Czytaj książkę: «How To Rescue A Family»

Chapter One

“He’s here.”

Amanda Sylvester looked up from the pear-and-goat-cheese puff pastry she was assembling and found Belle Ross, her head waitress, grinning at her from ear to ear.

“You know, in case you’ve decided to take a chance and actually speak to him.” Belle lifted a brow. “Just saying.”

“The lunch rush is in full swing. Shouldn’t you be waiting tables?” Amanda reached for a fresh rosemary sprig from the tiny garden she’d planted in the Grille’s sole kitchen window and placed it carefully on top of her creation. “Just saying.”

Belle leaned against the door frame. “It’s three o’clock. The lunch crowd disappeared almost an hour ago. But nice try, boss.”

“Oh.” Amanda had lost track of time—again—a common occurrence when she was experimenting with new recipes. Not that any of her new dishes ever actually turned up on the menu.

A girl could dream, though, right?

“He ordered a latte to go. I reminded him, yet again, that we’re not exactly a latte sort of establishment. We’re basically a diner, so our coffee offerings are pretty much limited to regular and decaf.” Belle shoved a paper cup at Amanda. “This is his coffee—regular, by the way. You’re giving it to him. I refuse to do it myself.”

Amanda stared at the cup. “Um.”

“Seriously, take it. This secret crush of yours is getting old.”

Amanda’s face went hot, and she defiantly plucked the coffee from Belle’s grasp. “It’s not a secret crush. I just think he’s mysterious, that’s all.”

Nor was he terrible to look at, but that was beside the point.

Mostly.

Amanda had lived in Spring Forest, North Carolina, her entire life. She’d worked at her family’s restaurant, Main Street Grille, since she was old enough to juggle more than one plate at a time. She loved it. She really did. But sometimes, it was all just a little predictable.

Which explained her fascination with the man who’d suddenly started showing up multiple times a day, looking as if he’d just walked out of the pages of GQ rather than any of the redbrick buildings in Spring Forest’s historic downtown district. Ryan Carter, the new owner and editor-in-chief of The Spring Forest Chronicle, wasn’t exactly what people might call personable, but he was certainly different. And attractive.

In a brooding sort of way.

Belle grinned. “Keep telling yourself that, boss.”

“You’re so fired,” Amanda whispered as she slipped past her, toward the dining room.

She was kidding, obviously. Belle was a ridiculously competent waitress, as well as one of Amanda’s oldest friends. But she was also delusional.

It wasn’t a crush. Amanda was a grown woman. A career woman. Twenty-nine-year-old ambitious adults didn’t have crushes.

But when she reached the counter and Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Grumpy glanced up from the iPhone in his hand, her stomach flipped in a way that could only be described as crush-tastic.

Get a grip on yourself. That’s not even a word.

She squared her shoulders, smiled and offered him the cup. “Your coffee.”

He took it. “Thank you very much.”

No smile. No indication that he thought she, herself, was crush-tastic, despite the very good hair day she was having. Nothing.

He gave her a distracted nod before turning to leave.

“You’re welcome,” she said to his back.

Rude much?

Amanda picked up the closest dish towel and scrubbed furiously at an invisible spot on the counter. She glanced back up for another glimpse of his disappearing form as he pushed through the door and strode purposefully down Main Street. He had a lovely back. Broad and strong, as if capable of shouldering the heaviest of burdens. And were those actual muscles moving beneath the elegant weave of his suit jacket? God, they were.

“How’d it go?” Belle asked.

“Disastrously.” Amanda scrubbed harder at the smooth Formica countertop. “I was confident and lovely. I smiled when I said ‘Here’s your coffee,’ and I might have even thrown in a flirty hair flip.”

“Then what happened?”

Amanda crossed her arms and sighed. “He said ‘Thank you very much,’ and left.”

“I see what you mean. Total disaster.” The corner of Belle’s mouth twitched into a grin. “Clearly the man is a monster.”

“You jest, but the fact that he didn’t smile says something about him, don’t you think?”

“Yes. It says he’s in a hurry. Or distracted. Or under-caffeinated, hence the coffee.” Belle gestured, Vanna White–style, at the coffeepot.

“Or he has no interest in me whatsoever, which is fine.” More than fine, really. She didn’t have time for a love interest. She didn’t even have time for a dog, for crying out loud. She just wanted to do her job, post her foodie pics to Instagram and admire Ryan Carter from afar. Was that really too much to ask? “He’s married, anyway. We know that much about him.”

