Authors: Dawn Atkins
“Who was on the phone?” he asked.
“Nobody. Nothing. I’ll see you tomorrow.” She turned for
Rosie’s stairs.
Something was wrong. The call had been bad. It wasn’t his
business. Rosie was nosy enough for ten people. CJ wouldn’t want to talk about
it. He knew that already.
Jonah stood, jaw locked, fists working.
Stay or go. Decide.
It was the look on her face that got to him. She’d looked
scared. Really scared. He turned on his heel and headed up the stairs after
her.
* * *
C
ARA
TOOK
THE
stairs on numb legs.
Barrett was after them.
The call from the
domestic violence counselor confirmed it. When she’d arranged to get Beth Ann’s
school records, the secretary had told her that someone claiming to be from Beth
Ann’s pediatrician’s office had called for her new address to send her
immunization records.
The secretary had thought that odd. Cara confirmed that the
doctor whose name the person used wasn’t Beth Ann’s. It had been a ploy by
Barrett or someone he’d hired to locate them. It also meant Barrett had talked
to Cara’s mother and learned the name of her school. Probably Cara’s, too.
She’d expected this. She knew Barrett would try every tactic,
but now it was real. It was as if Barrett’s hand had reached through the phone
and grabbed her by the throat. She felt faint.
“Wait.”
Jonah’s voice from the bottom of the stairs startled her. She
turned and he took the stairs two at a time, stopping below her so they stood
eye to eye. “You’re in trouble. The phone call was bad news.”
“No. I’m not. It’s…okay.”
“It’s not okay. You’re shaking. Let me help you.”
“You can’t help me.”
No one
can.
“Try me,” he said.
For a second she wanted to. She wanted to fall into his arms
and let him tell her it would be all right, even if it wouldn’t be. But the
social worker had been firm:
Tell no one.
People talk. They forget their promises. They slip. They
get tricked.
“I really can’t.”
“Are you in danger? Because I’ll—”
“Stop. Please.” She had to give some explanation or he’d keep
pushing. “It’s a mix-up at the school where Beth Ann—” She put her hand to her
mouth, horrified that she’d used her daughter’s real name. “I mean Bunny. Her
school records are wrong and—”
“Her real name is Beth Ann.”
“Forget I said that. It’s important.”
“Fine.”
But Jonah now knew they had false names. He suspected they were
in trouble. Cara’s heart pounded in her ears. This wasn’t good.
“Please don’t ask for more,” she said. “I’m okay. Really.” She
did not want a man to take over her problems. Barrett had done that, made
choices for her, decisions that should have been hers. Jonah wanted to take
over, too. He already had guessed too much.
“I have to go.” She ran up the last few steps and into Rosie’s
apartment without looking back.
Inside, the panic hit full force. Barrett was hunting them
down. They had to run, catch the bus in the morning and just go, go,
go.
She’d saved nearly a thousand dollars. Maybe Rusty
would let her owe him the rest on the car.
You’re in good hands.
Jonah’s words
offered a flicker of respite. Enough that she was able to think it through.
Nothing had changed. Barrett hadn’t learned a thing from the
school. There was no reason to run. She’d promised Rosie she would stay. She had
to tough it out.
You can handle this,
she told
herself.
You have to.
CHAPTER TEN
S
OMEHOW
, C
ARA
pushed through the
week, determined not to let her worry show. At night, panic washed over her like
a fever, but she forced herself to think about the café and the changes they
were making, and managed to get enough sleep to function.
She was grateful that Jonah had taken her at her word, that she
was all right, though she felt his eyes on her a lot. He wanted to dig, to help,
to take some action on her behalf. But this was her crisis to survive.
The new dishes and the renovation plans kept them too busy for
much personal conversation. Ernesto turned out to be a genius baker and a damn
good sous-chef. He was a quick learner and he had a great palate.
By Friday, they’d added all but one of the new dishes and they
sold decently. There’d been a trickle of new diners curious about the changes.
So far, her ideas seemed to be working.
