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Wanted: The Perfect Mom
T. R. McClure
His daughter deserves the bestPolice chief John “Mac” McAndrews is on a mission to find the perfect mother for his daughter. Someone who will stay home, welcome his child after school and bake cookies. Obviously, Holly Hoffman is not that woman. She’s still as feisty, independent and headstrong as she’d been when they were teenagers. And she’s just spent every last dime opening the Wildflower coffee bar. Mac would never ask her to give up her brand-new business. Still, he can’t help dropping by the shop whenever he gets the chance, fanning old flames he should be dousing instead.


His daughter deserves the best
Police chief John “Mac” McAndrews is on a mission to find the perfect mother for his daughter. Someone who will stay home, welcome his child after school and bake cookies. Obviously, Holly Hoffman is not that woman. She’s still as feisty, independent and headstrong as she’d been when they were teenagers. And she’s just spent every last dime opening the Wildflower coffee bar. Mac would never ask her to give up her brand-new business. Still, he can’t help dropping by the shop whenever he gets the chance, fanning old flames he should be dousing instead.
“Do you remember when we used to—”
“—sled down this hill?” The memory sparked a laugh in Holly. “We were crazy.”
Leaving the trees behind, Holly stepped into the hayfield at the top of the ridge. Mac followed close behind as she walked to the summit and studied the view before them.
Mac came up beside her. The touch of his shoulder against hers sent an electric shock through her body.
“Holly.”
Holly focused on the mountains in the distance, covered in haze, and ignored the burn where his arm touched hers. “Hot today,” she said. “I can’t imagine sledding in weather like this, can you? I wonder if the kids—”
“Holly.” The gruffness in Mac’s voice brought her up short, but she refused to meet his eyes.
“Mac, I can’t—”
Mac reached out and pulled her closer. “The girl I knew didn’t have can’t in her vocabulary.”

Dear Reader (#ulink_e3661877-94a5-5554-8a8c-cffbec936659),
First of all, thank you for picking up this book. The journey to publication has been long and I have learned so much in the past few years. All of which goes to prove you’re never too old to learn. Thanks to all who have offered advice and encouragement along the way. Special thanks to the crew at Mills & Boon who worked to bring Wanted: The Perfect Mom to print. This book is my first with Mills & Boon. I am honored to be included in the diverse and talented group of Mills & Boon Heartwarming authors.
This story is about family—the one we’re born into and the one we create. Both have tremendous impact on our lives. Family dynamics are a living, growing thing. Sometimes, as in Holly’s case, there comes a time when our place in the original has morphed into something unrecognizable. Creating a new family seems an impossible dream. Holly must find her way in the unfamiliar territory between the two.
She figures it out. We all do. Eventually.
Enjoy the read.
T.R.

Wanted: The Perfect Mom
T. R. McClure


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
T. R. McCLURE wrote her first story when she was ten years old. A degree in psychology led to a career in human resources. Only after retirement did she pick up her pen and return to fiction. Wanted: The Perfect Mom is her first novel with Harlequin.
T.R. lives in central Pennsylvania with her husband of thirty-seven years. They share their country home with one horse, one cat, four beagles and Sunny the yellow lab. T.R. is always up for travel adventures with her grown twin daughters.
To Grandma McClure, who always had a bag of sugar cookies in the freezer for hungry grandchildren. On lazy summer walks, she shared with me the magic of the touch-me-not flower. Thanks to her for happy childhood memories on the farm.
Contents
COVER (#u3c4ae73d-c3d1-5afa-942d-ac02177eba1b)
BACK COVER TEXT (#u0b0e2cb6-5515-5e01-972c-08bcaf69cb3d)
INTRODUCTION (#u5b7ca6a5-2762-5eb6-9963-5ec516e6b613)
Dear Reader (#ulink_8efb14d0-4909-53ae-88c9-72b05e33521f)
TITLE PAGE (#u266d917a-14e2-5fb4-9d5c-b411c4bb544e)
ABOUT THE AUTHOR (#u14ba9b16-1694-5441-876a-75ba89c102bb)
DEDICATION (#u8dddcb9b-9c9a-51fe-8ee5-7b6dd0ad2922)
CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_a091f1d0-5260-5b60-8a91-db4c1c5b83de)
CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_27204922-781c-585a-ae94-c426fed1b41c)
CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_0d96219c-3448-5268-a06f-6a6f9126af59)
CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_96717e4e-cea8-5d2d-a3e7-612cd8e686c8)
CHAPTER FIVE (#ulink_0503ad6b-e069-5bdf-a85b-38cd197984f9)
CHAPTER SIX (#ulink_b61e8af1-722a-5775-bb2b-3fed976cd0b5)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINETEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE (#litres_trial_promo)
EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)
EXTRACT (#litres_trial_promo)
COPYRIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_d269d1c9-1ca4-59fa-b313-40bfeb3ea966)
ONE SHOT.
Dark, viscous liquid poured into the glass.
With the final drops, golden crema swirled.
Pour into a warmed china mug. Add the perfect measure of aromatic vanilla.
And then the pièce de résistance...perfectly steamed whole milk.
Holly Hoffman stood back from the shiny new commercial espresso machine and let loose a deep sigh as the aroma of fresh ground beans surrounded her. She grabbed a damp cocoa-brown bar towel and wiped the steam wand.
The first vanilla latte purchased in The Wildflower Coffee Bar and Used Book Store was a veritable work of art, as it should be. Holly had been working toward this May 1 opening for six months. Six months of visiting coffee bean suppliers in the Strip District in Pittsburgh, training with the espresso machine company and dealing with her loving but definitely opinionated family.
The shop had been open ten minutes and already the line stretched out the door. Who would’ve thought so many coffee aficionados lived in the little central Pennsylvania community of Bear Meadows?
As Holly frothed a pitcher of nonfat milk, she looked around the comfortable surroundings created with the help of her sister-in-law, Carolyn. Four brown-and-yellow-plaid armchairs surrounded a low table in the corner. A matching couch and coffee table stretched along the wall lined with bookshelves.
Louise, Holly’s best friend since kindergarten, was intent on the cash register. She tapped up, down and across like a virtuoso pianist. Mrs. Hershberger stood on the other side of the gleaming white counter, squinting through rimless glasses at the extensive menu over the back bar.
“What’s the difference between a latte and a cappuccino?” Mrs. Hershberger asked. The recently retired teacher had already ordered a vanilla latte with whole milk...but she liked to learn new things. The summer before, she’d gone on an excursion to the Antarctic.
Behind her, Wendy Valentine gripped her briefcase to her suit jacket and drummed well-manicured nails on the leather. Smoothing her black pageboy, the local television star glared at Mrs. Hershberger as if staring would help her sort the coins she’d scattered on the countertop as she paid for her drink. But anyone who’d had Mrs. Hershberger for first grade—pretty much everybody in town under the age of fifty—knew the teacher didn’t like to be rushed.
Holly steamed milk in a shiny metal pitcher. The low rumble joined the buzz of conversation in the shop. Wendy would order nonfat milk, no doubt about it, which was why Holly had the milk almost up to temperature.
Behind Wendy was Holly’s landlady, Mayor Gold. She eyed the furnishings and lodge-like decor, probably wondering if she was asking enough rent. Carolyn, standing shoulder to shoulder with Holly, was already steaming soy milk. Everyone had heard Mayor Gold’s speech on eating lower on the food chain. Behind her, mailbag slung over his shoulder, stood Bill the mailman in his khaki shorts.
“Vanilla latte,” Holly shouted, unable to keep the sound of triumph out of her voice.
Mrs. Hershberger, standing with her back to the espresso machine, jumped. “You don’t need to shout, girl. I’m not deaf, you know.”
“Sorry, Mrs. Hershberger, that’s just how we announce your drink’s ready.” Holly smiled and lowered her voice. “Here’s your vanilla latte. You enjoy, now.” Apparently her parade-ground voice, courtesy of the military, was a bit too loud for the confines of The Wildflower. She would have to watch it.
Mrs. Hershberger gave her a wink, patted her hand and headed toward the tables along the windows.
Louise grabbed a ceramic mug and wrote V C N F on a yellow sticky.
Holly faced the espresso machine, feeling like Marshal Dillon on Main Street in Dodge City during the opening credits of Gunsmoke. She knew V C N F. They had been practicing all week.
Vanilla cappuccino, nonfat milk.
She glanced at the counter to her left, where Louise arranged cups with the precision of a drill sergeant. At least ten mugs with sticky-note orders in coffee shorthand sat in a row. Their eyes met over the mugs.
Louise’s red lips curved in a smile.
Holly knew what she was thinking.
They were officially in business.
* * *
JOHN “MAC” MCANDREWS sat in his patrol car across the street from Holly Hoffman’s new coffeehouse. A line of people stretched out the door and down the boardwalk, which ran from Megan Martin’s Hair Today to Sue Hunter’s The Cookie Jar. Not even eight o’clock on a Monday morning and a newcomer would think Bear Meadows was a bustling community. He sighed and rubbed his forehead where the pain of a caffeine headache lurked.
Mac debated getting in line. Up at five, he had left the house without making coffee, responding to a reported break-in. The Smith brothers again. Hawkeye had decided to visit the family hunting camp to get an early run at some turkeys but neglected to tell his brother. Skinny Smith, hearing someone walking around outside in the darkness, called the police on his cell phone. By the time Mac arrived, the seventy-year-old twins were already in the woods, the cabin empty.
Through the large windows, he observed Mrs. Hershberger set her cup on a table, then wave cheerily. Too bad she had retired. One of the few people in town not to have had her as a teacher in first grade, Mac had still, through a confluence of events, managed to be a recipient of the woman’s high expectations. Where would he be now without her influence? Probably in jail. He waved back.
Mac thought back to his last year of high school. He often sat with Chris Hoffman and the rest of his family as they cheered for Holly during the girls’ volleyball games. Mac would watch entranced as Holly made point after point, game after game.
She was a firecracker. Setter and team captain, Holly would prop her hands on flexed knees and fix her gaze on the ball as the opposing team prepared to serve. When the ball went into play, she hustled about the court, energy pouring out of her, dark ponytail flying. Nothing compared to her intense concentration. He remembered being the object of that concentration once. Her intense focus was hard to resist, all the more reason to keep his distance. They had both moved on after high school, he to the army, she to the air force.
His temples were throbbing, and when he glanced across the street, the line out the door of The Wildflower had lengthened. A large, tiger-striped cat peeked around the corner of the beauty shop and scurried under the porch. He should call animal control but he had work to do. The cat would have to wait.
Mac turned his key in the ignition and shifted the SUV into Drive. He would get a coffee at the gas station on the edge of town.
He didn’t need Holly Hoffman’s fancy coffee. He just needed some caffeine.