“We do?” Belle peered out the window and squinted after him, as if she expected to spot a just-married sign taped to his back.

“Of course we do. He’s ordered two of the dinner specials to go almost every day this week. There’s a Mrs. Tall-Dark-and-Grumpy waiting for him at home.” She paused for dramatic effect. “Obviously.”

“The only thing obvious about any of this is that you’re a chicken. It’s like the tenth grade Sadie Hawkins dance all over again.”

“Don’t go there.” Sure, that humiliating experience had taken place approximately fourteen years ago, but Amanda still wasn’t over it. Not even close. “And I’m not a chicken. Need I remind you that I rode out a tornado all by myself last week?”

She’d been terrified out of her mind as she’d cowered in the bathroom of her tiny apartment above the Grille while the windows rattled and it sounded like a freight train was barreling through town. But she’d survived. On her own. The next morning, when she’d seen the storm damage, she felt kind of like Wonder Woman.

“Which reminds me.” She glanced at the vintage white-gold watch on her wrist, a keepsake from her grandmother. “I need to get out to the animal shelter. I promised Birdie and Bunny I’d walk some dogs today.”

Bernadette and Gwendolyn Whitaker, affectionately known throughout Spring Forest as Birdie and Bunny, were sisters who ran a local pet rescue where Amanda volunteered once a week. They lived in the same rambling Victorian the Whitaker family had called home for generations, and a number of years ago, they’d opened a small animal shelter on part of their property.

Belle winced. “How do things look out at Furever Paws? The tornado hit the shelter pretty hard, didn’t it?”

“Yes, from what I hear, it touched right down on the sisters’ land. They lost a lot of trees, and the shelter’s roof was pretty much demolished. I’m sure their insurance will fix it, but in the meantime, it’s a mess. I feel terrible about it. Birdie and Bunny are overwhelmed, and those poor animals have been through enough as it is.” Amanda wished for the thousandth time that she could adopt one of the dogs.

But she was hardly ever home. It didn’t seem fair, especially for a rescue dog in need of attention. In need of love.

Love.

Amanda’s throat clogged. What was wrong with her? The tornado must have rattled her more than she wanted to admit.

“Well, at least you’re getting out of here for a bit. Some time away from this place will do you good. You’ve been working since sunup.”

Actually, Amanda had dragged herself into the kitchen before sunrise, but not completely out of necessity. She’d wanted to get her food prep and other responsibilities out of the way so she could have some time to experiment with the goat cheese she’d picked up at the farmer’s market over the weekend.

“I want to take a few pictures of my pastry before I go.” She pushed her way through the swinging door, back into the kitchen. Her sanctuary, where she’d been perfectly content until she’d been distracted once again by the brooding newspaperman.

What a colossal waste of time, as evidenced by her puff pastry, which suddenly looked significantly less puffy than it had before she’d abandoned it to deliver coffee to Mr. Cranky Pants.

“Is it supposed to look like that?” Belle said, peering over Amanda’s shoulder.

“You mean sad and deflated?” Amanda slid her phone back into her pocket. She wouldn’t be posting to Instagram today, after all. “No, it’s not.”

“It might still taste good.” Ah Belle, always the optimist.

“What makes puff pastry special is its light and airy texture. I think that ship has sailed.” Amanda pinned her with a glare. “Yet another reason I shouldn’t be trying to flirt with a stranger over his takeout coffee order.”

“Spring Forest is still a relatively small town. We could check up on him, you know. Find out more about him? Perhaps we could even be hospitable and start a conversation with Ryan himself. Then he wouldn’t be a stranger anymore.”

“Yes, but my pastry would still be flat.” Amanda picked it up and dumped it unceremoniously into the nearest trash can.

“Maybe your social life wouldn’t, though,” Belle muttered.

Amanda pretended not to hear her.

She didn’t need a man. She needed a good night’s sleep. She needed a family member to step up and help out at the Grille. She needed enough Instagram followers to convince her mother she could successfully expand the restaurant into catering weddings and maybe even fancy galas in nearby Raleigh.

And right now, she needed to get to the animal shelter. Because dogs were much simpler than actual human relationships.

Dogs were loyal. They were honest, and they didn’t grow bored, change their feelings on a whim or run away when times got tough. They were possibly the best living example of unconditional love.

Sometimes Amanda wondered how they could be so gentle and sweet, because in her experience, human beings could be quite the opposite.

* * *

Ryan Carter clutched his cardboard coffee cup and pushed through the door of The Spring Forest Chronicle, reminding himself once again to slow down. Breathe. Take a look around.

