Coffee Scoop (7 page)

He reached past her to open the door. Immediately the scent of fresh hay combined with the sound of happy children. The result stopped Carrie in her tracks.

An absurd thought occurred. If not for Ryan, this barn would be silent.

Interesting.

“Miss Collins, I understand you’re planning a visit to see how the coffee business works. I suppose Ryan told you this already, but just say the word and I’ll have the jet ready.”

“Yes, well, I appreciate your generous offer, Mr. Renfro,” Carrie said as she followed him down the hall toward the noise, “but I really can’t. It wouldn’t be right under the circumstances.”

He nodded. “I understand. Can’t be accused of taking favors from someone you’re writing a story about.”

“I’m glad you understand.”

“Of course,” he said. “Now how about I get us a couple of pieces of pie to go?”

CHAPTER TEN

A week later, Carrie climbed out of her mother’s Toyota at the airport. As the recorded message regarding unattended cars fought for attention over the honking of horns and whine of jet engines,
 

“Remember Mille will be around to check on you. You have her cell number, right?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Okay.” Carrie handed her check-through bag over to the curbside porter then slipped him a tip.
 

“Honey, are you sure this is safe?” Mama grasped Carrie’s elbow then turned the gesture of concern into a hug. “I’m already worried and you haven’t even left yet,” she said into Carrie’s ear. “I feel so helpless, what with you going off into the jungle and all.”

Carrie held her mother at arm’s length, her gaze traveling from Mama’s perfectly styled blonde hair to her expertly applied makeup, and then to her pink manicured nails. Mama looked anything but helpless. In fact, she looked fabulous.
 

Her mother looked her up and down then stepped back to lean against the car door. She looked ready to speak and yet reluctant to say anything. Carrie recognized the familiar expression. Mama’s worry extended beyond the usual concerns of air safety and lost luggage

“Mama. What is it?” She paused. “Look, I’m going to be fine, Mama. Really.” She paused. “And besides, I’m not going into the jungle. This is a coffee plantation and I have reservations for a perfectly respectable hotel in a nice village.”

“Village?” Mama shook her head. “I don’t like the sound of that.”

“Okay,” she said as she toyed with the zipper on her bag, “maybe I used the wrong word. It’s a town, Mama, a nice little city with all the comforts of home. Feel better?”

“I suppose.” The smile she offered didn’t quite make it up to her eyes. For all her bravado, Mama still looked worried.

“Is there something else?”

“Actually, yes,” she said. “I need to know something.”

Carrie knelt down to dig her boarding pass out of her carry-on bag. “Sure,” she said as she straightened and lifted the bag onto her shoulder. “Ask me anything.”

“Are you doing this for me?”

Looking past Mama to where the security officer stood watching, Carrie feigned innocence. “Doing what?”

“Carrying on a vendetta against Ryan Baxter because of the mistake I made.”
Carrie whirled her gaze around to collide with Mama’s. “What are you saying, Mama?”

“I’m saying that I see how you act when you’re sending computer messages back and forth with him. I also see a light in your eyes when you talk about him. That light disappears when you talk about this story you’re doing.” Mama touched her arm. “Carrie, pray about this. Ask God to show you not only
what
you are supposed to write but
why
you’re supposed to be writing it. I didn’t do that and look what happened. All your daddy’s money gone just because I didn’t seek the Lord before I acted.”

Carrie nodded. “All right.”

Mama tightened her grip. “There’s something else.”

“What?”

“Don’t you dare try to destroy a ministry the Lord is behind. I don’t care what that newspaper pays you. Don’t you do it.”

Carrie glanced down at her watch then stepped back. “I promise, Mama. I’m going to give Ryan a fair shake, and I won’t let what happened to you color my impression of his ministry.”

“Oh, Carrie, my sweet child.” Tears brimmed beneath Mama’s mascara-ed lashes. “You already have.”

Mama’s words stung, following Carrie through the intricacies of boarding her flight and settling into a seat midway toward the back of the half-empty plane. Once the plane hit cruising altitude, she brought out her laptop and tried to make sense of her notes.