* * *
A LULL FINALLY came at three o’clock. Carolyn, Louise and Holly collapsed in the cushioned chairs. Crumbs of blueberry scones and bagels littered the surface of the shellacked wood table and the rug. Holly picked up a crumb and inspected it. “Five second rule?” She shot a glance at Carolyn and Louise.
“More like five hours.” Carolyn groaned. “You need a mat at the cash register. My feet are killing me.” She threw her legs over the arm of the chair and leaned her head back, closing her eyes. Loosening the clip holding her hair, she ran her fingers through curly locks and sighed.
“Well, you’re no spring chicken, honey.” Carolyn’s husband and Holly’s oldest brother walked in. In each of his big hands Sonny carried three Wildflower mugs. “Your cups are all over the front porch. How are you keeping track?” He set the cups on the counter with a clang and then sat heavily on the arm of Holly’s chair and threw his arm along the back. At six foot two and 250 pounds he sat pretty much wherever he wanted to.
“Any chance of getting a cup of coffee?” He grinned. Three pairs of eyes glared.
“Get your own coffee,” Holly said. She leaned back and brushed her bangs from her face. Despite the air-conditioning, a bead of sweat rolled down her cheek.
“You opened a coffee shop. You better get used to serving customers on demand or you’ll be out of business and living on the street in no time.” He tugged a hank of her hair.
“Stop it.” Holly slapped at his hand. “At least the orders will be from paying customers. Besides, we’re beat.”
Sonny pulled her ear. “Welcome to the real world, little sister. Need I remind you of our deal?”
Holly frowned at her brother. Despite his teasing, he’d always supported her. “You’re right. I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you.” She sat up and fixed her gaze on Carolyn and Louise. “Any of you. Thank you for your help.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Rose Hoffman said. “We’re family. Of course we’ll help.” Holly’s mother came out of the back room and dropped a clipboard on the counter with a clatter. “I’ll bring you a cup of coffee. Would you like regular or decaf?”
“The strongest she’s got, Mom. What’s the point in drinking coffee if you can’t get a buzz?”
“Mom, sit down,” Carolyn said. “You’ve been working all morning. He’s got two legs. He can figure out how to get coffee.” Carolyn glared at her husband and whispered, “She’s sixty-two years old, Sonny.”
Rose’s voice drifted over the counter. “I may be sixty-two but I’m not deaf, dear, and I think I can manage a cup of coffee. Haven’t you heard? Sixty-two is the new forty-two.” She set the large mug down on the table and put her arms around her oldest son’s neck, squeezing tightly.
“You need a haircut. Your hair’s longer than mine.” Rose ran her fingers through her son’s unruly black hair—the same shade as her own, though hers was threaded with strands of silver. “Why don’t you stop over and I’ll give you a cut later?”
Holly smiled at the pained expression on Sonny’s face. “Good idea. Why don’t you let Mom cut your hair, bro?”
“Mom, stop, you’re choking me.” Sonny gagged as he pulled away but only succeeded in losing his balance and sliding down on top of Holly.
“Oh, for goodness’ sake,” she said, “you’re smashing me.” Holly slid out of the chair and landed on the floor. Pain radiated from her hip. A bruise for sure. Her brother sat comfortably in the chair that had been hers just moments before. She threw a scowl his direction.
“Thanks, sis.” He reached for the mug his mother had set on the table and slurped. “Your coffee’s good and strong, just how I like it.” He shot a sideways glance at his wife. “That’s how I like my women, too.”
Carolyn aimed a kick but missed as he jerked his leg away. “Don’t you have some work to do?”
“It’s not strong...” Teeth clenched, Holly pulled herself up from the floor. “It’s bold.” Limping to the front window, she rubbed the stinging spot on her behind.
Resting his head on the back of the chair, Sonny wrinkled his brow. “I smell—” he sniffed “—gerbils and cedar chips.” He shot Holly a look of concern. “Are you sure the pet store got everything when they cleared out of here? I think I just saw something run under the couch.”
Holly crossed her arms. “This place was spotless before I moved the furniture in. And you know it.”
Laughing, Sonny reached in his pocket as his phone trilled. Further discussion of the previous tenants was forgotten as he launched into a description of materials for a project on the other side of town.
Holly caught Carolyn’s eye. “How can you think when he’s on the phone? He’s so loud.”
Carolyn shrugged. “Welcome to my world. Now I know why your family didn’t mind that we married right out of high school. They wanted him out of the house so they could hold a conversation without shouting.”
Holly chuckled. She had to admit, when her father, whom everybody called Fritz, and older brothers, Sonny, Thomas and Chris, were in a room, the noise level quadrupled. As the youngest, she had to fight for the slightest attention.
If she leaned against the window and looked down the street, she could just see the Victorian house her parents had bought two years before. The tiny window in the attic belonged to Holly.
The sound of boots thumping on wooden planks drew her attention and, pressing her cheek against the window, she chilled at what she saw. With a cowboy swagger, minus the accompanying jingle of spurs, Mac McAndrews strolled in the direction of Holly’s shop.
She pressed her forehead against the cool glass and closed her eyes. What was he doing here?
The thumping of the boots came closer.
Mac McAndrews. She hadn’t seen him since high school graduation...his high school graduation, which just happened to coincide with Chris’s graduation. Otherwise Holly wouldn’t have been within a mile of the high school.
Jump, Frog, jump. The second half of eighth grade, when every cookie she ate went to her expanding middle. Schedules changed and a tenth-grade boys’ class shared the gym with Holly’s eighth-grade girls’ class. Holly had stayed away from the trampoline after that.
She’d been back in town for six months and she hadn’t seen him until this very minute. She didn’t care if she never saw him again, if they somehow coexisted without ever crossing paths. So why did he have to show up on opening day?
Holly retreated behind the counter and placed the china mugs her mother had washed on top of the espresso machine to keep them warm.
The bell jingled over the door.
Sonny raised his arm. “Mac. Hey, buddy.”
Holly peered around the edge of the espresso machine.
John “Mac” McAndrews, all six foot two of masculine authority, stood in the doorway of her coffee shop.
“Sonny.” His voice was deeper than she remembered, more gravelly.
Sonny strode over to Mac and clasped his hand. “Have you come to check out little sister’s foray into the business world?” He shot Holly an evil grin. “She’s still trying to keep up with her big brother.”
Mac’s gaze swiveled in the direction of the counter. “Holly.”
Still partially hidden by the espresso machine, Holly closed her eyes and took a deep breath. They were kids then. Surely he had changed. Or maybe not.
When Holly opened her eyes she found herself staring at a pair of dark glasses. Mac stood waiting just on the other side of the counter.
He’d been tall and lanky in high school, but he had filled out nicely. Holly’s eyes traveled up the black uniform pants to the heavy black belt with a holster carrying a Smith & Wesson .38. A trim waist expanded to broad shoulders. She continued past the collar brass to a chiseled jaw. The unruly light brown hair streaked blond by summer sun was gone, rendered nondescript by a buzz cut. Figures.
The old anger stirred deep in her belly, boiling, growing.
When Mac had started calling her names, every boy in the class took up the chant. Jump, Frog, jump. But they were all smart enough not to use the nickname when Chris was around.
She wasn’t that embarrassed little girl anymore. She gripped the edge of the counter and took a deep breath to calm her nerves. “John? John McAndrews? I didn’t know you were back home.” So she told a little white lie. The family didn’t know she knew. She had been crazy busy the past six months.
“I came back last fall. Personal reasons.”
“I’ll bet Mac would kill for a shot of your heavy-duty espresso, Holly.” Sonny leaned on the counter. “I heard the Smith boys had you up and around pretty early this morning.”
Mac nodded at Sonny and then turned back to Holly. “How have you been?” His gaze drifted upward. “You cut your hair.”
Holly ran her fingers through her hair and lifted her chin. “A long time ago.” Propping her hands on her hips, she stared at the dark glasses. “I’m doing great. How are you?”
Mac pulled off his shades and Holly’s stomach plummeted at the sight of the dark blue eyes. His body had changed, his hair was different, but the soft blue eyes were the same.
One corner of his mouth curved up, as if smiles were at a premium. “It’s nice to see you again.” He reached across the counter.
Holly hesitated, and then stretched out her hand and allowed him to wrap his fingers around hers.
He wanted a shot? She’d give him a shot, all right.
One shot was all she needed to repay him for making eighth grade miserable, for taking away Chris, her closest brother and confidant. She wasn’t a little girl anymore. She could take anything he dished out and feed it right back. After all, she was a veteran of the United States Air Force.
She met the gaze of the boy whose sudden appearance at Bear Meadows High School had changed the course of her teen years.
Jump, Frog, jump.
CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_14927ee4-b7e4-5ac0-b8a8-b3ca953be1d7)
“WOULD YOU LIKE a shot, Officer?” With no little effort, Holly pulled free from Mac’s tight grip and returned her hand to her hip. She gave him the same chilly smile she’d given the young lieutenant who thought he could ask enlisted staff to bring him coffee.
“Black coffee is fine, if it’s no trouble.” Mac’s gaze drifted to the menu behind her. “I usually get my coffee at Charlie’s gas station on the edge of town.” He smiled. “Only fifty cents a cup.”
Holly narrowed her eyes. The man dared to compare her special blend gourmet coffee to the stuff at Charlie’s gas station? Mac hadn’t changed at all. “Your first cup is on the house.” With effort she kept the smile on her face. “Wouldn’t want to break the bank, would we?”
Sonny straightened, spread his hands on the counter and stared at her as if she’d lost her mind, which perhaps she had. “Why don’t you just get the man a cup of coffee, Holly?” He grimaced before turning to Mac. “You should know, sis, being a business owner, Mac is the chief of police now. You never know when you might need his assistance, now that you own a business.”
Her back to the counter, Holly’s shoulders stiffened as she drained Wildflower Special Blend into a take-out cup. She took a deep breath. “Chief of police? Congratulations. That was quick.” She flipped the spout closed and reached for a plastic lid. Pressing the lid onto the cup, she turned and set the coffee on the counter, finally meeting Mac’s eyes. “You can’t have been on the force long. You must have impressed somebody.”
Mac wrapped his fingers around the cup, then met Holly’s eyes. “Chief Stone died in January. He had a heart attack while he was out shoveling snow. The choice was me or Moose Williams, and he’s just out of the academy.”
Once again Holly’s stomach dropped. If she kept this up, she would need surgery to reattach the organ to her middle. Had she been so busy researching business requirements last January she had missed the man’s death? Chief Stone had been around forever.
“What a shame,” she said. “He was a great guy.” She smiled at the memory of the antics she and Louise and her brother’s friends had dreamed up. “Kept us out of trouble, didn’t he?”
