Longing for Home (2 page)

Too bad it had failed.

A hardware store with hand-printed signs in the window advertised a two-for-one sale on garden hoses. Alex shook his head. Hadn’t these people heard of underground sprinkler systems? Next door, the plate glass windows of the variety store proudly displayed a blinding array of cheap sun catchers.

Alex decided it would serve Abby right if she received a dozen of the things as wedding gifts.

His gaze shifted to the third brick building in the lineup and snagged on a faded sign above the door.

The Grapevine Café.

Jerking the Viper to the right, Alex’s foot tapped the brake so the vehicle wouldn’t jump the curb and take out a pot of marigolds.

He cut the engine and stared at the old-fashioned diner in disbelief. Call him crazy, but for some reason, he’d pictured something with a little more curbside appeal. Something a little…bigger.

“What are you thinking, Abby?” he muttered. This was taking her friendship with the owner of the café—Kate Nichols—too far.

A memory, one that had lodged deep in his subconscious like a splinter, shifted and poked him again.

Almost a year ago, when he’d shown up at Abby’s bed-and-breakfast to make one final appeal for her to come home, he’d walked right into the middle of a renovation party. Alex had confronted the first person he saw—a young woman with a cap of flame-colored curls and eyes as green as a field of fresh clover—and asked where he could find Abby. Instead of taking him to his sister, the pixie had had the audacity to lead him to a dilapidated cabin down by the lake instead. Then she’d pressed a hammer into his hand, pointed to the roof and told him to “make himself useful.”

He hadn’t appreciated being told what to do. Especially by a petite, redheaded firecracker.

Alex had tried to put her out of his mind but that wasn’t easy when the name Kate Nichols popped up with annoying frequency during his phone conversations with Abby.

Business wouldn’t exactly be booming for the owner of a café in a town the size of Mirror Lake. If he knew his tender-hearted sister, Abby had felt sorry for Kate, put aside her misgivings and hired her to cater the reception dinner. It might explain the strain he’d heard in Abby’s voice when they had gone over the details for the reception the day before. Even with the simple wedding she was insisting upon, resources had to be limited.

Alex’s eyes narrowed on a tear in the striped awning that shaded the sidewalk.

Very
limited.

He got out of the car and reached the door in two strides. According to a piece of cardboard taped to the window, the café opened for business at six o’clock.

Alex glanced at the TAG Heuer on his wrist.

Two minutes past six.

Great. He’d be the first customer of the day.

Chapter Two

T
he bells over the front door jingled as Kate piped neat rows of whipped cream over the top of a fresh strawberry rhubarb pie.

“Find a place to sit and I’ll be right with…”

You.

Kate felt a sudden disconnect between her brain and her voice when she spotted the man standing just inside the entrance, backlit by the early morning sun.

Alex Porter, in the flesh.

In
her
café.

She’d sat right next to Abby in church the day before and her friend hadn’t warned—
told
—her that Alex would be in Mirror Lake.

A week early.

Their eyes met over the counter and Kate’s heart did a backflip. As impossible as it seemed, the man was even more good-looking than she remembered.

She could see traces of Abby in the straight nose and high, smooth forehead, but the resemblance between the siblings ended there. Abby’s silver-green eyes were warm, as if lit from within. A smile always played at the corner of her lips, ready to bloom at a moment’s notice.

Alex’s features, on the other hand, looked as if they’d been chiseled from a hunk of granite. His eyes were the same shade of green as the jade paperweight on Kate’s desk. And just as cool. The fact that those eyes happened to be framed by ridiculously long lashes didn’t count.

Not at all.

Short, windswept hair, toasted a light golden brown from the sun, made him look more suited to the deck of a sailboat than an office. The khaki pants and lightweight cotton shirt he wore looked casual enough but Kate wasn’t fooled. Both looked as if they had been custom fit for his lean, muscular frame.

“Alex.” Kate found her voice again. “What a surprise. I wasn’t expecting to see you.”

Until the wedding.

“Abby sounded a little stressed out the last time I talked to her.” The rough velvet voice wielded an edge that immediately put Kate on the defensive. “I decided to drive up a few days early to help out.”

