Holly Stanford’s house came into view, allowing Jed to push back the unpleasant thoughts for now. A few moments later, Jed pulled his rental car to the curb. For a short while he stared at the small stucco residence. He’d only come there that morning because of a letter at the top of one of those boxes behind him. It was a letter from Jed’s great-grandfather, Andrew Henning, to Jed’s grandfather, Andy Jr. In it Andrew had written about the apartment where he’d lived with Great-Grandmother Helen for a short while after their wedding in 1929. Andrew had included the apartment address in his story. Between that letter and the old family Bible now in Jed’s possession, curiosity had forced him to look up the residence on the internet. Seeing it still existed—a minor miracle considering how much Boise had grown over the past one hundred years—and discovering it wasn’t all that far from the hotel, he’d headed off to see it. Just from the outside. It hadn’t occurred to him he might have an opportunity to actually see the apartment itself. Let alone that it would be for rent—and that he would end up renting it. What on earth had possessed him to do it? He didn’t hate living in a hotel as much as he’d made it sound. And with any luck at all, he wouldn’t be in Boise more than a couple of weeks, let alone for three months.
Drawing a deep breath, he got out of the car and followed the walk to the front door. After ringing the doorbell, he took a step back. He didn’t have to wait long before the door opened. Holly’s eyes filled with a look of relief when she saw him, and he wondered if she’d thought he might not come after all.
“Ms. Stanford. Your tenant has arrived.”
“Come in. Please.” She pulled the door all the way open.
Jed stepped into the house. He glanced into the living room on his left. There was a sofa with matching easy chair and ottoman plus end tables. The upholstery was white with pink flowers, and for some reason, he thought it suited his new landlady. To his right was a kitchen and eating nook, neither of them what he would consider large. At home, his kitchen and dining room were enormous—unnecessary since he made little use of either one. A short hallway led to what he assumed were the bathroom and a couple of bedrooms.
“This is nice,” he said.
“Thanks.” She swept the adjoining room with her gaze. “I love it here.”
Jed saw a flicker of sadness in her eyes. Not contradicting her words, exactly, but there was pain connected to this house too. He wondered what was behind it.
He thought again of his own house. He felt no sentimental attachment to it, that was certain. Not like what Holly obviously felt for her home. He pushed away that thought while clearing his throat, then said, “I’ve got your cashier’s check.” He pulled it from his pocket and held it out to her. He saw relief fill her eyes a second time. His gut told him she hadn’t just wanted a renter. She’d needed one.
After drawing a breath, she set the check on the kitchen counter. “Here’s the key to the apartment, and this one is to the detached garage in back. Use the parking stall on the right for your car.” She dropped the key ring into his open hand.
“Thanks. Appreciate it.”
Holly gave a nod and took a step backward.
Jed took that as a cue to leave. “I’ll move my car around to the garage and get myself settled in.” He turned toward the door, then stopped and looked back. “Where’s the nearest grocery store?”
“About five blocks from here. Two blocks west and three blocks north.” She pointed as she spoke, indicating the two directions.
“Thanks.”
He whistled softly as he walked to the car, feeling better than he’d felt in months, although he wasn’t sure why.
Monday, June 16, 1969
Fingers of early-morning light crept around the window curtains as Andrew got out of bed. It wasn’t yet six o’clock, but a lifetime of farming made it impossible for him to sleep in whether or not there were chores awaiting him. Milking the cows used to be his first priority. No longer. They’d sold their last milk cow a couple of years after Andy Jr. graduated from college. That had been the summer before John and Jackie Kennedy moved into the White House.
Milking was one chore Andrew hadn’t been sorry to do away with. Although there was something soothing about it—the warmth of the animal as he leaned close, the rhythmic sound of milk hitting the bucket—a man was also tied to the chore, morning and evening, rain or shine, good health or bad. No, he didn’t miss it.
