The New Hope Cafe
Authors: Dawn Atkins
Welcome to New Hope, AZ
New Hope? Not from where Cara Price is standing. Miles from
her destination, a car that won’t run and a daughter she can protect only by
moving, lingering in this town is
not
on Cara’s
plan. And the harder she pushes to leave, the more things conspire to prevent
that. There’s the slow mechanic…there’s the café in need of a waitress…there’s
its owner in need of a friend….
There’s also the very tempting Jonah Gold.
Cara’s plan is all about survival with no room for romance.
Yet, Jonah’s charm and the easy way they work together has her
wanting
to make space for him. The promise of what
they share is so different from the life she’s escaping. Maybe this café, this
town and Jonah are all the hope she needs!
Their eyes met and held
Cara held her breath, not sure she wanted to hear what made
Jonah eager to never see her again.
“You know.” His voice was low, his tone thick. Electricity
arced between them, their attraction almost making the air crackle. “You throw
me off. It’s all I can do not to…” The words seemed pulled from him and he
tilted his head, shifting slightly forward. She knew he wanted to kiss her. He
could hardly keep from kissing her.
She opened her mouth, but couldn’t say the words that formed
in her head:
I want you to.
Some part of her did,
anyway. The silence grew heavy.
Finally, Jonah pulled away. “But that can’t happen.”
As soon as he said it, she knew he was right.
Because one kiss would never be enough.
Dear Reader,
In this story, Cara is fleeing a man who claims to love her,
but will kill her if he can’t have her. Her situation is one that strikes fear
in every woman’s heart. Cara was young when she married and didn’t recognize the
danger signs until it was too late. The newspapers are filled with stories of
the tragic outcomes of the dark side of love.
Cara’s journey is to find safety for herself and her
daughter, to heal them both, and to find her own purpose. Beth Ann’s voice is
here—her confusion about her troubled father, her yearning for friendship and
love, her courage as she learns to forgive herself and accept the comfort of her
mother’s love.
When Cara and Beth Ann stumble into the Comfort Café, looking
for a meal and a mechanic, they find a safe place where they can recover and
people who love and support them. Jonah has suffered his own losses and
betrayal. He must deal with his own guilt and regret, his belief that he is too
broken to help those he loves.
Working together in the café, Jonah and Cara find new
strengths and rebuild old ones, serving as mirrors to each other’s growth and
recovery. Cara conquers her fear and guilt, and finds her place in the world.
Risking his life for Cara and Beth Ann, Jonah finally accepts that he is whole
and worthy of the love he freely gives.
If your heart is heavy, my hope is that you find your own
safe place to heal and loved ones to help you get there. And if you can cook,
there’s always room for more at the New Hope Café.
All my best,
Dawn Atkins
PS—Please visit me at my website,
www.dawnatkins.com
.
The New Hope Café
Dawn Atkins
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Award-winning author Dawn Atkins has written twenty-five
novels for Harlequin Books. Known for her funny, poignant romance stories, she’s
won a Golden Quill Award and has been a several-times
RT
Book Reviews
Reviewers’ Choice Award finalist. Dawn lives in Arizona
with her husband and son.
Books by Dawn Atkins
HARLEQUIN SUPERROMANCE
1671—A LOT LIKE CHRISTMAS
1683—HOME TO
HARMONY
1729—THE BABY CONNECTION
1753—HIS BROTHER’S KEEPER
HARLEQUIN BLAZE
253—DON’T TEMPT ME…
294—WITH HIS
TOUCH
306—AT HER BECK AND CALL
318—AT HIS FINGERTIPS
348—SWEPT
AWAY
391—NO STOPPING NOW
432—HER SEXIEST SURPRISE
456—STILL
IRRESISTIBLE
Other titles by this author available in ebook format.
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following address for information on our newest releases.
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5X3
To my sister Diana and her husband, Joey, who day by day build
their own happily ever after
CHAPTER ONE
D
RIVE
FASTER
.
Move. Go. Fly.
No. Slow down. If you get a ticket, he can
track you.
