Keeping Katie (A Mother's Heart #1) (12 page)

C
liff’s, as the little restaurant was so aptly named, clung to the side of a mountain. Made of split logs, it resembled a long, narrow log cabin of a hundred years ago. Even the small windows and stone steps leading to a wooden porch spoke of another era. Feeling as though she were stepping back in time, Maureen followed Alan through the door.

The minute they stepped inside, the illusion of age vanished. There was nothing old or dilapidated about the inside of Cliff’s. Everything gleamed of polished wood. A hardwood floor, tables and chairs of rich rosewood, a carved bar complete with brass trim—all gave the place a warm, homey feel. But the real
pièce de résistance
, the feature proclaiming itself as twenty-first century, was a solid wall of glass windows open to the mountains and overlooking the valley below.

Maureen couldn’t hide her delight. “What a fantastic view.”

“Want to eat outside?” Alan motioned toward a patio beyond the windows. From inside, it looked as if the deck hung suspended above the valley floor.

“Absolutely.”

Pleased with her response, Alan led Maureen outside. Cliff’s had always been one of his favorite spots. He only wished it was closer to Wyattville. As it was, he ate here every time he drove to Seattle. And sometimes, when he found himself needing to clear his head, he ended up here.

They settled at a table next to the railing. Maureen leaned over the edge, just a little, and scanned the valley below.

“What would you do if you were afraid of heights?” she asked, laughter in her voice.

Alan warmed to her mood. “Eat at the bar.”

Maureen laughed and settled back in her chair, inspecting the restaurant patio with the same intensity as she had the valley. “Is it always this empty?”

Alan followed her gaze. Only one other couple sat on the patio, while several men occupied stools inside at the bar. Glancing at his watch, he said, “It’s early yet. In another hour or so, this place will be jumping.”

“Local hot spot?” she teased, picking up her menu.

Alan returned her smile. “Complete with country band.”

He’d so seldom seen her like this, her soft blue eyes lighting with amusement and pleasure, the lilting sound of her laughter filling his senses. There had been that first Sunday night at Rita’s, before she’d known he was there. She’d come bouncing into the kitchen with Katie on her hip, and he’d felt the first flush of longing in his gut. Occasionally, he’d catch glimpses of this side of her at the diner, when she’d let down her guard for a moment or two. But most of the time, it was with Katie. It struck him just how badly he wanted to be the cause of her laughter, the reason for the light in her eyes.

Cliff himself showed up to take their order, interrupting Alan’s thoughts. “Hey, Alan, good to see you.” Slapping Alan on the back, Cliff dropped down into a chair next to them, pad in hand. “What’ll it be today?”

Alan smiled. He’d known Cliff for years, yet he knew nothing about him. Likewise, Cliff knew him only as Alan, a guy who stopped in every now and then.

Both Alan and Maureen ordered burgers and fries, with all the trimmings. Alan was grateful Cliff didn’t linger, or mention that Alan had never before brought someone here. He always came alone, and he wasn’t sure how Maureen would take that piece of information.

Watching her across the table, he thought how easily she fitted here. She’d turned back to the view, once again letting her eyes explore their surroundings. Sometimes people were born in the wrong place. He figured she must be one of those people. Born and raised in a big city, she seemed at home in these mountains. He liked the combination, and it gave him a hint of what it might take to keep the spark of laughter dancing in her eyes.

When Cliff delivered their drinks, Maureen turned back to Alan and smiled. This place, these mountains, had worked wonders on her. All the pain and mystery had vanished from her face.

“So,” she said when Cliff disappeared again, “what brought you back to Wyattville after college?”

“It’s a long story.” Alan tore open a couple of sugar packets and dumped them into his tea. “Are you sure you’re up for it?”

Maureen grinned, the late-afternoon sun casting a pearly glow across her cheeks. “Sure. Why not?”

“Well …” Alan took a sip of tea and winced. Grabbing another couple of packets of sugar, he added it to the drink.