In the bathroom, he leaned over the sink and splashed his face with water. While straightening, he felt a stab of pain in his back so sharp he nearly cried out. He staggered back against the wall, trying to catch his breath, and waited. Waited for the pain to subside. Waited for it to let him stand at his full height. But unlike the previous occasions when his back had bothered him, the pain didn’t pass, and each time he tried to straighten, he made it worse.
Swallowing a groan, he turned toward the bathroom door and shuffled his way back to the bedroom. Helen’s side of the bed was empty. She was up making coffee, as she did every morning not long after he rose, her habits as ingrained as his own. He didn’t bother to swallow the next groan as he sank onto the edge of the bed. Thank God he’d made it there. He wasn’t sure how much farther he could have gone before the pain would have dropped him to the floor. Shutting his eyes and holding his breath, he managed to lie down.
“Andrew? Andrew, for heaven’s sake. You’re in bed again. What is it?”
Through gritted teeth, he answered, “My back.”
“I’ll warm up some salt to put in a sock.”
He grunted.
“And I’ll call the doctor as soon as it’s time for him to be in the office.”
For a change he didn’t argue with her.
“Oh dear. Weren’t you to start cutting today?”
“It’ll have to wait until I’m better.” Even as the words came out of his mouth, he knew it wasn’t a real option. Some things on a farm could wait. Harvesting a crop when it was ready—like milking a cow when she was ready—wasn’t one of them.
“I’ll go get that salt pack. You lie still and don’t worry yourself.”
“Lie still and don’t worry.” Staying still wouldn’t be a problem. It hurt too much to move. Even hurt to breathe. But not worrying? That was more difficult.
“Lord, You’d think after all these years that I’d have mastered Your instructions about not worrying. I don’t mean to borrow trouble from tomorrow. But sometimes it’s hard not to.”
It was more than the hay cutting that worried him. He’d never been one to take to his bed. The whole household could have had colds or the flu or whatever, and Andrew had kept on keeping on. He’d been hurt before—who worked on a farm without getting banged up now and then?—but nothing so serious it laid him up. Feeling like he couldn’t get out of bed and go back to work troubled him. No, more than troubled. It scared him a little.
Chapter 3
Holly stood in the showroom of the appliance store, looking at her dream range. Well, at least it was the dream for her kitchen at home. She’d already invested in a top-of-the-line commercial stove for the restaurant. This one was so she could spoil herself in her free time.
“As if any of that exists,” she said softly.
“May I help you, miss?”
She glanced toward the eager-looking clerk. He was young, with cheeks that looked like he didn’t need a razor. She swallowed a grin and said, “Yes. I’m interested in this range.” She touched the price tag. “Does this include delivery and installation?”
The clerk, his smile doubled, rattled off more information than she’d asked for. Had he ever used a stovetop, let alone done any baking or broiling? Doubtful, but she didn’t care. She’d already done her research. This was the one she wanted. With this, she could bake beautiful cakes and pastries. With this, she could see her dreams come true.
That thought stole some of her joy about the purchase. Because when would she have the time or the money for such a thing? In truth, she probably shouldn�
��t buy it. The smart thing would be to tuck the money away to cover the next crisis. And there was sure to be another crisis.
She clenched her jaw against the rising dread and guilt and worries. No, she would buy this stove, and after it was delivered, she would make something wonderful in it. Just for herself. Just for the pure fun of baking.
Within another thirty minutes, she’d paid for her purchase and arranged for the stove’s delivery. She left the store with a smile on her face, refusing to feel guilty. Yes, there were needs at the restaurant, but this once she was going to do something for herself, for her own happiness. But as she drove away from the appliance store, her determination not to feel guilty began to falter. The closer she got to the restaurant, the heavier the weight felt upon her shoulders.
