Читать книгу Dreamless - Darlene Graham - Страница 10

LEGEND’S NEVER CHANGED MUCH, and Cassie liked that. She liked the permanence of the quiet, sophisticated atmosphere. Layer upon layer of antiques, timeless art, and black-and-white photographs of patrons graced its shelves and walls. They’d never even removed the old private liquor storage lockers from Oklahoma’s “bottle club” laws of earlier decades. The quaint, old-fashioned wooden bins were used to hold house wines now.

The owner recognized both Jake and Cassie, and stepped around the small maître d’ podium to greet them by name. He seemed mildly curious to see them together.

Walking past the gleaming brass-and-glass case with the famous Legend’s desserts on display at shoulder level, Cassie remembered how her aunt had always stopped to let Cassie choose a favorite. Sometimes it took the child a long time, as if her future depended on whether she ate strawberry genoise or Kahlúa pecan pie after brunch.

The lunch patrons—gussied-up older ladies, the local chamber crowd, professors from the university—were in high chatter. As they mounted the short steps to a balcony area and then threaded past the tables to a secluded corner, Jake smiled and nodded at a couple of folks. Cassie didn’t recognize anyone, but she didn’t really expect to since she seldom socialized outside of construction circles. The owner seated them at a cozy table by large windows that looked out on the patio garden.

A waiter came and took their drink orders. When he left, Jake smiled. “The food here is great. And at lunchtime they’re pretty fast.” He tapped his fingers lightly on the table as if considering something. “Maybe I should have taken you by to check on the young man in the hospital first.”

Cassie thought that was nice, considerate. “That’s okay. I’ll want to stay awhile. You know, sit with his family.”

Their eyes met, as if they were suddenly reliving the event and again feeling the bonding that had happened as a result of it.

“I should have asked before now. Is he doing okay?”

“He’s still unconscious. I’m afraid we don’t know much about his long-term prognosis yet.”

Jake frowned and again Cassie noticed what a sensuous mouth he had. “I hope he recovers all right. Have you figured out what went wrong?”

“Somebody switched the main and temporary wiring.” Cassie squinted at the menu, not really reading it. That mix-up was most disturbing.

“How could that happen?”

“It shouldn’t. Ever. The electrician swears none of his men could have done it.” Cassie shook her head. “I can’t figure it out, but I’ll get to the bottom of it. There may be liability issues.” Cassie bit her lip. Maybe she shouldn’t talk about liability. This man put her so at ease that she’d almost forgotten they were suing each other. “But Darrell carries full workmen’s comp.”

“That’s good.”

After the waiter brought water for Cassie and tea for Jake, Jake said, “I happen to agree with you, you know.”

Cassie frowned. “About what?”

“That was a crock of crap back there at the courthouse.”

Cassie felt her cheeks turning pink. “I should watch my tongue. I probably hurt poor old Miles’s feelings.”

“You were being honest. The judge didn’t want to bother with our dispute, and the attorneys let him put us off. I admire your honesty. It’s what made me decide to take you to lunch.” His brown eyes twinkled again, the way they had when he’d been watching her in the judge’s chambers. “Well, that was part of it, anyway.”

Cassie’s cheeks grew hotter as she wondered exactly what the other part was. The way he was smiling at her, it should have been obvious. But she didn’t dare imagine that this man was interested in her. She took a sip of water to cover her discomfort.

“Nevertheless, I should watch my temper. I just get so impatient when it comes to business.”

He smiled. “I like your style. Like I said, at least you’re honest. Honesty is a big deal to me.”

When she didn’t respond to that, only sipped her water again, he stopped grinning. “Anyway, I figure we could have done better for ourselves.”

“I agree.”

An uncomfortable silence passed. For some reason Cassie felt like she was on one of those miserable blind dates she occasionally endured to appease her friends.

“I really like this place,” she commented lamely. Anything to end this endless water sipping and silence.

“You come here often?”

“No, not lately. But when I was a kid, my aunt brought me here for brunch almost every Sunday after church.” Cassie smiled. “She always let me take of a little nip of her mimosa.”

“Who is your aunt?”

“Rosemarie Cowan.”

“Ah,” he said, as if realizing something. “So you’re related to Cowan Construction?”

“Yes. Cowan Construction was my grandfather’s company—Rosemarie’s father. My mother’s father.” The company was formerly very well-known in Jordan.

“Oh.” Jake glanced out the window, then his gaze snapped back to her, assessing. “So you inherited the building business from two families?”

“I didn’t inherit anything.” Cassie wanted to be clear about that. She wondered if he was sizing up her assets. The assumption that she had stepped into Boss’s shoes always rankled, but she had learned to keep her cool about it. Jake Coffey was not the first to assume that she had been handed success on a silver platter. “My grandfather taught my father the building business after my parents married. When my grandfather died, Boss changed the name of the business to McClean Builders. But then my father lost all of it when—”

“I know that McClean Builders went under.”

At her surprised look, he said, “I checked you out.”

“Then, surely you discovered that I started Dream Builders on my own.”

“Well, I didn’t dig real deep, but I know about the other two additions out east that you threw up in record time before you got your hands on the Sullivan land.”

“Those are fine, modest homes,” she defended. She did not build junk, as her father had, and she resented any implication that she did.

“I merely meant that you sure work at lightning speed for a builder. What’s the hurry?”

Cassie ran her finger over the rim of her water glass. “When I built Sandplum Creek and Meadow Farms, I was struggling for credibility. The bankers trust me now. If you consistently bring projects in on schedule, or even ahead of schedule, they’ll loan you bigger money the next time.”

He nodded. “Makes sense. So all the time you were headed for The Heights.”

