The New Hope Cafe (6 page)

And what was that?

To lean across the table and kiss her? Lift her from her chair
into his arms? Tear off her clothes and make love to her?

Did she want that?

She wanted
something.
Not quite
meaning to, she leaned in and tilted her head. Jonah did the same. When their
lips met, an electric thrill coursed through her, a wash of heat and need that
made her whole body shake.

It was too much, too intense. Cara feared she’d be swept under
and drown. She broke away, yanking her hands from under his, jumping up so fast
her chair tipped and hit the floor. “I have to go.”

Jonah righted her chair. “I frightened you. I’m sorry.” He
looked stricken.

“No. It’s just been a while…”
forever
“…since I felt…”
sexual. Say it, you
idiot.
“…that way. I was…”
terrified
“…surprised.”

He considered her words, but he didn’t look convinced.

“Really, it was me,” she said, backing toward the hall. “All
me.” She banged into the wall. “Night.” She took the corner so fast he said
good night
to an empty kitchen.

Cara leaned against the hall wall, cringing and dizzy,
breathing in great gasps that didn’t bring one molecule of oxygen into her
lungs. He’d looked stunned and sorry. It was awful, awful. She was so
embarrassed.

She listened for him to leave.

There was a long silence. Jonah had to be shaking his head over
the crazy woman who’d bolted from the merest kiss.

Finally, he exhaled loudly. She heard a metallic rattle as he
picked up his toolbox, then his slow tread to the door and the click when he
shut it.

Cara rushed to her room and into bed. What had she been
thinking? She’d forgotten who she was and what had happened to her. The thrill
of desire was one thing, actual sex totally different.

Just the thought of it made her break out in a sweat.

Sex with Barrett had made her feel awkward. He’d showed her
what he wanted and that had been fine with her. She satisfied her own needs in
private moments.

When it got bad between them, Barrett’s touch reminded her how
dangerous he was, how ready he was to hurt her. She dreaded sex then, the way it
made her feel powerless and vulnerable. Sex was an assault, an invasion, an
unwelcome intimacy that sickened her. She made herself numb, hid away in her
mind until it was over, welcoming the brutal cramps of her period because
Barrett was so squeamish he would sleep in the spare room for those blessed few
days each month.

She knew now that no matter how much she wanted sex, if a man
touched her, his hands would become Barrett’s, his body, too, and his voice. She
would feel Barrett’s grip, his threats, the way he made her feel like her body
belonged to him and he could do with it whatever he wanted.

She couldn’t imagine trusting a man again.

Forgetting all that, she’d kissed Jonah. Her lips still
tingled. The backs of her hands felt warm. She had the feeling they’d stay that
way all night.

* * *

CJ
HUNG
UP
the phone, her face as
pale as the powdered sugar she’d spread like fairy dust all over his pantry two
days ago. “It’s the transmission,” she told him. “Two thousand dollars and
that’s with a break on labor because of the delay.”

“I could loan you a grand if that gets you there.”

CJ met Jonah’s gaze for the first time that day. He’d scared
her last night, no matter what she’d said, and she hadn’t looked at him dead-on
since. Now her talkative eyebrows shot up in surprise, then twisted with doubt.
“That’s far too generous. I don’t know when I could pay you back.”

“No rush. It’s sitting in the bank.”

He could see she wanted to accept, but she shook her head.
“Thanks, but it wouldn’t be right. I have to pay my own way.”

That stung, being brushed off so quick.

“Rusty says the car can stay there until I decide what to do.
Sell it for parts? I don’t know. I just know we have to get going.”

He had to admit it would be a relief to have her gone. She
mixed him up.

Last night in Rosie’s kitchen, they’d
connected.
Saying next to nothing, they’d talked up a storm about
their bad marriages. Like when they’d talked about loved ones with demons that
afternoon, only worse. He’d recognized her pain, felt the same regret and guilt
she’d spoken of.

When their hands met, the moment flipped over, went sexual.
He’d been so hungry for her, like he hadn’t felt in years, wide open and
raw.

