Longing for Home. Kathryn Springer
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rules in place for that sort of thing. Most of the people he came into contact with strove to keep their professional and personal lives separate. He’d come to the conclusion long ago that life ran much more smoothly if he kept his entire life professional. No blurred boundaries. Minimal conflict. It worked for him.
He thought it had been working for Abby, too, until she’d broken rank and moved to Mirror Lake.
“It’s getting late.” Alex eased his foot out from under Mulligan’s bristly chin and rose to his feet. “Hopefully you’ll see things my way in the morning.”
“Is this a good time to mention that placing a tape recorder under a person’s pillow and playing subliminal messages only works in the movies?”
“That’s what you think.”
Abby grinned. “Good night, bossy older brother.”
“Good night, annoying little sister.”
Just as he reached the door, one of the decorative sofa pillows smacked him in the back of the head. Alex caught the tasseled grenade before it hit the floor and lobbed it back.
“Does O’Halloran know about your temper?”
“Quinn calls it spunk.” A hint of mischief stole into his sister’s eyes. “I just wanted to tell you that I tweaked the Porter family motto a bit.”
“That’s it. I’m calling my attorney.”
Abby ignored him. “Now I live by the motto ‘Don’t settle for anything but God’s best.’ And, in this case, that’s exactly what I’m doing. Kate understands that what makes people repeat customers isn’t only the food on the table, it’s the feeling they get at the table.”
Feelings?
Alex was pretty sure that ‘feelings’ didn’t account for the success of the four hotels in the Porter chain. His guests returned because they wanted a professional staff waiting in the wings, poised to meet their every need—not a buddy.
An image of Kate, claiming an empty chair at the tableful of men who were discussing the dangerous potholes on Oak Street, came to mind. He would have fired her on the spot for that kind of familiarity.
“You don’t know what I’m talking about, do you?”
“I know you’ve been spending too much time in the ‘Kum ba yah’ circle since you moved here.”
Abby chuckled. “You’re welcome to take my place at the campfire while Quinn and I are on our honeymoon. Kate can teach you the words.”
The sarcastic comeback Alex was about to make was suddenly hijacked by a redheaded sprite.
This is Abby’s more—and that means it’s perfect.
He pushed the memory aside.
Learn something from Kate?
What did she know about ‘more’? She lived in a backwoods town with a population of less than a thousand. The dining room of her café was smaller than the master bathroom in one of his suites.
Abby clucked her tongue. “I know that look, Alex.”
“What look?”
“Don’t sell Kate short. She’s taught me a lot about friendship…and faith…since I’ve known her.”
Then she definitely had nothing to teach him. Alex had closed the door on both those things a long time ago.
“Doug…you…chicken!”
The burly truck driver, who’d been filling out the inventory receipt, glowered at Kate. “Didn’t Mrs. Carlson tell you not to call me names?”
“That was in second grade,” Kate huffed. “And I didn’t… I’m not calling you names! I’m talking about the chicken that was supposed to be on the truck today.”
The chicken that was to serve as the main entrée for Abby and Quinn’s wedding reception.
“It’s there.” Doug’s platter-size palm thumped her gently on the head as if she were a golden retriever puppy. “I saw it.”
Kate felt a headache sink its talons into the back of her skull. The café was the first stop on Doug’s predawn run and she was glad she’d checked the order before he’d left. Most of the time, he unloaded the boxes straight into the walk-in freezer while she signed the paperwork.
But the past forty-eight hours, Kate had gotten a little paranoid.
One of the freezers had died two nights ago, forcing her to dispose of half the inventory. Her best waitress had had a family emergency and Kate wasn’t able to find a replacement on short notice. So instead of devoting precious hours on the prep work for the reception dinner, she’d had to wait tables instead.
To top it off, the ’57 Thunderbird she’d inherited from her grandfather had thrown another temper tantrum and refused to leave the garage. To get from Point A to Point B, Kate had to make do with the canary-yellow Schwinn she’d received on her twelfth birthday.
And let’s not forget that you and Alex Porter are about to become temporary business partners.
Kate suppressed a shudder. There was no denying it. The man managed to get under her skin—like a splinter. If she didn’t know better, she might think he was responsible for all the obstacles that had been thrown into her path.
“I saw a box marked chicken,” Doug said in a soothing voice. The voice a person used when talking to small children. And golden retriever puppies.
“What you saw was a box of frozen chicken patties.” Kate’s back teeth snapped together on the last word.
“So what’s the fuss?”
“The fuss…” Kate cleared her throat to open a passage in which to breathe. “Is that I didn’t order a box of frozen chicken patties. I ordered fresh, free-range chicken cut into kabob-size pieces.”
“Huh.” Doug scratched the back of his head. “That’s weird.”
“It’s worse than weird, Doug. I need that chicken for Abby and Quinn’s wedding reception. Tomorrow.”
“Can’t you just substitute? Nothing wrong with chicken patties. Smear ’em with a little mustard and—”
“I’m calling my supplier.” Kate veered toward the oversize closet that passed for her office. “Don’t leave,” she called over her shoulder.
“I’m on a tight schedule today, Kate.”
“Five minutes,” she ground out. “Help yourself to coffee.”
Doug’s lips peeled back into a wide grin, unveiling a gold-capped incisor. “Okay.”
Kate took two laps around the desk, debating whether it was too early to call the Jensens, who owned a small farm several miles from Mirror Lake. The couple had stopped in and introduced themselves early in the summer. Kate had never ordered from them before but she had a soft spot for family-owned businesses.
The first order she’d placed was for the meat and fresh produce for Abby and Quinn’s wedding.
Farmers were up with the sunrise, weren’t they?
Kate took a deep breath and dialed the number. Just when she was about to hang up, a young woman answered.
“North Star Organics. Amber Jensen speaking.”
Kate took a deep breath, praying that once she explained the situation to Amber, the mistake would be rectified and all would be right with the world.
The absolute silence on the other end of the phone told her otherwise.
“I’m really sorry, Miss Nichols. My parents left for the Upper Peninsula yesterday to visit my grandparents