Читать книгу Wanted: The Perfect Mom - T. R. McClure - Страница 11

CHAPTER TWO

“WOULD YOU LIKE a shot, Officer?” With no little effort, Holly pulled free from Mac’s tight grip and returned her hand to her hip. She gave him the same chilly smile she’d given the young lieutenant who thought he could ask enlisted staff to bring him coffee.

“Black coffee is fine, if it’s no trouble.” Mac’s gaze drifted to the menu behind her. “I usually get my coffee at Charlie’s gas station on the edge of town.” He smiled. “Only fifty cents a cup.”

Holly narrowed her eyes. The man dared to compare her special blend gourmet coffee to the stuff at Charlie’s gas station? Mac hadn’t changed at all. “Your first cup is on the house.” With effort she kept the smile on her face. “Wouldn’t want to break the bank, would we?”

Sonny straightened, spread his hands on the counter and stared at her as if she’d lost her mind, which perhaps she had. “Why don’t you just get the man a cup of coffee, Holly?” He grimaced before turning to Mac. “You should know, sis, being a business owner, Mac is the chief of police now. You never know when you might need his assistance, now that you own a business.”

Her back to the counter, Holly’s shoulders stiffened as she drained Wildflower Special Blend into a take-out cup. She took a deep breath. “Chief of police? Congratulations. That was quick.” She flipped the spout closed and reached for a plastic lid. Pressing the lid onto the cup, she turned and set the coffee on the counter, finally meeting Mac’s eyes. “You can’t have been on the force long. You must have impressed somebody.”

Mac wrapped his fingers around the cup, then met Holly’s eyes. “Chief Stone died in January. He had a heart attack while he was out shoveling snow. The choice was me or Moose Williams, and he’s just out of the academy.”

Once again Holly’s stomach dropped. If she kept this up, she would need surgery to reattach the organ to her middle. Had she been so busy researching business requirements last January she had missed the man’s death? Chief Stone had been around forever.

“What a shame,” she said. “He was a great guy.” She smiled at the memory of the antics she and Louise and her brother’s friends had dreamed up. “Kept us out of trouble, didn’t he?”

Mac pursed his lips and nodded. “He certainly did.” He reached for his back pocket. “What do I owe you?”

Holly raised her palms. “Like I said, the coffee’s on the house, Mac.” She couldn’t resist an added jab. “Since my coffee is out of your price range.”

“Thank you.” Cup in hand, Mac walked across the wooden floor. At the door he turned, lifted his cup to Sonny and with a brief glance at Holly, left. As he slammed the door, the bell rang once and fell to the floor.

Holly gaped as he passed the front windows. After he was out of sight, she eyed the little silver bell in the middle of the floor. The silence brought her back to her spot behind the counter. Four pairs of eyes zeroed in on her.

Sonny slammed a fist on the counter. “What’s wrong with you, girl? The man just moved back to town after losing his wife. You were downright rude.”

“He insulted my coffee.” She lifted her chin high and returned her brother’s glare. “Would you mind hanging up my bell?”

* * *

OUT OF SIGHT of the coffee shop, Mac sat in a wooden rocker at the end of the strip mall, leaned his head back and shut his eyes. He hadn’t been the nicest to his best friend’s little sister when they were kids. Apparently she remembered, as well. Holly, the precious, youngest girl of the big, happy Hoffman family... Well, she’d just happened to be in the way. Always underfoot.

He opened his eyes and took the lid off his cup. Steam wafted upward and he breathed deeply. Smelled a lot better than the unknown substance he’d bought at Charlie’s gas station earlier.

Across the street the bank president exited the building. With a wave at Mac, he walked to the adjacent parking lot and got into a late model sedan parked under a cherry tree. Pink petals flew into the air as the dark blue car pulled out of the lot and roared down the street.

Next to the bank, Joe Miller, a bag of mulch slung over his shoulder, left the hardware store, followed by his hugely pregnant wife and a toddler. He tossed the bag into the trunk of a car parked at the curb as his wife settled the toddler into his car seat. Joe helped his wife into the car, trotted around to the driver’s side, got in and drove away.

Mac sighed. The Millers were the picture-perfect American family. They probably had a dog at home, too. At one time, he’d had that life.

Three years later and he was back where he’d started and life was all about work. As he stared at the cherry tree across the street, the thought struck him that he would have been married nine years this month, nine years May 15. Where had the time gone? Mac rubbed his hand over his face and sipped his coffee. So many changes...