He’d kissed her. He couldn’t help it. What he wanted was to
slide her out of that slinky robe and get skin to skin, run his hands over every
inch of her tempting body.

She’d been
surprised,
she’d said,
but she’d looked
hunted.
He was sick that he’d done
that to her. He’d been a total ass. It had taken him a bit to pull himself
together and get the hell out of there.

They spoke little for the rest of the shift. CJ’s energy had
been dampened like a drizzled-on campfire. She smiled for the customers, but it
was the empty smile he’d seen the first day. He hated that.

They were finishing cleanup when Rosie and Bunny came in.

“Look what Rosie gave me.” Bunny waved a red pogo stick with
fringed handles, an aluminum hula hoop over her shoulder.

“You shouldn’t have,” CJ said, uncomfortable.

“I had to get rid of them anyway,” Rosie said with a shrug.

“Yeah, I helped her clear out her inventory,” Bunny said.
“Watch me!” She managed a couple of bounces on the pogo stick before losing her
balance.

“That’s very good,” her mother said, “but we can’t take them
with us.”

“There’s room in the backseat.”

CJ took a deep breath before she spoke. “We’re not taking the
car. It’s too expensive to fix, so we’re going by bus.”

“By bus?” Bunny frowned. “But we can’t leave Grandma’s car
here.”

“Bunny!” CJ said sharply, as if borrowing a car was something
that shamed her.

“Sorry.” Bunny cringed.

He could tell she’d known not to say that. Strange.

“That’s a stupid move,” Rosie said. “Stay here and make the
cash to fix your car. You’ll need a car in Denver.”

So Rosie had gotten her to reveal her destination.

“We’re expected,” CJ said. “We can’t stay.”

Bunny sighed, took the hula hoop from her shoulder and handed
both toys to Rosie. “Thanks anyway.” Her shoulders slumped and she went down the
hall to the stairs.

“You’re not making sense,” Rosie said to CJ, then followed
Bunny, the rejected gifts clunking into each other with every step.

CJ stared after them, upset. She was in a tough spot. He felt
for her. He had the urge to put his arms around her and tell her it would be all
right—hell, he wanted to
make
it all right.

Totally misguided considering his track record. The best he
could do was give her practical information. “Not many buses on Sunday. Be sure
to check the schedule.”

“What?” She turned to him, her eyes red.

“If you need the cash, feel free to work breakfast tomorrow.”
He caught a flash of hurt in her face, so he added, “But not if it holds you
up.”

Now she looked irritated. “I get it. If I’m leaving, stop
whining about it and do it. I’ll be out of your hair ASAP.” She whipped off her
apron, slapped it on the counter and left him with his mouth hanging open.

What the hell? He’d tried to help, but he’d pissed her off.
Should he run after her and apologize? Nah, he’d only make it worse.

Jonah finished up at the café, eager to get to his shop.
Stepping inside, he felt better. The shop had always been his sanctuary. When
they’d lost the twins, when his marriage had failed, the workbench had given him
solace and satisfaction.

He ran his hand over the high-backed bench he was finishing.
He’d had to wrestle the dense mahogany into the curves he wanted, but it had
been worth it. Jonah tried to honor the wood, let it speak to him, guide him
with its texture, its give and resistance, its grain like bloodlines.

Today, he would carve hearts into the flared corners. Hearts
modeled after CJ’s lips.
Forget CJ and her lips.

Jonah retrieved the carving chisels his father had given
him.
See the shape in the wood and set it free,
he’d said—something like what Michelangelo said about freeing the angel in the
marble he carved. His father had been a patient teacher. Jonah’s best memories
of him were in his father’s shop.

He’d noticed that since his dad died four years ago, Jonah’s
good memories of the man had begun to override the bad ones.

Jonah was halfway through the first heart when Louis whisked
by, crackling the tarps over the pieces he’d finished, then disappearing in the
lumber at the back.

“Louis!”

The shout made Jonah look up. Bunny stood in the doorway
looking frustrated. “He hates me. He always runs from me.”