The café renovations were coming together, too. She’d consulted
with Jonah and Rosie on the colors, deciding on lilac and mustard for the walls
with white wainscoting to break up the blocks of color. Jonah had found the
perfect fabric for the stools and booths—white vinyl with confetti polka dots.
She loved the new sign he’d sketched—a whimsical teacup with a curlicue of steam
spelling out
Comfort Café
.
Cara thought they made a great team, with Jonah’s artist’s eye
and her instincts about the food and ambiance. Fighting the physical attraction
was exhausting, but the work
was
fun, just as she’d
hoped. She and Jonah clicked the way she’d always thought a married couple
would, working together, facing life’s challenges, with shared values, mutual
respect and heartfelt support for each other.
Stupidly, Cara kept slipping into a fantasy that they
were
together. It was an illusion, she knew, but it
felt so good to have a man who cared about her, listened to her, enjoyed her,
wanted
her. A man with no hidden agenda or ill
intent. A
good
man.
They’d earned a break, so Saturday night they were taking Beth
Ann bowling at the Wash-Bowl-N-Brew. Jonah wanted to ask Evan to help paint the
café…and check up on him, though he hadn’t said that out loud.
“I don’t need camp,” Beth Ann said from the backseat of the
extended cab of Jonah’s truck.
“It’ll be fun,” Cara said. She had signed her daughter up for
the YMCA’s day camp starting Monday. Beth Ann needed to be with kids her own
age. Rosie would drive her there and Cara would pick her up after the café
closed. “Remember the good-luck bun last night? Clasped hands for
You’ll make a friend?
”
“You faked that,” Beth Ann said.
“I swear I didn’t.”
“You fake the fortunes?” Jonah asked in a low voice. “I’m
shocked.”
“Only in an emergency,” she muttered to him, then turned to
Beth Ann. “You can invite kids out for good-luck buns in the café maybe. Or when
your birthday comes, for a party.”
“
You
invite them for
your
birthday,” she grumbled.
“You’ve got birthdays coming up?” Jonah asked.
“Bunny’s is in two weeks, mine’s in three.”
“Ah.” He found Beth Ann in the mirror. “So, Squirt, how old
will you be? Thirteen?”
“No, ten,” she said, sounding annoyed, but clearly pleased he’d
guessed she was older. “Rosie can’t drive me those days she’s visiting
Frieda.”
“We’ll work something out, don’t worry.”
Rosie was having the mass in her stomach removed the following
Monday in an outpatient surgery center in Tucson. Her cover story was that she
was visiting her friend for a few days.
“Just how did you convince Rosie to be away for the big sale?”
Jonah asked. Rosie’s parking-lot sale was that weekend.
“I have my ways,” she said, wishing she could tell Jonah the
truth.
“Smart move. She’d try to buy it all back, no doubt. And what
the hell got into her to sell off the store space?” He shot Cara another
look.
Cara squirmed in her seat. Her promise to Rosie was killing
her. “The café project energized her.” That much was true. Every time Cara
expressed a doubt about one of her ideas, Rosie nudged her on. When Cara had
wavered on the billboard because of the six-month lease, she’d said,
Grow some ovaries, girl
.
I’m the
one writing the check.
Rosie believed in her. That truth lit a fire in Cara every
day.
“Something’s up with her. Out of the blue she books four days
with a friend she says is a
bossy old bat?
Then she
gives me this speech—
Leave the damn nest, Jonah. Fly to New
York and, for God’s sake, get on with your life.
”
“She did?” Her heart pinched. She was preparing Jonah for her
death.
“I don’t get it. You find out anything?” He shot her another
look.
“No more than before.” Her stomach clenched at the half truth.
And what if it turned out to be cancer? Rosie would probably start planning her
funeral. And treatment? Forget it. Rosie would fight that tooth and nail. What
would Cara do then? She would have to find a way to help her. Rosie was family
now.
