. “Where you from? Anywhere neat?”
“Ah… no. Not really. Just a small town in California.” Yeah, that was the generic version of her history.
“You mean, where Disneyland is?”
“Not even close,” she said with a small smile, kneeling down so she didn’t tower over him. She had no experience with young kids. Nothing. With very few children in her life, she felt odd talking to him. Would she need to dumb down what she said? Or use a different voice? But he seemed to understand her without any problem. “I grew up a long ways from there. Not much like what you see on TV about California.”
“How’d you get here?”
Walked, hitched rides sometimes… She wasn’t even sure how she got anywhere. Nothing appropriate for little kid’s ears, however.
“I drove.”
He nodded and turned towards Chloe when she returned with his snack, scooting up on the stool to the counter. Huh. That was easy enough. Blunt and to the point, he accepted what she said, and Tara wished all people were that easy to talk to. He didn’t ask any follow-up questions.
“Want some?”
Tara tuned back in when Wyatt glanced up at her, holding out a strawberry in his hand. Startled at his sweet, innocent offering, she looked at Chloe who smiled as if to say yes. She put her hand in Wyatt’s and accepted the strawberry. His hand was moist and warm. Clammy, even, as was the strawberry. But she’d eaten enough garbage leftovers that there was nothing gross about it, and no way she’d hurt the little kid’s feelings. She popped it into her mouth and made a happy face of sheer pleasure. “Best strawberry ever. Thank you, Wyatt.”
He grinned up at her. “You’re welcome. Daddy says gentlemen always share with others.”
“Your dad seems wise.”
“He is! The wisest. And smartest. He knows everything.”
She smiled. She felt indulged and charmed. Never. Not once, did she speak that way about her own father. JR Tamasy had never treated her with any kindness. He had also never given her advice or paid any attention to her. So what did she know about what daddies did or how they were supposed to behave?
Chloe was called away by a new round of customers and she made a face. “Wyatt, behave yourself while I take care of this.”
“I’ll keep him company,” Tara said, looking around as she realized it was she who volunteered. When did she ever willingly interact with anyone? Especially some little, sticky-fingered kid? Still, he was grinning up at her.
“So what grade are you in?”
“Kindergarten. We go all day now. Last year, we only wen
t part of the day. Now it’s all day long. I don’t like it either. I miss seeing my favorite show; it comes on after lunch. Dad says it’s good to start learning sooner rather than later... but I don’t think that.”
Dad was quoted a lot by Wyatt. During the next twenty minutes, she learned Dad was close to being a superhero. Wyatt recited all kinds of quotes from his dad. She was instantly engaged and eagerly extracting more snippets from Wyatt about his dad. Wyatt had a natural manner that was irresistible. His voice was high-pitched and it cracked when he got really excited, which was often and easy. It was impossible for Tara to hold back all the grins his little voice evoked with his constant, descriptive anecdotes.
“You should meet my daddy.”
“Your dad must be something pretty special,” she said. She beamed at Wyatt’s huge electric smile when he spoke about his unique daddy. The kid had a serious case of hero-worship towards his own father, which Tara thought was neat to see.
“Some people think so. But usually, they’re just the five-year-olds.”
Tara froze. She was facing the kitchen and her back was to the front door. She shut her eyes, suddenly sure that Wyatt’s dad had just walked in and it was his cool voice she heard between them. He stood right behind her, towering over both of them. Turning her head, the startled shock she experienced shone all over Tara’s face.
It was the damn cop!
Her mouth dropped open. She glanced down next to her, not meaning to appear so surprised. Wyatt giggled and exclaimed, “Daddy!” before jumping off the stool and launching himself at the man’s green pant legs. He seemed to ignore the scary-looking belt of violence. Wyatt’s dark little face beside the cop’s lily-white face was unexpected. Tara dropped her gaze, feeling stupid for staring, or gaping really. It was short-sighted of her to assume his daddy would have been African-American too. There was no reason Wyatt couldn’t have been interracial. She closed her eyes briefly and slid onto her feet.
“This is Tara from far away. She works for Auntie now,” Wyatt said as the cop swung the little kid up into his arms. Wyatt’s legs wrapped around the man’s thick waist, above the belt. Tara hated the belt, although it seemed half as menacing with the little kid he held in his arms. Wyatt tightened his small arms around the man’s thick neck and his fat, plump cheeks rested for a long moment against his dad’s face. He finally leaned back. “She’s pretty, huh? Like that one lady whose name I don’t remember… in that book… Aur—no, Cinderella. The blonde one who loses her shoe, right?”
“Right,” the cop said, chuckling as his gaze returned to Tara. She kept her eyes on his big black boots. They appeared menacing also. She blushed furiously. As if she liked being compared to the singing, housekeeper-slave sister whose only claim to fame was being pretty. She was also stupid enough to lose her shoe just so some rich guy could find her and elevate her to a higher station in life. Stupid fucking story, Tara grumbled in her head. But little kids always loved to hear them. And maybe her long blonde hair and serving uniform reminded the kid of the fairy tale. All of it was fairy tales and lies, of course.
She ducked her head, grabbed her purse off the counter, and stuffed her tip money into it. “I’ll let you go. It was very nice meeting you.” She scurried out the door before it even occurred to her she never officially met “Daddy.” She had no idea what the cop’s name was. Glancing at the truck that read Washington State Department of Fish and Wildlife, she paused for a brief moment. Huh. Not the authoritative agency she had assumed. What the hell did Fish and Wildlife mean? Why would anyone enforcing the wildlife laws need such a big damn gun? Were they still cops? They must be. She recalled all the paraphernalia he had attached to him. Whatever, he was still the enemy and someone she needed to stay far away from.
