Читать книгу The Bachelor's Brighton Valley Bride - Judy Duarte, Judy Duarte - Страница 10

Chapter Three

Clay opened the glass door to Caroline’s Diner and scanned the interior of the small-town eatery, with its pale yellow walls and white café-style curtains on the front windows.

To the right of an old-fashioned cash register stood a refrigerated display case filled with desserts—each one clearly homemade. He studied the towering meringues and whipped-cream toppings on the pies, the four-layer chocolate cake, the deep-dish peach cobbler.

He glanced at a blackboard that advertised a full meal for only $7.99. In bright yellow chalk, Caroline had written, “What the Sheriff Ate,” followed by, “Chicken-Fried Steak, Buttered Green Beans, Mashed Potatoes, Country Gravy and Cherry Cobbler.”

The advertised special sounded delicious, but Clay had his heart set on a cheeseburger. Besides, he’d had a near run-in with Caroline’s husband, Sheriff Jennings, once. And the old man had been sixty pounds overweight back then.

Clay doubted if the law enforcement officer could even buckle his gun belt after eating daily meals like that for the past seven years. Of course, Sam Jennings had to be retired by now.

Sally, a salt-and-pepper-haired waitress who’d worked at the diner back when Clay had been in high school—and probably much longer than that—stopped by his table and smiled. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“Water will be fine.”

“Our iced tea is fresh brewed. How ’bout I get you a tall glass of that with your water?”

This was Texas. If he wanted to fit in, he should probably drink the nectar of his youth.

“Sure, but unsweetened, please.”

Sally clucked her tongue in obvious disapproval, but Clay knew that if he wasn’t careful, his belly would get just as large as old Sheriff Jennings’s.

“You new in town, sugar, or just passing through?” Sally was a nice lady, but curious and a real talker.

While he was glad she hadn’t recognized him, he wasn’t eager to answer too many questions about himself. But then again, he’d gone over his made-up background several times on his flight and his drive into Brighton Valley, so he was prepared. And he hadn’t had a chance to deliver it in full yet, especially since Megan kept running out of the store before they could really talk. So it wouldn’t hurt to test it out on someone, especially when that someone was also likely to know all the town gossip.

Clay kept it brief, though, giving his fake name, mentioning that he was from the Geekon corporate offices and helping out at the computer store down the street.

“What a blessing you must be to Don Carpenter. He’s had his hands full since poor Cindy’s diagnosis. I sure hope she’s feeling better now. That chemo can really take a lot out of a person. You know what I mean?”

No, Clay didn’t know. He’d never had to deal with cancer. His own mother’s bipolar disorder was the closest thing he’d come to dealing with someone’s chronic illness.

But that certainly explained why Don was so concerned about his wife and why Megan had her kids at the shop this afternoon. If this was supposed to be her day off, Clay ought to cut her a little slack. But he still couldn’t sit back and let the store go under.

“I met Megan Adams,” he said. “It’s nice that they have someone helping out at the store.” Clay wasn’t quite buying his comment, but he needed to fish for more information. And already the waitress who was dressed like Dolly Parton’s mousy-haired sister was proving to be a useful tool.

“Don’t you know it! I love that Megan to pieces. She’s a wonderful mom and she’s pure heaven in the kitchen. We sold out of her muffins this morning and only have a few more jars of her preserves left for the week. I know that girl needs the income from Zorba’s, but just between you and me, she’d make a much better living selling her baked goods, jams and jellies than working part-time for Don Carpenter.”

So Megan had a side job selling homemade goods to the diner? Well, he couldn’t fault her for being industrious. And if her muffins were as good as her cookies, he could understand why they’d sold out.

But was she in dire financial straits? Would she be tempted to pilfer funds from the store?

Once he had some time alone with the books, that’s what he intended to find out.

Two elderly women shuffled in and sat at one of the booths. Mindful not to take up too much of Sally’s time, Clay put in his order for the double-bacon cheeseburger with an extra side of French fries.

He might end up gaining ten pounds, but clearly, patronizing Caroline’s Diner was going to be one of the best ways for him to get information about his store—and the people running it.

Thirty minutes later, after he’d eaten his burger and finished every last fry on his plate, he let Sally talk him into taking a piece of peanut-butter pie to go.

It was still early and he planned to get his suitcase out of the SUV and into the upstairs apartment. Then he’d send Megan home so he could close up the shop and take a good look at the books. The pie would come in handy as a snack because he knew he’d be putting in some long hours tonight.

When he took his check up to the old-fashioned cash register, he glanced at the elderly women and saw them counting out the quarters from their coin purses. He pulled an extra twenty from his wallet. Then, using a pad and pen that rested on the counter, he scratched out a note to let Caroline know he intended to cover the ladies’ meals, too.

After paying his own tab, he handed the surprised waitress a ten dollar bill as a tip and left the diner. On his way back to Zorba’s, he set a slow pace, the memories bogging him down.

