Sage Creek (8 page)

There was no way of knowing if Lynelle was somewhere in Montana, or in Reno, or Laramie, or down in the Texas Panhandle, from where the last note had been mailed.

It didn’t surprise him one bit that she hadn’t been back. There’d only been a scattering of communication since she abandoned their seven-year-old daughter in town, outside the Toss and Tumble Laundromat. Lynelle had left Ivy all alone with nothing but her stuffed giraffe and a bag of Doritos.

I just can’t bear being tied down in any one place too long,
she’d written a week later.
It makes me feel like a pig in an ant bed. Don’t hate me, Rafe, but I had to leave.

Starbucks raced in from the living room to greet him, the old dog’s tail wagging as if Rafe had been gone for weeks and not under an hour. But that was Starbucks’s way, especially these past few months since Leggo had died. The two dogs had been inseparable.

Now every time Rafe or Ivy came home, Starbucks acted like he’d thought never to see them again. The nine-year-old black lab–golden retriever mix—a halfstarved mutt Rafe had found huddling outside the barn as a puppy—sat on his haunches as Rafe ruffled his ears.

“Time for some grub, pal. It’s just you and me tonight.”

As the sun sank in a deep violet sky, Rafe set a castiron pot on the stove, removed a package of hot dogs from the fridge and a can of beans from the pantry.

It was a pretty good dinner, even better when accompanied by a cold bottle of beer. His stomach was satisfied. But the rest of him . . . wasn’t.

He checked his e-mail, then he and Starbucks headed out the kitchen door. His foreman, Will Brady, and the wranglers who worked for him had all gone home to their own lives and families. The sky bled pale pink and purple, the encroaching dusk creeping in silence but for the rustling of the pines. A wind foreshadowing the chill of autumn lashed their leaves and branches.

Rafe couldn’t shake his restlessness as he forked hay, fed the horses, checked the barns, made his rounds. Every single thing on this ranch was settled down. Except for him.

Maybe it was because Leggo was gone, not side by side with Starbucks, the two of them trotting after him together as they always did.

Maybe he and Ivy should head over to the shelter one of these days and pick out another companion for Starbucks.

Maybe it was just too damn quiet here tonight.

Rafe felt something flicker like a low-burning fire through his skin.
Itchy
.

He washed up his few dishes, put everything away, and by then, the moon was up, the first stars incandescent in the vast Montana sky, and night cloaked the mountains.

Suddenly, he knew he had to get out. Be around people, if not make conversation with them. The pool table at the Double Cross Bar and Grill fit the bill.

And it was calling his name.

Chapter Seven

“Has she told you yet?”

Sophie’s grandmother spoke in a whisper in the living room of the Good Luck ranch. She had just settled into the rocker near the fire with a mug of tea cradled in her thin, spider-veined hands.

“Has who told me what yet, Gran?”

They’d finished dessert moments before—a still-warm lemon-frosted banana nut cake Gran had whipped up while Sophie was upstairs bathing the dog, who was now sound asleep on the rug, inches from Sophie’s feet.

“Oh, dear. If you have to ask, then she hasn’t. I’m talking about your mother, of course.”

Gran pursed her lips. Her white hair, pure as a snowfield, trailed down her back in a sweeping braid. She looked almost spry enough, Sophie thought, to leap on the back of a horse and gallop off toward the mountains. In her day, Ava Louise Todd had been a renowned horsewoman.

“I just don’t know what she’s waiting for,” Gran fretted. “You’re bound to find out sooner or later and it would be much better if . . . oh, hush, never mind.”

Hastily, she took a long noisy sip of tea as her daughter entered the living room carrying her own buttercup yellow mug—this one filled with sugared coffee—and curled up on the love seat across from the couch.

“Did I miss something?” Diana glanced back and forth between her daughter and her mother, her eyebrows raised.

“Only the creaking of my bones as I settled into this chair.”

Gran’s eyes, the color of very old green glass, met Sophie’s, imploring her to keep silent. “I’m about to foist an old lady’s opinions on Sophie.” Her gaze softened on her granddaughter’s face. “If you don’t mind, dear.”

I’d rather know the secret that you—and Mom—are keeping,
Sophie thought. Worried, she fought against the urge to ask her mother right this very moment. The only reason she
didn’t
was because she didn’t want to get Gran in hot water.

“Go ahead, Gran. Shoot.” She braced herself for the lecture she knew was coming. For all of her sweetness and gentle ways, Sophie’s grandmother, who’d grown up in this house, was a force to be reckoned with. Like a marshmallow-covered bulldozer.

At this rate, Mia would definitely beat her to the Double Cross.

Not that Sophie really minded. She didn’t feel much like driving into Lonesome Way and plunging into the raucous tumult of the bar. But she didn’t have much of a choice. They did need to plan Lissie’s baby shower, and she’d promised to meet Mia there.

The chill air seeping beneath the cracks of the doors and windows in the old ranch house brought with it a breath of the autumn and winter soon to come. But the warmth of the dancing flames in the fireplace touched even the farthest reaches of the sage-and-cream-painted room.

Tidbit, curled up a dozen feet from the stone fireplace, sneezed suddenly, and woke himself up.

“I’ve been talking with Martha and Dorothy.” Gran took another sip of tea. “And we all agree.”

“No surprise there,” Diana murmured.

Martha Davies, owner of the Cuttin’ Loose beauty salon, and Dorothy Winston, a former elementary school principal, had been Gran’s closest friends for more than sixty years. The three women were thick as thieves. But actually, Sophie thought, they were more like a trio of determined, would-be fairy godmothers, always itching to tinker with someone else’s life. In a good way, of course.