Decades before, Sweet Caroline’s had been a popular eatery on State Street, a gathering place for friends and families, especially those who lived in nearby neighborhoods. It had been a place to enjoy comfort-style food along with good company. A spreading city and growing restaurant competition had taken their toll as the twentieth century waned, but it had been cancer that finally closed the doors of the restaurant. Holly’s great-aunt had battled the disease for six years before God took her home to heaven. After Caroline Duthie’s passing, her husband, Ray, had closed Sweet Caroline’s, boarding over the windows and doors, and left it to sit empty, gathering dust while harboring small creatures bent on destruction. He could have sold the building at any time, but he never had.
Holly remembered the day she’d learned the former restaurant had been left to her in Uncle Ray’s will. Her first thought: How crazy is that? She knew nothing about running a restaurant. But her fiancé had thought it a great opportunity. Nathan had convinced her not to sell the building. He’d persuaded her instead to borrow money—enough to update and reopen the restaurant. He’d written a business plan with all kinds of charts and graphs to prove that, within two years, Sweet Caroline’s could compete with other restaurants in the area.
“It succeeded for years. No reason it can’t do that again.”
Nathan had convinced Holly and then convinced the bank. And then he’d abandoned her—along with a boatload of debt.
Sweet Caroline’s came into view, and Holly flipped on her blinker before turning into the parking lot. Only a few cars dotted the spaces at this time in the afternoon. But in another couple of hours, they would be busy.
Busy. Her heart sank. Busy was a generous term. They were doing better than when they’d first reopened. But not enough better. Not nearly enough.
When she entered the restaurant kitchen from the rear, she was greeted with a “Hey, boss.”
“Hey, Zach.” She forced a smile she didn’t quite feel, the thrill over the new range completely faded by this time.
Zachary Holmes—tall, handsome, and happily married with two precious daughters—was her chief cook, and a harder worker she’d never known. If it weren’t for him, Holly didn’t know how she would have managed. The restaurant probably would have closed in its first month.
“Get your shopping done?” he asked.
“I sure did.” She moved toward the entrance to her small office. “A shiny new range will be delivered to my house tomorrow.”
“Good for you.”
Good for me. Ignoring another wave of guilt, she opened a desk drawer and dropped her purse into it. “Maybe I’ll come up with an idea for a new dessert for the restaurant.”
“I’ll bet you think them up in your sleep.”
She used to. But not for a long while.
“Well, when you whip up that future award-winning concoction, you’d better share it with your tenant. After all, his rent check paid for the stove.”
“True.” She removed an apron from the hook in her office, slipped the loop over her head, and tied it around her waist.
Zachary frowned at her as she stepped out of her office. “You aren’t planning to work the tables again tonight.”
“We’re still short a server.” She shrugged. “But I hope that will be fixed by tomorrow. I have an interview in the morning, and I’m really hopeful about this one.”
Finding good wait staff had been harder than expected. Holly had interviewed plenty of qualified servers, but the salary she could offer wasn’t enough for most of them. She tried to make up for it in other ways. Still . . .
She gave her head a shake, chasing away negative thoughts. Positive. She was determined to be positive. About her life. About the restaurant. About it all. She would smile and face the world with a good attitude. She would think on good things. She would run the good race.
Zachary gave her a wave as she headed toward the swinging doors. She paused on the other side and glanced around. The restaurant was L-shaped, but from this vantage point, she could see all of the tables and booths in addition to the counter area. Lindsay was pouring coffee for a customer at the counter while Bobbi took orders from three people in one of the booths.
The entrance door swung open, drawing her gaze. She pasted on the smile she’d promised herself and moved forward. Surprise caused the smile to falter for a moment when she recognized the new arrival—her tenant. Her surprise was mirrored in Jed’s expression when he recognized her too.
“Holly.”
“Hi, Jed. Welcome to Sweet Caroline’s.” She stopped before him. “One for dinner?”
“Yes. It’s just me.”
She grabbed a menu from the nearby slot. “Is a booth all right?”
“Sure.”
“If you’ll follow me, please.” She knew she must sound less than welcoming, but for some reason, having her renter walk through those doors unsettled her. Was she embarrassed to be found waiting tables? No, that wasn’t it.
