Sometimes they got their food, sometimes not.
The diner sat just where it always had, and when Grant pushed open the door, he was greeted by a loud jingle. It was as if he’d stepped back in time fifteen years—or more than a half century. Either way, the effect was the same. Music flowed from the ancient jukebox that had to be an antique by now, and though the vinyl seats appeared to have been updated, the red and white color scheme remained the same. Difference was, this time he could appreciate the welcoming warmth of the vintage hometown cafe. He smiled, and his stomach agreed by proclaiming its appreciation for the mouth-watering smells of flame-grilled meat and fried potatoes.
Spotting a wide open space at the counter, Grant eased onto a stool and took a surreptitious look around. He stiffened at the sight of a tan police officer’s uniform two stools down on his right. Shit. Just what he needed; a cop to hear his confession of vandalism.
Reap what you sow, man.
The guy’s profile had him narrowing his gaze in consideration. He looked like someone Grant might have known from back in high school, but no name came to mind. When the man cast him a glance, he averted his face. Thankfully, the officer kept to himself and took another bite of his burger.
Grant looked around for a waitress just as the door swung open from the kitchen and the old man himself emerged. His stomach rolled, his nerves unsure how the upcoming conversation would go. Man, Hutch looked…old—and it wasn’t only because of the stark white bandage on his head. He wondered what happened.
Hutch approached, appearing strangely cautious. Then the familiar frown appeared. “Do I know you, son? You look familiar.”
“It’s been awhile; I wasn’t sure if you’d remember me. Name’s Grant Walker.”
From the corner of his eye, he saw the cop set his food down and straighten on his stool. Had his name rung a bell there, too? In front of him, Hutch’s gaze narrowed and recognition flashed in his eyes.
“Yep. It’s coming back to me now. You’re that mouthy punk who threw a brick through my window.”
His shoulders tensed at the accusatory words, but Grant forced himself to relax. Not an easy feat with the cop listening to their every word.
Resisting the urge to check the officer’s expression, he flicked a glance up at the bandage on Hutch’s forehead before nodding with a rueful grin. “Good to see whatever happened there didn’t affect your memory.”
The man ignored the reference to his injury as he braced his hands on the counter and leaned forward. “So, you’re finally admitting it was you?”
“Yes sir, I am,” Grant confessed quietly. He reached into his pocket for the check he’d written before leaving the apartment building and handed it over. “I know I’m late by about fifteen years, but that should cover the cost of the window plus interest. I hope you’ll accept my sincere apology for all the trouble I caused you.”
After taking the check, Hutch surveyed the amount with an arched brow. Then he pinned Grant with a sharp stare and a glint in his eye that belied the rest of his weathered appearance. He tapped the check against his palm and asked, “You dyin’ boy?”
Grant couldn’t help but laugh. “Nothing so dramatic. I just grew up, and life knocked some sense and humility into me.”
Hutch’s scrutiny lasted another full minute before he gave a single nod. “That case, I got a burger with your name on it.”
“I was hoping you’d say that.”
“How would you like it?” Hutch opened the cash register and slipped the check under the cash drawer.
“Medium, please. Everything but onions.” When the man turned toward the kitchen, Grant quickly added, “Hey, Hutch?”
The old man faced him.
“Thank you.”
His shoulders lifted in a shrug, and he met Grant’s gaze with surprising understanding. “Man willing to own up to his past mistakes deserves a second chance.”
It would be interesting to see if anyone else in town felt that way. A couple days ago, returning to Redemption was the last thing Grant wanted to do. In his opinion, that saying, You can’t ever go home again, should be, You should never go home again. But Uncle Frank had told him the heart attack made him realize that as much as he loved Wisconsin, he had a bucket list that wouldn’t get crossed off in Redemption. He’d socked away some money over the years, and now was the time to spend it so when the end came he’d have that many less regrets.
