The New Hope Cafe (2 page)

He felt it, too—like an oil pop in the center of his chest,
sharp and hot and surprising. He hadn’t felt that in so long he’d forgotten its
power.

The woman seemed startled as well, and when she called out the
new orders, her voice had a rasp to it.

When the tour group finally cleared out, he took a twenty from
the register and went to where she was paying Ernesto out of her tips.

He held out the cash. “You saved my ass. Your food’s on the
house, too.”

“It was fun,” she said, taking the twenty. “It brought back
good memories.” She reached behind her to untie her apron, arching her back and
drawing his eye to her chest.
Great rack,
Evan would
say. That made Jonah think of playing pool, but that made no sense because
breasts weren’t triangular or—

Why the hell was he analyzing her
tits?

“Huh?” he said, realizing she’d said something.

“The tie’s knotted. Would you mind?” She turned her back to
him.

He was picking at the string when Rosie came through the door,
saw them and stopped dead. “You came in after all?” she said to the woman.
“You’re Dell Morgan’s niece, right? Monica?”

“No. My name’s, uh, CJ.” She seemed to have to think about
that. Rosie’s gruffness threw people.

“She’s a customer,” Jonah said. “She used to waitress so she
helped with a busload of tourists.”

“Good deal. I’m Rosie Underhill. I own this place.” She gave
the woman’s hand a hard shake. “You met my nephew.”

“Not formally.” She turned to him.

He would have sent her on her way without asking her name or
giving her his. Typical. He did better alone in his shop, at the grill or in his
cave of a trailer. “Jonah Gold.” He held out his hand.

“Nice to meet you.” Her hand was small, her fingers delicate as
balsa, so he gentled his grip.

“You want the job, it’s yours,” Rosie said. “Hours are six to
three. You’ll probably clear one-fifty a shift, more on the weekends when the
tourists hit.”

“We’re just passing through,” CJ said. “We had car trouble.
Jonah recommended Duvall Auto Works.”

“Yeah?” Rosie thought about that. “Rusty’s good. Just don’t let
him charge you for the chitchat. So, you on vacation?”

“Uh, no. We’re moving.” She clearly didn’t want more questions.
“And I have a job there.”

“Where’s there?”

“Back off, Rosie,” Jonah said. “She said no.”

“It’ll likely take Rusty a day or two to get parts. How about
you cover a few shifts while you wait?”

“I hope it’s minor,” CJ said, biting her full bottom lip. Top
and bottom made a puffy heart shape. A better look for the hearts he’d sketched
for the mahogany bench he’d been working on, now that he thought about it. Very
soft. Pillowy, even.

“You know how it is with engines,” Rosie said. “Once they start
messing around, all hell breaks loose.” She was pushing hard, which meant there
weren’t any other waitress candidates. He’d be stuck with Rosie and she was too
damn cranky to serve customers.

The door clanged. All three turned to see Larry Claymore and
his poker buddies walk in. They’d had their monthly all-nighter, which they
wrapped up with burgers, fries and trash talk.

Right behind them came a dozen high school girls in skimpy
athletic gear. Cheerleader camp had let out for the day.

“Damn,” he and Rosie said at the same time.

“If I get Rusty to come out here to look at your car will you
finish out the day?” Rosie asked CJ.

“Rosie…” Jonah started.

“Fifty bucks on top of your tips. How’s that?”

That caught the woman’s attention. “And you’ll get the mechanic
out here?” When Rosie nodded, CJ said, “Okay. Let me tell my daughter.” She
walked away, retying the strings Jonah had freed.

A minute later, she had the weary poker players cheerfully
putting together their tables and gathering up flatware, while she took the
cheerleaders’ orders, acting relaxed, but moving quickly, not wasting a
second.

“She’s good,” Rosie noted. “What’s the big secret about where
she’s going?”

“Not everybody wants to blurt their life story to a nosy
stranger.”

“Like you’re a shining example, Mr. People Person. You didn’t
even ask her name. You know the little girl’s?”

He shrugged.

“Figures. She’s probably bored brainless. Bet I can come up
with something to keep her busy.”

“Don’t start, Rosie.” He could practically hear the gears
grinding.

“Start what?” she asked innocently.

“Whatever you’re plotting. Call Rusty like you promised, then
find me another waitress.”

She waved him away, intent on her mission.

Soon, CJ was calling out orders. The poker players wanted
double cheeseburgers all around, the cheerleaders BLTs, chocolate shakes and
piles and piles of fries.

