High Plains Hearts (49 page)

Someone knocked at her door. It was probably the maid coming to straighten the room.

“Just a second,” she called. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

“I can wait,” a male voice answered, “although it’s starting to sprinkle.”

Hayden!

She gave her hair one last desperate swipe with the brush and shook her head in despair. It was not going to cooperate.

“I’m coming now.”

She slipped on a zippered sweatshirt, pulled the hood over her wayward hair, and stepped outside.

He was hunched against the light sprinkle, his ever-present Cooter’s Hardware cap on his head. “Ready for one of Clara’s omelet specials?”

“I was going to meet you there, but I’m glad for the company on the walk over.” She looked at the sky, which was dark with clouds. By the end of the day, she’d look like she had a small poodle sitting on her head. She pulled the string on her hoodie tighter.

“I’ve got an umbrella in the car, not that it does us any good in there,” Hayden said, grinning through the mist. “Do you have one?”

“Somewhere. That’s the problem with moving. Everything is somewhere, but I have no idea where it is. It might be at my old office in Boston, still hanging on the back of the door. Or in the storage unit with my couch. Or on its way here now, courtesy of We Really Move You.”

“We Really Move You?” he repeated.

“It’s a relocation service I used, consisting of three college students and a herd of old vans.”

“Vans don’t come in herds.”

She laughed. “You couldn’t look at this group of vehicles and call them a ‘fleet,’ not by any stretch of the imagination.”

“I see,” he said, grinning back at her. “You know, the café is about half a block away. Should we brave it? We should be fine, unless the skies follow through on their threat and completely open up.”

“Let’s go for it.”

“Gran used to say that God made us washable so we’d go for walks in the rain. Gramps wasn’t convinced.”

“I can imagine.”

They hurried through the light rain. A large pickup truck was parked in front of the café, and in the back of the cab, she could see a rifle rack.

This definitely wasn’t Boston.

The warm aroma of bacon and toast and coffee and something lusciously cinnamon-scented drifted toward them as they approached the building with the sign swinging overhead, proclaiming that Clara’s Café was the home of the best omelet in the Dakotas.

“Is that true?” she asked, pointing at the sign.

“Absolutely. Trust me on that,” he said solemnly.

As soon as they stepped inside, Hayden took off his cap and ran his fingers through his hair.

Guys had it so good, she thought. That was all it took. They didn’t even need an actual comb, just their fingers. Whereas she’d struggled with a comb, a brush, an electric straightener, gel, and spray, and she knew that as soon as she let the hood fall, that effort would be for naught.

Well, she might as well get it over with. She untied the string and with a quick shake of her head, let the hood drop.

“Hey!” he said, looking at her hair, which she could feel springing out in all directions even as she stood there. “I like your hair like that!”

“You do?” She couldn’t resist reaching up and touching it to see how bad the damage was. It was worse than she’d thought. What didn’t wave was curled, and what didn’t curl was frizzed.

“You look real.”

“Real what?” she asked cautiously.

A flush began at the base of his neck and climbed steadily to his face. “Real. Just real.”

She was prevented from inquiring further by the arrival of a very tall, very thin woman who greeted Hayden with enthusiasm, flinging her arms around the man with abandon.

“This,” he said to Livvy as soon as he was released from the pink cotton embrace, “is Clara herself. Clara, this is Livvy Moore.”

“Glad to meet you,” Clara said, grasping Livvy’s hand and pumping it up and down as if it were the handle on a well. “Glad to meet you indeed! And honored to have you here today. Hayden, why don’t you and your young lady sit right here?”

She led them to the corner table. “Sit here, and then you two little birdies can have all the privacy your little hearts desire!” Her gaunt hands flapped together happily. “I’ll be right back with coffee.”

Livvy knew that now she was the one who was blushing. She slid into the seat and picked up the menu that was leaned against the napkin holder.

“I’m sorry about that,” Hayden said in an undertone. “Clara is, in Gramps’s words, a frustrated Noah.”

Livvy let the menu drop. “A frustrated Noah? What? She wants to build an ark?”

“No,” he answered, laughing. “She wants everything living to be matched. She can’t stand to see a guy without a girl.”

