River's Bend Read online

  10

  “You don’t have to worry, Mom,” Scott assured Rachel as she drove him to the Sacajawea Elementary School the next morning. “This isn’t the first time I’ve changed schools since Dad died. I’ve got it figured out. It’ll be fine.”

  “Of course it will be,” she said. Hoped.

  “And those cookies will be a big help. No one can resist your chocolate chip cookies.”

  She’d baked them last night after Cooper had left. Because though she’d been weary to the bone, the day’s unexpected events had left her wired, even before his butterfly soft touch on her face had set her body to humming.

  Since cooking had always proven an antidote for stress, she’d gone to work in the kitchen, baking Scott cookies to take to school. Not exactly to bribe the other kids.

  Oh hell, whom was she kidding? As Rachel drove him to school, she admitted they were intended as both icebreaker and bribe.

  Which apparently hadn’t been needed at all. From what he’d told her over dinner that night, as he’d regaled her with tales of life in the third grade, he’d already made new friends before he’d pulled out his Spiderman lunchbox filled with a thermos of chicken noodle soup, half a tuna sandwich, and all those sweet, chewy cookies.

  Even beginning the renovation of the café turned out to be less of a problem than she’d feared. True to their word, Cal Potter, his electrician brother Hal, Fred Wiley, and Dan Murphy had shown up at nine that morning and worked through the day, stopping only for the sandwiches and cookies Rachel had insisted on bringing from home.

  Cal’s assertion about being handy with a hammer and nails proved an understatement.

  The first glitch came the second day when she decided to tear down a wall to increase the size of the kitchen and build a second wall with a large open window. Although Alan hadn’t wanted her to work full time, Rachel had been happy with her catering business. But whenever they ate out, she’d carefully study what elements she’d want in her fantasy dream restaurant.

  She’d always been drawn to an open kitchen. Instead of hiding it away, where waiters would disappear behind swinging doors, then reappear with plates of food, to Rachel’s mind, the view of an open flame and mouth-watering aromas of roasting meats and stews bubbling away on the stove created a warm ambiance. Not only were diners’ eyes drawn directly to the center of activity the moment they walked in the door, it welcomed them more fully into the restaurant.

  “Good idea,” Hal said as she sketched out her idea on a yellow legal pad. “I wired one of those over in Medford last year. But since you’re deviating from the original plan, which is going to involve a change in electrical and plumbing, you’ll need to get approval from the city building department.”

  In Greenwich that could turn into long-drawn out bureaucratic process, seriously disrupting her schedule. But this was River’s Bend. Where everyone had already been so friendly and helpful.

  “I’ll be back in a few minutes,” she said.

  Which turned out to be an overly optimistic statement.

  The woman behind the counter was as congenial as everyone else she’d met, making Rachel wonder what they were putting in the town’s drinking water. She took Hal’s more detailed drawing of her sketched out plan, left the room, and returned with what appeared to be the necessary permit, which she put on a desk.

  “All done,” she said with a smile. “It just needs to be stamped by Hester, who takes care of that final step.”

  That said, she walked out of the room, leaving Rachel standing there, waiting for Hester, whoever she was, to arrive.

  Five minutes later, a forty-something woman wearing black slacks and a yellow and black striped sweater, which brought to mind a bumblebee, walked into the small room carrying a chef salad in a plastic container and a Coke. Sitting down at the desk, she began to eat. Although there was only that black metal desk and white Formica counter between them, Rachel felt as if she’d become invisible.

  “Excuse me,” she said.

  The woman looked up from her salad. “Yes?”

  “I believe that’s my permit.”

  The woman glanced over at it. “Are you Rachel Hathaway?”

  “Yes. The new owner of the New Chance Café.”

  “Yeah. I heard you’d arrived in town. It looks all in order.”

  “That’s good news. So, you’ll stamp it?”