“No go on the fries,” he told CJ. “All that’s left is a torn
bag with freezer burn.”

“I can work with that,” she said and dashed off.

A minute later, the fries were sizzling and she was making
shakes. She’d figured out the timing on the finicky machine without wasting a
drop of syrup, unlike Darlene, who ruined every third shake.

Rosie was right. She
was
good.

Jonah expected to be annoyed with her crowding into his
kitchen, but she zipped and flitted like the sprite in that game, and she
smelled so damn pink.

He shook his head at himself.

CJ caught his expression and stopped short. “Did I do something
wrong?” She seemed hyperaware, as if braced for trouble.

“No. You’re doing great.”

“Good.” She blew out a breath, then squeezed past him, just
brushing his backside, setting off a reaction belowdecks, like he was a kid
again, late for class because the sight of a bra strap had given him a
hard-on.

When she returned to the fries, she shifted to avoid bumping
him, lost her balance and would have landed an elbow on the hot grill if he
hadn’t grabbed her arm.

When he did, her face went ashen with fear.

“You were about to get burned,” he explained.

“Oh. Right.” She was too shook up to even fake a smile. He’d
scared her. He hated that. It reminded him of that time with Jared, when Suzanne
had covered her face, cringing, as if she thought Jonah would hit her next.

Shame surged through him, as fresh as that night. Like a
wounded beast, he’d struck out in pain, done what he’d sworn never to do—behaved
like his father.

More proof that he’d had no business getting married. He’d
known already he wasn’t built for it, that when the chips were down, he would
fail the people he loved. After that, he knew he could do worse. He could hurt
them.

“Try this.”

He turned to find CJ holding out a fry. He smelled aged cheese,
hot potato and corn oil. He pulled her hand closer and bit off the top,
registering the contact and the taste at once, a one-two punch of pleasure.

Their eyes met and awareness burned between them. Cooks tasted
each other’s food all the time. But this felt more personal somehow.

Jonah released her hand and focused on the bite. “What’d you
do?”

“Double fried them and coated them with parmesan.”

“Not bad.” The cheese made it tart and creamy, the double
frying gave a crisp outside and a moist center.

“Not bad?” She ate the bottom half, eyebrows dipped in
concentration. “It’s delicious.”

“The girls will just smother them in ketchup.”

“We’ll just see about that.” She loaded a platter with the
fries and carried them to the cheerleaders, hips swaying in a way that held his
gaze until she reached her destination.

A few minutes later CJ bounded back for more orders. “They said
the fries were
epic.
Totally too good for ketchup.”
Triumph shone in her eyes and made her smile. This one lit up her whole face,
like in the video game when the character peered into the treasure box of
powers.

A sight to see for sure.

It would stay with him, he could tell, the way the feel of
freshly sanded wood stuck with him long after he’d left the shop.

“Don’t gloat,” he said.

“Can’t help it.” He liked the gleam in her eyes. It was sure
and steady, not scared or jumpy, like when she first walked in. “I did want to
thank you for that ketchup tip with my daughter. Bunny.”

She turned to where the girl had been sitting. “Where is she?”
Her eyes were wide.

He started to explain about Rosie, but she bolted for the
hall.

He followed her.

She burst out of the ladies’ room. “She’s not there.”

“I’m sure she’s upstairs.”

“Upstairs?” She was breathing hard, her eyes big and
afraid.

“With Rosie. Hang on.” He pulled out his cell and hit Rosie’s
speed-dial number. CJ watched, holding her breath.

“You got CJ’s girl up there?” Jonah asked when Rosie
answered.

“I told you I’d keep her busy.”

He gave CJ a quick nod to relieve her. “You’ve got her mom
worried sick.”

CJ reached for the phone. “I need to know where my daughter is
at all times,” she said, clearly trying to hold down her anger. “I appreciate
that, of course, but—” She listened. “And the mechanic is…what?” She frowned.
“That’s not good.” She listened more. “That’s kind of you, but I’m sure there’s
a motel in town we could—” Her eyebrows shot up. “Really? It does? I’ll think
about it.... Thank you.” She handed Jonah his phone, looking dazed. She’d been
run through the Rosie wringer.

“Rusty’s got a bachelor party in Yuma,” CJ said, “so he can’t
look at my car until tomorrow.”

“You could try the mechanic at the Shell, but he’s not that
good. Small towns.” He shrugged.