Maybe it was seeing the two women counting out their change and being reminded about how he’d once lived in a different world, how he’d once had to struggle to make ends meet, too. His mom might have brought home a paycheck, but he’d been the one to budget the money, pay the bills, buy the groceries and cook the meals. He’d also made sure she took her meds and got up each afternoon so she could go back to work at the lab and start the process all over again—that is, until she’d died.

Maybe seeing Megan with her son, acting like the protective and caring mom Clay had always wished for himself, had poked at some tender spot deep in his heart.

Either way, the past was playing havoc with him. But he did his best to shake it off and to put the memories behind him before returning to work.

As he reentered the shop, he spotted Lisa sitting at the front counter, doodling on what must have been her spelling homework.

“Hey, Mr. Johnson. Do you know anything about athletes who don’t have to read? I heard that gymnasts get to go to school at home, but only for a couple of hours every day because they’re too busy practicing at their gyms. Maybe I should switch from soccer to gymnastics.”

The girl was asking Clay for advice? Heck, he didn’t have any experience with children. He’d never had siblings. And he’d always avoided the kids who’d played sports in school. How was he supposed to know what she should play?

“Everyone needs to be able to read,” he said. “Even gymnasts.”

“What about softball? Mom signed me up for a sports camp this summer through the YMCA. I hope I get to try out all sorts of sports and can figure out which one will get me out of school the most.”

“Why don’t you like school?” Clay scanned the shop, looking around for Megan—or for anyone who could get him out of this awkward conversation.

And speaking of Megan, where was she?

He wanted to get started on the disaster of an office, and it should be nearly time to close up for the day.

“It’s okay,” Lisa said. “Our PE teacher, Mrs. Sanchez, is nice. And I like my friends and having recess. But I don’t like doing seatwork. I’m not good at it. All the letters jumble around, and so I’d rather be outside.”

No wonder the little girl felt more comfortable playing sports than doing her spelling. She was better at it. Clay had felt the same way when he’d been in school—only with sports instead of spelling. It had taken him years to figure out how to dribble a basketball, but once he got ahold of a computer and had his hands on a mouse and keyboard, his fingers had excelled for hours.

“Yes!” Tyler’s voice shouted out from the back, calling Clay from his musing.

He couldn’t allow himself to get soft. And where was Megan? Had she left again?

Clay headed to the back of the shop, where Tyler clicked furiously on a mouse at the workstation. He leaned over to look at the screen and saw the customer claim sticker on the computer’s hard drive. Oh, no. The boy was messing with equipment that had been entrusted to Zorba’s.

“Why are you on that computer?” Clay tried to keep the accusatory tone from his voice, but his frustration level was rising.

The ringing telephone interrupted him, and he headed toward the front of the store. Before he could reach the counter, Lisa picked up the receiver and said, “Zorba the Geek’s Computer Repair Shop. Can I help you?”

This was way too much. A seven-year-old was answering the business phone, while a twelve-year-old was back here playing around with a customer’s computer.

Where in the hell was their mother? Clay looked around the small space, his temper rising. Brighton Valley might be a small town, but that didn’t account for the complete lack of professionalism he’d experienced since his arrival a few hours ago.

He had no idea how he’d keep himself from firing Megan on the spot when she returned.

“Tyler,” Lisa’s singsong voice called out from the opening between the two rooms. “Mr. Hochstein wants to know if you got that virus off his computer yet. He has an online poker tournament tomorrow night and needs it back by then.”

“Yep.” Tyler swiped at the keyboard and yelled back to his sister. “I just got the nasty little bugger. And I’m cleaning up the rest of his files right now. But he’s got to stop going to those offshore betting websites, because that’s how he got the virus in the first place. And he just got an instant message.”

Lisa relayed the boy’s response better than Clay had expected her to.

“Mr. Hochstein wants to know who’s looking for him,” the girl said.

“BigPokerMama213. There’s a tournament tomorrow with a twenty-dollar buy-in.”

As the girl repeated the message over the telephone, Clay wondered if they’d somehow broken some kind of law—besides the child labor law.

Did it matter that the kids weren’t actually working or on the payroll? But what about participating in gambling?

He was also a little taken aback by Tyler’s skill at fixing the computer, considering his age. He’d heard of the international betting virus that had a lot of software techs scrambling to immunize their systems from the havoc it could wreak. And this little boy—who’d just been suspended from the last two days of seventh grade—seemed to think that he’d single-handedly conquered the virus.

Clay would have to check it out, but if the boy had actually done that, technological interest and amazement took precedence over customer service.

“How’d you figure out how to fix that virus?” he asked.

As Tyler explained the process in depth, Clay realized the kid was onto something. But before he could respond, a creak sounded through the ceiling above. Apparently, Megan was upstairs in the apartment.

“I’d like to talk more about that,” Clay said. “But go ahead and finish what you’re doing.”

Curious as to what Megan might be up to—or what she might be hiding—he left the kids in the shop and headed toward the stairway that led to the apartment.