Mac pursed his lips and nodded. “He certainly did.” He reached for his back pocket. “What do I owe you?”
Holly raised her palms. “Like I said, the coffee’s on the house, Mac.” She couldn’t resist an added jab. “Since my coffee is out of your price range.”
“Thank you.” Cup in hand, Mac walked across the wooden floor. At the door he turned, lifted his cup to Sonny and with a brief glance at Holly, left. As he slammed the door, the bell rang once and fell to the floor.
Holly gaped as he passed the front windows. After he was out of sight, she eyed the little silver bell in the middle of the floor. The silence brought her back to her spot behind the counter. Four pairs of eyes zeroed in on her.
Sonny slammed a fist on the counter. “What’s wrong with you, girl? The man just moved back to town after losing his wife. You were downright rude.”
“He insulted my coffee.” She lifted her chin high and returned her brother’s glare. “Would you mind hanging up my bell?”
* * *
OUT OF SIGHT of the coffee shop, Mac sat in a wooden rocker at the end of the strip mall, leaned his head back and shut his eyes. He hadn’t been the nicest to his best friend’s little sister when they were kids. Apparently she remembered, as well. Holly, the precious, youngest girl of the big, happy Hoffman family... Well, she’d just happened to be in the way. Always underfoot.
He opened his eyes and took the lid off his cup. Steam wafted upward and he breathed deeply. Smelled a lot better than the unknown substance he’d bought at Charlie’s gas station earlier.
Across the street the bank president exited the building. With a wave at Mac, he walked to the adjacent parking lot and got into a late model sedan parked under a cherry tree. Pink petals flew into the air as the dark blue car pulled out of the lot and roared down the street.
Next to the bank, Joe Miller, a bag of mulch slung over his shoulder, left the hardware store, followed by his hugely pregnant wife and a toddler. He tossed the bag into the trunk of a car parked at the curb as his wife settled the toddler into his car seat. Joe helped his wife into the car, trotted around to the driver’s side, got in and drove away.
Mac sighed. The Millers were the picture-perfect American family. They probably had a dog at home, too. At one time, he’d had that life.
Three years later and he was back where he’d started and life was all about work. As he stared at the cherry tree across the street, the thought struck him that he would have been married nine years this month, nine years May 15. Where had the time gone? Mac rubbed his hand over his face and sipped his coffee. So many changes...
He turned as a brand-new four-wheel drive truck roared into one of the slanted parking spots next to the strip mall and jerked to a stop. A group of teenagers spilled out of the pickup and jumped onto the boardwalk. Chattering excitedly, the two boys and two girls didn’t even notice Mac sitting in the chair. They sauntered down the walk and disappeared into the coffee shop.
School was out for the day.
Mac heaved himself out of the chair and crossed the street to his police car. Setting his cup on the roof, he paused, taking in the vacant lot between the hardware store and the old library, now empty. Holly’s shop was one of five occupied storefronts—a beauty salon, a computer store, a used clothing store and a bakery. The boardwalk, with scattered benches, rocking chairs and potted plants, invited customers to stroll and shop. Across the street were the bank and the hardware store.
He studied the vacant lot again. Although a trash can stood not fifty feet away, the ground was littered with candy wrappers and cigarette butts. At the squawking of the police radio, he shook his head, grabbed his coffee and settled behind the wheel. He had other fish to fry. The vacant lot was someone else’s problem. Just like the cat.
* * *
HOLLY WAS SAVED from her brother’s wrath, at least temporarily, by the noisy arrival of four teenagers. Two girls entered first and the tallest, a blonde, headed for the couch. She collapsed, propped her flip-flop-clad feet on the coffee table and waved at the boy leaning on the counter. “I want a nonfat mocha.”
“Just get me anything with caffeine.” The second girl, short and slight but with pretty light brown hair, whispered in the other boy’s ear and followed her friend to the couch.
Holly was about to ask the blonde to take her feet off the table when she noticed her mother heading toward the pair.
“You’re Edie Black’s granddaughter, aren’t you?” Rose perched on the edge of the coffee table, causing the girl to drop her feet to the floor. “I haven’t seen your grandmother in ages. How is she?”
Holly grinned as she turned her attention to the two boys. After raising four children, her mother was skilled in getting people of all ages to do as she wanted without causing a confrontation.
“What can I get for you boys?” Holly asked.
The first one, tall and lanky, grinned at her. “Two mocha lattes, one nonfat and one—” His green eyes flicked up to the menu board and then back at Holly “—fat.”
Holly bit back a smile as she glanced at Carolyn, already pulling milk from the refrigerator underneath the espresso machine. “One skinny mocha latte and one fat mocha latte, Carolyn.”
She didn’t miss a beat as she poured whole milk into one pitcher and nonfat milk into the other. “Coming right up.” Carolyn slipped the first pitcher under the wand and the burble of milk steaming filled the room.
After paying with a polite “Thank you, ma’am,” the tall teenager moved to the end of the counter. The second teen stared at the board, his gaze flicking back and forth from the board to the wallet in his hand. “Two black coffees.”
“Would you like our special house blend, the Colombian, or the Kenyan?”
The boy continued to stare at the menu board.
“I recommend the Wildflower Blend. If you like you can add some cream and sugar at the condiment table.”
The teen nodded and laid a five-dollar bill on the counter. “Thanks.”
“Thank you.”
Holly poured the coffee into ceramic mugs just as Carolyn handed the lattes to the tall teen. Holly came up behind her sister-in-law. “Do you know them?”
Carolyn crossed her arms and studied the four teens surrounding the coffee table. “The tall one is Tom Johnson’s son.” She leaned back, her lips inches from Holly’s ear. “You know, the bank president.”
Of course, Holly thought, that explained the expensive jeans and the confident attitude. Money did that for a person. “What about the other one?”
Carolyn thought a moment and then waved a finger in the air. “Matt McClain’s boy.”
Holly watched the muscular boy sitting quietly while the Johnson boy and the Black girl talked animatedly. Not as tall as the bank president’s son, the McClain boy was dressed in a T-shirt and jeans.
“Matt works at the electronics factory, right?”
“Not anymore. The plant shut down just before Christmas and he got laid off. They have four kids. I think this one’s the oldest.”
“Huh. Good-looking kid. He’s built like a wrestler.” Holly grabbed a bar towel and wiped up a spill. She noticed a ceramic bowl by the cash register. Bright yellow letters spelled out Tip Jar. A yellow slipper-shaped flower grew between the two words. “Where did this come from?”
Carolyn tilted her head. “I made it in my kiln.”
Holly raised her eyebrows and gave her sister-in-law an appraising glance. “Aren’t you the creative one?”
Carolyn smoothed the front of the chocolate-brown apron with the Wildflower logo on the front. “I’m an art teacher. I hope I’m creative.”
A memory of Carolyn, eight months pregnant with the twins and accepting her college diploma, flashed into Holly’s mind. How did she do it? “Well, if we ever get any tips, you three should divide them. Bad enough you’re working for free.”
“Just for a couple months till you get on your feet. No worries, sis-in-law. But I should go pick up the twins. They had a scout meeting after school and if I leave now, I should get there just in time.” She untied her apron and pulled it over her head, dislodging a clip. Curly chestnut hair spilled over her shoulders.
Sonny came around the end of the counter and clasped his wife around the waist. “Oh, I like it when you let your hair down, baby.” Fourteen years of marriage and three children had done nothing to cool their obvious affection. High school sweethearts, Sonny had waited for Carolyn to graduate while he’d started a construction business.
Holly pushed the couple toward the seating area. “Staff only behind the counter.”
Sonny backed away slowly, his arms still locked around his wife’s waist. “I’m staff. Who do you think built this counter, girlie?”
“I know you did, all great and powerful contractor brother.” She turned at the sound of the bell over the door.
A willowy blonde woman entered, looking as if she’d just stepped off the pages of a fashion magazine. With her hair in a French twist, she wore a navy blue pantsuit with a pale blue shell.
Holly returned to the cash register and studied the new arrival. Somehow she knew the woman wasn’t a local.
She tried to catch Carolyn’s eye as she hurried toward the door but instead caught Sonny’s.
He pointed a finger at her as he held the door for his wife. “I haven’t forgotten about that other deal, Holly. I’ll be back.”
Holly stuck her tongue out at her brother but pulled it back just as the blonde approached the counter.
“I’ll have a nonfat cappuccino, extra hot, ma’am.” The woman’s Southern accent was slight but recognizable. Diamond studs twinkled in her ears.
Holly pulled the milk from the refrigerator and poured. Lifting the metal pitcher to the wand, she puzzled over her customer while keeping watch on the thermometer. Probably visiting family. Tom Johnson’s sister worked down South somewhere. She frothed the milk and, with her other hand, pulled a shot of espresso. Giving the concoction a quick stir, she set the cup in front of the woman who had placed a few bills on the counter.
“Keep the change, honey.” She walked to one of the chairs, her high heels tapping, and she sat, set the cup on the table and pulled a laptop out of a large leather purse.
Holly couldn’t take her eyes off the woman. She rested her hands on the open drawer of the cash register. The woman sat with her legs crossed at the ankle so just a portion of red sole showed.
“Well, are you?”
Holly jumped when she discovered her mother at her elbow. “You scared me to death, Mom. I thought you were in the kitchen.”
“I was.” A crease appeared between Rose’s brows. “I asked you a question and you were miles away.”
Holly’s hands were still resting on the drawer. What was she doing? Change. Keep the change. She removed three quarters from the drawer, edged around her mother and dropped the change in the tip jar with a clang.
Her mother pursed her lips, closed the cash drawer and eyed her steadily.
Holly rested her hands on her mother’s shoulders. “Sorry, Mom. I was thinking. What were you saying?”
Rose’s face relaxed and she wrapped one arm around Holly’s waist and pointed to the display case with the other. “We’re completely sold out of whoopie pies and no bakes. Did you order more for tomorrow?”
Holly peered into the display case. “I don’t believe it,” she said. “You’d think people would want something like scones and biscotti. No bakes are so simple. One minute on the stove, plop a spoonful on waxed paper and you’re done. I can’t cook but even I can make no bakes.”
“Buying is easier.” Rose took a crumb-covered plate from the case. “We still like our old-fashioned goodies but nobody bakes anymore. People are busy, and making cookies is just too much work.” She reached into the open case.
“Mom, I’ll do that.” Holly put a hand on her mother’s back.
Rose waved her off and said, “I’m fine. Why don’t you talk to Sue at the bakery? She might have to hire more help.” Withdrawing her head from the case, her mother put a hand on her hip and smiled. “Now, isn’t that nice? Your business is providing work to people in town.”
“Tell that to Dad,” Holly said.