Kate knew better. Men like Alex Porter didn’t help out. They took over. And the guy probably didn’t have a clue that
he
had been the cause of Abby’s stress.

“Oh. Wonderful.” Just wonderful. “Abby will be—”
insert tactful word here, Kate
“—surprised.”

“Not for another hour or so.” Alex’s eyes narrowed when she didn’t respond. “The café is open, right? So you don’t mind if I sit down?”

“You want to eat here?” Kate blurted out.

Alex hesitated a split second too long. “Yes.”

This is Abby’s brother and she loves him,
Kate reminded herself. For that reason and that reason only, she flashed one of her sunniest smiles. “You’re the first customer of the day so go ahead and sit anywhere you like.”

His gaze swept over the empty diner. In ten minutes she would be caught in the middle of the morning breakfast stampede; but judging from the skeptical look on his face, Alex doubted she would have another customer besides himself. All day.

Kate kept the smile pinned in place. “Would you like a cup of coffee?”

He gave a curt nod. “No cream or sugar.”

Of course not. We wouldn’t want to add something that might sweeten our disposition, now would we?

“No problem,” Kate said out loud. “I’ll be right back to take your order.”

As Alex stalked to the back of the dining area to claim an empty lair, Kate retrieved a carafe from the coffee station. Her hands were actually trembling. Not out of fear but frustration. She couldn’t believe that Abby shared the same DNA with this man.

Long lashes or not, Alex Porter was arrogant. Cold. Condescending.

And Kate knew exactly what had brought him to the Grapevine. He wanted to see for himself what Mirror Lake’s greasy spoon had to offer.

She searched her memory for an appropriate Scripture. One that would give her the self-control to pour the coffee into Alex’s coffee cup, not over the top of his head.

Lord, I know there has to be one. Or one hundred. But I’m coming up empty at the moment. Sorry.

Kate set his coffee down and whipped the pen out of her apron pocket. Smile carefully balanced in place. “What can I get for you?”

Alex closed the menu with a decisive snap, as if there were nothing on the list of options that remotely tempted him. “I’ll just have the special.”

“Sure. Coming right up.” Given the fact that she’d unlocked the door only moments before Alex made his appearance, Kate wasn’t quite sure what the special of the day was.

Grady O’Rourke, the former military cook her father had hired when Kate was in first grade, took charge of the daily menu changes. When Kate had taken over the café, she and Grady had amicably divided the kitchen duties. Grady claimed the griddle, Kate the stove.

She ducked around the counter. “I need a special, Grady.”

“You got it.” The man’s off-key whistle accompanied the sizzle of butter in the cast-iron skillet.

Kate began to fill the dessert case with slices of the pies she’d made the night before, all too aware that a pair of jade-green eyes tracked her every movement.

“Order up, katydid,” Grady bellowed.

Kate winced, hoping Alex hadn’t heard the cook call her by the affectionate nickname he’d bestowed on her when she was six years old.

“Thanks.” Kate grabbed the steaming plate on the pass-through and felt the blood drain from her face. “Grady?” The word came out in a squeak.

“Problem?”

“No…no problem.” If a person didn’t count the six-foot-tall, two-hundred-pound problem sitting at a booth in the back. “I don’t think you’ve made this before.”

“Nope.” A smile bisected the grizzled face. “But mark my words. It’ll be a big hit.”

“I’m sure it will,” Kate said faintly.

Most days, Grady’s “special” came from a list of what he liked to call his “tried and trues.” Steak and potatoes. Blueberry pancakes. Ham and cheese omelets.

Why, oh why, couldn’t this have been one of those days?

Show no fear
. Kate gave herself an internal pep talk as she breezed back to Alex’s booth. “Here you go. Enjoy!”

His gaze dropped to the plate and bounced back up again. “What is this?”

“The special.” Kate wished it hadn’t come out sounding like a question.

Alex arched a brow.

In retaliation, Kate lifted her chin. “It’s…a delicious blend of meat and potatoes with a hint of spice.”

“I see,” Alex said softly. “And does this delicious blend of meat and potatoes happen to have a
name?
”

Yes, it did. And he was going to make her say it.

“It’s…hash.” Kate pushed the word through gritted teeth.