She turned and moved toward one of the booths in her area.
“I didn’t know you worked here,” he said.
“Only until I can hire another server.” She stopped and set the menu on the table.
He gave her a questioning look as he slid onto the bench.
“I own the restaurant.”
“Ah.” He grinned. “Then you can probably recommend what I should order.”
“Everything here is good.”
“Says the unbiased proprietor.”
“Completely unbiased and completely true. But I highly recommend the ribeye.” She opened the menu before him and pointed. “Or if you like lighter fare, the lemon-pepper rainbow trout is amazing.” She touched a second spot on the menu.
“‘Amazing,’” Jed said softly. Then louder, “Sounds good.”
“Everything here is good,” she repeated. “I’ll give you a minute. Be right back with your water.”
* * *
It had been a discouraging day for Jed. He’d left three messages for Chris, all but begging him to return or take his calls. Hoping to meet with him face-to-face, he hadn’t told his brother that he was in Boise. What if Chris took off and didn’t tell anyone where he was going next? That would be a complete disaster for Jed and for Laffriot. As if things weren’t bad enough as they were.
In an attempt to burn off some of his anger and frustration, he’d decided not to cook for himself in the little apartment. He’d seen Sweet Caroline’s two days earlier when he’d gone to the grocery store. So he’d decided to walk there for dinner. He’d never expected to find his landlady present, let alone find her waiting tables.
Funny how his mood improved upon seeing her.
In addition, there was something warm and friendly about the restaurant. It almost felt as if he’d walked into Ben’s farmhouse kitchen—except, of course, this was larger. There were three servers, including Holly. More than enough for the number of customers at the moment, but he imagined they must be kept hopping when all of the restaurant was full.
Holly returned to the booth with a glass of ice water and a straw. “Did you decide what you want?”
“I think I’ll go with the rainbow trout.”
“Good choice. And what about y
our sides? You get two.”
He glanced at the menu again. “I’ll take the mac and cheese and the green beans.”
A tiny smile tugged at the corners of her mouth as she wrote on the menu pad.
“What?”
“Nothing, really. Those were my uncle’s favorite sides with the trout.” She waved around the room with her pencil. “This was his restaurant. His and my aunt Caroline’s.”
“Sweet Caroline?”
“One and the same.” She nodded. “Anything besides water to drink?”
“No, thanks. The water’s fine.”
She slipped the order pad into the pocket of her apron. “I’ll have your dinner right out to you.”
After she walked away, Jed turned his gaze toward the window. It wasn’t much of a view. Mostly he saw the heavy traffic of rush hour on State Street, a main thoroughfare leading out of downtown Boise. A few ancient trees separated the restaurant parking lot from a neighboring business.
Without anything interesting to distract his thoughts, they returned to his brother. He and Chris had been close when they were younger. Four years separated them in age, and for a long time, Chris had looked up to his big brother, idolized him in lots of ways. But when Chris became a teenager, the fights had started. Not only between the two of them. Chris had picked fights with nearly everyone. Their parents. School friends. Teachers. Anybody who seemed to look at him the wrong way or who disagreed with something he said or did. He’d let his schoolwork slide. He’d lied to his parents, and he’d lied to his teachers. He’d quit school during his senior year, the instant he’d turned eighteen. Quit school and shut himself away with video games, forgetting to eat, forgetting to shower. No doubt Chris would still be living in the house they’d grown up in if their dad hadn’t finally had enough.
Several years later, Jed had brought Chris to work for him at Laffriot. He’d thought the work would help his brother. It had made sense in lots of ways. Chris knew computers and programming upward, forward, backward, and upside down, and he could come up with ideas for games in the blink of an eye. For a while, it had looked like he would settle into Laffriot and become an integral part of the company. But he’d chafed under his older brother’s leadership. A heavy-handed leadership, if Jed was completely honest.
How Sweet It Is Page 3