Choosing the wiser impulse, Cara Price eased her foot off the
accelerator. She glanced at her daughter, hoping she hadn’t picked up on Cara’s
panic. Beth Ann stared ahead, clutching her stuffed rabbit close to her chest.
At nine, she was too old to cling to a comfort object, but the therapist had
warned Cara that abrupt changes might set Beth Ann back.
Cara had been as upbeat about the move as possible, calling it
an adventure, a chance to meet new people, see new places, take new names.
They’d had to run. Her ex-husband would come for them the
moment he was released from prison and he wouldn’t stop until he had them.
Cara would not allow that.
She’d counted on Barrett’s six-year sentence for the time she
needed to get her teaching degree, buy new identities and safely start new
lives.
But prison overcrowding and legal maneuvers had gotten Barrett
released three years early.
Three years.
He would be out any day now.
Any. Day. Now.
The thought made her
catch her breath.
“What’s wrong?” Beth Ann jerked her gaze to Cara.
“Nothing. I’m just thinking.” She forced a smile. “You sure you
want to go by
Bunny?
Won’t that be confusing?”
Bunny
was her rabbit’s name.
“Not to me,” Beth Ann said.
“Then
Bunny
it is. I’m CJ,
remember? It’s my initials—Cara Juliette—so it’s easy. And our new last name
starts with the same letter as
Price
—
Peyton.
”
“CJ sounds like a man’s name. I hate it. I hate new names. I
hate moving. I don’t want a new home or new people. I want Grandma Price and
Serena and my teacher and my school. You made me miss Water Day and the class
play and the awards. I was going to get the reading prize.” Her voice broke, but
instead of crying, she stiffened, lifted her head and locked her jaw. Beth Ann
refused to cry, refused to let Cara comfort her and it broke Cara’s heart every
time.
Beth Ann didn’t trust her. Not since Barrett had put Cara in
the hospital.
“I know it’s hard. I had to leave my teachers in the lurch,”
Cara said.
It was mid-May, two weeks shy of summer break, so Beth Ann
wouldn’t lose any academic ground, but the end of the school year was hectic for
the teachers at the middle school where Cara was an aide.
She’d left a family-emergency note and fled. Her cheeks burned
with shame. She’d always been a go-to person, someone people could count on. She
was the one-woman sunshine committee—planning baby showers, potlucks and
birthday celebrations. She’d let them all down. Her fingers tightened on the
steering wheel.
Cara had come so far these past three years, become more
self-confident, more sure of what she wanted, of who she could become.
But the moment she’d heard about Barrett, she felt lost again,
timid and uncertain, the way she’d been when she’d married the man at
eighteen.
His words played in her head.
The world
will eat you up, Cara. You’ll never make it on your own. You need
help.
“What about Serena?” Beth Ann asked. “Can’t I at least call her
to say goodbye?”
“The lady said no calls, no email, not even a postcard.” The
domestic violence counselor had been firm. The smallest slip could cost them
their safety. The woman had seen it happen. “There will be girls at the center
who’ve had troubles, too. Maybe the family we’ll share the apartment with will
be like us.”
Their counselor had made the arrangements through a network
that found housing and no-questions-asked jobs for women escaping abusive
men.
“You’ll make new friends.”
“I don’t want new friends. I want Serena.”
Serena had been Beth Ann’s first real friend since they’d moved
in with Cara’s mother three years before, so Cara felt sick about putting Beth
Ann through this loss.
“You’re sad now, but we’ll be okay, I promise.” Cara would keep
her daughter safe, give her a good life, and heal her sad heart, no matter what
it took. “Just a few hours and we’ll be in Phoenix.”
Except they’d barely crossed the Arizona border when the car’s
engine hesitated, gave an ominous clunk, then dropped into Neutral.
Fighting panic, Cara tapped the accelerator, but the engine
only roared.
“What’s wrong?” Beth Ann cried.
“I’m not sure.” Cara jiggled the gearshift. The thud told her
the engine had dropped into Drive. Whew. She held her breath, watching the lane
stripes fly by. So far, so good.
Then there was a grinding sound, a high whine and the engine
light flashed on.