She couldn’t help smiling. “Yep. And now I’m there, up on The Heights. And nothing is going to mess up this project now.”

“Certainly not some cranky horse farmer who wants peace and quiet for his mares.”

Their gazes locked, and they were suddenly the two people who’d recently had a confrontation from behind sunglasses.

Fortunately, just then the waiter brought a basket of hot, fragrant bread. They calmed down while they busied themselves buttering it.

After Jake swallowed a bite, he rolled his eyes. “The bread here is great. I’ve got a pretty decent cook, but she can’t top this.”

“You have a cook?” It occurred to Cassie again that she knew very little about this man, except that he could be awfully stubborn when it came to protecting his horse ranch.

“Yeah. Donna. A sweetheart. She’s a very competent cook, but mainly she takes care of my dad.”

“Oh? Your father lives with you?” Cassie felt a tiny prick of something akin to envy. Wouldn’t it be nice, the generations living together in peace on the family ranch?

“Actually, it’s the other way around. Cottonwood Ranch belongs to him. But he’s got Alzheimer’s disease.” He stated it matter-of-factly, with regret but with no inkling of self-pity.

“Oh. I’m so sorry. I’ve heard that’s very stressful for the family. Is your mother still alive?”

“No. She passed on years ago.”

“Then, does…does the rest of your family help you with your father?”

She knew she was trying to get down to the question of whether he was in fact single, without actually asking. It made her feel nosy and manipulative, but she couldn’t help herself. This was the first man she had been attracted to in a long, long time, and she had to know if he was romantically involved. She wasn’t entirely sure he wasn’t, in fact, married. Someone had said they thought Jake Coffey and his wife had split up about three years ago, but sometimes couples reconciled after a separation.

“My brother Aaron lives in Dallas. My parents were in their early forties when they had us. It was a miracle, according to my mother. But no matter how it happened, I’m sure glad they had Aaron. He’s my best friend.” His smile was warm, unselfconscious. “Do you have any siblings?”

“No, I’m an only child.” And Cassie had always hated that. But she did have a gaggle of close friends from her aunt’s neighborhood that had sustained her through the years. Three girls and one guy, Hermie. All into math and music and art. They’d all grown and gone their separate ways, far from Jordan, except for her and Stacey.

“But I still see my best friend since seventh grade about once a week,” she said, and, again, mentally thrashed for a way to find out what she wanted to know without sounding like a ninny.

She glanced at his left hand. No ring, but that didn’t mean anything, especially in a man who worked outdoors. Plenty of married construction workers left their rings at home for safety reasons.

“I’m divorced,” he volunteered with a wry grin.

“Oh.”

The waiter came back before Cassie could think of a way to find out if that meant he was actually available.

“Have you folks had a chance to look at the menu?”

They smiled sheepishly at each other, realizing that they’d been engrossed in each other instead of deciding what to order.

“I already know what I want.” Cassie laid her menu aside.

“Why am I not surprised?” Jake’s smile widened.

Cassie’s smile grew more abashed. Maybe she had been a little too assertive when she met this guy, but that was business. She could separate business from pleasure, couldn’t she? So, which was this? She glanced at the waiter.

“I’ll have the chicken crepes.”

Jake scanned his menu, then snapped it shut. “The prime rib. Medium. Plenty of horseradish on the side.”

“Help yourselves to the salad bar.” The waiter smiled and picked up the menus.

The salad bar at Legend’s never changed, either. Eating here felt like coming home. Soon, she decided, she would have to bring Aunt Rosemarie here for dinner again. Cassie’s work had been keeping her too busy lately, but that was no reason to neglect her dear aunt.

As they loaded their plates with tabbouleh, German potato salad, and the freshest of radicchio and field green salads, Cassie said, “I love this salad bar. My aunt used to let me pick out anything I wanted when I was a kid.”

“Legend’s is sort of a fancy restaurant for a little girl,” Jake commented.

“I wasn’t that little. I was already twelve by the time I went to live with her.”

“Was that after your dad went to prison?”

He said it quietly, the way he said everything, and not at all unsympathetically, but Cassie nearly dropped her chilled glass plate. She looked around, relieved that they were the only ones near the salad bar. “Did you dig that up when you checked me out?”

“I’m a little older than you, Ms. McClean. And thanks to my father, I was reading the paper and paying attention to current events long before most of your contemporaries.” Seeming to sense her discomfort, he added, “My lawyer told me. And it was all a long time ago, right?”

She squinted up at him, gauging him. He had maybe ten years on Cassie, but she hadn’t expected him to be aware of her family’s tragedy, their shame. Her cheeks burned as she turned her attention back to picking out fresh spinach with the salad tongs.

“Yes. It was a long time ago. Fifteen years.”

When would she ever get used to the humiliation? After all these years. “But I still don’t like to talk about it.” She pinched up a few homemade croutons.

He reached across and covered her hand with his large, warm one, right there at the salad bar. She twisted and looked up into his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I shouldn’t have mentioned it here.” To cover the intimacy of his touch he made a small business of extracting the salad tongs from her fingers. “Thanks.”

She turned and went back to the table.

When he joined her, he still seemed apologetic. He spread his napkin in his lap, avoiding her gaze. “You know, I really don’t remember all that much about the deal with your dad. I think I saw a small article once in the local paper, that’s all. I was in college at the time.”

It had been all over the local TV news, on the front page—everywhere Cassie had turned, it seemed. The headline was still emblazoned in her memory. McClean Sentenced To Twenty Years.

“Oh? Where did you go to school?” She had long been adept at deflecting people from the subject of her father’s incarceration.