  “Sure,” the woman said agreeably. “As soon as my lunch break is over.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “If you’d read the sign on the counter, you’d have seen that we close for an hour lunch break.”

  Which, Rachel realized, explained the office that had, except for Hester, emptied.

  “But the permit’s right there on the corner of your desk,” she said. Right next to a big official looking stamp thing. “If you could just—”

  “Sorry. If I made an exception for you, then pretty soon this place would be filled with people wanting things all day long and none of us would ever get a break.”

  Since she hadn’t seen signs of a building boom, and given River’s Bend’s population, Rachel highly doubted that possibility but chose not to challenge the point.

  “I understand. And, of course you deserve a lunch break. But perhaps, since I’m here alone and no one would know—”

  “Sorry,” Hester said around a mouthful of lettuce and hardboiled egg. “Rules are rules for a reason. And now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to watch my story.”

  With that, she clicked a button on her computer, bringing up the swelling musical theme of a soap opera.

  Debating whether it made sense to return to the café then come back, or just stay until the official lunch time was over, Rachel opted for a middle ground and decided to wait in the park across the street.

  She was sitting on a bench beneath a red-leafed maple, shopping for light fixtures online from her phone when Cooper Murphy came out of the sheriff’s office next door to the courthouse.

  11

  “Well now, isn’t this a lucky coincidence,” he said as he crossed the lawn. “I was just headed to the café to talk with you.”

  “I’m trying to get a permit to make changes to the original plan,” Rachel said.

  “Which isn’t happening because it’s the lunch hour.”

  “How did you know?”

  “Because the city offices, all except for mine, close down between one and two every weekday. Always have, probably always will. Tradition,” he said with a quirk of his lips, “is a big deal around here.”

  “The plan’s already been approved. I just needed a damn official stamp,” she said.

  “And you’ll get it. One thing you’ll also discover is things move a little slower than you’re probably used to. So, it’s Hester holding you up?”

  “I wouldn’t want to take her away from her soap opera.” A tinge of uncharacteristic sarcasm sharpened Rachel’s tone.

  “She does love all that drama,” he agreed. “But she’s always liked me. If you want, I can go in there and see what I can do to speed her up a bit.”

  “No.” She sighed. “You’ve already done so much. Besides, having been running on warp speed, trying to get everything done since Alan died, I suppose I could work on pacing myself a bit.”

  If she were to be perfectly honest, she’d have to admit that having managed to get through the bureaucratic red tape required to get her Connecticut catering license, she shouldn’t have been surprised. But lulled into complacency by everyone’s helpfulness, she’d expected to breeze through the permit process and get back to work.

  “Good plan,” he agreed. “Which is what I was coming over to talk to you about. How would you and Scott like to go on an outlaw train ride this Sunday?”

  “What, exactly, is an outlaw train?”

  “It’s a tourist thing. A few years ago the town council got the idea to fix up an old logging train that runs on a narrow gauge rail from here up to Modoc Mountain. They feed everyone a box lunch. Now tha
t I think about it, you might want to consider putting in a bid for the lunches when the contract comes up for renewal in January since it could add to your cash flow.

  “Along the way, a gang of bad guys board the train and rob it. It’s all over-the-top cowboy drama and the money they take from adults, who are in on the gig, goes to the local food pantry. In the end, just like those old cowboy flicks that helped build River’s Bend’s western reputation, the good guys win.

  “And in case you’re worried about it being too realistic, the guns are the movie kind, which only shoot blanks, and the guys ham it up even more than they used to. Some parents warn their kids ahead of time that it’s all for fun, but I suspect Scott would handle it without any problem.”

  “He’d love it. But I need to work.”

  He lifted a brow. “On Sunday?”

  “Are you suggesting River’s Bend is so peaceful that the sheriff’s office closes down on weekends?”

  “Touché,” he said easily. “Though I could argue there’s a slight difference in our situation, but I get your point.”