Damn.
She didn’t dare drive
farther without getting the car checked, so she aimed for the next exit.
“Maybe it just needs oil,” Cara said. She’d taken her mother’s
car instead of the BMW registered to Barrett to keep from being traced. To be
doubly sure, she’d traded plates with a car on blocks in a farmer’s field a few
miles out of town.
Please let it be minor. Please,
please.
Her mother tended to neglect belongings. People, too, but
that was another matter.
Cara couldn’t afford a big repair. All she had was $500 after
paying summer school tuition and her mother’s rent.
Off the highway, the sign pointed to a town called
New Hope
. To her immediate
right was a Quonset hut that might be an auto repair shop. On the same lot was a
diner.
The Comfort Café.
Cara turned to her daughter. “I’m hungry. How about you?”
Beth Ann shook her head. Since the attack she had no appetite.
Not even for ice cream, her favorite treat, which she now hated.
“Let’s give it a try anyway,” Cara said, forcing cheer into her
voice.
New Hope
and
Comfort.
They could use a little of both, though Cara would settle
for a bite to eat and a decent mechanic.
* * *
T
HE
SECOND
SIDE
of the patty had
barely sizzled when Jonah Gold scooped it off the grill and slapped it onto the
bun he’d laid open on the plate. Carver Johnson was a cattleman and he liked his
beef fresh off the hoof, just this side of raw. He was one of the locals who
still ate at the café despite the two new fast-food places and the fancy bistro
that had opened up in the past year.
Jonah’s aunt Rosie, who owned the café, had seemed oddly
resigned to the dwindling number of diners. He’d expected her to throw pans and
bitch out the traitors, but she’d only sighed and shrugged.
Not like her at all.
She hadn’t been herself lately.
The bell jangled. Damn. Jonah had hoped to close early, since
the new waitress Rosie had promised him hadn’t showed.
Behind him, Ernesto, his ever-steady busboy, was slamming
dishes into the dishwasher, singing in off-key Spanish along with whatever came
through his iPod buds. The kid was nineteen and smart as a whip, but too shy to
wait tables.
Jonah peered out the kitchen pass-through to see who’d decided
to push his patience past its limit.
A pretty blonde, midtwenties, with a little girl, took a back
booth. She looked too harried to be one of the day-trippers headed for the
galleries and antique shops of New Hope, which was something of an artist
colony. So probably a highway traveler.
“Menu’s on the table,” he called. “Yell out your order.”
When he carried out the burger, he saw the woman and her
daughter had moved to sit a few stools south of Carver.
“We thought it would be easier here,” the woman said with a
candle flicker of a smile. “Looks like you’ve got no waitress.”
“You scare off Darlene?” Carver asked. He loved to needle
people.
“She quit all on her own.”
Darlene had moved in with her boyfriend to play house. Bad
idea, not that she’d asked Jonah. He wasn’t much for chitchat anyway, and he was
no Dr. Phil.
Meanwhile, the little girl stared right at him. He respected
that about kids—how direct they were in looks, words and deeds. Adults hid too
much and faked the rest. They made him tired.
“Where’s my damn steak sauce?” Carver yelled.
“Hold your water.” Jonah bent to check beneath the counter.
Napkins, flatware, salt and pepper, menus… Where the hell was the—
“Top shelf behind you.”
He stood. The woman was pointing over his shoulder. He grabbed
the bottle and slid it down the counter like a bartender in an Old West
saloon.
“Might not need it, after all,” Carver drawled. “You’ve got
more respect for beef than your brother. He charred the life out of every
bite.”
Only when he was drunk.
Eight
months ago, Jonah had come to New Hope to get Evan clean and sober. He’d been
straight for three months this time and swore he was set. Jonah was not so sure.
He’d learned the hard way not to take what people said at face value.
“How does a fish sandwich sound?” the woman asked her daughter
in that bright voice nurses used when they were about to rip out a catheter.
The girl shrugged. She clutched a grimy, one-eyed stuffed
animal, which reminded him of Louis, the feral cat who pretended not to care
about the nightly head rub Jonah gave him.
