Dreamless. Darlene Graham
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Anything to end this endless water sipping and silence.
“You come here often?”
“No, not lately. But when I was a kid, my aunt brought me here for brunch almost every Sunday after church.” Cassie smiled. “She always let me take of a little nip of her mimosa.”
“Who is your aunt?”
“Rosemarie Cowan.”
“Ah,” he said, as if realizing something. “So you’re related to Cowan Construction?”
“Yes. Cowan Construction was my grandfather’s company—Rosemarie’s father. My mother’s father.” The company was formerly very well-known in Jordan.
“Oh.” Jake glanced out the window, then his gaze snapped back to her, assessing. “So you inherited the building business from two families?”
“I didn’t inherit anything.” Cassie wanted to be clear about that. She wondered if he was sizing up her assets. The assumption that she had stepped into Boss’s shoes always rankled, but she had learned to keep her cool about it. Jake Coffey was not the first to assume that she had been handed success on a silver platter. “My grandfather taught my father the building business after my parents married. When my grandfather died, Boss changed the name of the business to McClean Builders. But then my father lost all of it when—”
“I know that McClean Builders went under.”
At her surprised look, he said, “I checked you out.”
“Then, surely you discovered that I started Dream Builders on my own.”
“Well, I didn’t dig real deep, but I know about the other two additions out east that you threw up in record time before you got your hands on the Sullivan land.”
“Those are fine, modest homes,” she defended. She did not build junk, as her father had, and she resented any implication that she did.
“I merely meant that you sure work at lightning speed for a builder. What’s the hurry?”
Cassie ran her finger over the rim of her water glass. “When I built Sandplum Creek and Meadow Farms, I was struggling for credibility. The bankers trust me now. If you consistently bring projects in on schedule, or even ahead of schedule, they’ll loan you bigger money the next time.”
He nodded. “Makes sense. So all the time you were headed for The Heights.”
She couldn’t help smiling. “Yep. And now I’m there, up on The Heights. And nothing is going to mess up this project now.”
“Certainly not some cranky horse farmer who wants peace and quiet for his mares.”
Their gazes locked, and they were suddenly the two people who’d recently had a confrontation from behind sunglasses.
Fortunately, just then the waiter brought a basket of hot, fragrant bread. They calmed down while they busied themselves buttering it.
After Jake swallowed a bite, he rolled his eyes. “The bread here is great. I’ve got a pretty decent cook, but she can’t top this.”
“You have a cook?” It occurred to Cassie again that she knew very little about this man, except that he could be awfully stubborn when it came to protecting his horse ranch.
“Yeah. Donna. A sweetheart. She’s a very competent cook, but mainly she takes care of my dad.”
“Oh? Your father lives with you?” Cassie felt a tiny prick of something akin to envy. Wouldn’t it be nice, the generations living together in peace on the family ranch?
“Actually, it’s the other way around. Cottonwood Ranch belongs to him. But he’s got Alzheimer’s disease.” He stated it matter-of-factly, with regret but with no inkling of self-pity.
“Oh. I’m so sorry. I’ve heard that’s very stressful for the family. Is your mother still alive?”
“No. She passed on years ago.”
“Then, does…does the rest of your family help you with your father?”
She knew she was trying to get down to the question of whether he was in fact single, without actually asking. It made her feel nosy and manipulative, but she couldn’t help herself. This was the first man she had been attracted to in a long, long time, and she had to know if he was romantically involved. She wasn’t entirely sure he wasn’t, in fact, married. Someone had said they thought Jake Coffey and his wife had split up about three years ago, but sometimes couples reconciled after a separation.
“My brother Aaron lives in Dallas. My parents were in their early forties when they had us. It was a miracle, according to my mother. But no matter how it happened, I’m sure glad they had Aaron. He’s my best friend.” His smile was warm, unselfconscious. “Do you have any siblings?”
“No, I’m an only child.” And Cassie had always hated that. But she did have a gaggle of close friends from her aunt’s neighborhood that had sustained her through the years. Three girls and one guy, Hermie. All into math and music and art. They’d all grown and gone their separate ways, far from Jordan, except for her and Stacey.
“But I still see my best friend since seventh grade about once a week,” she said, and, again, mentally thrashed for a way to find out what she wanted to know without sounding like a ninny.
She glanced at his left hand. No ring, but that didn’t mean anything, especially in a man who worked outdoors. Plenty of married construction workers left their rings at home for safety reasons.
“I’m divorced,” he volunteered with a wry grin.
“Oh.”
The waiter came back before Cassie could think of a way to find out if that meant he was actually available.
“Have you folks had a chance to look at the menu?”
They smiled sheepishly at each other, realizing that they’d been engrossed in each other instead of deciding what to order.
“I already know what I want.” Cassie laid her menu aside.
“Why am I not surprised?” Jake’s smile widened.
Cassie’s smile grew more abashed. Maybe she had been a little too assertive when she met this guy, but that was business. She could separate business from pleasure, couldn’t she? So, which was this? She glanced at the waiter.
“I’ll have the chicken crepes.”
Jake scanned his menu, then snapped it shut. “The prime rib. Medium. Plenty of horseradish on the side.”
“Help yourselves to the salad bar.” The waiter smiled and picked up the menus.
The salad bar at Legend’s never changed, either. Eating here felt like coming home. Soon, she decided, she would have to bring Aunt Rosemarie here for dinner again. Cassie’s work had been keeping her too busy lately, but that was no reason to neglect her dear aunt.
As they loaded their plates with tabbouleh, German potato salad, and the freshest of radicchio and field green salads, Cassie said, “I love this salad bar. My aunt used to let me pick out anything I wanted when I was a kid.”
“Legend’s is sort of a fancy restaurant for a little girl,” Jake commented.
“I wasn’t that little. I was already twelve by the time I went to live with her.”
“Was that after your dad went to prison?”
He said it quietly, the way he said everything, and not at all unsympathetically, but Cassie nearly dropped her chilled glass plate. She looked around, relieved that they were the only ones near the salad bar. “Did you dig that up when you checked me out?”
“I’m a little older than you, Ms. McClean. And thanks to my father, I was reading the paper and paying attention to current events long before most of your contemporaries.” Seeming