  “I may not be responsible for keeping the law, but unlike some people, I don’t punch a clock.” Rachel shot a dark look toward the courthouse where her nemesis Hester was wasting valuable time by watching TV. “There’s so much more I need to do. I’d hoped for a Thanksgiving opening, but now I’ll be lucky to open by Christmas.”

  “It’s just as well,” he said. “Most people around here tend to eat Thanksgiving at home with family, so it’s not as if you’d get much of a crowd. Now, Christmas, that’s a more popular day for eating out, though in past years it meant driving to Klamath Falls or Lakeview. Besides, even God took a day off.”

  “Obviously God didn’t need a building permit from Hester to create the world.”

  “That probably would’ve added a day or two longer to the creation calendar,” he agreed. “But a few hours spent with Scott isn’t going to make that much of a difference in the whole scheme of things.”

  His expression sobered. “We both know that life can be unfairly short, Rachel. That there are no replays nor rewinds, so you’d do well to write some personal time into your daily work schedule. Gram mentioned us losing my mother. What she didn’t say was that Mom died of ovarian cancer the same month I graduated from high school.”

  “That must have been horribly hard on you.”

  “It wasn’t easy. But though we never talked about it all that much, I suspect it was even harder on my younger brothers. But getting back to Sunday, I’m guessing it’s been a while since you’ve allowed yourself some fun. And it could be one of those special memories Scott might look back on when he’s a dad. Maybe, if he stays around here, someday he’ll take his own son or daughter on the same train.”

  “You realize that could be considered emotional blackmail.”

  “Could be. Is it working?”

  Telling herself that returning to work Monday fresh and re-energized wasn’t such a bad idea, Rachel stood and lifted both arms into the air.

  “I surrender, Sheriff.”

  His answering laugh drew an appreciative look from two women eating lunch on a nearby bench. “And to think I didn’t have to even break out my handcuffs,” he said.

  Because, despite the annoyingly uncooperative Hester, Rachel was actually enjoying herself, she gave a little toss of her hair. “Well, shoot. If I’d given any thought to that idea, I just may have held out a little bit longer.”

  She could tell by his sharp, cowboy squint as he tried to determine whether her statement had been a suggestion or merely a bit of flirtatious humor, that she’d surprised him.

  And he wasn’t the only one. The unbidden sexual innuendo was as much of a surprise to Rachel as it was to him.

  Cooper studied her for a few humming seconds that tangled her nerves.

  It was time to leave. Now.

  “I’d better see if Hester’s finished her lunch and her soap opera and will stamp my permit,” she said, stepping back into the skin of that briskly efficient woman who’d managed to pay off creditors, sell most of her possessions, buy a business, then drive her child and a trailer filled with houseplants all the way across the country.

  “Good luck with that,” he said. “I’ll pick you and Scott up at ten.”

  She was about to tell him that she was perfectly capable of finding the train station herself, then remembered what a kick Scott had gotten riding in the sheriff’s department Jeep.

  “Sunday mornings I make pancakes. If you’d like to drop by closer to nine, you’re invited to breakfast.”

  “That sounds right tasty.” His slow, laconic cowboy smile managed to blur her brain and cause her pulse to skip. “Mitzi told me you were a high-powered private chef back east.”

  “I don’t know how high-powered I was. But I did have a catering business. I served food at weddings, anniversary parties, political banquets, events like that.”

  “And I’ll bet you were really good at your job. I don’t suppose you’d happen to have one of those tight pink dresses with your name embroidered in white script?”

  “No.” She folded her arms again when his gaze drifted down to right above her breast, where that name would be embroidered. “I don’t.”

  He shrugged. “I didn’t figure you did. But a guy can always hope.”

  “I’m talking about making you pancakes, Sheriff. Not helping you act out some kinky nineteen-fifties diner fantasy.”

