Mindy Obenhaus - A Father's Second Chance

“You’re talking Emma’s language, all right.” He studied the paper. “Both girls would be gaga over this.”

“Good. I hope you’ll consider signing them up, then.”

He turned for the door, grabbed hold of the handle. “I’ll be in touch.”

She watched as he continued past the front windows. How could someone be so infuriating yet so appealing? Gage’s disposition left much to be desired. However, the way his face lit up when he talked about his daughters was enough to have women swooning all over Ouray.

Donning her apron, she went to check things in the kitchen. “Are the potatoes on yet?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Karla, the closest thing Celeste had to an assistant, looked up from the apples she was peeling for tonight’s dessert and pointed to the proofing cabinet along the wall. “And the rolls should be ready to go in the oven any time.”

“Perfect.” Celeste pushed up her sleeves and headed for the pastry table to roll out the crusts. “Thanks for taking care of that for me, Karla.”

“Not a problem.”

Celeste’s cell vibrated against her hip. She pulled it from her pocket, hating the sense of dread that fell over her when she saw her mother’s name on the screen.

“Hi, Mom.”

“Celeste, darling. How are you?”

“Wonderful.” She sprinkled flour over the table’s marble surface.

“You don’t sound wonderful. You sound tired.” Hillary Ward-Thompson always thought Celeste sounded tired.

“Mom, I’m very well rested.” She slept a thousand times better in Ouray than she ever even dreamed of in Fort Worth. “So where are you today?”

“Istanbul.”

She balanced the phone between her ear and shoulder. “Hey, if you happen to make it to the Bazaar, pick me up some spices.” Of course, her mother rarely did any sightseeing. She was all business, all the time.

“Or you could hop a plane and join me. That way you could pick out your own spices.”

Realizing where this conversation was headed, Celeste wiped her hands on a bar towel and wandered into her office. “You know I can’t do that, Mom. I have a business to run.”

“Celeste, you and I both know a restaurant— especially one in a tiny little place like Ouray—is not where you belong. I didn’t bring you up to be slinging hash in some greasy spoon.”

She paced beside her desk. Since moving here in April, her conversations with her mother were always the same. Celeste knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Ouray was part of God’s plan for her. Though it definitely was not a part of her mother’s plan. “I do not sling hash, nor is Granny’s Kitchen a greasy spoon.”

“Oh, now you’re getting defensive. I’m sorry, darling.”

“You’re criticizing my livelihood.”

“I am not criticizing, Celeste. I’m merely stating facts.”

Stay calm. Don’t let her get to you. “You haven’t even seen my restaurant.”

“Are you forgetting that I grew up in that restaurant? I know what it’s like.” Mom’s last sentence held a hint of disdain. She paused for a moment before forging on. “By the way, I ran into Andrew Hemsworth from Golden Triangle Finance the other day. I was telling him all about you and he has a position that would be perfect for you.”

“Mom...I’m not interested in any position. I have my own business. I’m happy where I’m at.”

“Celeste, you might think you’re happy, but you haven’t even been through a winter in Ouray.”

“No, but I can’t wait. I love snow.”

“Hmmph.”

Celeste took a deep breath and stared at the mountains outside the window. Twin Peaks, was it? She had yet to learn the names of all the summits, but just the sight of them made her frustration wane. “You’ve got to let this go, Mom. I’m not you. I have to live my own life.”

“I know, darling. I just want you to be happy.”

Hadn’t they just been over this? “I am. Happier than I’ve been in years.”

“If you say so.” A moment of silence passed. “Well, I must run. It’s late, and I have meetings all day tomorrow.”

Celeste knew better than to think her mother was complaining. Mom thrived on those meetings, mostly because she was the one in control. Not to mention good at what she did. Magnet Oil would be lost without her.

“Good night, Mom.”

“Good night, darling. Love you.” The sound of kisses filtered through the line, just as when she was a little girl.

“I love you, too.” Celeste ended the call, her gaze focusing on a worn piece of paper tacked to the bulletin board over her desk.

Follow your dreams. The word your was underlined.

After Granny’s stroke, she couldn’t walk or talk, so when Celeste went to see her, she’d talk enough for the both of them. She’d talk about work and her dislike thereof, the promotion she was up for, but really didn’t want. And she’d talk about her dreams. How she longed to escape the big city and find a simpler way of life. A life she could enjoy and call her own.

Apparently Granny’s mind had fared better than her body. Because, somehow, she’d managed to scrawl those three words.

Celeste would never forget the look of urgency in her grandmother’s eyes when she tucked the note into Celeste’s hand. As though it were the most important document in the world.

Perhaps it was.

Since coming to Ouray, the headaches that used to be Celeste’s constant companion were history. She looked forward to getting up every morning, no matter how early, because each new day meant she got to do something that she loved.

Yes, Ouray was where she belonged. And she was determined to make this work. Even if she had to work with a cranky Gage Purcell.

Chapter Three

Celeste was getting used to not seeing her condo during daylight hours. Most days she left before the sun came up and returned long after it had gone down. Still, it was home, decorated just the way she liked it. And since it was only two blocks from Granny’s Kitchen, her Mustang convertible spent most of the time tucked safely in her garage.

She hugged herself tighter, the gravel road crunching beneath her every step. Tonight seemed particularly chilly. Perhaps it was time to start thinking about wearing something heavier than her jean jacket. Luckily, with the help of Taryn and Cash and their store, All Geared Up, she had a couple of great options hanging in her closet.

By the time her frozen fingers managed to shove the key into the lock of her trilevel condo, Celeste was ready for a hot bath. Her toes were frozen inside her black wedge pumps. Maybe she’d surf the internet tonight for some cute boots. They’d have to be wedges, though. With gravel streets and so many hills, it didn’t take her long to figure out that any other type of heel was not practical in Ouray.

She climbed the first set of stairs to the main floor, flipped on the light and tossed her jacket over the arm of the leather love seat before continuing on to the third-floor master bedroom. As water filled the jetted bathtub, she contemplated her meeting with Gage. Attitude aside, the man did seem to know what he was doing. But what if that expertise cost more than she was willing to pay? She’d set a budget. She just hoped it was enough.

I’ll be the judge of that. It still irked her, the way he seemed to enjoy challenging her. Then again, she wasn’t used to being challenged. She was used to calling the shots. Giving people the information they needed in order to achieve the results she wanted. So if Gage had a problem with that, well...she’d be forced to resort to Granny’s method—ply ’em with food. Good food and lots of it.

After a much-needed soak, she padded down to the kitchen in her fuzzy pajamas for a cup of chamomile tea.