The four teenagers had finished their drinks and were heading for the door. The only other customer was the blonde woman, who appeared content with her cappuccino and laptop.
“Now, Holly...”
“Okay, I’ll be quick.”
“Take your time.” Louise came out of the kitchen and headed for the cups left by the teens. “We’re all caught up. We can handle things. How about it, Rose?”
Holly smiled at her best friend. “Have I told you how much I appreciate your help with this venture?”
Cups in hand, Louise rolled her eyes. With a glance at Holly’s mother, she lowered her voice. “Think you can handle seeing Mac around? That stuff happened a long time ago.”
Louise had been Holly’s most ardent defender when the older boys would start their taunts. As small as she was, they just laughed at her attempts to quiet them. Holly shrugged as she picked up the tip jar and jingled the change inside. She didn’t care to think about Mac’s reappearance in their lives. “He insulted my coffee.”
Louise smiled. “Your coffee will win him over, just like everyone else in town.”
“Everyone except my father,” Holly said. “Chris is the only one who has traveled. He’s used to places like this. But the others still think coffee should cost a quarter.”
“They’re a minority. Stop worrying.”
“What if they’re right, Weaz? I’ve invested my life savings in this shop, not to mention the loan from my parents and your free help. If the business goes under, I’ll have nothing to show for it. My father will never let me hear the end of it.”
“If you wanted to be safe you would’ve stayed enlisted. But you took a chance. If it doesn’t work out, you’re young. You’ll find something else.”
“Let’s hope everyone in town doesn’t share McAndrews’s fifty-cents-a-cup attitude.” She peered into the tip jar. “We got tips.” Holly dumped the change in her hand and counted out fifteen dollars and fifty-two cents. “Somebody put in their two cents’ worth, most likely my brother, who thinks he’s funny.”
As Louise started to back through the swinging door into the kitchen, she said, “Add the cash to the register.”
“No way. You, Mom and Carolyn get the tips. It’s the least I can do.” Dumping the change in the jar, Holly pushed back her guilt that no one was accepting a paycheck yet. She needed to start making a profit soon. By fall, when everyone returned to their usual duties, she would need an employee or two.
“What else would I be doing?” A resigned smile graced her face before she disappeared into the kitchen.
Holly could hear her loading cups into the dishwasher and her heart went out to her brave friend.
Kneeling by the display case, Rose caught her gaze. “I think working here has been good for Louise. She seems more like her old self. You go on, we’re fine.”
Holly untied her apron and hung it on the hook next to the kitchen door. Thinking of Louise’s tragedy, she realized her own memories of being teased in gym class couldn’t compare. “Okay, I’m out of here. I hope you don’t get a busload of senior citizens while I’m gone.”
Holly left the shop and stood outside, savoring the fresh spring air. For a minute, she allowed herself to visualize The Wildflower as a success. A comfortable spot where locals came to relax and visit. A hangout after Friday night football games at the high school. After all, she had duplicated the school colors in her shop.
The Bear Meadows Cubs were expected to win the state title this year. Her shop could even be a stopover for fans traveling through town on Saturdays on their way to Penn State football games in the fall. Then maybe her father would come around. Not that she ever expected him to say he was wrong.
Holly stretched her arms over her head. Her back cracked loudly. “Ah, that feels better.” She shrugged her shoulders, took a few steps to the right and glanced in the window of the beauty salon. Seeing the proprietor with a customer, she stuck her head in the door. “Hi, Megan. Hi, Mrs. Fleck.”
Mrs. Fleck brought a hand out from under her drape and waved at Holly. Pieces of her hair had been pulled through a foil cap. “I’m getting highlights. What do you think, Holly? Maybe I’m too old for this nonsense. I’ve never dyed my hair.”
“You’ll look great. You music types are always at the forefront of fashion.”
Mrs. Fleck blushed and waved away her compliment. “Before I started teaching, I was in a girl band, believe it or not.”
Holly leaned against the doorjamb. “I always figured you for a wild woman, Mrs. Fleck.”
Her own long dark hair caught back in a ponytail, Megan wiped some white paste on a lock of hair and flashed a smile. “Hey, I like having you right next door, Holly. Your caffeine helped me through two dye jobs and a three-year-old’s first haircut.”
“So I heard. These walls are thin.” Holly laughed. “Glad to help. See you later.” With a wave, she left and entered the computer shop.
Pierre Lefonte stood behind a glass case sorting boxes. “Holly. How are you, mademoiselle? How is your system working? Good, I hope.”
Holly leaned on the counter. “So far, so good. Thank you, Pierre. You didn’t come over for your free coffee.”
Pierre flipped a lock of hair out of sparkling brown eyes and grinned at her. “You were busy, no? Perhaps tomorrow. And I would prefer a double espresso. None of your weak American coffee for me.”
“We’ll convert you one of these days.” Holly straightened and wagged a finger. “I will hold you to it, then. One double espresso. Au revoir.”
“Au revoir, mon amie.” Pierre went back to sorting as Holly left the shop and continued on the boardwalk.
She peered through the window of the used clothing store. Seeing no sign of the extravagantly dressed Cheri, she continued to the bakery, where the scent of fresh bread lingered in the air. “I love the smell in this place.” She leaned on the counter and smiled at the short, heavyset woman standing at the open cash register. “The flowers by the door look nice. Did you put the pot together?”
Periodically licking her thumb as she counted one-dollar bills, Sue peered at Holly over horn-rimmed reading glasses. “Cheri seems to think flowers will draw in more customers. Tell her to put the pot in front of her door. I don’t have time to fuss with flowers.” She banged a roll of quarters on the edge of the cash drawer. “Did you let yourself into the shop yesterday after I closed?”
Holly straightened. “Of course not. I’d only use the key you gave me in case of emergency.” A flicker of unease caused her to look around. “Why do you ask?”
Sue stopped counting and rested her hands on the open drawer. Glancing at the filled racks, she shook her head. “I could have sworn I made more peanut butter cookies yesterday.” She resumed counting. “I don’t know. Ever since Brad started this midlife crisis nonsense I haven’t been able to think straight.” She pressed her lips together and her eyes glistened.
“I’m sorry, Sue.” Holly’s heart went out to her new friend. Everyone in town knew Brad’s midlife crisis involved another woman. “Did you tell anyone about the missing things?”
“I called the police station. Now I wish I hadn’t. Chief McAndrews will think I’ve gone off my rocker if I say somebody’s been stealing cookies.” She tucked a few strands of dyed blond hair behind her ear. “Forget I said anything, Holly. Did you make any sales?”
“Did I make any sales? Do owls hoot? We sold out of whoopie pies and no bakes.”
Sue’s hands stilled and her head jerked up, blue eyes wide. “I thought you had more than enough. I thought you had too many, in fact, and they would go stale. I thought—”
“You’ve got to think positive, Sue.” Holly couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen a smile on the baker’s face. She had known Sue first as a volunteer at school functions. Ten years later, no trace of that happy woman remained. “No chance of your baked goods going stale. I’m here to order more.”
“Dot McClain asked me if I needed any help,” Sue said. “Her husband just got laid off. Working here won’t replace her husband’s pay but some money’s better than nothing.”
Holly thought about the boy who’d ordered two black coffees. So times were tight at his house. She glanced at the racks filled with bags of fresh bread and boxes of old-fashioned cookies. “How has business been?”
Sue counted the ones, then returned them to the drawer. “Business is good on the weekends but not so great during the week. I’m thinking of opening just two days a week. I saw in the paper the retirement home is looking for a cleaning lady for second shift.”
Holly pressed a hand to her chest. “What about me?”
“I’ll still provide you with baked goods.” Eyes narrowed, she peered over her glasses as she pulled out the fives. “What else do I have to do with my time?”
Holly racked her brain for a subject to pull Sue from her dark mood. “Do you see Josh often? He’s in the army, right?”
“I haven’t seen him since I moved out of the house.” She shook her head. “I like keeping busy. Besides, your little coffee shop is saving my bakery...such as it is.”
Despite Sue’s negative attitude, a warm feeling swept through Holly as she realized that her mom had been right. Her coffee shop was helping create jobs. She just hoped her business continued. Holly glanced up at the cookie jar clock over the counter. “Oh, my goodness, is that the right time?”
Sue answered without looking up. “Yep.”
“I’ve got to run.” Holly backed toward the door. “What time can you have the cinnamon buns ready in the morning?”
“How early do you want them?” Lips tight, the baker slammed the money drawer shut.
“Is six forty-five too early?” Watching her friend’s face, Holly groped behind her for the door handle.
“Not for a baker.” Sue patted the front of her apron, flour dust surrounding her in a cloud. With just the trace of a smile, she waved goodbye. “Thanks again, Holly. I appreciate your business. You’re a lifesaver.”
With an answering smile and a final wave, Holly reached for the door. She had been gone too long already.
CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_747f2323-c8b5-5945-955d-1d3b61cf9498)
MAC COULD SEE HOLLY, arm outstretched, backing toward the door. Realizing she was coming through that door with no idea someone stood on the other side, he stepped away just as the door burst open. Everything would have been fine if someone hadn’t left a flowerpot sitting in the middle of the walkway. With the heel of his boot catching the edge of the pot, Mac found himself cartwheeling toward the edge of the porch.
He had to give Holly credit for a quick reaction. She grabbed the front of his shirt and reversed his momentum. “A little clumsy this morning, Chief.”
The mischievous grin left her face as Mac’s backward motion transferred to forward motion and she found herself pressed to the wall of the bakery. Mac’s hands landed on either side of her head as he tried to prevent himself from smashing into her.
Her expression a mixture of surprise and alarm, Holly shoved at his chest. “What the heck, McAndrews?”
Hands still pressed to the wall, Mac stared at Holly. Her green eyes locked on his face, her lips parted. Mac’s memory brought up a picture of a fifteen-year-old Holly, holding an orange flower in the palm of her hand, smiling up at him. He took a slow breath. “Are you—”
“Get off me, McAndrews. You’re squishing me.”
This time Mac’s jaw dropped. “You grabbed me.” He backed up a step. “And may I remind you who just came plowing through that door like a runaway horse?”
“Did you just call me a horse?” Holly brushed off his hands and pushed past him. “You haven’t changed one bit.”
She stalked down the boardwalk toward the coffee shop. When she reached her door, she turned and shot him a laser beam of a look that sent a shiver up his spine. What was her problem?
He escaped into the bakery and shut the door with a sigh of relief. Holly wasn’t fifteen anymore. She had grown into a strong, smart woman, just as he always knew she would. And if she didn’t like him very much, well, that didn’t come as a surprise.
He glanced at Sue, expecting a smile. Instead, she crossed her arms over her chest and raised an eyebrow. “Well, did you find anything out?”
His eyes lighted on the cookie jar clock, hoping against hope it was quitting time.