Jonah pulled into the lot of the sprawling Wash-Bowl-N-Brew
building. The car wash was dark, but the neon
Bowl-N-Brew
sign glowed pink, blue and yellow with a pin that slowly
fell, then righted itself.
Jonah held down the seat for Beth Ann to get out, then came
around to where Cara waited for him. They watched Beth Ann run inside, then
Jonah turned to her.
“You nervous?” he asked. “Don’t be. I’ll take it easy on
you.”
“They don’t call me Gutter Queen for nothing.” They were both
pretending the tension in the air was due to bowling and not to the fire they
stoked between them with every shared glance.
“You probably just need some help with your form.” He paused.
“Though I don’t think God himself could improve on that.” He looked her over in
a way that made her perfectly decent black capris and simple white blouse seem
far too short and way too sheer. She felt hot all over.
“You’re one to talk. I’ve seen you in only a towel.”
He colored, which charmed her. It was surprisingly easy for her
to flirt with Jonah. They spent a lot of time together, for one thing, but
mainly it was that she trusted him not to push her.
He looked sexy as hell in butt-hugging jeans and a dark blue
golf shirt that emphasized the swell of his biceps. Did bowling qualify as a
tempting situation? Lately, anytime she was around him she was tempted.
They went inside. The ’60s-era bowling alley was in good shape,
she thought. A singer belted Motown from the bar at the far end. Beth Ann was
watching some teenagers bowl.
They found Evan behind the counter talking with a cocktail
waitress who held a tray of beers. When he saw Jonah, he straightened. “You
checking up on me?” he asked in a joking tone, but he looked wary.
“We came to bowl,” Cara said in case Jonah was about to
bristle. “My daughter’s over there.” She pointed and Evan smiled, more relaxed
now.
“Later,” the barmaid said. “I owe you, Ev.”
“Anytime,” Evan said, watching her walk away, a smile on his
face. “That was Nicolette,” he said. “She’ll tell you I’m strictly seltzer and
lime. Go ask her.”
“I’ll take your word for it,” Jonah said.
“Good. So what size shoes?”
After Evan had rung up their game and brought their shoes,
Jonah said, “Any chance you’d be available to help paint the café interior?”
“Rosie says you’ve been turning the place upside down.”
“She did? Was she upset?” Cara asked, suddenly worried.
“Don’t you know her by now? The more she complains, the happier
she is.” He turned to Jonah. “Yeah, I’ll help you paint. Long as I’m not on
shift here. I can bring Nicolette, too. And, actually, I have a favor I want to
ask you two.”
“Certainly,” Cara said.
“I’ve started doing some music promotion for the bar and
I—”
“Yeah?” Jonah tensed.
“Yeah. Some big-name bands blow by here on the way to L.A., so
I’ve started booking them for weeknight gigs. My boss likes the idea.”
“You sure that’s wise?” Jonah’s voice was sharp.
Evan looked at him. “Music is where I want to be. You know
that. I’ll be making good connections. So anyway—”
“That’s where the trouble starts, Evan.”
“You worry too much.”
Cara could see Evan was trying to stay light, but anger
simmered under his words.
“As I was saying, I’ve booked
Devil’s Anvil
Reborn
for a Thursday next month. You heard of them?”
“No, but—”
“You will. They’re getting famous. Anyway, I’d like to host a
private dinner for them in the café before their show. It’d be about a dozen
people—band, manager, crew. Is that possible?”
“I think so,” Cara said. “The renovations will be done, so the
place should look good. It’ll be after we’ve closed, right?”
“Yeah. Five or six, I think.”
“That should work, don’t you think?” She looked up at Jonah,
who was staring at Evan. “Jonah?”
“Uh, yeah. I guess.”
“Great,” Evan said. “Let me know the paint day. Enjoy your
game.”
They took their shoes to their lane and put them on. She could
tell Jonah was working to get past his worry about his brother and enjoy the
fun. When Beth Ann picked out a huge ball, he said, “Never bowl with a ball
bigger than your head, Squirt,” and traded hers for a smaller one. “Give this a
try.”