“She’ll try that.” The woman shot him a fake smile. He got the
feeling she faked a lot of smiles. “I’ll have the Caesar salad with chicken. Is
the chicken fried or boiled?”
“At the moment, frozen.”
“Boiled then and two lemonades, please.” She slid the menu back
in its slot. “Also, is there a good mechanic nearby? My car’s making a funny
noise.”
So that’s what had her frazzled. Sunlight through the window
made her blue eyes look almost silver.
“Duvall Auto Works. On the right just as you hit the town.
Rusty’ll talk your ear off, but he’s good and he’s honest.”
“Thanks.” She had blond, flyaway hair, a pointed nose, sharp
cheekbones and a heart-shaped mouth, reminding him of…who?
After a second it came to him. The pixie in the fantasy video
game Evan had loved as a kid.
Esmeralda.
All this
woman needed were whirring wings and a sparkly wand and she’d be a dead ringer
for the fairy warrior.
She looked at him strangely and he realized he’d been staring a
hair too long. “Got it. Right.”
Jonah ducked into the kitchen, slapped the fish patty on the
grill and started on her salad. At least she hadn’t ordered one of those
everything-but-the-kitchen-sink numbers with crap like dried loganberries and
coconut curls. Jesus, what a lot of fuss over a pile of roughage.
When that attorney from Tucson asked about arugula, he’d
suggested she try the bistro in town, only to find out Rosie had dragged her in
to meet him. Rosie thought he was lonely.
He was still raw from Suzanne—the ink on the divorce papers
barely six months dry—though he wasn’t sure he would ever get over that.
Jonah was looking for a carrot to shred—might as well make an
effort—when the door clanged, followed by voices.
Lots of ’em.
He leaned down and looked out at the pack of senior citizens
swarming the booths. Of all the days for a tour bus. Damn.
The woman at the counter met his gaze through the pass-through.
“I used to waitress,” she said. “I could pitch in if you’d like.”
She looked too well-off for that kind of work. Her tailored
blouse looked pricey and she wore a heavy filigreed locket and carried a
hand-tooled bag.
“You sure?” he asked.
“I’m happy to help.”
She seemed to mean it, so he grabbed an apron off the shelf and
held it out. “Order pad’s by the register.”
She sent her daughter out to the car for a book to read, tied
on the apron and got to work, acting like she’d been here months, not minutes.
Maybe his luck had changed after all.
She was clipping slips to his wheel, rattling off the orders
when he finished her food and set the plates on the ledge. “You should eat.”
He’d put her to work hungry. What a jerk.
“When there’s time.” She set up her daughter with lemonade,
then came into the kitchen to prep the sides. The perfume she wore hung in the
air. She smelled…pink.
How the hell did pink smell?
When she breezed past him going after the bagged slaw, he got a
nice blast and figured it out.
Cotton candy.
A few minutes later, he heard her speak to the little girl.
“Please try. You didn’t eat breakfast.”
The kid
was
rail-thin. She buried
her nose in the matted fur of that stuffed animal. What the hell was it? The
ragged ears were long, so a rabbit maybe.
The woman huffed in frustration. Noticing Jonah watching, she
shot him another fake smile. He’d bet a real one would be a sight to see.
Once she’d walked away, he leaned out the window. “Hey,” he
called to the girl. When she looked up, he said, “Try the ketchup cure.” He
nodded at the squeeze bottle by the napkin dispenser. “Squirt on a good dose. It
works.”
He turned to his grill so he wouldn’t make her nervous. No one
liked being watched when they ate, least of all a picky eater. Evan had gone
through a phase.
After a bit, the mom came back to check on her daughter. “You
ate a lot.” She made it sound like a miracle. “What’s on your cheek?” She wiped
off the red smear.
“It’s ketchup. He said it’s a cure.” The girl pointed at
Jonah.
The woman looked at him. “I didn’t realize condiments had
healing powers.”
He shrugged. “Depends on what ails you, I guess.”
“Evidently.” She held his gaze, her blue eyes full of relief
and gratitude and…something else.
That certain spark.