A Taste of Paradise. Patricia Thayer
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and found seats at the counter.
“Hey, everyone, this is Tori. And don’t give her a bad time. I’d like her to stay around awhile.”
“Good morning, gentlemen,” she piped in as her face flamed. “How about some coffee?” She grabbed the glass pot and brought it to the patrons, filling the mugs that already lined the counter, and then took out her pen and notepad. “What would you like for breakfast?”
The orders came fast. Just as Sam had taught her, she called each order back to the kitchen. More customers arrived and squeezed into the booths. That was when Tori realized that she was out of shape. The two days a week she’d spent in the gym hadn’t readied her for this workout. She covered what seemed like miles between taking orders, refilling coffee cups and clearing tables. There were a few mishaps—broken dishes, mixed-up orders—but everyone was patient and friendly. Finally, around nine-thirty, the crowd thinned and Sam told her to take a break.
“But the tables need to be cleared,” she told him.
He waved her off. “They’ll wait.”
He filled two mugs and pointed to the stool at the counter. She sat, took a long sip of the warm liquid and sighed.
“Well, you ready to quit?”
“No. Why? Are you ready to fire me?”
“Not hardly. You did great. You’re bringing in business.”
His praise was a stimulant to her ego. “You mean this morning’s crowd wasn’t the usual?”
He shrugged. “Some were, but more came in to see the pretty new lady in town.” He took a sip of coffee. “Don’t get me wrong, I have a good weekday breakfast crowd, but Saturday isn’t usually this busy.”
Before Tori could comment, the door opened and Nate Hunter walked in. He looked big and sexy dressed in faded jeans and a light blue Western-cut shirt and boots, even more handsome than in his uniform, if that were possible. And it was.
He smiled and she realized she’d missed him since he’d left the apartment yesterday. “Good morning,” she said, starting to stand, until his warm hand touched her on the shoulder.
“No, don’t get up. I’ll get my own coffee.” He smiled at Tori. “Looks like you survived your first morning.”
“Yes, I did,” she said proudly. “Everyone was so nice and patient with me.”
His grin broadened as he leaned against the counter. “I bet that was a real hardship for them.”
Sam chuckled. “Duke Hastings nearly tripped over his tongue when Tori smiled at him.”
“Which one was Duke?” she asked.
“He sat at the end of the counter,” Sam offered. “The skinny guy in the red shirt with the stutter. I should have charged him rent. He hung around for nearly an hour.”
“He was nice,” she said, remembering how shy he’d been. “And I spilled coffee on his eggs.”
Both men laughed. “I bet that made his day.”
“Well, he made mine.” Tori pulled the folded bills from her pocket, drawing Sam’s and Nate’s attention. “He tips very well.”
The following evening Nate sat on his mother’s porch enjoying the cool breeze. It was too hot to stay inside his apartment above the garage. Besides, he liked the view along peaceful Grove Street. He tipped his chair on its back legs, placed his boots on the white-spindled railing, and ran a razor-sharp knife over the small block of wood he held in his hands. His long-practiced strokes peeled away the unwanted layers, just as his grandfather had taught him years ago, making a figure take shape.
He thought back to the first time his grandpa had told him he was old enough to handle a knife, that had been the same summer he’d gotten to ride in the Double H Ranch’s roundup.
Over four generations of Hunters had lived and died on that land until the bank took the last of the Hunter’s Haven homestead away two months after his father, Edward Hunter, died. That tragedy hadn’t mattered to the bank officer. He’d foreclosed and sold the land out from under the family.
Luckily, his father had had life insurance so Betty Hunter and her family had been able to buy a modest home in town. It wasn’t the same. Nate didn’t like thinking about that time in his life and all the mistakes he’d made. And the last angry words he’d spoken to his dad before he’d walked out. Even ten years later, the guilt still haunted him. And next month, he hoped, he was going to get back some of what the Hunter family had lost.
Nate heard his name called and looked up to see old Otis Carl wave as he walked down the street. He called out in greeting, hoping the eighty-year-old didn’t want to stop and talk. Not that he didn’t like to visit with neighbors, but tonight he needed some alone time. He’d been on edge for the last few days. He blamed it on the heat, or maybe it was Haven’s pretty new resident and thoughts of what she was doing tonight. Damn. He pushed aside the intruding image of Tori.
It was the upcoming land auction that he needed to focus on. The Double H was being sold next month and he couldn’t stop worrying about scraping enough money together to make a competitive bid on part of the old homestead. The Double H rightfully belonged to the Hunters, and he planned to make it theirs once again.
He’d sure feel more secure if he had extra cash. If only his brother could pay him back the money Nate had loaned him to start up his construction business. Immediately, Nate felt guilty. He’d given that money to Shane three years ago with no strings attached. Besides, his younger brother didn’t have it to give to him. Everything he had was tied up in the Haven’s Paradise development. Shane probably wouldn’t show a profit until the first phase of homes were about to break ground. If there were no delays that still would be a few months off.
Nate knew his brother would help him if he could, he’d already offered to help remodel the ranch house. With luck that would happen next month, after the auction. Then, finally, Nate would be able to think about his life and his future. His mother was settled now, his sister would graduate from college next spring and Shane’s business was off the ground.
It was his time. It was time for him to start living his dreams. And Nate only wanted ten sections of land from the original homestead, Hunter’s Haven, the Double H Ranch. He smiled, remembering the story: his great-great-grandmother, Rebecca, had named the valley as soon as she’d arrived, as Jacob Hunter’s new bride, in this land surrounded by majestic mountains. Now Nate had a chance to regain some part of his heritage. He’d begin with a small herd of cattle, and maybe he’d train some saddle horses. It wouldn’t be an easy life. The ranch was fifteen miles out of town, but not completely isolated. He didn’t want to be alone, but it would take a special woman to want to live on a ranch. Again he thought about Tori.
Just then a patrol car came down the street, stopped in front of the house and Ryan Clark climbed out. Ryan was one of the newest deputies, not a year out of the sheriff’s academy.
“Well, there goes my night off,” Nate murmured. “Hey, Ryan. Is there a problem?”
“I stopped Kurt Easton about an hour ago.”
Great. “Just tell me you had good cause.”
Ryan nodded. “He was doing eighty on the old county road.”
Nate knew Easton wouldn’t be happy. He’d had run-ins with the lawyer and city councilman before. There was a time when Kurt Easton was a frequent patron of the local bars. A few years back Nate had caught the councilor staggering in the parking lot of just such an establishment toward his car. The councilman had intended to drive home. With his wife safely behind the wheel, Nate had let the man off with a warning and the belligerent Easton’s agreement to get himself some help. Nate hoped he had taken the advice.
“Was he under the influence?”
The deputy shook his head. “At first I thought so. He seemed a little lethargic,