It wasn’t.
And who was he kidding? No such thing as quitting time for the chief of police.
* * *
HOLLY RACED INTO the shop and slammed the door. Striding over to the counter, she leaned on it and took a deep breath. Why, after six months, was that man suddenly underfoot? She closed her eyes.
She had liked him at first, when Chris brought the new kid to the family Christmas party. Then when she saw him in gym class, everything changed. He was nowhere near the nice, polite boy who helped her father set up the Christmas tree that had fallen victim to one of her brothers’ all-too-common tussles. He had everybody fooled. Everybody except her.
She slapped a hand over her chest and belatedly looked around the room, hoping no customers had observed the owner’s brief foray into madness. No one had. The teens were gone, the blonde was gone and apparently her mother and Louise were gone. Her pounding heart slowed. “Mom?”
A voice wafted from the far corner of the store. “Over here.”
Holly went around a wall divider and peeked into an alcove stacked with books and magazines. Her mother lay sprawled on a beanbag chair, studying a business magazine. Holly propped her hands on her hips. “Comfortable, are we?”
Rose laughed as she struggled to rise from the chair, which kept collapsing as she pushed on it. She reached out a hand. “Pull me up, honey.”
Holly gripped the outstretched hand and pulled. “What were you doing?”
Rose straightened her apron and returned the magazine to a neat pile on a shelf. “I was straightening up this area and I happened to see an article on bed-and-breakfasts. I had to read it.”
“Of course.” Holly followed her mother to the counter. “You should head home anyway. Dad’s probably waiting for his dinner.” She drummed her fingers on the counter as her mother removed her apron. “What’s he up to today?”
Her mother folded the apron into a small square of fabric before answering. “When I left this morning he was putting the finishing touches on the backyard gazebo. He’s always doing something, you know. He can’t seem to sit still.” She rested a hand on Holly’s shoulder. “I’m sure he’ll be down soon, honey. He’s proud of you.”
“He’s so proud of me he refused to offer me the same terms as Sonny and Thomas because he thinks I don’t have business sense.” Her father would rather do hard labor than visit Holly’s coffee shop. He had told her in no uncertain terms that leaving the air force was a mistake, that she should “tough it out.”
“Oh, Holly.”
She squeezed her mother’s hands. “Thank you, Mom, for your help. I wish I had the money to pay you.”
Rose laid a hand on her cheek. “Of course, sweetheart.” She carried the folded apron into the kitchen. When she came out she had two paperback books in her hand and her purse looped over her shoulder. “You don’t owe me anything. Look at all the free books I get to read.”
Laughing, Holly propped both elbows on the counter as her mother passed with a wave. “Wonder who the blonde lady was.” A stranger in their little town stood out and usually ended up being someone’s relative.
Rose paused, her hand on the doorknob. She turned, brow wrinkled in thought. “What did you say, dear?”
“The blonde who was drinking a cappuccino, working on a laptop. She doesn’t look like a local.”
Rose leaned against the open door and put a finger to her lips. “You know, if I didn’t know better, I would’ve guessed she was Mac McAndrews’s wife. But of course she can’t be. His wife passed away three years ago.”
“How do you know what she looked like?” Holly’s antenna emerged. Mac was married to a woman who looked like the blonde cappuccino-drinker?
“Chris showed me a picture once. She was on the cover of an equestrian magazine.” Rose turned in the doorway, hands clasping her books to her middle. “Beautiful woman. Bye, dear.”
With a backward wave she was gone, leaving Holly to wonder: after he’d been married to a woman like that, who could possibly meet Mac McAndrews’s standards? She pitied the next woman to fall under his spell.
Holly looked up as the bell over the door jingled. “Mom, did you forget—”
Instead of her mother, Holly was greeted with the sight of Sonny, the expression on his ruddy face intense. He flipped her sign to Closed and locked the door. “Mom’s halfway home.”
Holly held up a hand like a stop sign, her eyes closed as she anticipated her brother’s wrath. “Whatever you’re going to say—”
“I’m not saying anything. Carolyn said you might need help cleaning up.” He walked behind the counter and stared at the dual coffeemaker. “Is it okay if I turn this off and empty the pots?”
Holly stared at her brother, momentarily taken aback at the offer of help. Go figure. I can’t even understand my own brothers half the time. Men. “Sure, just dump the coffee in the sink and rinse with water.” She tapped her fingers restlessly on the counter. “Thanks.”
Sonny grabbed a container and easily lifted the heavy pot to the drain board. “No problem.”
“Mom already covered the pastries so I guess I’ll—” she looked around the room at the crumb-littered tables and chairs moved about “—wipe everything down and put things back where they belong.”
An hour later, the counters sparkled, the floor was mopped, and Sonny and Holly stood on the front porch. The sun was poised on the tops of the distant mountains, as if protesting its coming demise.
“Thanks, bro.” Holly wrapped an arm around her brother’s waist and squeezed. She started down the steps.
“Hold on. I’ll give you a ride. My truck’s right here.” He pointed to his dust-covered white pickup with toolboxes and a ladder rack in the bed.
“Okay.” Holly opened the door of the big truck only to find a bag of power tools on the passenger seat.
“Let me do some rearranging.” Sonny grabbed the bag and stuck it behind his seat. “How’s that?”
“Fine. Now all I need is a step stool to get into this thing.” Holly reached for the handgrip and hoisted herself onto the seat.
Sonny slammed his door with a screech and backed out of the parking spot. “The girl I knew jumped onto the back of a sixteen-hand horse with no problem.” He glanced at her, his eyes squinting in the glare from the setting sun.
Holly nodded and waved as they passed Mrs. Hershberger, planting pansies by the front stoop of her small ranch house. “A lot can change in ten years.”
Sonny didn’t answer as he pulled into the long driveway of the Victorian house her parents had converted into a bed-and-breakfast. When they’d first purchased the fixer-upper, Holly thought the old house was a dead ringer for the Amityville Horror house. She’d had her doubts about the wisdom of turning it into a B and B, but unlike her father, who had repeatedly advised her against leaving the military, Holly kept her comments to herself.
Her parents and Sonny had been able to see something else and after a summer of renovations, the bed-and-breakfast was now one of the most popular stays in the area. It was only May and they were booked solid for every weekend Penn State was playing at home. A sign on the manicured front lawn said Flowers Bed and Breakfast. He cut the engine and the two sat in silence. “You were a little prickly with Mac earlier. How come?”
Holly picked at a chunk of chocolate syrup stuck to her jeans. She wasn’t sure herself why the sight of Mac McAndrews stirred up such conflicting emotions. “It’s a long story.” Not wanting to see the look on her brother’s face, she continued to work at the stain. Sonny had been in the military the year Mac started coming around. He had no idea the turmoil the newcomer had caused and she wasn’t about to tell him.
“And you didn’t know Chief Stone died? You were home at Christmas. He died the beginning of January.”
“I was either running to Pittsburgh researching supplies or working at the store. I didn’t know which end was up. I hardly ever saw Mom, and I for sure wasn’t reading the obituaries.” Holly glanced into the neighbor’s yard, where their obviously pregnant black Lab entertained herself with a stick. “I didn’t know Daisy was having puppies. I thought Fran just wanted one litter.”
“Don’t change the subject. What about Mac? Why were you so rude? When you’re in business, Holly, you have to be polite to everyone, even if you feel like tossing them out the door.”
“Quit treating me like I’m an imbecile. You think you’re the only one who can run a business?” Holly shifted on the hard vinyl seat. When Sonny didn’t respond, she continued. “Besides, like I said, I’ve had a lot on my mind. When I heard the pet store closed and saw the vacant storefront at Thanksgiving, I made up my mind to leave the military. Everything happened so fast.”
Sonny pulled two pencils, a small tablet, assorted business cards and his phone out of his pocket and tossed them in the center console. “You sure did make a lot of changes in a short period of time.” He caught her eye. “But you still haven’t explained why you were so hard on Mac this morning. You haven’t seen the guy since high school and if something happened back then...” Sonny peered at her in the gathering darkness and his voice took on a serious note when he asked, “Did something happen back then?”
Holly forced a laugh. “Nothing bad happened. We just didn’t get along.”
“That’s kid stuff, then. But whatever had you so fired up this morning, you need to let go. Mac’s had some rough times since he left home.” Sonny punched her in the shoulder. “Any regrets about the coffee shop?”
“Ouch.” Holly rubbed her shoulder. Her brother didn’t know his own strength. “So far, I have no regrets whatsoever.” She sighed. “But if I don’t pay Dad back by the end of the year I’ll never hear the end of it, not to mention losing all my savings. Then I’m sure I’ll have plenty of regrets.”
“I don’t know why Dad is pressing you for such a quick turnaround. Thomas and I both had three years to show a profit.” Sonny pushed open his door and stepped out.
“No kidding.”
“Maybe you should serve soup and sandwiches for lunch.”
“I don’t cook. Remember?” Sonny’s habit of making business suggestions was okay but sometimes she just wished people would mind their own business. Soup and sandwiches? I barely have the espresso recipes memorized. She slid down from the seat, slammed the door and said, “Maybe. Someday.”
Leaning on the open door, he gave her an appraising look. “Hey, you got your first day in. Congratulations. Let’s see if Dad left anything from dinner.”
Holly followed her brother to the side door. “I knew you had an ulterior motive. Didn’t you already eat?”
“Scout night means slim pickings at my house. I’m starved.”
Holly slapped him on the shoulder as they entered her mother’s kitchen and were greeted with the lingering smell of pot roast. “You’re always starved.” As annoying as Sonny could be, Holly had to admit she’d missed teasing and being teased by her brother. That was one thing that hadn’t changed since she’d been gone.
CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_67e4332d-c47c-5a22-80f0-b28ed64480cf)
FRIDAY MORNING, MAC decided to patrol the outskirts of town. An out-of-towner’s hunting camp had been broken into. The only damage was a shattered window and the disappearance of some canned goods, but he still wanted to check it out. Passing Holly’s shop, he noticed a line out the door. Coffee would have to wait.
A short while later, he found himself crossing the suspension bridge over Little Bear Creek. Halfway across he stopped just in time to see a sleek brown trout jump in the fast-moving stream. On the bank, the green of late spring had rapidly covered the dead brush of winter. He continued on and turned left onto a macadam road that paralleled the stream. Coming to a freshly plowed field, he slowed and studied the white house at the end of a long lane.
Gravel crunched beneath the tires of Mac’s patrol car as he eased down the driveway of the Smith farm. The twins were the third generation to live on the two-hundred-acre farm. They no longer worked the land but instead rented out the fields to younger farmers who needed more land but couldn’t afford it. He stopped the car at the foot of a long flight of steps leading up to the front porch. A garden surrounded by a wire fence sat off to the right. A long row of green onion tops peeked through dark, rich, freshly turned soil.