The perfectly sculpted lips—Kate felt a trickle of horror that she noticed they
were
perfectly sculpted—curled at the edges.

“That’s what I thought…katydid.”

Organized chaos.

It was the only description that Alex could come up with to describe what he was seeing. Although it was possible that the word
organized
was too generous.

Total chaos would probably be more accurate.

He got dizzy just watching Kate Nichols in motion.

The woman fairly crackled with energy, making him wonder if the red curls poking out from beneath the floral bandana she wore doubled as some kind of power source.

In the space of half an hour, Kate had greeted each customer who came through the door by name. Paused to hug the blond, waiflike teenager who’d joined forces with her during the breakfast rush as if they were long-lost sisters. She’d even plucked a cranky toddler out of a portable highchair and balanced him on one slender hip while she rang up receipts so his weary young parents had an opportunity to finish their breakfast in peace.

Alex’s blood pressure spiked when Kate joined a group of men at their table to referee a lively discussion about the number of potholes on Oak Street.

Kate’s relaxed posture and easy laughter made him grit his teeth.

Didn’t she realize how dangerous it was to get that close to people? To let them get that close to
you?

His parents had learned a lesson on setting boundaries the hard way. Abby had been six years old when a disgruntled hotel employee abducted her. The police had found her a few days later, frightened but otherwise unharmed. The family physician who’d examined Abby had reassured them that her memory of the ordeal would fade in time.

Alex, who’d been a freshman in high school, hadn’t been as lucky.

The three days Abby went missing remained etched in his mind. So had the days that followed her safe return. Their parents enrolled them in private school. His and Abby’s lives became governed by a set of rules that formed a barrier around them as impenetrable as the walls surrounding the Porter estate.

It was one of the reasons Alex had become so protective of his sister over the years. They’d lost their parents—he wasn’t about to lose the only remaining member of his family.

Kate might not realize it, but she was asking for trouble. Her smile was too friendly. Too engaging…

“Would you like a refill?”

Alex looked up and silently amended his opinion. Kate’s smile was engaging unless it was directed at him. Then it cooled to the temperature of day-old coffee. But he hadn’t come to Mirror Lake to make friends—he’d come walk his baby sister down the aisle. And to make sure there were no unexpected bumps along the way. From what he’d witnessed so far, putting Kate Nichols in charge of something as important as Abby’s wedding reception would guarantee more bumps than Oak Street had potholes.

“No thanks.”

“You’re ready for the bill?”

“Not yet.” With two simple words, Alex managed to extinguish the hopeful look in those clover-green eyes.

“All right.” He could almost
see
her silently counting to five…no, ten. For some reason, Alex found a perverse satisfaction in knowing he got under her skin, too.

“Kate?” The teenage waitress sidled up. “Mr. Dinsman ordered the biscuits and gravy,” she whispered.

“Absolutely not, Missy.” Kate shook her head, setting the corkscrew curls into motion. “I know what his cholesterol is. The only thing on the menu for Mr. Dinsman is a bowl of oatmeal.”

The waitress chewed on her lower lip. “He said that if you make him eat oatmeal, he won’t leave a tip.”

“Well, here’s a tip for
him,
” Kate said tartly. “If he wants to clog his arteries, he should stay home and make his own breakfast.”

Missy glanced at the portly man who sat a few tables away, glowering in their direction. “Do I have to tell him that?”

“No, sprinkle some fresh blueberries on the oatmeal and tell him there’s no charge.” Kate winked at her. “That’ll make the fiber go down easier.”

“Okay.” Missy grinned before darting away.

Alex had to ask. He just had to. “You know a customer’s cholesterol level?”

“It’s a small town—and a very small café.” Kate sounded proud of the fact rather than apologetic.

“Kate!” A man with a flowing white beard and brows that resembled an unclipped hedge waved a folder stuffed full of papers at her. “When you have a minute, can you look over the minutes from the last city council meeting?”

Kate didn’t seem at all surprised by the request. “I’ll be right there, Mayor Dodd.”

“You should hire more help.” Alex had to raise his voice a notch to make himself heard over the steady hum of conversation.

The watercolor pink lips compressed. “I appreciate your concern—” judging from her tone, Alex doubted that was true “—but I do all right.”

“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…