“It’s not personal. Louis is his own cat. He likes the shop for
some reason.”

“Probably because it smells like the woods where he lives.”

“I hadn’t thought of that.”

“Will he ever come out of there?”

“Eventually. You have to be patient.”

“I don’t have time to be patient. We’re leaving.” She sounded
resigned, like she was used to being disappointed. It was kind of pitiful the
way an old pogo stick had thrilled the hell out of her.

“Can I wait for him in here?” she asked.

“Be my guest.”

Bunny lifted a few tarps searching for the cat, then came over
to him. “Is that hard to learn?”

“Carving? It takes practice. Patience.”

“More patience? I hate patience.” She sighed.

“Woodwork is a craft. You get better as you go along.” He
preferred furniture to cabinetry. More creative and he could work alone. Selling
out to Jared hadn’t hurt anything but his wallet.

Bunny wandered off and he half forgot about her, until a crash
near the power saws sent him running back there. If she’d gotten hurt… He should
have been watching her closer.

He found her at the jigsaw, bent over a sheet of veneer.

“Are you hurt?” he demanded, reaching for her.

“No. I’m sorry.” Bunny backed away, her eyes big.

“Stay clear of the saws. You could lose a hand.” He put the
wood back, then noticed she’d run for the door. He’d scared her by yelling.

“Hold on,” he called to her.

Bunny turned, wary as Louis, poised to fly.

“Sorry I shouted. I was afraid you’d gotten cut.”

She just looked at him.

“How about I show you how to build a small box with a lid? That
was the first thing I made. A treasure box.” That’s what he should have said in
the first place, instead of letting her wander off unsupervised. You had to keep
kids busy.

“Really?” she asked. “Right now?”

“Right this minute.” He went to the worktable where he kept his
computer, pushed the monitor to one side, cleared away the papers, spun the
stool to Bunny’s height, then set her up with scrap wood, a few tools and basic
instructions.

She got right to it, which he liked. He had figured on bringing
his girls into the shop from a young age to show them the joys of making
something with their own two hands.

But that was done.

Hell, he’d probably have barked at them, too. Made them cry
without meaning to. Jonah doubted his dad had set out to be an asshole. He was
simply built that way—moody, quick to anger, distant, harsh. Jonah was just like
him, except for the alcohol problem. That was Evan’s burden to bear.

Jonah and Bunny had been working in silence for a time when she
said, “I like the quiet in here.”

“Me, too. The din gets to me in the café.”

“It’s loud. Yeah. Plus, my mom watches me too much. She always
worries.” He’d noticed how CJ hovered over her daughter, almost as if she were
afraid if the girl were out of her sight, she’d be lost forever. It seemed
excessive, but what did he know about being a parent? He’d let the girl wander
among power tools.

A few more minutes passed, then Bunny whispered, “Look. He’s
out.”

Louis had curled up in a sunny spot between the work
spaces.

“Is it too soon to pet him?” she asked.

“Probably.”

“Patience is hard.”

“If it were easy people wouldn’t want it so bad.”

She considered that for a few seconds, then they both went back
to work.

Soon, he heard her humming. He recognized the tune: “
Blackbird
,
”
an old Beatles song his
mom used to sing to him. He felt a pang, remembering how he would picture the
hurt bird singing in the dark, waiting to heal, finally soaring free. He almost
sang along with her, but he settled for tapping his foot. Louis closed his one
wise eye.

CHAPTER SIX

“W
HERE
’
S
B
UNNY
?”
Cara
asked Rosie. Rosie and Beth Ann had been playing poker when Cara had gone to
call for the bus schedule. Panic flared. It always did when she lost track of
her daughter.
What if Barrett grabbed her?
It was
irrational, but always in the back of her mind.

“She went after Jonah’s cat. Wants to make friends before she
has to leave.” She shot Cara an accusatory glare.

“Where would the cat be?”

“Out by the creek. Maybe Jonah’s shop.” Rosie shot her a look.
“Bunny’s not lost, if that’s what you think.”