In the wee morning hours since, Grant realized Redemption was on his list of regrets. Since the downturn in the economy, and the loss of most of his real estate holdings, he’d been re-evaluating his life. He’d known things had to change—starting with the reality he was going to have to get a job in the very near future, but he hadn’t expected his uncle’s brush with death and subsequent retirement to be a part of that change.
Then he saw the silver lining. If he took over managing his own apartment building—his last apartment building—he could support himself without having to work for someone else. Seemed a win-win, so with nothing else holding him in New York, and his uncle in good hands, he’d booked his ticket and flown to the Midwest.
Driving through town brought back all kinds of reminders. His parents had been one of the wealthiest families in town, and boy had he known it. The life of privilege turned him into a spoiled rotten, entitled jackass who shoved his wealth in everyone’s faces, thinking he was better than the whole lot of them. When his parents decided to move the family to New York, he’d burnt all his bridges by declaring far and loud how thankful he was to be leaving the shitty little town.
Didn’t matter that he’d been a stupid teenager in the tenth grade, Hutch’s initial welcome demonstrated the residents of Redemption had a very long memory.
His appreciative nod for Hutch’s acceptance went unnoticed as a cute waitress walked up and placed her hand on the old man’s shoulder. “I think it’s about time you called it a day, don’t you?”
The concerned tone of her voice revealed a deeper connection than simple employer-employee. Hutch’s gruff response all-out confirmed his hunch.
“Soon as I take care of this order, missy. Get Mr. Walker here something to drink, will ya?” In contrast to his no-nonsense talk, he then grasped her fingers and kissed her hand before heading to the kitchen.
The girl turned her smile on Grant, and after a quick peek at her nametag, he swept an appreciative glance over Hannah’s pretty face. Her long, dark hair was pulled back into a sleek ponytail, revealing classic bone structure and a striking pair of blue eyes.
“What can I get you?” she asked.
“You still have that local brewed root beer?”
“You bet. Would you like it in a frosted mug?”
“That’d be great, thanks.”
He watched her walk away, only to find himself thinking about the brunette from earlier at the apartment building. She and the waitress appeared to be close to the same age, maybe he’d ask if they knew each other. He could get a name and then look up her apartment number.
“So, what brings you back to town?”
The question came from his right, and Grant glanced over to see the cop had swiveled to face him from his stool. Great. He met the man’s narrowed glare, thinking he should know the guy—ah, there it was.
“Chase Lowell?”
“Sheriff Chase Lowell. I’m flattered you remembered.”
Grant ignored the dripping sarcasm at the end because he was too busy suppressing a grin at how Lowell had stressed his title at the beginning. “Yeah, well, hard to forget that particular look of open contempt.”
“Hard to forget what a total dick you were.”
He could hardly argue that. The waitress returned with his root beer at that moment. From the expression on her face, she’d overheard that last comment and was none too happy about the way the sheriff had spoken to her customer. A glance to his right told him Lowell didn’t care—even found it amusing, if the twitch of his lips were any indication.
�
��Thank you, Hannah.” Grant gave her a big smile to let her know he wasn’t bothered.
She nodded, and after a pointed look at Lowell, picked up the coffee pot and walked off to pour refills.
Grant took a drink of the ice cold root beer from his frosted mug while contemplating his response to Lowell’s last words. “I was a dick in high school,” he agreed as he set the mug back down. “But like I told Hutch, that was a long time ago. I’ve changed since then.”
“Fair enough.”
Huh. Grant barely kept from staring at the guy in surprise. First Hutch, now Chase accepted his claim without suspicion? Maybe redemption wasn’t so unattainable after all. His shoulders relaxed some.
“So again, what brings you back to Redemption?” Chase asked.
“My uncle had a heart attack and decided it was time to retire. I’ll be taking over his management position at Wayside Apartments.”
The sheriff nodded. “I know the place—turned out nice after the renovations a few years back. I heard the owner put a small fortune into that building.”