“Fattening,” she teased.

Alan grinned and waved his spoon in the general direction of Maureen’s diet soda. “Better fat than whatever the chemicals in that stuff will do to you.” Stirring his tea again, he took a sip and sighed. “Better. Much better.”

“Actually,” she said, “I figured you more as the beer-drinking type.”

He chuckled. “I am. But I thought you might like to get back to Katie tonight. Beer and driving in these mountains don’t mix.”

“Conscientious to the end.” She smiled, but he couldn’t tell whether she was serious or making fun. “You were about to tell me how you ended up back in Wyattville.”

“Oh, yeah.” Alan leaned back in his chair, casually resting one leg on top of the other. “Actually, I spent most of my youth planning on how I was going to get out of Wyattville.”

“You hated it that much?”

“Hate’s a pretty strong word.” He paused, considering. “I don’t think I ever thought of it quite like that. I just wanted out. That’s not particularly unusual for kids raised in small towns. You have this idea that there has to be something else out there, something better than what you have.”

“And was there?”

He shook his head. “No.”

“So where did you go?”

“College first. Western Washington University, up in Bellingham. Luckily, I had good grades and a knack for football. Between the two, I managed to wrangle a partial scholarship. But it only lasted a year.”

“You lost the scholarship?”

“No.” He took another sip of his tea. “I enlisted.”

“But why? What happened?” The look on Maureen’s face spoke volumes. Alan instantly knew what side of the war she was on. “If you were in college …”

He thought of that year, of his anger, of the country’s anger. “911 happened.

“Besides, I was a small-town boy, raised by a lawman, and I didn’t fit in on a liberal college campus. Looking back, I know it was because I didn’t want to fit in.” He paused, thinking of the day he’d chucked his scholarship. “A week after the towers came down, I walked into a marine recruitment office.”

“The marines?” Maureen grimaced and leaned back in her chair. “Man, you
are
a glutton for punishment.”

Alan laughed. He’d been such a cocky young man. “Hell, I was out to prove a point.”

“To whom?”

Alan’s smile turned to a wry grin, and he shrugged. “Who knows?”

Cliff showed up with their food, and a lull fell over the conversation. They both seemed content for the moment to dig into the thick burgers and steaming fries. Cliff returned a few minutes later and refilled their drinks. Then he left them alone again.

“So, after you got out of the service, you went back to Wyattville?”

Alan could hear the caution in her voice, the hesitation to ask the question. “Eventually. I’d grown up and realized I didn’t want all those things the outside world had to offer.”

Maureen nodded.

Alan wondered if she had ever faced the same doubts, questioning the choices she’d made, realizing she’d been wrong. Something told him she had. “Anyway, when I finished my tour of duty, I returned to school and got my degree. Then I came back to Wyattville. End of story.”

“But no law school.”

“Nope. The town needed a sheriff, and I no longer needed to be a lawyer.”

“And you’re happy?”

Alan hesitated a moment. The answer to that question was not as simple as it might have been a couple of months ago. He’d been happy, or at least he thought he had. Maybe the word that best described how he felt about his life up until now was content. He’d been content—with his job, with his town.

Now there was this woman, this Maureen Adams, with her startling blue eyes and porcelain skin. A woman who made him ache with the gentle sway of her hips and her all-too-feminine bottom. A woman living in a cloud of mystery so thick he could feel it. And suddenly, contentment no longer fit.

“I’m happy,” he said finally.

She looked at him, questioning. “You don’t sound so sure.”

“Why don’t you tell me something about yourself?” he suggested, trying to change the subject.

Maureen smiled, gracefully acknowledging his tactic. “I think you and everyone else in town already know my entire life story.”

Alan chuckled. “Small towns.”

“Yes, small towns.” She glanced away for a moment before meeting his gaze again. “I can’t quite get used to it. In Chicago, no one knows or cares about anyone else.”

“You’re exaggerating.”