He turned as a brand-new four-wheel drive truck roared into one of the slanted parking spots next to the strip mall and jerked to a stop. A group of teenagers spilled out of the pickup and jumped onto the boardwalk. Chattering excitedly, the two boys and two girls didn’t even notice Mac sitting in the chair. They sauntered down the walk and disappeared into the coffee shop.

School was out for the day.

Mac heaved himself out of the chair and crossed the street to his police car. Setting his cup on the roof, he paused, taking in the vacant lot between the hardware store and the old library, now empty. Holly’s shop was one of five occupied storefronts—a beauty salon, a computer store, a used clothing store and a bakery. The boardwalk, with scattered benches, rocking chairs and potted plants, invited customers to stroll and shop. Across the street were the bank and the hardware store.

He studied the vacant lot again. Although a trash can stood not fifty feet away, the ground was littered with candy wrappers and cigarette butts. At the squawking of the police radio, he shook his head, grabbed his coffee and settled behind the wheel. He had other fish to fry. The vacant lot was someone else’s problem. Just like the cat.

* * *

HOLLY WAS SAVED from her brother’s wrath, at least temporarily, by the noisy arrival of four teenagers. Two girls entered first and the tallest, a blonde, headed for the couch. She collapsed, propped her flip-flop-clad feet on the coffee table and waved at the boy leaning on the counter. “I want a nonfat mocha.”

“Just get me anything with caffeine.” The second girl, short and slight but with pretty light brown hair, whispered in the other boy’s ear and followed her friend to the couch.

Holly was about to ask the blonde to take her feet off the table when she noticed her mother heading toward the pair.

“You’re Edie Black’s granddaughter, aren’t you?” Rose perched on the edge of the coffee table, causing the girl to drop her feet to the floor. “I haven’t seen your grandmother in ages. How is she?”

Holly grinned as she turned her attention to the two boys. After raising four children, her mother was skilled in getting people of all ages to do as she wanted without causing a confrontation.

“What can I get for you boys?” Holly asked.

The first one, tall and lanky, grinned at her. “Two mocha lattes, one nonfat and one—” His green eyes flicked up to the menu board and then back at Holly “—fat.”

Holly bit back a smile as she glanced at Carolyn, already pulling milk from the refrigerator underneath the espresso machine. “One skinny mocha latte and one fat mocha latte, Carolyn.”

She didn’t miss a beat as she poured whole milk into one pitcher and nonfat milk into the other. “Coming right up.” Carolyn slipped the first pitcher under the wand and the burble of milk steaming filled the room.

After paying with a polite “Thank you, ma’am,” the tall teenager moved to the end of the counter. The second teen stared at the board, his gaze flicking back and forth from the board to the wallet in his hand. “Two black coffees.”

“Would you like our special house blend, the Colombian, or the Kenyan?”

The boy continued to stare at the menu board.

“I recommend the Wildflower Blend. If you like you can add some cream and sugar at the condiment table.”

The teen nodded and laid a five-dollar bill on the counter. “Thanks.”

“Thank you.”

Holly poured the coffee into ceramic mugs just as Carolyn handed the lattes to the tall teen. Holly came up behind her sister-in-law. “Do you know them?”

Carolyn crossed her arms and studied the four teens surrounding the coffee table. “The tall one is Tom Johnson’s son.” She leaned back, her lips inches from Holly’s ear. “You know, the bank president.”

Of course, Holly thought, that explained the expensive jeans and the confident attitude. Money did that for a person. “What about the other one?”

Carolyn thought a moment and then waved a finger in the air. “Matt McClain’s boy.”

Holly watched the muscular boy sitting quietly while the Johnson boy and the Black girl talked animatedly. Not as tall as the bank president’s son, the McClain boy was dressed in a T-shirt and jeans.

“Matt works at the electronics factory, right?”

“Not anymore. The plant shut down just before Christmas and he got laid off. They have four kids. I think this one’s the oldest.”

“Huh. Good-looking kid. He’s built like a wrestler.” Holly grabbed a bar towel and wiped up a spill. She noticed a ceramic bowl by the cash register. Bright yellow letters spelled out Tip Jar. A yellow slipper-shaped flower grew between the two words. “Where did this come from?”

Carolyn tilted her head. “I made it in my kiln.”

Holly raised her eyebrows and gave her sister-in-law an appraising glance. “Aren’t you the creative one?”