  “We all have our fantasy worlds,” he said easily. Then jingled the metal handcuffs hanging from his leather belt, to remind her that she’d alluded to an entirely different fantasy kink. “But homemade pancakes are pretty high on my list, too. Johnny’s were like hockey pucks. You’d risked breakin’ a tooth biting into them.”

  Even when he was joking, which surely he must be, Cooper Murphy exuded testosterone like the expensive cologne worn by the men from her social circle back in Connecticut. Worse yet, by the light in his impossibly green eyes, he knew it.

  “Nine o’clock,” she repeated. “You can leave your handcuffs at home.”

  He touched his fingers to the tip of that macho cowboy hat. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Rachel wasn’t used to being teased. She wasn’t even sure she liked it. But she couldn’t deny as she returned to the courthouse, that River’s Bend’s sheriff had awakened something in her that she’d thought had died with her husband.

  12

  Cooper arrived at nine on the dot, carrying a square Stetson box, which he handed to Scott. “I brought you a little something,” he said.

  “Wow!” Rachel’s son looked stunned as he lifted out a smaller version of Cooper’s hat. “Is this really for me?”

  “If you’re going to live in cowboy country, you’ve got to dress the part.” Cooper plunked the hat on Scott’s head, rocked back on his heels and studied the look.

  “It fits. So now we need to shape it.” He turned to Rachel. “Do you have a tea kettle?”

  “Of course.”

  While they waited for the water in the kettle to boil, Scott raced to the bathroom to check himself out in the mirror while Rachel continued mixing pancake batter. “That was an incredibly nice thing to do.”

  “Around these parts, a boy’s first cowboy hat is a big deal,” he said, thanking her as she handed him a mug of coffee. “Figured you might not have run across that during all your research, so I picked one up at the Stockman’s Shop yesterday.”

  “I wouldn’t have thought of it,” she admitted. “So, thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. It was my pleasure, believe me.”

  The kettle whistled just as Scott returned to the kitchen.

  “Good timing,” Cooper said as he plucked the hat from Scott’s head. “Now, when you get a new hat you’ve got to shape it.” He held the hat with the stiffly turned up sides up to the steam coming out of the kettle. “First thing is to flatten it out.”

  Which he proceeded to do, each side at a time, then the front and back u
ntil the brim of the hat rested flat as a pancake on the kitchen table.

  “But yours turns up,” Scott said, frowning he took in the seemingly ruined hat.

  “We’re gettin’ to that.” Cooper returned to the kettle, used steam to dampen one side, and began to curl it back up. “Now, everyone’s got a different idea of how high to turn the sides up to suit their personal style, but this is how I usually like mine.” He held the hat toward Scott. “What do you think?”

  “It’s perfect!”

  Of course it was. Rachel didn’t think there was anything Cooper Murphy could do that her son wouldn’t find absolutely perfect.

  With deft hands and a skill that suggested he’d done this several times over the years, he shaped the other side, then tilted the front down, with a bit deeper downturn to the back, then set it back on Scott’s head.

  “Go check this out.”

  Scott returned to the bathroom and was back within seconds. “I look like a real cowboy!”

  “You sure do,” Cooper agreed.

  “If I didn’t know you were my son, I’d think for certain you were a cowboy,” Rachel said, enjoying the pleasure beaming on her son’s face.

  “I need to go show Warren.” The nine-year-old classmate who lived next door had become what Scott described as his “second-best” friend. Cooper, unsurprisingly, occupied top position.

  “Later,” she said. “After we get home this afternoon. Breakfast is ready, and you don’t want to be late for the train.”

  “Another thing you should know,” Cooper said as Scott began to sit down at the table. “Hats usually come off indoors. And definitely while you’re eating. Though if you’re sitting at a lunch counter, the rules can slide.

  “Here at home you can hang it on the rack by the front door, but if you ever need to set it down, put it with the crown down. Otherwise, it’ll flatten again. There are different ways of taking a hat off, but personally, I like lifting mine from the crown.”