Another half hour went by and she’d done nothing but demolish two bags of peanuts and a full can of soda. Finally she opened a new document and closed her eyes. Fingers touching familiar keys, she wrote a single sentence then opened her eyes to read it.

If Ryan Baxter’s the real deal, then all of this is for nothing.

Well, there it was right in front of her. The big conundrum.
 

Another statement tickled its way across her brain and she lifted her fingers to turn the thought into words on the page.

What if all of this is for something else or for Someone Else?

Carrie let her hands drop into her lap and stared at the blinking cursor and the sentence that preceded it. What did that mean?

She leaned back and closed her eyes, intending to ponder the question. When she opened them again, the plane had begun its descent into the San Jose airport. Carrie snapped her seat back into the upright position then reached into her bag for her digital camera.
 

Cottony wisps of clouds hung on blue-green mountains and brilliant rays of sun glistened off dark green foliage, broken only in places by a ribbon of road that stretched off into the distance. As the plane’s altitude decreased, the patches of green became tall trees with leaves that looked glossy and wet from a recent rain. The road became a ribbon of asphalt, or perhaps it was gravel. No, she decided, it must be concrete.

Closer still to the airport, the forest gave way to actual habitats, gatherings of small homes and buildings that looked to be villages. Carrie spied what looked like a soccer game going on in the center of one of these and snapped several pictures.
 

Finally, the villages became connected, forming an urban sprawl worthy of Austin. Carrie continued to take pictures until she felt the plane bounce onto the runway and lurch to a slow rolling stop outside the Number 5 jet way. Beyond the mustard-colored jet way, Juan Santamaria airport unfolded in two identical wings punctuated with geometric cut-outs and centered by a glass-enclosed control tower that looked like a three-layer wedding cake.
 

While those around her clicked open their seatbelts and began to reach for luggage, Carrie leaned back and exhaled slowly.
Father, let Your will be done here. As Mama said, don’t let my feelings about what happened to her color my beliefs about Ryan. I confess that I haven’t given him a fair shake. Please show me who he really is, Lord. Give me the right story to tell.

* * *

Ryan paced the passenger waiting area watching for anyone with the slightest resemblance to the auburn-haired Carrie Collins. He tugged at the starched collar of his one presentable dress shirt and wished he’d worn something other than jeans and boots. He’d figured to make her feel more at home by dressing as he would in Austin or Dallas, but now that idea seemed silly.

At least he’d come alone. That had worked out nicely.

How he’d managed to slip away without Alvaro climbing into the truck with him was one of God’s great miracles. His nosey friend had been after him all week for the arrival time of their guest.

His guest.

Alvaro had certainly teased him about that. Funny, how many of the statements his friend made in jest were beginning to feel like the truth:
 

You talk to her more on the computer than you speak to me in person, Ryan.

She gets more of your attention than I do.

You may say your intention is to publicize our work here, but I think there’s something more to your invitation..

And finally, the worst – and most truthful of all Alvaro’s comments:

You’re wondering if she’s going to come back to stay someday, aren’t you, my friend?

The thought of Carrie as a permanent part of his life here had occurred on more than one occasion. While he wasn’t prepared to give her his heart, he had given her a large chunk of his time – and his thoughts. If God intended more, He was certainly remaining silent on the subject.

No, for now, Carrie Collins was merely a reporter with the ability to tell the world, or at least her corner of it, about Heavenly Beans.
 

A glimpse of a woman with auburn hair caught this attention – and his breath. As soon as he saw her, he lost her in the crowd.
 

Ryan pressed gently past an elderly couple and a group of backpackers to emerge into a clearing. He looked first to the right and then to the left with no sight of Carrie.
 

Panic rose. What if she missed him and wandered outside? She could end up on a bus to another city, or worse, in an unlicensed cab heading for who knows where. Why, just last week a pair of female tourists were robbed and abandoned after accepting a ride from a supposedly reputable van driver.

“Ryan?”