Carolyn smoothed the front of the chocolate-brown apron with the Wildflower logo on the front. “I’m an art teacher. I hope I’m creative.”

A memory of Carolyn, eight months pregnant with the twins and accepting her college diploma, flashed into Holly’s mind. How did she do it? “Well, if we ever get any tips, you three should divide them. Bad enough you’re working for free.”

“Just for a couple months till you get on your feet. No worries, sis-in-law. But I should go pick up the twins. They had a scout meeting after school and if I leave now, I should get there just in time.” She untied her apron and pulled it over her head, dislodging a clip. Curly chestnut hair spilled over her shoulders.

Sonny came around the end of the counter and clasped his wife around the waist. “Oh, I like it when you let your hair down, baby.” Fourteen years of marriage and three children had done nothing to cool their obvious affection. High school sweethearts, Sonny had waited for Carolyn to graduate while he’d started a construction business.

Holly pushed the couple toward the seating area. “Staff only behind the counter.”

Sonny backed away slowly, his arms still locked around his wife’s waist. “I’m staff. Who do you think built this counter, girlie?”

“I know you did, all great and powerful contractor brother.” She turned at the sound of the bell over the door.

A willowy blonde woman entered, looking as if she’d just stepped off the pages of a fashion magazine. With her hair in a French twist, she wore a navy blue pantsuit with a pale blue shell.

Holly returned to the cash register and studied the new arrival. Somehow she knew the woman wasn’t a local.

She tried to catch Carolyn’s eye as she hurried toward the door but instead caught Sonny’s.

He pointed a finger at her as he held the door for his wife. “I haven’t forgotten about that other deal, Holly. I’ll be back.”

Holly stuck her tongue out at her brother but pulled it back just as the blonde approached the counter.

“I’ll have a nonfat cappuccino, extra hot, ma’am.” The woman’s Southern accent was slight but recognizable. Diamond studs twinkled in her ears.

Holly pulled the milk from the refrigerator and poured. Lifting the metal pitcher to the wand, she puzzled over her customer while keeping watch on the thermometer. Probably visiting family. Tom Johnson’s sister worked down South somewhere. She frothed the milk and, with her other hand, pulled a shot of espresso. Giving the concoction a quick stir, she set the cup in front of the woman who had placed a few bills on the counter.

“Keep the change, honey.” She walked to one of the chairs, her high heels tapping, and she sat, set the cup on the table and pulled a laptop out of a large leather purse.

Holly couldn’t take her eyes off the woman. She rested her hands on the open drawer of the cash register. The woman sat with her legs crossed at the ankle so just a portion of red sole showed.

“Well, are you?”

Holly jumped when she discovered her mother at her elbow. “You scared me to death, Mom. I thought you were in the kitchen.”

“I was.” A crease appeared between Rose’s brows. “I asked you a question and you were miles away.”

Holly’s hands were still resting on the drawer. What was she doing? Change. Keep the change. She removed three quarters from the drawer, edged around her mother and dropped the change in the tip jar with a clang.

Her mother pursed her lips, closed the cash drawer and eyed her steadily.

Holly rested her hands on her mother’s shoulders. “Sorry, Mom. I was thinking. What were you saying?”

Rose’s face relaxed and she wrapped one arm around Holly’s waist and pointed to the display case with the other. “We’re completely sold out of whoopie pies and no bakes. Did you order more for tomorrow?”

Holly peered into the display case. “I don’t believe it,” she said. “You’d think people would want something like scones and biscotti. No bakes are so simple. One minute on the stove, plop a spoonful on waxed paper and you’re done. I can’t cook but even I can make no bakes.”

“Buying is easier.” Rose took a crumb-covered plate from the case. “We still like our old-fashioned goodies but nobody bakes anymore. People are busy, and making cookies is just too much work.” She reached into the open case.

“Mom, I’ll do that.” Holly put a hand on her mother’s back.

Rose waved her off and said, “I’m fine. Why don’t you talk to Sue at the bakery? She might have to hire more help.” Withdrawing her head from the case, her mother put a hand on her hip and smiled. “Now, isn’t that nice? Your business is providing work to people in town.”

“Tell that to Dad,” Holly said.

The four teenagers had finished their drinks and were heading for the door. The only other customer was the blonde woman, who appeared content with her cappuccino and laptop.

“Now, Holly...”

“Okay, I’ll be quick.”

