High Plains Hearts (7 page)

She had met the minister several times and had been impressed with the care he expressed about his congregation. She’d never seen him be depressed or sad for long; he was a man truly uplifted with joy by his knowledge of Jesus Christ.

“Don’t they have midweek services there, too?” she ventured as a faint memory floated to the surface of her mind.

Jake shrugged. “I suppose so. I just don’t get over there very much.”

She didn’t respond.

“Okay,” he said, “I haven’t been there for a long time. This Thanksgiving at Nativity was the first time I’ve set foot inside a church—any church—in probably fifteen years.”

“You’re right—that is a long time,” she agreed.

As much as she longed to scold him for not going to church, she didn’t. Perhaps if she kept quiet, he would lead himself back into the church. And, sure enough, he continued to talk.

“I liked what I saw of Nativity,” he said, filling the unbearable silence, “and Reverend Barnes seems like a very inspiring person. What are your services like?”

She told him about the structure of a traditional Sunday service at Nativity and gave him a brief overview of the congregational belief.

“I don’t know,” he said. “I’ll have to think about it.”

“Come to church with me,” she offered. “We’d all be delighted to have you join us for worship.”

“Thanks. Maybe someday I’ll take you up on that.” He rubbed Cora’s nose.

“I was raised in Nativity,” she said, quietly remembering Sunday schools with dedicated teachers who painstakingly taught her the Ten Commandments, the Lord’s Prayer, and, yes, the Apostles’ Creed.

“We—Grandma, Grandpa, and I—would dress in our finery every Sunday morning and walk the half block to Nativity. Grandma carried her white leather Bible, Grandpa his great black one, and I’d proudly tote my pink one with my name on the front. My grandparents got that for me the Christmas I turned five.”

“May I see it?” he asked, his question catching her by surprise.

“Honestly, no. I don’t have it anymore.” She raised her eyes as she spoke.

He leaned back, clearly shocked by her revelation. “Why not? I’d think someone as religious as you are and as admiring of your grandparents would hold on to that Bible until you died.”

“I gave it away.”

“You what?”

“A woman and her two children came into our church one very cold, very wintry day about two years ago. Their home had burned to the ground, with all their belongings in it. Poor woman. She was a widow whose husband had been shot during a convenience-store robbery, and she was trying so hard to hold it together for those dear children.”

She smiled a bit at the memory. “Reverend Barnes made her a little apartment downstairs at Nativity—actually, the dining area where we served Thanksgiving dinner—until she could put her life back together.”

“And the Bible …?” Jake asked.

“The little girl sat by me on Sundays and called it the pretty pink book. She liked to look through it during the service and study the pictures. Her favorite was the one of Jesus surrounded by the children.”

“So you gave it to her.”

“Sure. Why not?”

He shook his head in amazement. “It still astounds me. Couldn’t you have given her another Bible, maybe a new one? That would have worked as well.”

“No, Jake, it wouldn’t have. I wasn’t just giving her a book. I was giving her more than that. See, the mother had decided to go into church service, and this was my way of supporting them when I wasn’t there to give them a hug or read them a story.” The more she tried to explain it, the muddier it sounded to her. “I was giving her my love, my confidence in her, my support.”

“It’s wonderful,” he said. “I think that Bible has gone deeply into places no other book, no other copy of that book, could go. I’m sure it went directly into their hearts and souls and took up residence. And,” he added softly, “the greatest compliment they could give you would be to give the Bible away again, right?”

“I occasionally have twinges of nostalgia about that sweet old Bible. But now I carry Grandma’s when I make my weekly pilgrimage to church, and Grandpa’s is in the place of honor in the house, over the mantel in the living room.”

Out of nowhere a yawn overtook her. With great embarrassment she covered her mouth and tried to stop it, but it was too late.

“It’s almost midnight,” he said. “It’s time for me to go anyway.”

He ran his hand over Cora’s smooth fur as the cat slept peacefully between them, her stomach distended with the salmon scraps.

“She’s snoring!” he said softly.

“She does that when she’s overindulged herself,” Tess said lovingly.

“Well, here’s to a snoring night for all of us,” he said, standing up. “I don’t know about you, but I’m still stuffed.”