The homestead, where the twins and their sister had been born and raised, had to be at least a hundred years old. A fresh coat of white paint glistened on the two-story structure. The new metal roof sported a satellite dish.
Mac leaned back in his seat and stroked his chin, remembering the last time he’d been to the farm. Shortly after his return to Pennsylvania, he and Chief Stone had visited some of the neighbors in the area. Then, the house had been badly in need of a paint job.
He should’ve shaved this morning. Instead, he’d invested those extra five minutes in chasing much-needed sleep. Sleep that still refused to come. He’d lain in bed thinking about Anne, about Riley and what his wife would think of their current living arrangements.
“Are you gettin’ outta the car or are you just gonna sit there and gawk?”
Lanky as his nickname implied, Skinny Smith stood not five feet away, dressed in clean but faded bib overalls and a red plaid flannel shirt. A large black dog lounged at his feet, his graying muzzle forming a perfect circle as he gave a low woof. Mac jumped out of the vehicle and thrust out his hand. “Sorry, Mr. Smith, I haven’t been here for a while. I was admiring the work you’ve done.”
Skinny gripped Mac’s hand. After a brief squeeze, he wrapped his fingers around the overall straps, tilted his bald head and squinted at Mac. “You’re the one who came out with Chief Stone that day. You just got back from livin’ down South for a while, ain’t that right?”
“Yes, sir.” Mac’s stomach flipped as he remembered the reason for his sudden return home. They had put it gently. We have to let you go. But he knew he had lost his edge. Coming home was an attempt to get his life back in order. Now his former in-laws had been pressing him to take his little girl for the summer.
Between the guilt and the never-ending decisions he sometimes questioned his sanity. His forehead was throbbing and he realized he had again skipped coffee. The double bourbon the night before hadn’t helped, either. He caught Skinny shooting him a puzzled look.
Skinny started toward the steep porch steps and waved a hand at Mac. “Come on in. Hawkeye’s makin’ French press coffee. You look like you need some.”
Mac’s jaw dropped. French press? Apparently the townspeople weren’t the only ones to have become citizens of the world in his absence.
Watching the dog make his way up the steep steps, he followed and caught the screen door just before it slammed shut behind Skinny. The farmer continued through a long, dark hall lined on one side with stacks of boxes.
“We have company, brother. Grab another cup.”
When Mac entered the kitchen Skinny was opening a pink bakery box. His brother, identical in every way, except his shirt was blue plaid, poured coffee out of a glass container. He pushed a china cup and saucer across the table and motioned for Mac to sit.
“Mother always said things taste better if they look nice. We still use the china set she got for her wedding. Kind of silly, I suppose, for two old bachelors. How about it, brother?” Skinny chuckled, a deep rumbling in his chest.
Hawkeye nodded as he continued to pour. “Yep.”
His forefinger threaded through the small, circular handle, Mac lifted the cup and toasted the two men. “Gentlemen, this is a welcome—unexpected, but welcome—surprise.” He held the cup under his nose and inhaled the rich, heavy scent before sipping the hot brew. “Ah, perfect.”
“Fair trade organic.” Hawkeye finished pouring and set the French press on a pad in the center of the Formica table. “We farmers have to stick together.”
A black cat clock, its eyes darting back and forth, ticked noisily above the sink as the three men enjoyed the coffee. Between the two farmers, the hound thumped his tail in anticipation as Hawkeye reached for a scone from the box. Breaking off a corner, he presented the morsel to the dog, who mouthed the treat daintily from the old man’s hand. “Good boy.” He petted the dog.
Skinny bit off a piece of muffin. He winked at Mac as he chewed. “Buddy’s the best dog we ever had. He’s a black-and-tan coonhound. Got him from up toward Erie. He chases raccoons mostly, but he’ll go after a squirrel or a rabbit. When we’re ready to go, he’s right beside us.” He gave another bite to the dog. “Not so much anymore, though. He’s getting old, like us.”
“So he is,” his brother added, crumbs littering the table in front of him.
Mac eyed the bakery box, and when Hawkeye pushed it closer, he helped himself to a chocolate cookie sandwich with white cream oozing out of the middle. “I haven’t had a chocolate gob in years.” The first bite melted in his mouth, followed by the rich coffee. He swallowed. “Where do you guys find this stuff?”
“Over town. Those things are called whoopie pies in these parts.” Skinny seemed surprised at his question. “We stop at The Cookie Jar and then, since the Hoffman girl opened up her place, we bought our special beans from her. Saves us from driving all the way to State College, what with the price of gas such as it is.”
Mac looked around the kitchen at the modern appliances and wondered how two old farmers afforded updating the homestead, much less buying fair trade organic coffee. He emptied his cup and stood. “Thank you, fellas, I needed that.” He brushed a crumb from his uniform jacket.
Skinny leaned back in his chair. “You sure did. You looked a mite peaked when you got out of your car. You got some color in your face now. You should stop at the coffee shop mornings, get yourself goin’.” He chuckled. “And the Hoffman girl’s not too bad to look at, either. How about it, brother?” He nudged Hawkeye.
“Yep.” His brother smiled into his coffee cup.
“If I was forty years younger...” The talkative brother led the way back to the front porch.
Mac grinned. He agreed with the two men. The Hoffman girl, his best friend’s little sister, had grown from a gawky teenager into an attractive woman. And he owed that woman an apology. He just hoped she accepted the long overdue request for forgiveness.
How could he have been attracted to two such different women? Holly and Anne were night and day. Refined and delicate, Anne’s pale complexion and fine blond hair had placed her on the cover of many local equestrian magazines. She was the cool balm he’d needed after the heat of the desert, when his overseas duty finally came to an end. Holly, while she had never graced the cover of a magazine, was known for her phenomenal times in barrel racing. She was all darkness, energy and heat.
Following his host, he passed the living room at the front of the house and caught a glimpse of a flat screen television. Ahead of him Skinny held the screen door, his bright eyes watchful.
“Thanks again, Skinny.” With his stomach full of whoopie pie and his head mercifully pain free, Mac shook the man’s hand and clumped down the steps.
“Anytime, Chief McAndrews, anytime.” Skinny stood on the porch, his fingers wrapped around his overall straps. In his rearview mirror, Mac saw him still watching as he drove slowly up the drive.
* * *
APPROACHING HER STORE from the alley, Holly paused as she neared the back door. A tiny corpse lay right in the middle of the threshold. Sonny’s teasing about gerbils echoed in her head. But peering closely, she discovered the victim was a mouse, courtesy of the brown cat she had glimpsed earlier, she guessed. Scooping the creature onto a scrap of cardboard she deposited the lifeless body in the Dumpster, then unlocked the back door of the coffee shop. She would have to return the favor.
She set a milk-filled bowl outside the back door just as the brown tabby appeared. He sniffed the bowl and walked away.
“Not a milk drinker, eh?” Holly shook her head. “Maybe you’ll change your mind.”
She walked through the gleaming kitchen and into the quiet storefront, where she unlocked the front door and flipped her sign to Open. Although she didn’t expect any business at seven o’clock on a Saturday morning. After a hectic opening day on Monday, and being reasonably busy the rest of the week, Holly figured most people would sleep late today. She expected Louise at nine. In the meantime she would get the coffee going, make some iced tea and uncover the pastries in the display case.
She scurried around, humming a tune from her high school days, and readied the shop for business. She glanced in the tip jar. Empty. Even Sonny’s two cents were gone.
“Goodness, I forgot to open the cash register.” She popped into the kitchen, where the green money bag protruded from her purse. Returning to the cash register, she punched in the code and the drawer opened. Withdrawing a wad of cash, she proceeded to fill the drawer.
The bell jingled over the door. “You should keep your door locked when you’re handling that much cash. No telling who might wander in.”
Holly jerked her head up to see Mac McAndrews’s tanned face and blue eyes. “You’re telling me.”
His answer was a faint smile. Instead of his uniform, Mac was dressed in faded jeans, a black T-shirt and sneakers. Keeping his mouth pressed in the familiar straight line, he stood in the open door, as if uncertain of her welcome.
“Come in.” Holly sorted the coins and thought about Sonny’s words the night he had helped her to close. They were just kids back then. “Would you like a cup of coffee? On the house.”
The bell jingled as the door eased shut. She glanced up quickly, unsure if he was inside the store or had decided her brand of welcome wasn’t worth the aggravation. Mac approached the counter and leaned one elbow on the surface. “Will you have one with me?”
Holly flipped down the money holders and slammed the drawer shut. Turning her back, she retrieved two mugs from the tray. “I suppose I have a minute for a cup of coffee.” Her heart beat a little faster, presumably at the thought of caffeine. Why else?
Rounding the end of the counter, she carried the cups to the low table with the four cushioned chairs. Perching on the edge of one, she tilted her head toward the door. “Cream and sugar on the condiment counter.”
Mac settled onto the opposite chair and reached for the cup. “Black is fine.” He leaned back in the chair, cup in hand, and surveyed the shop. “Besides, good coffee doesn’t need to be doctored.”
Holly smiled at the unexpected compliment. “Do you drink your gas station coffee black?” Eyes lowered, she took a sip of her rich, special blend coffee, her first of the morning.
Mac laughed loudly. “Lots of milk and sugar to disguise the taste.” Silence stretched between them.
Searching for a topic of conversation, Holly drummed her fingers on the arm of the chair. “Would you believe I own a coffee shop and half the time I forget to drink a cup?” She scooted back and rested the cup on the arm of the chair.
Mac propped his ankle on his knee. “I’m not surprised. Wednesday I drove by and your line was so long I ended up getting coffee at the gas station. Again.”
Holly made a face. “So you said. I figured you aren’t particular when it comes to coffee.”
“I was in a hurry.” Mac patted his knee and threw her a look. “I can appreciate quality.”
Wondering if he was still talking about coffee, Holly shivered. “I’m afraid business might slow once people get over the novelty of having a coffee shop in town.” While he read her menu board she studied him. He looked less severe than he did in uniform, more like the boy she knew in high school. Even his close-cropped light brown hair showed hints of the blond streaks she remembered. Suddenly he turned his head and caught her watching him.
“I was thinking about our encounter the other day.”
Heat crept up Holly’s neck and onto her cheeks as she remembered her rudeness. “I apologize, I—”
“I’m the one who should apologize.” Cup clasped in both hands, Mac leaned forward. “I wasn’t very nice to you when we were kids.”
She sipped her coffee, let the hot liquid lie on her tongue before swallowing. Over the rim of her mug, her eyes met his. “Really? I don’t remember.”