“Take your time.” Louise came out of the kitchen and headed for the cups left by the teens. “We’re all caught up. We can handle things. How about it, Rose?”

Holly smiled at her best friend. “Have I told you how much I appreciate your help with this venture?”

Cups in hand, Louise rolled her eyes. With a glance at Holly’s mother, she lowered her voice. “Think you can handle seeing Mac around? That stuff happened a long time ago.”

Louise had been Holly’s most ardent defender when the older boys would start their taunts. As small as she was, they just laughed at her attempts to quiet them. Holly shrugged as she picked up the tip jar and jingled the change inside. She didn’t care to think about Mac’s reappearance in their lives. “He insulted my coffee.”

Louise smiled. “Your coffee will win him over, just like everyone else in town.”

“Everyone except my father,” Holly said. “Chris is the only one who has traveled. He’s used to places like this. But the others still think coffee should cost a quarter.”

“They’re a minority. Stop worrying.”

“What if they’re right, Weaz? I’ve invested my life savings in this shop, not to mention the loan from my parents and your free help. If the business goes under, I’ll have nothing to show for it. My father will never let me hear the end of it.”

“If you wanted to be safe you would’ve stayed enlisted. But you took a chance. If it doesn’t work out, you’re young. You’ll find something else.”

“Let’s hope everyone in town doesn’t share McAndrews’s fifty-cents-a-cup attitude.” She peered into the tip jar. “We got tips.” Holly dumped the change in her hand and counted out fifteen dollars and fifty-two cents. “Somebody put in their two cents’ worth, most likely my brother, who thinks he’s funny.”

As Louise started to back through the swinging door into the kitchen, she said, “Add the cash to the register.”

“No way. You, Mom and Carolyn get the tips. It’s the least I can do.” Dumping the change in the jar, Holly pushed back her guilt that no one was accepting a paycheck yet. She needed to start making a profit soon. By fall, when everyone returned to their usual duties, she would need an employee or two.

“What else would I be doing?” A resigned smile graced her face before she disappeared into the kitchen.

Holly could hear her loading cups into the dishwasher and her heart went out to her brave friend.

Kneeling by the display case, Rose caught her gaze. “I think working here has been good for Louise. She seems more like her old self. You go on, we’re fine.”

Holly untied her apron and hung it on the hook next to the kitchen door. Thinking of Louise’s tragedy, she realized her own memories of being teased in gym class couldn’t compare. “Okay, I’m out of here. I hope you don’t get a busload of senior citizens while I’m gone.”

Holly left the shop and stood outside, savoring the fresh spring air. For a minute, she allowed herself to visualize The Wildflower as a success. A comfortable spot where locals came to relax and visit. A hangout after Friday night football games at the high school. After all, she had duplicated the school colors in her shop.

The Bear Meadows Cubs were expected to win the state title this year. Her shop could even be a stopover for fans traveling through town on Saturdays on their way to Penn State football games in the fall. Then maybe her father would come around. Not that she ever expected him to say he was wrong.

Holly stretched her arms over her head. Her back cracked loudly. “Ah, that feels better.” She shrugged her shoulders, took a few steps to the right and glanced in the window of the beauty salon. Seeing the proprietor with a customer, she stuck her head in the door. “Hi, Megan. Hi, Mrs. Fleck.”

Mrs. Fleck brought a hand out from under her drape and waved at Holly. Pieces of her hair had been pulled through a foil cap. “I’m getting highlights. What do you think, Holly? Maybe I’m too old for this nonsense. I’ve never dyed my hair.”

“You’ll look great. You music types are always at the forefront of fashion.”

Mrs. Fleck blushed and waved away her compliment. “Before I started teaching, I was in a girl band, believe it or not.”

Holly leaned against the doorjamb. “I always figured you for a wild woman, Mrs. Fleck.”

Her own long dark hair caught back in a ponytail, Megan wiped some white paste on a lock of hair and flashed a smile. “Hey, I like having you right next door, Holly. Your caffeine helped me through two dye jobs and a three-year-old’s first haircut.”

“So I heard. These walls are thin.” Holly laughed. “Glad to help. See you later.” With a wave, she left and entered the computer shop.

Pierre Lefonte stood behind a glass case sorting boxes. “Holly. How are you, mademoiselle? How is your system working? Good, I hope.”

Holly leaned on the counter. “So far, so good. Thank you, Pierre. You didn’t come over for your free coffee.”