Sure had. Just before the recession sucked him dry of most of his easy-earned money and a few other investments.
“Yeah, it’s nice,” he confirmed without revealing more than he wanted to.
“And how’s your uncle doing? I know Frank, but only in passing.”
“He’s good. I expect he’ll be on his feet in no time, and raising hell wherever he goes.”
“This isn’t a permanent move, then?”
He shrugged noncommittally.
“What about your parents; they thinking about moving back?”
Grant gave him a sideways glance and smiled. “This is starting to feel like an interrogation, Sheriff.”
“Sorry. Force of habit.”
When the lawman grinned, the rest of Grant’s tension seeped away. He shifted on his stool, wiping at the melting frost on the side of his mug with his thumb. “For the record, my parents and I parted ways back when I was young and stupid, so I have no clue what their future holds. As for mine, well, Redemption has revealed some redeeming qualities, so we’ll see how I feel after a few weeks.”
Hannah arrived with Grant’s order at that moment, and when he declined anything else, she set a bottle of ketchup on the counter and left him with a quiet, “Enjoy.”
Chase angled his body back toward the counter. “I’ll let you eat in peace, but we’ll see you around. For the next couple weeks at least.”
Grant raised his mug in acknowledgement, but Chase stood, his attention already directed elsewhere. He followed the man’s gaze to Hannah’s shapely figure on the other side of the diner. She chatted with her customers for a moment, and then the sheriff waved her over. They spoke in low tones, then shared a smile. Interesting—even more so when he noticed the heat in the other man’s eyes as Hannah went back to work.
The bell above the door jingled as Grant picked up his burger. From the corner of his eye, he saw Hannah approach the sheriff and the newcomer. Curiosity turned his head to see the three converse for a moment, then the two men headed outside while Hannah watched with clear concern. Grant wondered if everything was okay, but she returned to the kitchen and his stomach reminded him of the food in his hand.
The first bite delivered the rich, delicious flavor of flame-grilled angus beef with lettuce, tomato, ketchup and pickles on a toasted bun. As he chewed, he pondered his conversation with the sheriff. Stating he’d parted ways with his parents was a nice way of saying they’d had enough of his entitled bullshit and cut him off nearly ten years ago. The young and stupid part was right—especially since he’d returned the favor and hadn’t spoken to them since.
Another regret to work on. Someday.
His uncle had tried to get him to call them while in New York. “Time is one thing you can never get back.”
He recognized the truth and wisdom in his uncle’s words, but could only handle so much at a time. Someday would just have to wait.
When he asked for the bill, Hannah insisted Hutch had told her it was on the house. Grant thanked her, and when she turned away, he slipped a ten under the rim of his mug. Lowell was on his way back inside as Grant exited the diner, and he held the door for the Sheriff before heading out to his rental car.
He was just thinking about checking out Memorial Day sales to purchase a car or truck when the ring of his cell phone interrupted his thoughts. A glance at the caller ID didn’t list a name or number, but he answered anyway while opening the car door. “Walker.”
“Grant Walker?”
“Yes, it is.” The female voice sounded vaguely familiar, but his memory had no success matching it with a name.
“Any relation to Frank Walker?”
“He’s my uncle.” Grant quickly checked the caller ID again as his stomach bottomed out. “Are you calling from the hospital? Is he okay?”
“No. I mean, no I’m not from the hospital,” the woman quickly clarified, sounding flustered. “I live at Wayside Apartments, and I’m calling because I’d really like to send him a card. Do you mind giving me the name of the hospital he’s at?”
That’s why she sounds familiar. She must be the girl who woke me up this morning.
“How’d you get this number?”
“It’s listed as a back-up contact in my apartment’s welcome packet.”
“Ah.”
He’d been too tired and crabby to notice this morning, but now he found himself thinking she had a nice voice. Closing his eyes, he leaned on the open car door and tried to recall details of the rest of her. Hair in a ponytail. Shorter, maybe five-five. Casually dressed.