“Maybe a bit. Still, it’s nothing like here.”

Cliff showed up to retrieve their empty plates and offer dessert. The special for the day was homemade strawberry pie, and Alan convinced her to try it. Once Cliff was out of earshot, Alan informed her that at this time of year, the special dessert was always fresh strawberry something.

“So,” he said, wanting to bring the conversation back to a personal level, “if you won’t tell me about yourself, tell me what you were doing at the Simmons place today.”

She shrugged. “I met Tommy.”

Alan lifted an eyebrow, encouraging her to go on. “I was stretching my legs,” she said. “He appeared out of nowhere. I went to talk to him.”

“Tommy Simmons doesn’t just talk to anyone.”

“Well, he was a little shy at first.” At his dubious grin, she added, “Okay, he was a lot shy.”

“So?” Alan knew there was something more here. Something she wasn’t telling him.

“We talked.”

Alan considered pushing a little harder but changed his mind. Instead, he let the subject slide, not wanting to dim the smile in her eyes. But he couldn’t help thinking he’d never met a more closemouthed woman.

“What about you and Simmons?” she asked after a few minutes of silence.

He hesitated. Something warned him this was dangerous ground, but he couldn’t refuse to answer. “It wasn’t what you’d call a successful meeting.”

“I take it Bud didn’t agree to keep Joey on the straight and narrow?” She smiled, but there was a tenseness about her that denied the lightness of her tone.

“Hardly. He told me to mind my own business.”

“And will you?”

“Not if Joey continues to break the law.”

“But what if Millie’s right?” She leaned forward, her hands clasped together on the table. “What if the boy’s supporting his family?”

Alan sighed. “I admit it’s not a good situation, but if the boy’s driving without a license—”

“But it’s such a minor infraction. Under the circumstances, can’t you ignore it?”

“Minor infraction.” Alan sat forward in his chair. “Do you think if I let Joey get away with this, it will stop with his driving without a license?”

“I don’t know, but—”

“What do I allow him to get away with next? Robbing a liquor store? Or stealing old ladies’ Social Security checks?”

Anger flashed in her eyes. “Of course not.”

“You sound like a typical do-gooder. You want me to let the boy break the law as long as he doesn’t bother you.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Maureen held her ground, never flinching under his gaze. “And you know it.”

“Do I?” Alan leaned back and crossed his arms. “Do you believe circumstances dictate whether you respect the law? That sometimes it’s okay to break the law, if the situation warrants it?”

Maureen didn’t answer, and Alan repeated his question. “Do you?”

“Yes,” she said at last. “I do.”

Silence fell hard between them. There were small sounds: the couple talking on the other side of the porch, the men at the bar cheering over a game on the television, and the distant sound of a truck on the highway.

“I disagree,” he said quietly. “No one has the right to decide when a law is right or wrong. As soon as you allow an individual to make that choice, you have chaos.”

He saw the stubbornness in her eyes. But there was something else there, too. Something that went beyond a discussion of ideologies. The fight drained out of him and he said nothing more.

Cliff delivered their dessert: big slices of strawberry pie smothered in whipped cream. Alan picked up his fork, but food no longer interested him. He stole a glance at Maureen, who sat staring off toward the mountains, where the sun had dipped just below the ridge.

“Maureen?” he said tentatively.

She turned back to look at him, her eyes cold. “What about Simmons?” she asked, her voice as chilly as her eyes. “Isn’t he breaking the law?”

Alan sighed and dropped his fork. “Not technically.”

“And that counts here? Is that it? He’s neglecting his sons. Possibly worse.”

“I told you, there’s no abuse going on out there.”

“And I’m just supposed to take your word for that?”

“This isn’t your concern, Maureen. This is my town. I’ll handle it.”

Again, an uneasy silence fell between them. Alan picked up his fork and took a stab at his pie. Maureen didn’t even pretend. She sat there, once again staring out toward the mountains.