Pierre flipped a lock of hair out of sparkling brown eyes and grinned at her. “You were busy, no? Perhaps tomorrow. And I would prefer a double espresso. None of your weak American coffee for me.”

“We’ll convert you one of these days.” Holly straightened and wagged a finger. “I will hold you to it, then. One double espresso. Au revoir.”

“Au revoir, mon amie.” Pierre went back to sorting as Holly left the shop and continued on the boardwalk.

She peered through the window of the used clothing store. Seeing no sign of the extravagantly dressed Cheri, she continued to the bakery, where the scent of fresh bread lingered in the air. “I love the smell in this place.” She leaned on the counter and smiled at the short, heavyset woman standing at the open cash register. “The flowers by the door look nice. Did you put the pot together?”

Periodically licking her thumb as she counted one-dollar bills, Sue peered at Holly over horn-rimmed reading glasses. “Cheri seems to think flowers will draw in more customers. Tell her to put the pot in front of her door. I don’t have time to fuss with flowers.” She banged a roll of quarters on the edge of the cash drawer. “Did you let yourself into the shop yesterday after I closed?”

Holly straightened. “Of course not. I’d only use the key you gave me in case of emergency.” A flicker of unease caused her to look around. “Why do you ask?”

Sue stopped counting and rested her hands on the open drawer. Glancing at the filled racks, she shook her head. “I could have sworn I made more peanut butter cookies yesterday.” She resumed counting. “I don’t know. Ever since Brad started this midlife crisis nonsense I haven’t been able to think straight.” She pressed her lips together and her eyes glistened.

“I’m sorry, Sue.” Holly’s heart went out to her new friend. Everyone in town knew Brad’s midlife crisis involved another woman. “Did you tell anyone about the missing things?”

“I called the police station. Now I wish I hadn’t. Chief McAndrews will think I’ve gone off my rocker if I say somebody’s been stealing cookies.” She tucked a few strands of dyed blond hair behind her ear. “Forget I said anything, Holly. Did you make any sales?”

“Did I make any sales? Do owls hoot? We sold out of whoopie pies and no bakes.”

Sue’s hands stilled and her head jerked up, blue eyes wide. “I thought you had more than enough. I thought you had too many, in fact, and they would go stale. I thought—”

“You’ve got to think positive, Sue.” Holly couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen a smile on the baker’s face. She had known Sue first as a volunteer at school functions. Ten years later, no trace of that happy woman remained. “No chance of your baked goods going stale. I’m here to order more.”

“Dot McClain asked me if I needed any help,” Sue said. “Her husband just got laid off. Working here won’t replace her husband’s pay but some money’s better than nothing.”

Holly thought about the boy who’d ordered two black coffees. So times were tight at his house. She glanced at the racks filled with bags of fresh bread and boxes of old-fashioned cookies. “How has business been?”

Sue counted the ones, then returned them to the drawer. “Business is good on the weekends but not so great during the week. I’m thinking of opening just two days a week. I saw in the paper the retirement home is looking for a cleaning lady for second shift.”

Holly pressed a hand to her chest. “What about me?”

“I’ll still provide you with baked goods.” Eyes narrowed, she peered over her glasses as she pulled out the fives. “What else do I have to do with my time?”

Holly racked her brain for a subject to pull Sue from her dark mood. “Do you see Josh often? He’s in the army, right?”

“I haven’t seen him since I moved out of the house.” She shook her head. “I like keeping busy. Besides, your little coffee shop is saving my bakery...such as it is.”

Despite Sue’s negative attitude, a warm feeling swept through Holly as she realized that her mom had been right. Her coffee shop was helping create jobs. She just hoped her business continued. Holly glanced up at the cookie jar clock over the counter. “Oh, my goodness, is that the right time?”

Sue answered without looking up. “Yep.”

“I’ve got to run.” Holly backed toward the door. “What time can you have the cinnamon buns ready in the morning?”

“How early do you want them?” Lips tight, the baker slammed the money drawer shut.

“Is six forty-five too early?” Watching her friend’s face, Holly groped behind her for the door handle.

“Not for a baker.” Sue patted the front of her apron, flour dust surrounding her in a cloud. With just the trace of a smile, she waved goodbye. “Thanks again, Holly. I appreciate your business. You’re a lifesaver.”

With an answering smile and a final wave, Holly reached for the door. She had been gone too long already.