Читать книгу Seeking Shelter - Angel Smits - Страница 13

CHAPTER FIVE

THERE WOULDN’T BE ANY sleep tonight. Amy tried and failed to calm the thoughts rioting in her mind. Her father. Her mother. Attorneys and estates. Tall handsome men and motorcycles.

Katie, on the other hand, was sound asleep after another busy day. Amy stood in the doorway of her daughter’s darkened bedroom, watching her. Katie was her world, and leaving her alone for even a moment was hard.

She was the reason for everything Amy did. Slowly, she closed the door and headed for the stairs.

She clipped the baby monitor to her hip, then quietly closed the back door and locked it. She was only going next door, and Katie knew how to call her if she woke up. It was less than a few yards, but every time Amy did this, she battled guilt.

With each step she took, each weed she tromped, the voice in her head screamed, No! Go back. Be a good mom. Stay with your baby.

And with every other step, Amy reminded herself that she needed to do this. That by doing so, she was being a good mom. She needed to make money to support herself and Katie. While the store did well, and the meager child support checks each month kept them afloat, Hank’s visit with the tax papers only increased the urgency.

She opened the back door of the café. Caryn had given her a key and her blessing to use the big, industrial kitchen after hours. The diner itself closed at nine. Though Caryn opened the bar in back from nine to two every night, she didn’t use the kitchen.

It was Amy’s to do with as she pleased, and she set to work with a sigh of resignation.

The single light over the sink lit nearly half the kitchen with a blue-tinged fluorescent glow. One small cabinet in the back was where Amy kept her things. Her mom’s old cookbooks and worn recipe cards were safe here.

As always, she pulled out one of the books and ran a loving hand over the spine. Of all the things from the ranch, these were all she wanted to keep. These half-dozen well-worn, ratty cookbooks were her mother’s true legacy. Cooking and catering was how Madeline had supported them when Amy was small. Amy had been trying ever since to do the same for her own daughter.

She kept praying these old books would reveal her mother’s secret to being such a good cook. So, two or three nights a week, after Katie went to bed, Amy came over here and practiced, trying different recipes, experimenting.

And failing.

Nothing tasted the way it had when her mom made it. Some of what Amy produced was downright horrible. So far, she’d managed to perfect two types of cookies she could sell in the store.

Winding through Caryn’s spotless kitchen with the book in her arms, she thought of her own minuscule kitchen, and some of the joy went out of her. She glanced at the back door, wishing she could do this at home. She wouldn’t worry so much about Katie that way, but she didn’t have a real space to work in. The apartment’s kitchen was definitely an afterthought, a couple of appliances and a table thrown in the corner of the living room.

It was so unlike the big hacienda kitchen out at the ranch that had been Amy’s favorite place as a kid. She missed the smell of fresh baked bread, fried food and the warm chili that always sat on the back of the stove.

Amy sighed. She wasn’t the cook her mother had been, not even close. Maybe if she used the ranch kitchen... No. That wasn’t an option. Just thinking about it made her shiver.

Madeline had been diagnosed with cancer when Amy was thirteen, old enough to learn to cook. By then, Madeline didn’t have the energy to teach her, and she’d never regained it.

Panic over the bills made Amy keep trying, and she set to work now. She didn’t have time for emotions. Morning would come all too soon.

* * *

JACE DESCENDED THE narrow stairs quickly. The shower had cleaned off the dust and grime of the day, but did little to ease the intense heat. The house’s air-conditioning almost tempted him to consider sleeping inside tonight. Almost.