Did he know she was lying? Of course she remembered. The incident in eighth grade was one of those memories that stays with you forever. It’s bad enough to think everybody is laughing at you. In Holly’s case, she had known they were. Thanks to Mac and his timely, loud and accurate insult.
Mac kept her gaze as if trying to read her. Balancing the coffee cup on his knee, he took a deep breath. “We moved here two weeks before school started, two weeks before I entered the tenth grade. Chris was one of my first new friends. But then Chris was friends with everybody.” Mac stared into his coffee cup. “The first time he invited me to your place was for a family Christmas party.”
Holly had a clear picture in her mind of fifteen-year-old Mac coming in the door with Chris. “That was the year Thomas and Sonny got into a fight and knocked over the Christmas tree.”
“Never a dull moment at your house,” Mac said, grinning. “We moved here because my mom wanted to be near her sister.”
“Who was your aunt?”
“I doubt you knew her. She worked for the federal government. Three months after we moved here she got a promotion in Maryland. She left and we were back to not knowing anyone in town.”
“Until you met Chris.”
A ghost of a smile lit his face, then quickly disappeared. “I spent a lot of time at your place. Mom started nursing school. She was hardly ever home.”
“I can’t believe you preferred the chaos at—”
“There’s no excuse for the way I treated you, the things I did.” Mac shook his head. “I’m sorry.”
His shoulders were set and he couldn’t meet her eyes. Apparently his apology hadn’t come easy. Although moving to a new school didn’t entirely explain why he’d singled her out for his verbal attacks. Maybe she would never know. But then, he had always been a mystery. “No worries, Mac. You were going through a hard time.”
He shrugged. “Being with your family helped.”
“I’m glad.”
“I remember you riding your bay horse all the time, running barrels in the field. What was his name?” Mac pulled a paperback from the shelf and studied the front cover.
“Twister.” She had avoided Mac through the end of eighth grade and all through ninth, but in tenth grade, things changed. She shot up five inches, thinned out. Part of the reason she’d begun competing in barrel racing was Mac’s constant presence at Chris’s side. Even then, she’d sometimes see Mac leaning on a fence post, watching. When she caught him watching her, he’d walk away. Riding Twister had built her confidence. The trampoline incident faded. “I haven’t ridden in years.”
“Too bad. You were so good.” He returned the book to the shelf.
Holly drummed her fingers, wondering how the old gelding was doing. “He was a good horse.”
“So what possessed you to open a coffee shop in Bear Meadows?”
She leaned forward. “Walking around European cities all those years, visiting cafés, I always thought, I can bring this home, this feeling of carefree abandon. I want this, but at home.” She looked around the shop. Her shop. The comfortable chairs, the used books, the menu on the back wall. Her gaze returned to Mac, who was watching her, his blue eyes alert. “Why did you come home?”
With a quick look at the clock, Mac stood and carried his empty cup to the counter. “I’ve got to run.”
Grabbing her own cup, Holly followed more slowly. She might have bought his answer if she hadn’t seen the brief flicker in his eyes. Fear? Embarrassment? She couldn’t tell. She studied his broad shoulders. Whatever emotion she’d seen, it reminded her that there were two sides to Mac McAndrews. One very sweet...and one very ugly.
CHAPTER FIVE (#ulink_3371488b-9306-56f5-a194-ce35c4fc28ee)
THE BELL OVER the door jingled.
Mac’s large frame blocked her view of the door, yet Holly breathed a sigh of relief at the interruption. Until the person walked up to the counter.
“Are you busy?” Her father glanced from her to Mac and back again.
Holly wiped sweaty palms on the front of her apron. “Hi, Dad. What brings you here?”
Ignoring her question, Fritz faced Mac. The two men were about the same height. Chin thrust out with a hint of challenge, the older man eyed the younger.
Mac stretched out his hand. “Good morning, Mr. Hoffman. Nice to see you.”
Fritz’s hand came up slowly, then tightened around Mac’s. “Chief.”
The refrigerator pump kicked on. A batch of ice crashed down into the ice machine. Holly looked from one man to the other. A current sizzled between them.
Holly wasn’t sure what was going on, but she couldn’t let it continue. “Do you want a cup of coffee to go, Mac?”
Her father finally released Mac’s hand and, without a word, wandered over to the alcove.
Mac watched him go, and then lowered his voice. “No more coffee today, thanks, but before I go I wanted to mention something. Remember the day you ran into me coming out of The Cookie Jar?”
Holly’s eyes narrowed. “Are you referring to the day you tripped over the flowerpot?”
Mac threw a half grin her direction before continuing. “Anyway, the day we ran into each other, Sue asked me to come in because she thought she was missing some things.”
Her arms erupted in goose bumps. Sue couldn’t afford to miss anything. If Sue went out of business, Holly might, too. “Missing what things?”
Mac glanced toward the pastry case. “Well, she thought somebody was taking baked goods.”
Holly followed his gaze. She suddenly realized nobody was taking inventory of her own baked goods. She could be missing food and not even know. “Is she missing anything else?”
“She left her change at the store a couple nights last week and took the cash upstairs. When she came down in the morning the drawer was cleaned out. I looked around but saw no sign of a break-in.” He slid his empty cup across the counter. “Have you noticed anything missing?”
Holly motioned toward the cup. “My mug inventory is dwindling. But they’re not stolen, they’re kind of borrowed long-term. When the store is crowded, people take their coffee out on the porch and then keep right on going.”
“I’m sure they’ll all plead innocent. You should charge them for the cup when they buy coffee.” Mac chuckled. “Maybe Sue put the change somewhere and then forgot. She hasn’t been herself since, well, you know.” He glanced toward the alcove where her father could be seen looking out the window. “I wanted to give you a heads-up about the possible thefts.”
She set her cup next to his. Mac caught her arm. Her skin tingled where his warm hand wrapped around her forearm. Looking up, she saw concern in his eyes.
“Just be careful, okay? I got notice this morning someone robbed the bank’s branch office in Shadow Falls. That’s fifty miles from here but still, who knows what’s going on? The culprit might be one person, or a gang.”
Holly licked her dry lips and said, “Don’t worry, Chief, I can take care of myself.” She pulled out of his grasp and rounded the counter. Pausing across from him, she reached for the empty cups.
Mac wrapped his fingers around her wrists. “I’m sure you can, but all the same, I’ll have Moose Williams stop by every once in a while, just to see what’s going on.”
The touch of his warm hand sent tingles up her arm and managed to scramble the neurons in her brain. She met his gaze and, like one of her many tumbles from the back of her horse, found herself unable to breathe.
Between Mac’s touch and her father’s unexpected appearance, Holly’s brain seemed to be misfiring. Her father chose that moment to return. His gaze lighted on Mac’s hands circling her wrists. Holly pulled her hands back across the counter. “Would you look at that? I forgot to uncover the pastries.”
“Thanks for the coffee, Holly. I’ll see you around.”
Mac disappeared through the door with a jingle. Silence returned to the coffee shop. Fritz strolled around the tables, walked past the shelves of books and then returned to the counter. “I can’t believe what people pay for a cup of coffee these days.”
“What was that about?” Holly tossed the wrappings in the garbage.
“What do you mean?”
“That thing with Mac. You looked like two big dogs, sizing each other up.”
Her father chuckled. “Ask him.” He studied the menu board. “I remember when coffee was a quarter.”
Holly took a deep breath. Looking down at the embroidered flower on her apron, she let out the air slowly. “Well, you’re in luck. You get the family discount.”
Her father shot her a look. “Discount? I figured I’d get coffee for free.” He finally smiled.
Holly reached for a ceramic mug and then hesitated. “Did you want your coffee to go?” Although her father’s first visit to her new coffee shop was a momentous occasion, she couldn’t imagine he actually planned to hold a conversation.
“Well, I do have a project back at the house.” He glanced at the pastries in the case. “Oh, what the heck. I can spare a couple minutes. Go ahead. I’ll take one of those bear claws, too. Sue is quite the baker. She’s probably half the reason you get people in here, just for her baked goods.”
Holly shook her head. She didn’t bother to remind her father that if people wanted the baked goods they could walk down the boardwalk, buy a box and take them home. The Wildflower provided a destination with ambience. She set the cup on the counter, then retrieved a bear claw from the case.
Carrying her father’s order to the low table, she set down the coffee and pastry and sat, waiting for her father to finish his inspection.
Her dad settled into the chair opposite and picked up his cup. He sipped, set down the cup and forked off a bite of the breakfast treat.
“Do you like the coffee?” Holly had spent days finding the perfect blend for her signature coffee, with just the right amount of acidity and strength. She was proud of her creation.
Fritz held the cup under his nose and sniffed. “Strong.”
Holly pursed her lips, biting back the immediate retort that came to mind in favor of a more diplomatic answer. “The proper terminology is bold.”
“If you say so.” Fritz stared out the front window. “I still can’t believe people in this town will pay the kind of money you’re asking, especially when so many are out of work.”
“Thanks for the encouragement, Dad.”
He finally looked directly at her. “Encouragement has nothing to do with it. You either make it or you don’t. You have to understand business.”
“You don’t have a business degree. Sonny and Thomas don’t have degrees.” Leaning forward, Holly propped her elbows on her knees and clenched her hands into fists. It took everything she had not to blow up at the man. “Are you afraid I won’t pay you back at the end of the year?”
Fritz set down the cup with a clatter. “I have to stop at the hardware store.” He wrapped the half-eaten pastry in a napkin and shoved the package into his shirt pocket. “Thanks for the coffee.”
And ten minutes after he showed up at her shop for the first time, Holly’s father disappeared out the door.
Holly dropped her head in her hands. What happened to the father she knew and when had he become so darn difficult?
* * *
BEFORE LONG, MAC was stopping at The Wildflower every morning for a cup of Holly’s special blend. The caffeine helped him function and he was supporting a local business. Right?
He didn’t know if his simple apology would be enough, but her animosity had lessened. So he arrived promptly at seven, got a mug of coffee and chatted with whoever was working. Sometimes her mother, sometimes Louise and sometimes Carolyn stood behind the counter while Holly busied herself in the kitchen or storeroom. On Saturday mornings, Holly would sit with him and share a coffee and the local news. Then he would grab a coffee to go and continue about his day.
The Friday before Memorial Day weekend, Mac paid for his coffee and ran into Chris Hoffman on his way out the door.
Chris slapped his shoulder. “Hey, man, long time no see.” Tall, thin, with stylishly cut jet-black hair, the thirty-year-old turned as many heads now as he did in high school.
“Look at you,” Mac said, “you’re the poster boy pilot.” He gripped Chris’s outstretched hand. “Where have you been, Chris? Or should I say, where haven’t you been?”