She secretly thought of them as Bippity, Boppity, and Boo. “As I was saying,” Gran continued, pretending her daughter hadn’t spoken, “we’re worried about you, Sophie. It’s high time you get on with your life. You know, spur it forward. Like a horse.”

Gran set her teacup down on the side table with a clink. “And that means finding something to take your mind off your troubles. Now, my eyes might not be what they once were, but I can see the hurt still in your face. And so can your mother.”

It’s that obvious?
Sophie glanced in dismay between her mother and grandmother.

“When you don’t think anyone’s looking,” Gran said, as if reading her mind, “the people who love you can see.”

Sophie felt her throat thicken. Tears pricked at the back of her eyes. “Don’t worry about me,” was all she could manage to say.

“Well, now, it’s our job to worry about you.” Easing off the rocker, Gran moved to sit beside her and patted her arm.

“So here’s what I think. First off, find something to do. Something you love—and throw yourself into it.”

“As a matter of fact—” Sophie began, but her mother interrupted.

“For heaven’s sake, Mom, give her time. She’s only just come home.” Diana McPhee swung her feet to the floor and sat up straighter. “Sophie has barely unpacked.”

“Don’t you think I know that?” Gran shot her an impatient glance. The only person in the world Gran didn’t easily get along with was her own daughter. “But Sophie’s marriage ended months ago. Three months, to be exact. The sooner she gets her mind wrapped up in something besides Ned and her divorce, the better off she’ll be. So what is it you’d like to do, Sophie? Think, quickly now, what springs to mind? What would you love more than anything?”

But she couldn’t bring herself to say that out loud.

“I’m going to—”

“Bake for the library fund-raiser,” her mother supplied. “Sophie’s helping out with food and refreshments. That will definitely keep her busy for a while.”

So will pulling my hair out over taking orders from Georgia Timmons,
Sophie thought. The fund-raiser was set for late September. There was to be a townwide celebration all day and a huge dance on the grounds of the high school gymnasium in the evening. Several local bands were scheduled to perform, as well as a country singer from Bozeman—Lee Ann Hollows, who had once opened for Brad Paisley and was volunteering her talent and donating autographed CDs to be auctioned off, as well as a cowboy hat Paisley had given her after the tour.

“Well, that’s a fine start.” Gran looked pleased.

On the rug, Tidbit stretched, got to his feet, and peered anxiously at Sophie as if reassuring himself she was still there. Since she was, he promptly settled himself down again, right where her feet would have been if she hadn’t just tucked them beneath her.

“But you need something more, dear,” Gran added. “Something to keep you from thinking about that no-good ex-husband of yours. Martha says somebody ought to take a switch to him, and of course, she’s right. But that’s neither here nor there—”

“Gran,” Sophie interrupted, “don’t worry about me. I’ve got a plan.”

“Do you now?”

“What is it?” Diana asked quickly.

Sophie took a breath. “I’m opening a bakery in town. Inside Roy’s Diner—just as soon as he and Lil close up. I decided today, and I’m hoping to sign a lease tomorrow.”

Silence.

But at least Gran had stopped talking about Ned.

Ava Louise Todd stared at her granddaughter for a long moment before a pleased smile creased her face.

But Sophie’s mother shot her a look of concern. “A bakery? Honey, are you sure? Do you really want to jump into a brand-new business so soon? You just sold the other one.”

“And I have to share half the profits from the sale with Ned. Community property laws—California, remember?”

“Well, that’s not right.” Her mother frowned.

“It’s the law, whether we like it or not. So I need to work, to make a living. But that’s not the only reason I want to do this.” She glanced back and forth between her mother and grandmother, searching for the words to explain.

“I miss the part of me that started Sweet Sensations. My work hasn’t been about food and baking and customers in a very long time. It’s been phone calls and paperwork and meetings. I . . . I feel like I’ve lost something along the way. A part of
me
. And I want it back.”

Gran was nodding, and understanding flickered in Sophie’s mother’s eyes.

“I know that some people in town might think nothing can replace Roy’s, but I’m going to offer them an alternative. It won’t be anything fancy, just a simple little bakery-cafe, which is something I know how to do. People might like it,” she said hopefully.

“
I
like it.” Gran was beaming now.

“
I
think it sounds lovely,” Diana stated.

“I’m going to need some help. If either of you know of anyone with baking or restaurant background who’s looking for work, I’m planning to hire two or three people—”

“Me. I’ll do it.” Gran beamed at her.

“You’ll do what?”

“I’ll do the baking. For you.
With
you. Whatever you need, Sophie.” She chuckled at her granddaughter’s astonished expression as Diana McPhee looked on, bemused.

“Who was it who taught you everything you know?” Gran asked smugly. “I can’t think of anything that would be more fun than to be part of your new bakery. And I live right in town, only a few blocks away. It’ll be a snap for me to get there first thing in the morning and get everything started for you.”

“Gran, are you sure you want a . . .
job
?” Sophie asked. “At this stage of your life?”

“You mean because I’m seventy-six? Well, Martha still owns the Cuttin’ Loose and works six days a week, and she’s older than me. Dorothy had to retire from the school district, but she still tutors kids. And I bake most days at home anyway. Don’t you want me, Sophie?”

There was a hurt look in her eyes.

“Of course I do,” Sophie said quickly. And she did. Gran had taught her everything she knew about baking. Her grandmother knew by heart and instinct nearly all of the recipes that would be the mainstay of the bakery.

“It would be wonderful to have you work with me. But if it gets to be too much for you, promise you’ll tell me and we’ll cut back your hours to whatever’s comfortable for you.”

“No need to cater to me. What do you think, I’m some fragile hothouse lily?” Gran sniffed and waved a hand dismissively.

Diana finished the last of her coffee and set it down on the small walnut table beside the love seat. “Who else are you going to hire?”