“Rosie invited us to stay with her. I hate to impose.” She gave
him a questioning look.

“She’s got the extra beds.” Though the last time Jonah had seen
the rooms they were crammed to the rafters with overflow from her vintage
shop.

“She said the Sleep Inn has bedbugs. Is that true?”

Rosie. He had to laugh. “I doubt that. She probably figures if
you stay upstairs tonight, you’ll work downstairs tomorrow.”

“I see.” He noticed she had freckles like a shake of cinnamon
across her nose and her blond hair had darker streaks like ray flake in an oak
plank. “I guess it makes sense to stay really....”

“Up to you.” But he felt a jolt of pleasure at the prospect.
Maybe Rosie’s schemes weren’t
all
bad.

CHAPTER TWO

C
ARA
STARTED
UP
the stairs to Rosie’s
apartment, the pleasant smell of old wood and fried food reminding her of
Dolly’s, where she’d worked in high school. She’d loved it there. She’d felt
useful and competent and it had been her haven from her mother’s constant
boyfriend drama.

As soon as Cara had picked up the order pad, she’d felt a burst
of the confidence she’d felt at Dolly’s. She’d needed it badly.

She heard Jonah climbing behind her. She felt uneasy with him
back there thinking the kind of thoughts men were hardwired to think when a
woman’s backside crossed their sightline. Since Barrett, men scared her,
especially big men like Jonah.

Except there had been that
moment.
He’d zoomed under her radar helping Beth Ann and when their eyes met, she’d felt
a hot twist of a feeling she hardly remembered: physical desire. She’d seen it
in his eyes, too.

It had scared her a little.

She reached the top and turned to him.

“You okay?” he asked, evidently reading her tension.

He had kind eyes, she saw, and her anxiety faded.

“A little dazed,” she said. “This happened fast.”

“Rosie can spin you around, but don’t worry. You’re in good
hands.”

His words hit home. She had the stupid urge to cry. “Thank
you,” she mumbled, turning for the door so he couldn’t see her so weak.

Entering the apartment, Jonah called out, “Rosie, don’t shoot.
It’s me and CJ.” He led her through a living room jammed with ’60s furniture and
knickknacks, then to the kitchen, where Rosie and Beth Ann were playing cards at
a red Formica table with chrome legs.

The kitchen was done in ’50s style, with black-and-white
linoleum tile, a red sink and red appliances. Chickens and roosters decorated
everything from the wallpaper to the refrigerator magnets. “Rosie taught me
poker,” Beth Ann said.

“Ante up, you little hustler.” Rosie pushed five red jelly
beans into the center of the table.

“What’s a hustler?” Beth Ann asked.

“A pro who pretends she’s never played the game. You’re
skinnin’ me alive here.” Rosie waved at her smaller mound of candies.

Beth Ann beamed.

The jelly beans reminded Cara of her grandmother, who used to
bake jelly beans inside buns, with each color meaning a different fortune. She
called them her “good-luck” buns and made them when she had a decision to make
or just to cheer herself up.

Beth Ann turned her hand so Cara could see that she had a full
house.

“Hell’s bells, I fold,” Rosie said.

“You’re supposed to raise,” Beth Ann said.

“Not when you’ve got a killer hand.”

“You looked? That’s cheating.”

“I didn’t have to. You need to work on your poker face, kid. No
matter what you draw, you can’t show it. Totally no emotion.”

“I can do that easy,” Beth Ann said. The truth of that made
Cara sad. Her daughter had been a brave soldier since the attack.

“We’re grateful to you for your hospitality, Rosie,” Cara
said.

“You haven’t seen the rooms yet,” Jonah said.

“Don’t be so smart, Mr. Interior Design Star,” Rosie said.
“Move a few boxes to the laundry room if you have to.”

“A few boxes?” Jonah chuckled, then led Cara to the end of the
hall, where she saw what he meant. The room was crammed with furniture, boxes,
’60s lamps and more knickknacks.

“Rosie has a vintage shop in town. This is the stuff she can’t
bear to sell.” He went to the casement window and yanked up the blinds, letting
the late-afternoon light wash the room in gold.

Cara went to look out the window. Below, she saw a huge
vegetable garden, shaded by netting. “Is that garden Rosie’s?”

“Yes. Not that she’s happy about it. It was her husband Eddie’s
idea. Same with the café.”

“Is he…gone?”

“Dead, yeah. Before I was born. Blood clot after a routine
surgery.”

“That’s so sad.”