“Okay,” she said and ran for their lane.
Cara’s heart tightened at the obvious affection between the
two. Every time Jonah called her
Squirt,
Beth Ann
beamed.
She’ll miss him when we leave.
Would it mean another setback? Cara couldn’t bear the thought.
Any choice she made—to stay or go—seemed to have pain attached to it.
“See how this one feels.” Jonah handed her a ball.
She slid her fingers in and hefted it. “Seems f-fine.” She met
his gaze and saw heat flare there. He was so close and he smelled so good that
she swayed.
“My aftershave taking out your knees?” he asked.
“Plus you smell like your shop. Like fresh lumber.”
“Sorry. I did some work after I showered.”
“No, I like it. A lot.”
“I like how you smell, too. You smell pink.”
“Pink? And how does pink smell?”
“Like cotton candy. I figured it out that first day when you
were flitting and darting all over the place.”
“You make me sound like a hummingbird.”
“More like a fairy.”
“A what?”
“You ever play that video game
Esmeralda?
”
“The one where the boy knight conquers the evil wizard?”
“Yep. Helped by Esmeralda.”
“And that’s me? A ball of fluff with wings? Not too
flattering.”
“Are you kidding? Esmeralda is a warrior. She’s fast and clever
and brave. She’s…
dazzling.
”
“
Dazzling,
huh?”
“Oh, yeah.”
Her cheeks burned at the praise, but she loved it. Jonah found
her
dazzling.
He was looking at her the way he
always did, like he didn’t want to miss a single word, look or move.
Being near him made her feel so alive, every nerve on fire, her
senses wide open.
“Let’s
play!
” Beth Ann called
impatiently from their lane. They broke apart like children caught licking
frosting from a cake, and joined her.
With Jonah’s help, Beth Ann managed a wobbly split that made
her squeal with pride. Cara’s first throw was a slow gutter ball.
“You turn your body too much,” Jonah said, standing behind her
before she tried again. He shifted her hips, his hands warm and sure. His uneven
breathing told her he was affected by the nearness, too. “Try that.”
Dizzy, moving down the lane on rubber legs, she somehow managed
a strike. She was shrieking for joy when she noticed Jonah staring over her
shoulder, a frown on his face.
She turned to see Evan carrying a tray of beers to a group of
bowlers. Jonah intercepted him on the return trip. “I thought you were working
the counter.”
“Nicolette had to leave early, so I’m filling in.”
“You’re serving booze,” he said in a low voice.
“I have to live in the world, Jonah.”
“Your sponsor okay with this?”
Evan pulled his cell phone from his shirt pocket, clicked a
button, then held it out. “Ask him yourself.”
Jonah ignored the phone. “You’re early in recovery.”
“I’m fine. Go to New York. You’ve done your job.” He glared at
Jonah.
“You’re setting yourself up to fail.”
Cara cringed. He needed to let it go. Evan was at work.
“And you’d love that, wouldn’t you? You’re dying to say
I told you so.
I’m supposed to be humble with those
I’ve wronged, but I’ve had it with you. Right now the biggest threat to my
sobriety is my own brother.”
“I know you, Evan. You get cocky and then—”
“I hate to interrupt the party, but you’ve got pitchers losing
foam at the bar,” a Hispanic man said. His name tag read
Carlos Rivera, manager.
“Sorry, Carlos. I’m on it.” Evan put the tray under his arm and
trotted for the bar.
Jonah watched him go. “Dammit,” he muttered.
“Evan seems to know what he’s doing,” Cara said gently.
“That’s how it starts,” he snapped. “See those guys he’s
serving?” He nodded to where Evan was setting down beers. “Those are his running
buddies. The guy in the ponytail deals pot and pills.”
“They’re customers. He has to wait on them.”
“Don’t you get it? This bar and those guys are
triggers.
He’s supposed to stay clear of triggers and
he knows it.”
She didn’t appreciate his tone. “It’s none of my business,
but—”