Longing for Home. Kathryn Springer
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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…
“Good morning.” Abby slipped into a chair across from him.
Anonymity.
“How did you find me?”
His sister didn’t look at all intimidated by his scowl. “Someone called me and said you were here, scaring the customers.”
Alex had a hunch he knew who’d called. But when had she found the time between taking orders, babysitting crabby toddlers and refereeing that lively debate over who was responsible for repairing the potholes on Oak Street?
“I’m not scaring anyone. I’m having breakfast.”
“Yes.” Abby cleared her throat. “That’s why it’s a little strange that you ended up here, given the fact that your sister runs a bed-and-breakfast.”
“I got into town a little early—” Four days, he thought he heard Abby say under her breath. “And I didn’t want to disturb you.”
“Since when?”
Alex ignored that as he got a bead on Kate again. Instead of shooing the elderly man back to his table, she had retreated to the kitchen, leaving him alone with the blender. An accident—and a lawsuit—waiting to happen.
“Come on. I’m taking you back to the inn.” Abby stood up. “And leave Kate a big tip. I’m sure she earned it.”
“I already did. I told her that she needed to hire more help.” Alex left the money he owed on the table and rose to his feet.
“Really?” Abby shook her head. “I’m surprised you lived to tell about it.”
Alex remembered the spark of emerald fire in Kate’s eyes and clamped down on a smile. “There were witnesses.”
“Leave Kate alone,” his sister commanded. “She doesn’t need your advice. She took over the café when she was twenty years old. Most people that age are still trying to figure out what to do with their lives.”
“She tries to be in three different places at once.” He’d almost suffered an attack of vertigo just watching her.
“Kate has everything under control.” Abby tucked her arm through his and