“Rosie kept the garden, the café and the antique shop in his
honor. If Eddie loved it, Rosie kept it.”

“That’s sweet.”

“Sweet? God, don’t let Rosie hear you call her that.”

“She reminds me of my grandmother.” She’d been brusque but
tenderhearted, and Cara could tell that was Rosie’s way. “She died when I was
fourteen.” Cara had been devastated. Her grandmother had loved her
unconditionally.

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“I miss her.”

Jonah looked at her in a way that made her feel really
seen.
Seconds passed like that and it happened again.
Zing.
Another jolt of desire
.
She caught an answering flare in his eyes. What was going on here?
Sex was the last thing on her mind. Part of it was that Jonah was handsome, with
longish dark hair, a square jaw and dark eyes. He reminded her of a young
Russell Crowe.

He was older than her, maybe mid-thirties.

Barrett’s age.

Jonah had made her think of Barrett when he’d grabbed her arm
to keep her from getting burned. Barrett had squeezed her arm so hard her
fingers tingled, showing he had power over her, that he could hurt her if he
wanted to.

The thought of Barrett snapped her out of it. Cara whipped her
gaze to the window. “You don’t use the vegetables in the café?” She could make
out cabbage, peas, tomatoes and peppers, some low vines—melon or squash—and
maybe strawberries.

“Rosie sells the stuff to a restaurant in town—one of those
places with puny entrées, kitchen-sink salads and every cheese labeled
artisanal.
It’s not a café, mind you. It’s a
bistro.
”

She looked at him. “Not your kind of place?”

“Not even close.”

She smiled, staring out the window. “I would kill for a
garden.”

“So plant one. Wherever you’re moving.”

“It’s not that simple.” Nothing in her life would be simple for
years to come. Her mother’s house had been a stopping-off place at best. Now
they’d been set adrift, taking only the belongings they could fit in their
bags.

Cara longed for a permanent home, safe and private, where a
garden would be as easy as Jonah made it sound. Right now it seemed
impossible.

Back near the trees, she saw a round-cornered silver trailer
with a redwood deck, lots of furniture and strings of white lights. “Who lives
out there?”

“Whoever’s cooking. Right now that’s me.”

“Before you, your brother? The one who charred the
hamburgers?”

“Yeah. He lives in town at the moment.” He frowned and there
was tension in his voice.

Why had Jonah taken over? Had they fought? She sensed he
wouldn’t welcome the question. Just as well, she guessed, since she couldn’t say
much about herself either.

“I thought the Quonset hut was an auto shop.”

“Used to be one. Right now it’s my woodshop.” He turned toward
the bed. “Let’s clear a path to the door.” He obviously didn’t welcome more
questions. He picked up a box from the bed. She did the same.

Together they cleared out boxes and furniture and rearranged
what was left so she had room to move. The work forced them to be physically
close, the way they’d been in the café. Each time their bodies brushed, Cara
felt more tingles and jolts. By the time they were finished, she was out of
breath and not from exertion. So strange. It must be a primal drive sparked by
being on the run.

Beth Ann’s room was equally crowded, but what caught Cara’s eye
was a long shelf with toothpick structures—a fort, a biplane, an elaborate
marble run, a bridge and more. “Who made all these?” she asked.

“My brother, Evan. This was his room for a couple years when we
were kids.” He surveyed the collection with a look that seemed both sad and
wistful.

“So the room I’m staying in…?”

“Was mine, yeah.” He shrugged. “Let’s get to it.”

When they’d finished clearing the room, Cara went to the window
to open the blinds.

“Does Bunny like to read?”

When she turned, Jonah was so close that strands of her hair
caught in his emerging beard. She brushed the hair away just as he did. Their
fingers tangled for a second and she rocked into his chest. The chrome-stemmed
floor lamp he held rattled. They both took shaky breaths.

“Y-yes. She loves to read.” Her face felt hot.

“Good.” He angled the shade so light would hit the green
fake-fur pillow, then turned to her. “Is Bunny short for something?”

“No. Just Bunny.”

He held her gaze. Didn’t he believe her?

As they left the room, he bent to the plug by the door and
flicked on a night-light. A peace sign lit up. “So she won’t get lost on the way
to the toilet.”

Jonah was gruff, but thoughtful. He paid attention. She liked
that. It made her feel better about her decision to stay. Maybe they
were
in good hands.

