Lone Star Legacy. Roxanne Rustand
“Joel?” Beth was staring at him, the wariness back in her eyes.
He jerked his thoughts back into the present and scrambled for a response. “I—I’m sorry about your loss.”
“We’re doing okay. It’s harder for Sophie, because she suffered some hearing loss and she still has nightmares.” She stared over his shoulder, her brow furrowed. “I’ve tried and tried to remember what happened, but it’s all a total blank from the time we left home until I woke up in the ICU sometime the next day.”
Some of his perceptions about Beth shifted.
Of course anyone who’d been through such a tragedy would be deeply affected. Her wariness was probably a perfectly normal reaction by a grieving, vulnerable widow alone in a strange town.
“Perhaps that’s for the best.” He suddenly felt awkward, out of his depth. “Not remembering the accident, that is.”
“No.” Her knuckles whitened around the spout of the old china pot. “Sometimes Sophie wakes up screaming, saying things that make no sense. If I could remember, maybe I could help her.”
She winced, then opened her hand and looked down at her palm. The spout lay there broken, and blood welled from a cut at the base of her thumb. “All I can do is hold her, and tell her that everything will be all right. But that’s no help at all.”
BY THE END OF THE WEEK, Beth knew two things—that she’d never make it as receptionist/bookkeeper, and that no project was ever as easy as it looked.
“Tell me again about Elena,” she grumbled at Walt as he passed by the front office with a Schnauzer tucked under his arm. “She was a paragon, right?”
“She was.”
It was always interesting to hear Walt’s views about his former employee while trying to make sense of Elena’s innovative filing system. “Um…doesn’t P usually come after L, or is it just my imagination?”
He backed up and peered over her shoulder. “That’s the Petersons’ file. They have llamas.”
“But it’s under L. She filed under types of animals?”
He smiled patiently at her. “Now, that surely would be too confusing for a ranch, wouldn’t it?”
Beth bit back a growl of frustration. “Yes, it surely would. But you say Elena got married, and she won’t be back. Is that correct?”
“Afraid so.” He shook his head sadly and moved on down the hall.
“Then I’ve got a month or so to fix this filing system before some other poor soul has to deal with it,” Beth muttered under her breath. “Unless I go mad before then.”
Joel walked in the front door with his tool belt slung low on his hips and an armload of two-by-fours. He lifted an eyebrow, apparently picking up on her frustration. “How’s the job?”
“The animals are great, and that’s as far as I’m going. Except for Walt, of course.” She paused, considering. “And I guess you aren’t as grumpy as I first thought.”
He laughed. “Admit it. You’ll miss this place when you open that café of yours.”
“Not the filing system.” She smiled back at him, relieved at the easier camaraderie they’d gradually developed over the last four days.
He probably just felt sorry for her, what with the loss of her husband and the all-too-visible scars she tried to hide with a loose hairstyle and long-sleeved shirts. But as much as she disliked pity, it was better than his sharp-eyed suspicion from the week before.
She truly did enjoy being here at the clinic for a few hours at the end of every day, and it had to be good for Sophie to spend time with other children at her new babysitter’s place, too.
“I’ll be stopping by again tonight,” Joel said as he passed the desk empty-handed, heading outside for another load. “I can install stainless steel counters for the café from a set I found in an old bar, if you’re interested. The owner says you can have them all for fifty bucks.”
“That’s fantastic.” Filled with gratitude, she watched him go out the door, then flopped back in her chair and sighed.
He’d been over nearly every evening, working until midnight. Finding shortcuts and cost-saving materials that were as good or better than she would have paid for new.
In another place, another time, she might just be a little infatuated with him, watching that smooth ripple of muscle play beneath those T-shirts, hearing his deep laugh. Seeing his skill at making something beautiful out of almost nothing. But there were a dozen reasons why that wouldn’t happen, and she only had to think about Sophie—whom Joel carefully avoided—or Patrick to bring the biggest ones to mind.
Being a fool once had been bad enough.
Walt strode back down the hall and handed her a slip of paper. “Payday. Every Friday, so you can keep up on things at home.”
She accepted it with just a glance at the number, then took a longer look. “This has to be a mistake.”
“No mistake. You’re saving this place from total ruin, and me from keeling over from stress.” He grinned and turned on his heel. “I’m heading for home now. Just forward all the calls to my cell when you leave.”
“But really—”
He waved and went out the back door, leaving her to fan herself with the check. Could it be that things would actually work out here?
The café phone had been installed yesterday. It wouldn’t be long before she could decorate the little place and then start ordering food supplies.
She smiled, imagining a bakery case of lovely almond crescents. Cream-filled croque en bouche. Baguettes. Tempting little salads, artfully arranged, with a golden brioche on a matching plate, and a select variety of teas and coffees to tempt the palate.
How could she go wrong?
THE NEXT DAY, Joel stopped by the front desk and stared over her shoulder at the menu she’d drawn up on the clinic computer during her coffee break.
He was speechless for a moment, then he burst into laughter. “Sugar, do you know where you are? You’re in the middle of rural Texas. Home of roadhouse barbeque, chicken-fried steak and sweet tea. Folks in this town aren’t gonna know your fancy teas from a turnip.”
Affronted on behalf of all the Texans in…well, Texas, she drew herself up to her full height. “If they haven’t tried my kind of menu before, they’ll be surprised. And happy.”
“They aren’t going to be happy. They’re gonna be mystified. Now give ’em corn bread and a pot of pinto beans, and they’ll know what you’re talking about.”
“I’ve been to Dallas. It’s a very cosmopolitan place.”
“Right. But this is a bitty town two hundred miles from nowhere.” He raised his hands, palm up, in a gesture of defeat. “Do what you want. I’m just saying…”
He turned away, but apparently couldn’t help himself, because he came right back. His lips twitched. “And another thing, you buy breakfast out here, and it isn’t brioche and a latte. It’s hot biscuits. Jalapeño roast beef hash or fried ham. Eggs. Fried potatoes. And don’t forget the grits and hotcakes. These ranchers want good fuel, not an international experience.”
“They’re looking for a heart attack.”
A teasing glint came into his eye. “Show them your menu, and you’ll probably give them a good one.”
SOPHIE CUDDLED close to Beth on the couch in their apartment. It was ten o’clock and the poor child should have been asleep over an hour ago, but she’d