“Me, too.”

She handed him his coat. “Thanks for taking me to dinner. I apologize for the conversation getting so serious here at the end.”

“No need to apologize. I’m just delighted to be getting to know you.”

He touched her cheek with his fingertips. “Good night, sweet angel. I’ll call you later.” His lips barely brushed the top of her head before he turned and left.

She couldn’t help herself. She yawned widely and openly.

It had been a wonderful and strange night. And it was clear to her that she was falling for this man more quickly than she had ever imagined possible.

Did people fall in love this rapidly? It was one question too many for her overworked brain.

“Come on, Cora,” she said to the slumbering cat. “Race you to bed.”

Even stopping to brush her teeth and wash her face, Tess won the race easily. Cora didn’t, in fact, try. Instead Tess padded downstairs in her robe and slippers, picked up the slumbering cat, and carried her upstairs.

The two ladies slept, their tummies full of gourmet salmon. And both snored softly.

S
aturday. Tess was usually up and around every day of the week by seven, but this morning Cora had to notify her the day had begun without her breakfast. Some loud meows in her owner’s ear and a few well-placed swats with a thick furry paw, and the situation was well on its way to being remedied.

Tess was awake—sort of.

She ambled downstairs in her robe and fuzzy slippers, yawning in the bright sunshine that flooded the dining area as Cora followed her, reminding her of her very important errand.

She dumped a can of Meow Meals into Cora’s bowl and was met with disdain. Had the cat actually sniffed with haughty contempt over her food?

“Come on, Cora—you’ve had Meow Meals every morning for three years. Are you all right?” Suddenly filled with concern, she knelt and put her hand on the cat’s brow. Maybe that wasn’t the way to test a cat for a fever. She’d never seen a veterinarian do that, at any rate.

The cat gave her one long annoyed look and, turning her back to Tess, began to scratch the floor around her dish as she pretended to bury the food.

“Oh, Cora, this is really too much.” She tried to pick up the cat, but Cora slithered out of her grasp and leaped to the floor with a thump.

“I can’t figure out—oh, wait a minute—yes, I can.” She remembered the silvery heart filled with salmon scraps from the night before.

Tess retrieved the package, now considerably smaller, and emptied it onto Cora’s plate. “I can’t believe my weirdo cat has a better memory than I do,” she told Cora, who was now gobbling the fish with relish, her earlier bout with hunger averted.

She nudged the cat’s side with the tip of her slipper. “Just don’t get used to it. When that’s gone, it’s back to Meow Meals and Cat-Cat Yums for you.”

She yawned and stretched. Coffee, that’s what she needed. The thought that Jake must have wonderful coffee every morning popped into her mind. He probably had all sorts of exotic varieties at his fingertips, and a grinder, too, she thought as she measured the store-brand coffee from the can. She did appreciate good coffee, freshly ground and brewed, but what she needed right now was immediate coffee.

A shriek sprang from her lips as she noted the clock over the stove. It was nearly nine!

Her toe caught in the rug, and she stumbled over Cora, who didn’t so much as twitch a hair. Nothing was going to move her from her salmon breakfast.

A quick shower and speed dressing got her in the store in half an hour. She flipped the sign on the window from Closed to Open and unlocked the door.

Saturday mornings were generally slow, times when she dusted the inventory and wiped down the display cases and shelves. She tried to keep up with it on a catch-as-catch-can basis through the week, but she relied on Saturdays to do a more thorough job.

She took all the birthstone crystal angels off their shelf for detailed cleaning with the tiny brush she used specifically for the delicate items. A slight movement startled her.

It took a moment for her to identify the source of the motion—Cora had plopped herself in the spot vacated by Faith’s departure.

Tess thought about how easily she had moved into calling the angel Faith, although the logical part of her still considered it foolish and misguided. But something about the zany angel made the name fit. It didn’t make sense.

Neither did the fact that she missed the angel. The hole it left was more than in the display area. How many times had she greeted it when opening? How often had Cora blissfully rubbed up against the rough grain of it, as if brushing herself on the textured robe? And straightening the wayward halo was part of the daily ritual.

Rats. She wanted to see Faith again.