Rosie had no idea what she was thinking.

Cara bounded downstairs, through the café and into the yard,
forcing herself not to picture the worst. There was no sign of Beth Ann or the
cat in the open areas. She ran for the shop next, gravel grinding beneath each
flying step. At the doorway, she looked inside, spotting Jonah working on a
bench, then Beth Ann.
Whew.
She sat at a drafting
table hammering nails and…
humming.

Cara hadn’t heard Beth Ann hum in forever, not since…before.
Relief rushed through her. Beth Ann was safe. Pausing to collect herself, she
surveyed Jonah’s shop. Through the windows, late-afternoon light lit up swaths
of sawdust. One wall held a huge, tool-laden Peg-Board. Tarp-covered furniture
or unfinished pieces lined the walls. Toward the back, she saw standing
equipment and all kinds of wood in sheets and planks. It smelled pleasantly of
fresh-cut lumber.

“Hello,” she said, stepping inside.

In response, a cat leaped from the floor and galloped out the
door, fleeing on three legs.

“You scared Louis,” Beth Ann said, frowning.

“Sorry.” Cara felt like an intruder now. “I was looking for
you. What are you making?”

“A treasure box. It’s the first thing Jonah learned to make.
Woodworking is a craft. That means you have to practice a lot. The rule is
measure twice, cut once.
That’s because wood doesn’t
forgive, right, Jonah?”

Cara smiled at the information her daughter had absorbed from
Jonah. She looked at him. “I hope she’s not keeping you from your work.”

Jonah opened his mouth, but Beth Ann spoke first. “I’m not. We
both like it quiet. The café’s got too much
din.
”

“Din?” Cara said to him. “I assume that’s my fault? The
din?”

“Some of it.” He’d seemed eager for her to get on a bus and out
of town earlier. Maybe all her din was the reason. She’d enjoyed their teasing
banter, but maybe he hadn’t. She was a people person and he seemed more of a
loner.

She’d be gone soon enough. “There are no buses on Sunday, so
the earliest we can leave is Monday.”

“Sounds good.”

“Right.” He
did
want her gone. Her
face went hot with hurt.

He frowned as if puzzled. “That’s what you want, isn’t it? To
take the first bus out of here? I want what you want. For you.”

“Then we agree.”

“So can you work tomorrow?”

“Do you want me to?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

Stupidly, her heart lifted. “Because of the din.”

“The more din, the more money in Rosie’s pocket. How can I
complain?” His dark eyes twinkled at her.

“So one more day then,” she said. Beth Ann was hammering away
on her box in the background.

“One more day,” he repeated.

One more day and they’d never see each other again. For some
ridiculous reason, the thought made her feel hollow inside.

Afraid Jonah would see her feelings on her face, Cara shifted
her gaze to the bench he was working on. “This is beautiful.” A dozen curved
slats formed its high back. “So elegant.”

“That’s what I was going for.”

“It looks comfortable.”

“Try it out.”

She sat. The shape perfectly supported her body. “It feels
custom fit to me.”

Jonah gave a short laugh. “To Rosie actually. I made the
template tracing her lying on her side with her legs bent. It wasn’t easy to get
that kind of curve in mahogany, but it was worth it, I think.”

“It was. It absolutely was.” Cara ran her fingers along both
sides of the bench, which felt so smooth it was almost silky. He was carving a
corner of the back, she saw. “How pretty. The heart almost looks like…lips.”

“Exactly.” He gave her a funny smile.

“What?”

“Nothing. So…”

Cara looked around the shop. “All this is your work?”

“It is.”

“Do you sell online?”

“Some. Most of this is for a gallery show in Manhattan at the
end of June.”

“Wow. Can I see?”

“Sure.” He pulled back the closest tarp, revealing a
three-drawer dresser in a pale, shimmering wood. The drawers curved outward,
resembling liquid. She ran her hand over it. “This feels like butter.”

“That’s red-flame yellow birch. It’s got a rich grain and
polishes well. The inlays are various veneers.”