He did, however, have one of the cutest kids Tara had ever met.
Chapter Two
RYDER KINCAID WATCHED THE blonde Tara-from-California tuck her head down before venturing onto the street, looking neither right nor left or even acknowledging the area around her. He recalled that she never once looked him straight in the face. It felt a bit like someone punched him in the gut when he glanced up, fully expecting to see Marta’s grumpy, sour expression. He frowned as he remembered her broad, flat face, with one large brown mole that hung off her chin. Something it was impossible not to stare at while she spoke. And since she was so rude, it seemed almost fitting to stare at the unflattering mark. But no. The woman he saw was the antithesis of Marta. Pretty, with tan skin, nice features, intense blue eyes and long blonde hair that swung in a ponytail that fell to her mid-back. She was young too. Perhaps in her mid-twenties. Yeah, he had noticed her all right, and was surprised that Chloe never mentioned her to him.
But she never once even looked at him. He wondered if she were guilty of some wrongdoing and that consequently, his presence made her nervous. Sure, that happened sometimes. His uniform often made people act strangely around him. More self-conscious. As if he were always on the prowl, checking for any wrongdoings. Some must have actually been guilty people who were, no doubt, afraid he’d guess their crimes. He frequently caught people with outstanding warrants by accident simply by the way they acted, rather than from any real police work.
Chloe walked up.
“Who’s the new girl?” he asked.
“Tara Aderly,” she answered.
“Did you run a background check and all that?” Chloe was notorious for slacking off on her security. It made Ryder nuts no matter how often they discussed it. Especially after the history they shared, he couldn’t understand why she wasn’t more careful.
Chloe rolled her eyes. “Yes, sir, officer, I did as you bade me. All clear.”
He made a face at Chloe. She often mocked his good advice. He rolled his eyes and smiled. “Good. She was nicer than Marta, at least.”
“Nicer to look at, too.”
“No comment.” He shrugged. Chloe was usually trying to hook him up with any single women she met. Being such a small town, there weren’t many in the area, and any new ladies inevitably drew Chloe’s interest. “Besides, she wouldn’t even look at me.”
“She does seem a bit shy. Avoids eye contact. But just enough, you know, to be all sweetie-cute. The customers ate her up. She’ll be good for business.”
He laughed a short bark. “As always. Forever the profit monger.”
Chloe wiggled her eyebrows. “Yup. Not ready to depend on charity. Any complaints if she hangs out with Wyatt? He seemed quite taken with her.”
“Not as long as you’re around, no.” Ryder was eternally overprotective. But it was not unexpected, considering his profession and their shared past. Chloe’s lips compressed and she nodded as she leaned over and touched his sleeve.
“Someday, you’re going to have to start letting some of it go, Ryder.”
He nodded. “I’m fine, Chloe. I don’t need to do anything.”
Chloe released him. “She tried.”
“I know,” he said, struggling to keep from wincing. They didn’t often talk about her, his ex-wife. He didn’t want to discuss her right now.
“Come on, Wyatt,” he called to his boy. Wyatt was in the back room, bugging the wait staff. He sometimes acted like he ran the establishment. He was their pet and mascot. Ryder couldn’t think of one person there who didn’t love and adore his son. Then again, anyone who met Wyatt seemed drawn to him. He was overflowing with vim and verve. His contagious excitement and joy made it impossible not to feel better. His squeaky, high-pitched voice and infectious laugh were irresistible. It didn’t matter what tickled Wyatt’s funny bone; lots of things did. Almost everything, in fact.
Wyatt ran over and grabbed the hand Ryder held out to him before they stepped out together. As always, he called over his shoulder to say goodbye and express his gratitude. “Thanks again, Chloe.”
“’Welcome, see you tomorrow.” And she would. Ryder was utterly lost without Chloe. She helped so much by picking up the slack. His slack.
Wyatt ju
mped into the back seat of Ryder’s truck. He chatted away about his day at school, from the painting of the handprints to how well he played four-square at lunch recess. Pulling up the truck beside their home, Ryder parked it along the side of the old farmhouse they lived in. Sitting on an acre of open land, clusters of evergreen trees encircled it. A few old, majestic trees were intermittently scattered here and there. It was definitely country and he loved the rural vibe of the old place. It used to be a working farm, but now it was simply rich land for him to enjoy. Farther off, situated between the cleavage of hills, were glimpses of green water. The glinting September sunlight shone from the Columbia River. The farmhouse was built in the early twentieth century. Ryder spent the better part of the last five years slowly remodeling the structure. Every single thing was done by his own hand. From the electrical, to the plumbing, to the woodwork, as well as the paint. He had plenty more to do as he slowly restored it, updating it with the modern conveniences while still retaining its quaint old charm. There was a large barn off to the side that was painted bright red. The house was a crisp, neat white with forest green trim. It also had a front porch with a swing on it and another smaller porch off the master bedroom that was only accessible from the second story.
Wyatt’s mom, Ebony, and Ryder inherited the dilapidated old homestead from her grandparents. They always planned to live in it during the slow process of restoration and remodeling, but Ebony never got past the first year. Ryder’s heart clenched painfully as he thought of her. No. No good ever came from ruminating over sad events that would never change, no matter how much time passed.
Besides, Wyatt couldn’t even remember her. There was nothing sad in his short life, which was a good thing. He didn’t know anything different. He and his father were buds against the outside world. He never seemed to miss his mother, although he knew he had one. He thought the reason she wasn’t around was because she wasn’t ready to become a mother. Wyatt accepted the explanation and rarely voiced any opinions about it. Chloe did her best to make up for much of what her sister left behind.