They returned to the kitchen. When Jonah offered to follow Cara
to the auto shop to drop off her car so Rusty could get to it as soon as he
returned from Yuma, Rosie asked him to pick up take-out chicken for supper on
the way back.

Cara and Jonah left the café and headed for Jonah’s truck. He
put a light hand to the small of her back to guide her. Barrett used to do that.
When they were first married, she had loved the feeling. It made her feel
protected and cared for. But she’d been young and inexperienced. He’d been ten
years older and a lawyer. She’d admired him, hung on his every word, tried to be
the wife he wanted her to be.

As the years passed, she matured. The minute she began to make
her own decisions and plans, she discovered the trap she’d fallen into.

Barrett hadn’t been
protecting
her,
he’d been
controlling
her, locking her away from
anyone but himself, tearing down her self-esteem with every word he pretended
was
for her own good
—to keep her from failing,
getting hurt, embarrassing herself.

Jonah’s hand on her back felt nice, especially since Barrett’s
release had sent her self-confidence plummeting. She wanted to lean into it, let
him take over, direct her steps.

But that was wrong, dangerous even. Leaning on a man had nearly
gotten her killed. She walked faster, away from Jonah’s hand. She traveled under
her own power, on her own two feet and she didn’t dare forget that.

* * *

“I’
M
NOT
much for salads,” Jonah said as CJ leaned over him
with the bowl of greens, tongs at the ready, smelling so pink he could hardly
see straight.

The chicken was soggy, the biscuits cold and the butter on the
corn-on-the-cob congealed, all because CJ had made them wait for her to raid
Rosie’s garden and make a damn salad. She’d wanted to
contribute,
for hell’s sake
.

“It’s not fancy, I swear. Fresh veggies and a simple
vinaigrette.”

“
Vinaigrette?
Isn’t that
French?”

She laughed—there was pure delight in the sound, as if humor
were a rare and precious thing. Jonah liked it a lot.

“Might as well try it,” he said.

As CJ loaded his plate, he averted his gaze from her softly
swaying breasts. The heavy locket hung in the air. What picture was inside? Her
alone? Her daughter? Both of them? He was a live-and-let-live person, but this
woman roused his curiosity.

And other parts.

Forget that,
he told himself,
relieved when she took her breasts and her pink smell over to Rosie.

“Salads make me feel like a cow chewing her cud,” Rosie
said.

“Try the ketchup cure,” Bunny said, dipping lettuce into a
puddle of sauce on her plate. “It works.”

CJ smiled her thanks at Jonah, her blue eyes shining bright. He
felt lit up inside. Jesus. Maybe he
had
been alone
too long if a woman’s smile could do that to him. He got another oil pop in the
chest.

“Ah, hell. Give me some,” Rosie said, watching CJ dish some
salad out. “Lotta cars stacked up at Duvall’s?”

“Some,” Jonah said.

“No telling how long he’ll take to get to CJ’s,” she said, way
too pleased by the prospect.

“Rosie, would you let it go?” he said, though this was the
liveliest Rosie had been in weeks. Some days she didn’t even open the shop.
Maybe she was depressed. She’d die before she would talk to him about what was
wrong. She kept asking him about the furniture show he was getting ready for in
New York, hinting that he should head there early and stay for good.

He couldn’t leave Evan yet. And Jonah had a feeling he
shouldn’t leave his aunt either. Not until she was back to normal.

“I’m just being realistic,” Rosie said. “They might not hold
your job, you know, wherever you’re going.” She shot a look at CJ.

“Have you always lived in New Hope, Rosie?” CJ asked, clearly
trying to steer the subject away from her destination.

“My husband, Eddie, grew up in New Hope. When we got married,
he sold his business and moved us out here.”

“Jonah mentioned that he died. I’m sorry you lost him.”

“I didn’t lose him. He croaked on me. Set me up with the café,
then took a powder.” She brushed her palms together, like clearing dust.

CJ blinked at the harsh assessment.

“It’s not like he died on purpose,” Jonah said.

“He might have just to see how I’d do on my own.” Rosie shook
her head, then muttered darkly, “It was the hospital that did it. All he had was
a hernia, but once they sink a knife in you, you’re done. That’s how it was with
my folks.”

“They died of cancer, Rosie,” Jonah said. “Your dad had lung
cancer from smoking like a fiend and your mom had—”

“It was the surgeries that killed them.” She snapped her
fingers. “Gone just like that.”

“Eddie sounds like an interesting man,” CJ said, obviously
trying to lighten Rosie’s mood. “How did you meet?”