“Flying right seat with the big boys. I just got back from LA.” Chris laughed as he shut the door and looked around the shop. “I’m on a ten-day break and I thought I’d check out baby sister’s business venture.” He turned at the sound of the kitchen door banging open. “There she is—the family entrepreneur.”
Holly paused when she caught sight of Mac and Chris. Just a few days ago she would have been irritated at the sight, remembering how often Mac had inserted himself between her and her closest brother. But since Mac’s disclosure, she’d started to let go of that old hurt.
“Hey, bro, welcome home.” She shot a look at Mac. “Good morning, Chief McAndrews.”
Mac smiled and said, “Good morning, Ms. Hoffman.” He tore his gaze from Holly’s bright green eyes and slapped Chris on the back. “Let’s get together while you’re home.” He reached for the door.
Chris’s face lit up. “Why don’t you join the family Monday afternoon at the farm? Thomas is burning burgers.”
“Sounds good, Chris. I look forward to catching up.”
“And bring your mom and your little girl.”
The words were a bucket of ice water on his thoughts of spending time with Holly away from the shop. “Mom is on a bus trip and my, um, Riley is still in North Carolina with her grandparents.”
“Another time, then.” Chris grinned.
Without a backward glance, Mac left the coffee shop and paused on the porch, taking a deep breath of the cool morning air. The tempting aroma of fresh-baked bread reached him and he glanced down the boardwalk toward The Cookie Jar. There had been no more instances of disappearing change or baked goods. Maybe Sue had been confused, after all.
Across the street, Tom Johnson waved as he got out of his car and walked toward the bank. “Beautiful day, Chief,” he said.
Mac nodded and held up his cup in a wordless salute. Tom disappeared into the bank, locking the door behind him. No banker’s hours for Tom, Mac mused as he clattered down the steps to his police car. He didn’t regret coming back here. Bear Meadows was made up of good people, salt of the earth. But he had no social life. Any high school friends had either moved on or were busy with families, as he had once been. He pushed thoughts of his daughter out of his mind. Her grandparents would entertain his daughter over the holiday better than he ever could. He liked talking to Holly, but she scared him. She always had. Mac backed out of the parking space.
He took a swig of coffee and headed toward Shadow Falls for a visit with their police chief. The bank branch had been robbed again the previous day, only this time the culprits, a man and a woman, were caught on a surveillance camera. Seemed like the perfect distraction.
* * *
“WHEN DID YOU get in?” Holly wiped the counter, where a dried glob of chocolate syrup resisted her efforts. Mac’s daughter didn’t live with him. Interesting. He must know as much about childcare as she did.
“Late last night. We’re staying in the Daffodil room.”
Holly paused. “I never took Valerie for the B-and-B type. For a woman you met over a glass of pinot noir at the San Francisco Airport, I’m surprised you convinced her. How does she like sleeping in a room where everything is yellow?”
Chris settled onto the stool at the end of the counter. “The Jacuzzi Dad installed makes up for the over-the-top cheerfulness. And she wanted the baby to be around her grandparents. Harley just started to walk last week.” He leaned on the counter. “You don’t mind my asking Mac to come over, do you? You two weren’t exactly friendly back in the day.”
Holly frowned as the last trace of chocolate disappeared into her cloth. Chris had been home with chicken pox the day Mac had turned Holly into a laughingstock in gym class. He had never mentioned the incident and she doubted any of his friends dared to tell him about it. “He made some comments I wasn’t happy about.”
Chris shrugged. “We were kids. Boys pick on girls. That’s our raison d’être.”
Holly sighed, feigning nonchalance. “In response to your question, no, I don’t mind. The more, the merrier.”
“Good,” he said. “Is your business doing well?”
“Her business is doing as well as can be expected. She’s only been open a month.” Carrying a plate of cookies, Rose came out from the kitchen and kissed her son on the cheek. “Was your room to your liking?”
“Great, Mom,” Chris said.
“Good.” Rose patted him on the shoulder. “Your sister works too hard. She hasn’t done anything fun since she left the military.”
“Well, that was fun. Leaving the military, that is.” Holly shared a smile with her brother.
“You know what I mean. Movies, shopping, going out to dinner.” Her mother opened the pastry case and added cookies to the plates inside.
“How do you know?” Holly paused in her cleaning and eyed her mother. “I have lots of fun.”
Emptying the plate of cookies, her mother straightened and closed the pastry case. “I know you’re either here or in the attic.”
“You make me sound like an eccentric aunt.” Chris looked pointedly at the top of her head. Lifting one hand, Holly discovered Carolyn’s hair clip attached to her short hair. Belatedly she remembered finding the clip in the kitchen and sticking it in her hair while she unloaded the dishwasher. She sighed and changed the subject. “Let me guess. You want a—” she stared up at the ceiling as she analyzed her brother’s espresso preference “—skinny amaretto latte, affogato style.”
Chris pursed his lips and said, “Sounds good.” Their mother filled the containers on the condiment counter. “You know, Mom has a point. All work and no play... What happened to the woman who took spur-of-the-moment vacations in Mexico?”
Holly groaned as she took a mug off the top of the espresso machine. She pulled a container of milk from the fridge. “I’ve had enough trips to last a lifetime.”
“Don’t you miss the traveling?”
“Sometimes.” Holly peered around the machine, eyes flitting from her mother to the temperature gauge on the steaming milk. She moved the wand so the burbling grew louder and she raised her voice. “What would Valerie like, Chris? I’ll make her a drink.”
“She’s a simple woman, Holly. Just make her a double shot skinny vanilla latte. And don’t think I didn’t notice—you’re trying to get rid of me already. But I think I’ll enjoy the ambience of your little coffee shop before I head back. Valerie won’t be up for another hour, at least.”
“Who’s watching the baby?”
“Dad.”
Grinning at Chris calling his stylish wife a “simple woman,” Holly set the cup on the counter. “One skinny amaretto latte, affogato style.” At the same time she wondered how her brother had persuaded her busy father to babysit.
Chris reached for the cup, eyebrows raised. “Nice, sis.” He sipped the frothy drink. “Good job. Thank you.”
Holly flashed her brother a smile and breathed a sigh of relief. Chris had traveled as much as she. His approval was a good sign.
Chris wrapped his fingers around the brown mug and took another sip. “So, Mom, what do you suggest we do to get Holly out of her rut?”
“Oh, for goodness’ sake...” Holly muttered, reaching for the peach tea bags.
“It would be nice if you had a date with some young man but that doesn’t seem to be happening.” Rose sprayed the front of the display case with glass cleaner. Ripping off some paper towels, she attacked the glass.
“Whatever happened to Nick?” Chris asked.
Pouring milk into the pitcher, Holly glanced at her brother. “I told—”
“He was such a nice man,” her mother continued as if Holly hadn’t spoken. “Polite and so handsome in his uniform.” She turned back to the display case and spritzed the other side.
Chris strolled toward the bookshelves, his voice rising as he walked away. “I don’t think he tripped Holly’s trigger, Mom.”
“Hel-lo-o. I’m standing right here.” Holly lifted the milk to the steamer wand and soon the burbling filled the room. Nick. He had looked good in his dress blues. Great build, dark brown hair, brown eyes, flashing white teeth. He could have posed for a recruitment poster. They both could have, which was the root of the problem. Nick wanted a military wife. Too bad she didn’t realize the truth until she had invested four years of her life. Men and their motives.
“Maybe she can go shopping with Valerie while you’re home,” her mom said. “All she wears are air force T-shirts.”
“All I need are air force T-shirts.” The burbling ceased as she pulled the milk pitcher from the wand.
“My point exactly.”
Annoyed at the ongoing discussion of her personal life, Holly ripped open the box and tea bags flew across the counter and landed in the sink. Throwing the destroyed box in the trash, she shot her mother a look. “Mother, stop. I don’t need fun. I don’t need dates. I don’t need clothes. I need to stay in business so Dad can’t walk in here and say ‘I told you so.’”
Her mother stood openmouthed in front of the pastry case, paper towels in one hand and spray bottle in the other. Her brother leaned on the end of the counter, staring into his coffee mug.
“Methinks she doth protest too much,” Rose said and disappeared into the kitchen.
Gathering up the scattered tea bags, Holly added six to a pitcher of hot water and set the timer, irritation prickling between her shoulder blades. Maybe she shouldn’t have returned home. All this familiarity was getting on her nerves.
Between her confusing reaction to having Mac’s hands around her wrists, her father’s lack of enthusiasm and her mother’s insistence that she have fun, Holly had had about all she could take.
She reached for the nonfat milk for Valerie’s skinny latte. The sooner Chris went on his way, the better. Then her mother wouldn’t have anyone with whom to discuss Holly’s private life.
Holly pumped sugar-free vanilla into the cup, pulled two shots of espresso and added the milk, steamed extra hot to survive the short trip home. “One double shot skinny sugar-free vanilla latte, extra hot, brother.” She set the cup in the center of the counter and smiled.
“Okay, I’m leaving.” Chris waved a paperback novel in the air. “Borrowing.”
“Bye.” Holly threw the bar towel on the counter and shook her head.
Chris opened the door, then turned and threw her a sympathetic grin. “Hang in there, sis. You’ll be fine.”
CHAPTER SIX (#ulink_8241d9cc-5638-5bc0-b084-7ab5327eca4a)
ON MEMORIAL DAY, Holly closed the shop at noon. It’s fine, she told herself, everyone’s having picnics or spending the weekend at the lake.
Heading for her own family picnic, she shoved some stale cookies into a tin, hurried home and changed into a pair of old shorts and an air force T-shirt. Then she loaded her mother’s cooler packed with salads into the trunk of her tiny sports car.
“Ready, Mom?” Holly stood at the kitchen door of the bed-and-breakfast. One thing about her mother: she didn’t hold grudges. Their earlier disagreement was forgotten as they gathered supplies for the afternoon picnic at the farm.
Rose glanced around the kitchen and held up one finger. “Let me grab a book, in case I get a minute to myself.”
Holly went out to the wide back porch and sank onto the swing. Bright green tufts of lettuce grew in her mother’s kitchen garden, along with a few shoots of just emerging onions. Brilliant pink peonies, blossoming in full glory, lined the paved walk leading to the gazebo in the far corner of the yard. Holly breathed in their heady scent.
Book under her arm, Rose pulled the kitchen door shut and wiggled the knob to make sure it was locked. A bag of potato chips dangled from her fingers.
“More chips?” Holly rose from the swing.
“I had an extra bag. Those boys eat like vultures.”
“The backyard looks nice, Mom.” Holly opened her car door and sank into the driver’s seat. Her mother placed the chips on the floor and then, holding tightly to the handgrip, lowered herself onto the passenger seat.
“Thanks, honey. The gazebo your father built adds a nice touch. He’s working on a covered bridge for the little stream out back. That man works too hard.”

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