Kathryn Springer - Longing for Home

“Really?” He watched a gray-haired man shuffle around the cash register and select a tall parfait glass from the shelf. “Maybe if you had more help, your customers wouldn’t be forced to sneak behind the counter to make their own food.”

Kate followed the direction of his gaze and Alex heard a soft but audible chirp of dismay.

“Excuse me.” She shot away, the tails of her canvas apron streaming behind her like kite ribbons.

A trio of women trundled past Alex in a cloud of perfume, the scents clashing like the instruments in an amateur marching band. They crowded around into the booth next to his and began to pull out their knitting.

Knitting.

The dining area reminded him of a noisy family gathering. A limp copy of the local newspaper passed from table to table as if following some kind of prearranged system. Children hung over the backs of the booths and people roamed around the room, chatting or blatantly eavesdropping on the conversations going on around them.

He couldn’t help but compare the Grapevine to the restaurants in his hotels. Soft background music. A well-trained wait staff who’d memorized the selections on the menu but remained blissfully unaware of a customer’s cholesterol level. High-backed leather booths that provided peace, quiet and…

“Good morning.” Abby slipped into a chair across from him.

Anonymity.

“How did you find me?”

His sister didn’t look at all intimidated by his scowl. “Someone called me and said you were here, scaring the customers.”

Alex had a hunch he knew who’d called. But when had she found the time between taking orders, babysitting crabby toddlers and refereeing that lively debate over who was responsible for repairing the potholes on Oak Street?

“I’m not scaring anyone. I’m having breakfast.”

“Yes.” Abby cleared her throat. “That’s why it’s a little strange that you ended up here, given the fact that your sister runs a bed-and-breakfast.”

“I got into town a little early—” Four days, he thought he heard Abby say under her breath. “And I didn’t want to disturb you.”

“Since when?”

Alex ignored that as he got a bead on Kate again. Instead of shooing the elderly man back to his table, she had retreated to the kitchen, leaving him alone with the blender. An accident—and a lawsuit—waiting to happen.

“Come on. I’m taking you back to the inn.” Abby stood up. “And leave Kate a big tip. I’m sure she earned it.”

“I already did. I told her that she needed to hire more help.” Alex left the money he owed on the table and rose to his feet.

“Really?” Abby shook her head. “I’m surprised you lived to tell about it.”

Alex remembered the spark of emerald fire in Kate’s eyes and clamped down on a smile. “There were witnesses.”

“Leave Kate alone,” his sister commanded. “She doesn’t need your advice. She took over the café when she was twenty years old. Most people that age are still trying to figure out what to do with their lives.”

“She tries to be in three different places at once.” He’d almost suffered an attack of vertigo just watching her.

“Kate has everything under control.” Abby tucked her arm through his and herded him out the door with impressive speed. “You of all people should appreciate the quality.”

He ignored that, too. “Under control? If that were true, her customers wouldn’t have to make their own food.”

Abby frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“The man behind the counter. I saw him making a milkshake.”

Understanding dawned in Abby’s eyes.

“It was probably Arthur Lundy,” she explained. “His wife, Marsha, died last year and now he’s in the early stages of Alzheimer’s. According to Kate, they grew up in Mirror Lake. He proposed to Marsha right there at the soda fountain while they shared a milkshake.

“Some days Mr. Lundy comes into the café and he doesn’t seem to remember that she’s gone. He’ll go behind the counter to make a milkshake and ask for two straws. Kate doesn’t mind.”

His sister’s tone suggested that he shouldn’t, either.

“This is a business, not a home,” Alex said, capping off some unidentifiable emotion that bubbled to the surface of his conscience. “It’s a mistake to let the customers do as they please. She’s responsible if one of them gets hurt.”

“Kate looks at people like Mr. Lundy as more than just a customer.”

Alex’s lips twisted.

“That’s mistake number two.”

Chapter Three

Mission accomplished.

With a satisfied smile, Kate tacked down the last string of white lights along the roofline of the gazebo. When Quinn and Abby returned from their final premarital counseling session with Matthew Wilde, the pastor at Church of the Pines, they would discover the garden area transformed into a wonderland of fragrant blooms and twinkling lights.

She scooted away from the edge of the roof, careful not to look at the ten-foot drop to the flagstone patio below. Kate didn’t particularly care for heights but decorating for the reception was a labor of love for her friends. And because stringing lights around the gazebo had been her idea to begin with, she didn’t think it was fair to ask someone else to put them up.

Hammer tucked under her arm, Kate swung a foot onto the top rung of the ladder. A sudden commotion had her twisting around just in time to see Mulligan and Lady, Quinn and Abby’s dogs, race around the corner of the lodge. Both animals were linked together by the long rope clamped between their jaws. And they were heading in her direction.

Kate swiftly calculated destination, speed and distance and threw herself back onto the roof. A split second later, Lady ducked under the ladder while Mulligan veered to the right. The rope went through the middle. It was Kate’s foot, however, that connected with the top of the ladder, which teetered back and forth before it hit the ground with an impressive crash.

Leaving her stranded.

Kate groaned. “Now what am I supposed to do?” she called down.

The dogs, who circled back to survey the damage, looked at each other. Kate was pretty sure she saw them shrug.

She rose cautiously to her feet and looked around. There was no sign of Abby’s guests taking a leisurely walk by the lake. Kate checked the pockets of her cargo shorts before remembering that she’d left her cell phone in a safe place—on the wicker table in the gazebo.

Maybe she could jump. It didn’t look that far down.

She peeked over the edge and swallowed hard.

It was that far down.

There was only one thing to do. Pray for a quick rescue by a good Samaritan—or that Abby and Quinn would return sooner than expected.

“Either one, Lord,” she murmured. “I’m flexible.”

At least she didn’t have to worry about Alex discovering her in this predicament. Abby had mentioned that her brother had made plans to meet with Jeff Gaines, a local developer and kindred millionaire, and wouldn’t be back until later that night.

Another twenty minutes crawled by. The setting sun melted into the trees, but Kate couldn’t even appreciate the way it turned the lake to liquid gold. She was too busy fending off the swarm of mosquitoes that had found an easy target.

Just when Kate was contemplating how soft a landing the bed of hydrangeas would provide, Lady launched to her feet and shot down the path, releasing a chain of sharp little barks. A canine SOS.

Kate’s relief turned to dismay when she heard the low rumble of a masculine voice. A familiar masculine voice.

She wondered if it was too late to add an addendum to her earlier prayer. Because Alex Porter was the last person she wanted to come to her rescue.