Deciding to catch her in the act of ditching work or whatever she might be up to, he quietly slipped upstairs and entered the living room, which held a floral love-seat sofa, coffee table and small television set. Everything looked as if it had just been wiped down, and the rug bore fresh vacuum lines.

The small kitchen was tidy and the little table and chairs held a burning candle that smelled like vanilla.

Classic-rock music wafted from the bedroom, so Clay made his way in that direction. When he reached the doorway, he spotted Megan bent over the bed, tucking the sheets into perfectly creased hospital corners. But the bedding wasn’t anywhere near as intriguing as the view of Megan’s lovely backside, her denim-clad hips swaying in tempo to the Fleetwood Mac song on the bedside clock radio.

Clay shoved his hands in his pockets, leaned against the doorjamb and continued to watch her mesmerizing movements, hoping Stevie Nicks never stopped singing.

Over the music, a boy’s voice called out, “Whoops! Caw caaaaw. Caw caaaaw.”

At the kid’s lousy bird call, Megan froze, then slowly turned and caught Clay watching her from the doorway.

From the flush on her cheeks and the panic in her eyes, he figured that she’d just been belatedly warned of his approach.

* * *

By the way Peyton was gawking at her, Megan couldn’t tell if he was annoyed at her for leaving her post at the store or if he was surprised to find her preparing the apartment for him. Either way, she straightened just as her children screeched into the bedroom doorway.

They gathered next to Peyton, with Tyler still making “caw caaaaw” sounds until Lisa gave him a little shove to quiet him.

It must have been blatantly obvious to the man that the kids had been trying to warn her of his presence, which embarrassed her all the more.

“What’s going on?” Peyton asked.

“I was trying to freshen up the apartment. I had no idea you’d planned to stay here, and it wasn’t ready.”

“Is cleaning and scrubbing in your job description?” he asked.

Who’d he think he was? Her boss? She stiffened, then placed her hands on her hips. “I’m not going to apologize for being thoughtful or for showing a bit of small-town hospitality.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound unappreciative. It’s just that...” He blew out a sigh, then raked a hand through his hair. “Well, let’s just say that this day hasn’t gone the way I’d expected it to.”

Then that made two of them. Megan released a sigh of her own. “It’s been a little out of the ordinary for me, too.”

As the silence stretched between them, she took the opportunity to send the kids downstairs and to tell them to get their things together. Surely it had to be getting close to five o’clock.

As soon as she was alone with Peyton, she said, “Don meant to be here today, but that didn’t work out. I came in to help him on my day off, but some childcare issues cropped up, which isn’t the norm.”

“I understand.”

Did he? She hoped so. She also hoped that he didn’t realize she’d been stretching the truth when she implied the kids weren’t always here in the afternoons. She tried her best to keep them busy in after-school activities, but more often than not, especially with Tyler, one or both of her children ended up spending time at the shop—and in the apartment.

They stood like that for a moment, sizing each other up in some kind of face-off.

With the bed behind her and his masculine frame leaning against the doorjamb, arms crossed in a tense yet sexy pose... Well, he wasn’t exactly blocking her escape route, but that was the problem. She didn’t feel like running off, and she really ought to. Because what she found most troubling was the way her heart rate was zipping along at an arousing pace, setting her hormones on high alert and sending her thoughts drifting in a direction they had no business veering.

Peyton Johnson was a handsome man, and while he was dressed casually, something about him flashed City Boy in neon lights.

Still, she found him attractive. But being attracted to a man wasn’t the same thing as being interested in him. And she definitely was not interested.

Besides, even if she were on the lookout for a husband—or even a romantic interest—it certainly wouldn’t be a corporate yes-man who didn’t even reside anywhere near the same town in which she lived.

After her divorce, she’d left Houston and put down roots in Brighton Valley, where she’d finally been able to give her kids the kind of home she’d always wanted them to have—something she’d never been able to create for them while she’d been married to their father.

Breaking eye contact, she glanced at her watch. “It’s nearly five o’clock. Time for me to lock up the shop and go home.”

As she made her way to the bedroom doorway, Peyton stepped aside and let her pass. As he did so, she caught a whiff of his cologne, something musky and exotic that sent her blood racing, her hormones reeling and her heart thumping.

She had no idea what brand of aftershave he used—or what stores would carry something so...

Well, she had no way of knowing if it was costly, but she’d pay a pretty penny to buy it as a gift for her man—if she had a man and the pennies to spare. She’d never smelled the like.

Maybe it wasn’t just the scent alone. Maybe it was the way it blended with the pheromones he gave off. She didn’t know for sure.

But as intoxicating and alluring as she’d found it to be, that only made her want to steer clear of the man the best that she could.

Because she’d come to distrust her choices when it came to men and sexual attraction. And something told her that Peyton Johnson, like his scent, would linger with a woman long after he left town—a life-changing, heartbreaking memory a woman wasn’t likely to forget.