Brown eyes or blue? That fact remained unclear in his memory.
“Mr. Walker, are you still there?”
“Yes.” He opened his eyes again and slid behind the steering wheel of the rental.
“Do you have the name of the hospital your uncle is at?”
“Yes, sorry. He’s at Saint Elizabeth’s in Manhattan.”
“Thank you. And I’m glad to hear he’s going to be okay. He’s a very nice man.”
“May I ask your name?”
“Jenny A—Clark. Jenny Clark. I live in apartment two-thirteen.”
Second floor studio above Uncle Frank’s—well, his apartment now. He remembered that from the renovation blueprints.
“Can I ask you something else?” Her voice held a note of hesitation that reminded him of her timid personality earlier.
“Go ahead,” he encouraged.
“The new guy you hired to replace Frank...”
Grant smiled, wondering where the question would lead. When the silence dragged, he prompted, “Yes?”
“Um...I’m just wondering about his references. Did he...um...check out okay?”
Not what he was expecting. A little jab of indignation had him straightening in the seat. “Do you think I’d have hired him if he hadn’t?”
“No,” she said quickly. “I didn’t mean to question your decision, I—”
“And yet you did. But let me assure you, Ms. Clark, he’s perfectly reliable and trustworthy.”
What the hell? He was talking about himself!
“I apologize,” Jenny said, her voice soft.
Before he could tell her the new guy and himself were one and the same, he heard an indrawn breath, muttering he couldn’t make out, and then clear words in a stiff, formal tone.
“Actually, no I don’t. I had every right to ask about the man’s references. He’s rude, by the way. But thank you for answering me, thank you for the hospital name, and good bye.”
Grant’s automatic, “Good bye,” floated in dead air. If he wasn’t a morning person, apparently she wasn’t an afternoon person.
“He’s rude, by the way.”
Things would definitely be interesting next time they came face to face.
Chapter 3
Jenny blew a strand of hair from her eyes and tried once more to lift the closet door back onto the metal track. It wasn’t that he
avy, but the size proved too awkward for her to handle when her arms barely spanned the width of it. If only she’d felt comfortable enough to ask Matt for help.
A heavy knock on her apartment door made her jump as she fit the bottom part of the panel into the groove. Who the heck was at her door? She could count on one hand the number of visitors she’d had in the past ten months. That is, other than Frank.
She thought of Roy sitting in his car across from Coffee to Chai For and her heart skipped a beat.
God, please don’t let it be him.
No matter who stood on the other side, she didn’t want them to see her work area.
“Just a minute,” she called, looking up at the top of the panel.
Despite pulling with her weight, the track on the panel refused to be forced into position. Her fingers slipped, and the door fell onto its side, banging into the wall, the other closet panel, and her shin.
“Ow. Damn it.” Pain throbbed through her leg as she reached for the panel so she could lean it in place before answering the door.
Mid-lift, she heard the apartment door open and close behind her, and then a male voice asked, “Everything okay in here?”
Not Roy, but still a stranger.
Heart jammed up into her throat, Jenny instinctively whipped around to face the intruder. The weight in her arms threw her off-balance, sending her and the door crashing into the makeshift counter she’d set up in the closet for developing her photographs. Empty bins, paper, clips and film roll canisters went flying as she face-planted against the wood.
Hands grasped her from behind, firm fingers curling around the flesh of her upper arms. When he hauled her to her feet, panic took over. Still unable to see him, she cried out while struggling to free herself from his strong grip.
He managed to turn her around as he spoke. “Hey, whoa, I’m not—”
Her swift knee to the groin brought forth a guttural grunt that cut off his words. He doubled over, and Jenny wrenched free when he grappled for the closet frame for support to stay upright. With his bulk blocking her way, she scrambled back and lifted the free-standing closet panel, holding it at an angle between them as a shield.
Hold On To Me (Welcome To Redemption) Page 2