“And that’s the way it should be,” Clara said, reappearing and pouring coffee into their cups. “By the way, I assume you want some of this, miss, but if you don’t, the java hound you’re with will finish it for you. And ignore his fresh mouth.”

“Fresh mouth?” Livvy said, trying very hard not to snicker.

“Yes. Making fun of me. The natural order of things is in twos, that’s my theory. Salt and pepper. Bacon and eggs. Steak and potatoes.” Clara crossed her bony arms across her equally bony chest and glared at Hayden, but her lips twitched in what Livvy suspected was a suppressed smile.

“Miss Moore is here on business.” Hayden’s voice was serious but his eyes twinkled.

“There’s business and then there’s business,” Clara shot back. “And speaking of business, I have one to tend to. You ready to order?”

“Clara, we just sat down. Give us a few, okay?”

As the woman turned and walked away, Livvy heard her mutter, “All this and I’ll bet he orders the usual.”

Hayden leaned across the table and said, in a conspiratorial whisper, “The sad thing is that she’s right.”

“What is the usual?” Livvy asked, glad to have the conversation on food rather than Clara’s notion of pairing them up.

“An omelet, naturally, made with tomatoes and cheese. Hash browns and bacon, both extra crispy. Four slices of white toast with grape jelly. And, of course, coffee, without which I might very well cease to function.”

With those words, he lifted his coffee cup in a mock salute and took a clearly grateful swallow. “Ah. Nobody, but nobody, can make coffee like Clara.”

She took a sip and sighed. “This is truly extraordinary. She’d have people lining up for this in Boston.”

Almost wraithlike, Clara appeared at their table again. “Did you have time to decide? The usual, right, Hayden? And for your lady?”

“I’m not his lady,” Livvy objected, “and I’ll have the same as Hayden.”

“Sure. Whatever.” Clara swept the menu from in front of Livvy and slid it back into place over the napkin holder.

Desperate to move the conversation in a different direction, Livvy broached the subject of the coffee. “What’s your secret of this great coffee, Clara?”

“Waste not, want not.”

“Excuse me?” Either Clara had misunderstood her, or vice versa.

“Waste not, want not,” the woman repeated.

“Certainly.” Livvy shot Hayden a “
Do you have any idea what she’s talking about?
” look. Perhaps Clara was having moments of disconnecting from reality?

“How many eggs do you suppose I go through here every morning?” Clara asked, her dark eyes fixed on Livvy while her thin, lipstick-less mouth twisted in a wry smile.

“I have no idea.” Livvy shrugged. “A couple dozen?”

Clara laughed. “A couple hundred is more like it. And I’ll give you a hint that you can carry on into your household when you get married.” She rolled her eyes in Hayden’s direction, and Livvy sighed mentally.

“What is that?” Livvy asked, avoiding looking at Hayden.

Clara leaned in so close that Livvy could smell the woman’s lily of the valley perfume over the scent of the griddle that permeated the entire café. “Eggs,” she said in a stage whisper. “Eggshells, to be exact. You put those in your pot with the coffee grounds and whoo-ee, your java will taste like liquid gold.”

Livvy smiled. She wasn’t sure she wanted her coffee to taste like gold, but she understood the idea. “I’ve heard of that. Cowboys did that, right?”

Clara cackled. “I guess. In the big city, everybody only want lattes and cappuccinos. Here, though, you get coffee. Good coffee. No need for that fancy-schmancy stuff with the hoity-toity syrups and such. ‘With whip,’ I had a fellow say the other day. ‘You want a whip?’ I asked him. ‘Why? You going to be the ringleader in a circus?’ ”

Hayden shook his head. “Clara, you are something else.”

“Well,” she said, lifting her chin proudly, “I’d rather be something else than just like everybody. Omelets are almost ready, by the way.”

“But we just ordered—” Livvy began, and then stopped. “Ohhhh.”

“Yup,” Clara said, “had them going as soon as I saw young Hayden step in the door. Boy never varies. He’s been eating the same thing since he was a sprig of a boy. Somehow I didn’t think today would be the day he’d switch to something as exotic as French toast.”

Within minutes, Clara was at their table, a large platter heaped with food in each hand. “Eat up and be healthy!”