A hand clasped his shoulder and he jerked around. Carrie.
Thank You, Lord.
He wrapped her in a grateful embrace.
 

Then he smelled the scent of flowers in her hair, and on her neck. And he realized he held her.
 

Ryan jumped back like a scalded cat. Heat flooded his face and his thoughts raced. For her part, Carrie looked merely shocked.

He looked into her eyes. She barely blinked.

A single thought occurred.
That was nice.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Carrie stared at her host, who looked quite flustered. While she’d expected a warm welcome,
that
degree of warmth was completely unexpected. It wasn’t, however, completely unpleasant.

In fact, it was quite nice.

Nice wouldn’t do, however. She had a job to do and getting too friendly with an interview subject was a bad idea.

Who was she kidding? She had already become too friendly with Ryan. All those E-mails and Instant Messages. All those Shakespeare jokes. But then who wouldn’t like a guy who could take the words of the Bard and turn them into the silliest jokes ever told?

Carrie shouldered her carry-on and looked past Ryan for the baggage claim sign.
 

“That way.” Ryan slid the carry-on off her shoulder and hefted it onto his. He pretended to limp as he set off toward the far end of the building. “I see you packed with your usual thoroughness.”

“Cute, Ryan,” she said.
 

As they merged with the crowd headed toward the baggage area, Carrie took mental notes of the airport. Small but clean. Vintage sixties or seventies, probably, with the décor to match.
 
Ropes much like those at a movie theater separated the baggage area from the rest of the airport. Ryan adeptly stepped around an older couple with a pair of suitcases and a wicker birdcage to secure a spot along the perimeter of the room.
 

“Stay here,” he said. “I’ll go get your bag. What does it look like?”

Carrie described her suitcase then watched her host amble over to join the crowd awaiting their luggage. With his attention focused elsewhere, Carrie felt free to take a good look at Ryan.

He looked freshly showered and shaved, and his dark hair curled slightly against the neck of his starched white shirt. Jeans and boots completed the picture, making him look more like a Texan than a resident of this tropical country.

Containers of every size and type began to roll off a conveyor belt. A pair of cardboard boxes was followed in quick succession by a zebra-striped duffel and a neon green cooler held together with duct tape. Thankfully, her check-through bag appeared next and Ryan snagged it with ease.

A few minutes later, he guided her and the luggage toward a well-used green pickup truck in the parking lot. With little effort, Ryan hefted the oversized bag then ran around and opened Carrie’s door for her.
 

Settling her inside, he handed her the carry-on and went around to slide behind the driver’s seat. Despite Carrie’s expectation to the contrary, the vintage truck roared to life when Ryan turned the key.

“Welcome to Costa Rica,” he said. “This is as close to a limo as we get here. At least where I live, that is.”

Carrie smiled. “It’s wonderful,” she said, and she meant it.

Ryan guided the truck out of the parking lot and onto a freeway that looked as though it could have been in any major American city. Soon, however, he exited and the terrain changed.

The road cut through a stand of trees and buzzed between collections of homes and sprawling fields. The occasional group of pedestrians, some looking like tourists with their backpacks and cameras and others obviously locals, slowed their progress but generally their travel speed remained good.

Carrie made note of as much as she could. An exit sign for Grecia came and went, and she wrote the name in her notes. For long stretches, however, she would find herself staring out the window, so awed by the beauty of the country side that she forgot her purpose in being there.

As they bumped along on a road that seemed too narrow for two cars, Ryan pointed out landmarks and told stories about the area. The higher they climbed into the mountains, the fresher the air felt. Carrie rolled her window down a notch more and inhaled deeply.

“You’re not in Austin anymore,” he said with a grin.

“No,” she said softly, “I’m not.”
 

“Up ahead is the road to Rincon de Sales.” He smiled. “We’re almost home.”

Almost home.
What an interesting way of putting things.
 

A soccer ball bounced across their path and Ryan braked hard. Carrie pressed her palms against the dash to keep from rocketing through the cracked windshield as the truck squealed to a stop just in time to miss a dark-haired boy of about nine or ten.