“It’s breathtaking.”

Cara uncovered a boxy chair with narrow, sharply angled slats
and wide armrests. “This looks like it belongs in something built by Frank Lloyd
Wright.”

“Good call. It’s an Arts and Crafts piece. It went well with
his architecture.”

“The grain is so pretty.”

“Quarter-sawn oak. Showing the grain on all four sides is
tricky. It’s a hallmark of Arts and Crafts.” Jonah explained more of the
distinctive style elements, then showed her a sideboard that resembled a tree
trunk, with the top as flattened boughs.

“It almost looks alive. You’re creating art, Jonah.”

“I’m building furniture. It has to be useful. But I make it as
beautiful as I can.”

Their gazes locked again. Jonah smiled. It was a different
smile than she’d seen in the café—more relaxed and open.

“You’re happier here,” Cara said.

“I’m at home here.” His eyes pulled her close the way they had
last night in the dimly lit kitchen. Her heart began to race and she could
hardly breathe. He dropped his gaze from her eyes to her mouth.

“They’re yours,” he said softly. “The lips I used for the
hearts.”

“Mine?” She touched her mouth. “I didn’t realize they were
so…puffy.”

“They are. I know from last night.” His voice was low and each
word registered inside her. She remembered that kiss, how powerful it was, the
surge of desire that had washed over her. Here it was again, fainter, but
unmistakable. It was always there when she was around him, waiting to flare.

“I’m ready for the hinges,” Beth Ann called, snapping their
connection.

“Be right there.” Jonah sounded grateful for the
interruption.

She was, too. At least she should be.

While Jonah helped Beth Ann, Cara uncovered more of Jonah’s
furniture. There were spare modern pieces, more Arts and Crafts style, others
with complex inlays and carvings, each more beautiful than the last.

Toward the back she found a rocking chair that begged to be
tried out. It was made of a golden-brown wood, with dark whorls, highly polished
with more than a dozen delicate dowels bent like tree branches. The seat belled
out and the armrests were indented as if to fit forearms. She pulled the chair
away from the wall and sat, pushing off. The ride was silky smooth, like swaying
in a hammock.

Cara heard footsteps. From the corner of her eye she saw it was
Jonah. “You must have used an angel to model for this.” She leaned back and
closed her eyes. “I feel like I’m floating on a cloud.”

* * *

J
ONAH
’
S
HEART
LURCHED
at the sight of CJ in the rocking chair. She’d
closed her eyes, so he had a few seconds to arrange his face.

Suzanne had been his model and he’d built it for her and the
babies. He’d been varnishing it in the garage when she’d burst in, her face
terrified.
I’m bleeding, Jonah. And I haven’t felt them
move all day.

“It makes me think of my grandma,” CJ continued as he drew
closer, her eyes closed in pleasure. “She had a rocking chair. Not this great,
but we spent a lot of time in it. She would tell me stories and sing to me.”

She sounded so happy, lost in a good memory, her face serene.
This was what he’d wanted from the chair, what he’d built into it with all his
skill.

When he’d pulled into the garage after the hospital, after they
had lost the babies, Suzanne had seen the chair and shrieked,
Get it out of my sight. Burn it. Break it to bits. I don’t
care. I never want to see it again.
He’d crated it away. He intended
to put it in the show in New York and be rid of it for good.

“Can I try?” Bunny had joined them.

CJ opened her eyes and smiled at her daughter. “Sure.”

Bunny climbed beside CJ, who set them rocking. “This feels
peaceful,” Bunny said. “The chair is like a hug.”

Jonah’s chest went tight, so moved he had to catch his breath.
Yes. This was why I built it. For this.

“It does,” CJ said. “How can wood be so soft?” She looked
toward Jonah, then froze, stopping the chair with both feet. Something in his
expression alarmed her. “Are we too heavy? Should we get off?”

“No. I built the chair for…mothers and kids.” The words scraped
his throat, dry as sawdust.

CJ’s eyes widened and she put her hand to her mouth. “Oh, no.
I’m so sorry.”