“Be healthy?” Livvy said, looking at the mound in front of her. It was a display of artery-clogging delight. And it smelled delicious.

“Before we begin, may I ask the blessing?” Hayden said.

“Blessing? Oh, grace. Definitely.”

This wasn’t something she had seen in her day-to-day life in the city, but then most of her lunches had been a granola bar and a cup of coffee from the dispenser in the building and had been consumed at her desk over paperwork.

Some people, she knew, held hands while they prayed, but Hayden just lowered his head and shut his eyes. She followed suit as he prayed, simply, “Lord, bless this food. Touch all of our actions with Your grace. We ask this in Your holy name. Amen.”

She was surprised at how good the short prayer made her feel. It was refreshing.

“You ready to have the best of the best?” Hayden asked. “Dig in!”

Livvy took his advice and as soon as the first bite of the omelet hit her tongue, she knew that the advertising was well-deserved. The outside was just crispy enough, and inside, the omelet was fluffy and light. It truly was the best she’d ever had.

As she ate, the sheer incongruity of the situation she was in struck her. Here she was, sitting in a café in North Dakota, unemployed, with a man she’d just met across from her, and she was planning on investing her life savings in a resort that had been closed for two years—a resort in the middle of the Badlands.

She must be insane. That was the only answer. Or dreaming. What was she planning to do with it? At some point she would have to earn a living—and how would she do that?

Fishing, of course, came to mind, but the fact was that she knew nothing about it—or running a resort—or what a fishing resort did in the winter, although she had once seen a program on the Travel Channel about ice fishing. That show constituted the sum total of her knowledge about ice fishing, hardly enough of a foundation to build a successful business on.

But she could learn of course. Everybody had to learn at some time. Nobody was born knowing this stuff. The trick was looking like you had though.

This was all so out of character for her. She was a nice, normal young woman with a nice, normal job in Boston. Or she had been until she’d taken total leave of her senses and come to North Dakota.

There was still time to change her mind. Nothing had been signed. She could still back out. Maybe she couldn’t get her job back from Mr. Evans—although with the appropriate amount of groveling, he’d probably hire her again—but it wasn’t too late to undo everything.

But this just didn’t feel like a misstep. It felt right.

She took another bite of the incredible omelet. It was the best she’d ever tasted, even if it did come served with a side of Clara’s quirkiness.

“Gramps and I talked more last night,” Hayden said. He nabbed a last bite of shredded potatoes and popped it into his mouth.

Livvy froze, her own fork stopped midway to her lips. This was what she had been waiting for. She leaned forward a bit, knowing that what he was about to say would tell her the direction her life would take.

These were her crossroads. The next words that Hayden uttered would change her life.

“If I wouldn’t end up broke and the size of a barn, I’d eat Clara’s breakfasts for every meal.”

Her fork clattered to the plate. “Excuse me?”

“Good food.” He wiped his mouth with a paper napkin.

“It is, but you said you and your grandfather talked last night? About selling Sunshine to me, I gather?”

“Yes, we did.” He pushed the plate aside and leaned forward. “We’re interested, to the point of saying yes, I might add, but we have a couple of questions we’d like answered.”

“Shoot,” she said, and then, remembering the truck they’d walked past with the rack in the back of the cab, doubled back on what she’d said. “Don’t shoot. Just ask.”

He grinned. “Okay, I won’t shoot. But here are the questions.” He reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a list. “First, Gramps wants to know if you can keep the place from going back to nature.”

“Back to nature?”

“Any building left unattended will eventually be reclaimed by nature. The wood will fall apart, and animals will move in. Once they’re in there, it’s nearly impossible to get the building back to its former glory.”

“I won’t let that happen.”

He looked at her squarely. “How will you prevent that?”

“I’m going to live there.”

As soon as the words were out of her mouth, a great peace descended on her. It was right.

“Alone?” he asked.

“Possibly. Probably. At the moment, yes.”

“You’re a woman.”

“And you’re observant.”

“The Badlands can be aptly named, you know.” A slight frown creased his tanned forehead.

“Listen,” she said, suddenly a bit angry, “Boston has its moments, too. Every place does. I think I can handle it.”

“Do you have a gun?”

She thought again of the truck with the rifle rack outside the café. “No, I don’t, and I never will.”