The bell on the door tinkled a welcome as Jake walked in the front door.

“Are you always as hungry as I am the morning after a big meal?” he asked without preamble, sliding a bakery box across the counter to her.

“Oh, you didn’t need to,” she answered. The most delicious aroma wafted from the box to her nose, and her stomach replied with a loud growl that startled Cora out of a sound sleep. “But I’m glad you did,” she added hastily, tearing into the box.

What met her eyes was a true sweet tooth’s delight indeed. The selection of doughnuts and other pastries was astonishing. It was enough to stop any diet dead in its tracks. Twisted cinnamon rolls were nestled next to white frosted cake doughnuts sprinkled with tiny decorations.

He picked one up and held it out to her proudly. “Check it out.”

The little candies were white angels! “I’ve never seen these,” she marveled. But, even as she spoke, the businesswoman in her was taking note. “I wonder where they came from. I should—”

He pulled a slip of paper from his pocket and handed it to her. “Here. I already asked. And I called my distributor—he’s making a delivery to us on Monday—and he said if you want him to bring some then, he sure can do that.”

“To sell? For me to sell?” she asked numbly, feeling as if the morning had suddenly gone into fast-forward—but she hadn’t.

He nodded. “They sell them in large bags for bakeries, but he said he thought they might have some in smaller packets for retail sale.”

“Wow.” That was all she could manage as he moved in a blur. Maybe she was still too groggy from sleep to keep up with him.

“You look like you could use some coffee,” he said sympathetically. “I didn’t know what you had here so I also brought—ta-da!—a thermos from Panda’s. It’s a blend called Spice of the Season. It has some cinnamon in it and nutmeg, ginger and a few other mysterious ingredients I couldn’t divulge to anyone, including my own dear mother. Trade secret.”

He had even brought cups.

She pulled out two chairs from a wrought-iron table set and pushed the display of angel-animal beanbags on the tabletop out of the way. “We can sit here.”

Cora was over like a silver flash.

“Is it okay if I feed her?” he asked as the cat looked lovingly up at him.

Tess could see her having to feed Cora only gourmet food and pastries for the rest of her life, and she fought it as hard as she could. Her cat needed healthy food, not this table-scraps stuff.

But the fight was lost as soon as she saw Cora’s goo-goo gaze resting adoringly on Jake. “Sure, go ahead,” she heard herself saying.

She took a sip of the coffee and almost choked. It was twice as strong as the way she usually drank it.

“Don’t you like it?” Jake asked as her eyebrows shot up at the bitterness.

“It’s a bit thick,” she said.

“It is?” He poured himself a cup. “I haven’t tried it yet, but we try to keep it at a constant level of strength.”

He took a sip and sighed. “No, this is right. Try it again.”

She did, and to her surprise she liked it.

“I guess I’m not used to tasting the coffee flavor so much, but I do like it.”

“How late are you open today?” he asked.

“Five-ish. Why?”

“Would you be interested in seeing Panda’s? I know you’ve been there already, but I’d like to show you the roaster and the back rooms. It’s really quite an operation.”

“Do I get to sample?”

“Everything.”

“Only if I can have decaf. If I drink coffee after four in the afternoon, I get wired and will be up all night.”

“Decaf?” He said the word with scorn. “That’s like artificial coffee.” But then he grinned at her to let her know he was teasing. “We have decaf. And it’s pretty spectacular if I do say so myself. And if you want to, we can eat supper at Panda’s, too.”

“I didn’t know you served dinner,” Tess said.

“We do now. A woman moved here from Santa Barbara who does incredible things with sun-dried tomatoes and sprouts that will set your tongue singing.”

He’d hit upon her second food weakness, sun-dried tomatoes. A day with sun-dried tomatoes and angel-decorated pastries was almost too good to be believed.

He picked her up at five o’clock sharp.

Panda’s was larger than she’d remembered. The grounds were landscaped now with small trees draped with lights. “At dusk they’ll come on. During the Christmas season each tree has a different color of lights. Otherwise, when the leaves are off the trees, they’re all white.”

She looked at the trees curiously. “What color are they?”

He began pointing them out. “That one is purple, that one turquoise, and that one green. That one is gold.”