With a start, he realized she knew about the twins.

Dammit, Rosie.

“Get off, hon.” CJ nudged her daughter.

“But I just got on.”

“Stay there,” Jonah said. “Use the chair. That’s what it’s
for.”

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.” He wanted a new memory of the chair he’d built
with so much hope and joy. Bunny leaned down to start them rocking again. CJ sat
straight, holding his gaze, not quite convinced by his words.

As he watched them, the knot in his gut loosened and some of
that peace Bunny had mentioned rolled through him.

“Take your time,” he said. “I’m going back to work.”

Jonah returned to the bench and began chipping at the wooden
heart, their quiet voices in the background. It was a damn good chair. He wanted
it to be enjoyed, even if the family he’d built it for was gone.

They’re gone. Suzanne. The babies. The
life we had, the one we hoped for.

He braced for the usual knockdown blow of grief and regret that
always followed such thoughts.

But it didn’t come.

He felt…fine. Normal. Sad, but not ripped apart or wrecked.

With a jolt that made him put down his chisel, he realized he
would be okay. Relief washed through him, warm as bathwater. Without realizing
it he’d climbed out of the hole he’d buried himself in all these months.

CJ had showed him that. CJ and her daughter. By loving the
chair he’d built, by feeling its peace, by reminding him of its beauty and
worth.

He was so grateful to her.

And attracted, too. So strongly it alarmed him. That must be a
sign of his recovery, proof he was coming back to life, getting the feeling back
in
all
his parts.

He was surprised to notice it didn’t bother him that CJ knew
about the babies. He trusted her not to pry or pity him. She’d been leveled by
pain, too. Her husband had broken her heart and her spirit and likely hurt her
physically, but he didn’t want to think about that. Their connection made him
feel less…well, lonely.

If he could do it without making a fool of himself, he’d like
to thank CJ before she walked out of his life for good.

* * *

A
FTER
SUPPER
,
Cara did the dishes
while Rosie went through her mail. Beth Ann was in her room watching a rented
DVD on Cara’s laptop.

The kitchen was fragrant with the scent of lemon soap and the
garlic she’d used on the sole she’d sautéed for supper.

It doesn’t taste too fishy
had been
Rosie’s take on the dish that melted in your mouth. Beth Ann, on the other hand,
barely ate a bite. Not even the ketchup cure helped. She was too sad about
leaving.

“You got any idea why my nephew skipped out on a home-cooked
meal?” Suspicion laced Rosie’s words.

“He said he had work.” Grateful Rosie couldn’t see her face,
Cara burned with embarrassment. Jonah was avoiding her because of the rocking
chair incident, she was certain. She’d blathered on about the
angel
he’d modeled it on, not realizing it had been
his ex-wife. To make it worse, she’d let on that she knew about the babies, his
deepest pain. He was so private and she was a near stranger. No wonder he’d
disappeared so fast.

They’d stayed in the chair as he’d insisted, but Cara had
wanted to melt into the concrete. She knew any apology would make it worse.
Jonah would not want to be reminded. Now, for sure, he would be glad to see the
last of her and her din. They had one more day to get through.

“I don’t buy it. He always has work,” Rosie said, but Cara
heard an envelope tear, so she knew Rosie had gone back to her bills. Whew. Bad
enough that Rosie had looked at her funny after Cara let it slip that she’d
watched Jonah repair the sink last night.
You and Mr.
Silence is Golden had a chat?
She’d blurted about waiting for the
water, but Rosie seemed to have read between lines Cara preferred blank.

Cara put the salad bowl in the cupboard. A sharp gasp made her
turn just as Rosie slid to the floor, spilling iced tea over the paper she
clutched.

Cara dropped down beside her, adrenaline making her shake as
she felt Rosie’s wrist.
There. A pulse.
Rosie’s skin
was gray, her forehead clammy. “Rosie?” Cara patted her cheek. “Can you open
your eyes? Can you hear me?”

“I hear you. Now stop slapping me.” Rosie pushed Cara’s hand
away and sat up.