He wasn’t in DC anymore. Things moved at a much slower pace in Spring Forest. That’s why he’d moved here in the first place. After the sudden and drastic upheaval in his personal life, he’d needed a fresh start. He’d needed a soft place to land, for both himself and his son.

It had taken a little over a year of searching, but he’d found it. Spring Forest was everything they needed, an oasis dripping with Southern charm. Moving here felt like falling into a soft feather bed after a long, restless season of too little sleep.

Too little joy.

He no longer needed to drop everything he was doing in order to attend a White House press briefing without notice, and the back-to-back deadlines that so often woke him up in a cold sweat were now in his past, like so much else. He didn’t even have an editor-in-chief breathing down his neck anymore. That job belonged to Ryan now.

Except The Spring Forest Chronicle wasn’t The Washington Post. Not even close.

“Hello, Mr. Carter.” Jonah Miller, Ryan’s assistant, stood and beamed at him.

“Jonah, we talked about this. Remember? You don’t need to stand every time I enter the building.” He forced a smile and aimed for an expression that somewhat resembled patience. “And I want you to call me Ryan.”

“Right. Sorry.” Jonah’s gaze dropped to Ryan’s coat and tie. “I keep forgetting.”

Ryan was going to have to stop wearing suits to the office. The Spring Forest Chronicle wasn’t exactly a formal working environment, as evidenced by the Converse sneakers on Jonah’s feet and the skinny jeans on the younger man’s legs. Old habits died hard, though, and Ryan’s closet was filled with gray flannel and pinstripes. Relics from his former life.

He made a mental note to buy some casual clothes as soon as possible. As it was, he felt more like Jonah’s dad than his boss. Impossible, considering Ryan was only thirty-three and Jonah was somewhere in his early twenties. But being around all that youthful optimism made Ryan feel ancient, and the last thing he needed at the office was a reminder of his shortcomings as a father.

“Do you have any messages for me?” He shot Jonah a hopeful glance.

As much as Ryan hated to admit it, leaving his position as the political editor at the Post to buy a small-town newspaper was more of an adjustment than he’d expected. He missed his old job—the adrenaline rush that came with chasing a breaking story, the sense of accomplishment, the prestige. Dillon was more important than any of those things, obviously. That’s why they were here.

But Ryan would have given his left arm for a story to cover—a real story with some meat on its bones. A story that didn’t involve a bake sale or the removal of a stop sign or new uniforms for the high school marching band. The only thing truly newsworthy he’d covered recently had been the tornado that swept through town.

He could have done without that particular news item. The twister had scared Dillon so badly that he’d slept in the bathtub for three straight nights afterward. Ryan had stretched out on the bathroom floor in his sleeping bag alongside the tub, unwilling to leave his frightened son alone. His lower back was a mess.

But at least he’d been there.

For once.

“Yes, actually.” Jonah tore a sheet from the pink message pad on his desk. Ryan hadn’t seen a message pad like that in years. He wondered if it was left over from the building’s banking days. “Patty Matthews from the elementary school called.”

Ryan’s jaw clenched as he stared down at the message. Mrs. Matthews was Dillon’s teacher, which meant the call had zero to do with business. Worse, it might mean that there was a problem with his son.

Jonah cleared his throat. “She said she tried to reach you on your cell, but it rolled straight to voice mail.”

“That’s because I was at the mobile store buying a new phone. It’s only been activated for a few minutes.” Ryan had been so consumed with taking care of Dillon during the storm that he’d accidentally left his cell phone plugged into its charger during the tornado. Big mistake. It had been randomly powering itself down ever since, and he couldn’t afford to miss any more news tips...

Or calls from his son’s teacher.

“Right.” Jonah nodded. “I’m sure everything’s fine, but you should probably call her back.”

“Of course.” Dread settled in the pit of Ryan’s stomach like a lead weight. Things hadn’t been fine for a long, long time.

He checked his watch.

“School gets out shortly. I think I’ll head over there instead of calling.” He glanced at Jonah. “Unless there’s something urgent I need to attend to?”

“Nope.” Jonah shrugged. “There’s not.”

Of course there wasn’t. The paper didn’t even go to press for three more days. The Spring Forest Chronicle was a weekly publication, which gave Ryan a flexible schedule. He dropped off Dillon for school every morning, and picked him up, as well. He attended the school’s aftercare program in the afternoons when Ryan was working. Before the accident, when they’d lived in DC, Ryan had never set foot inside a single one of Dillon’s classrooms.

His gut churned, and the message crumpled in his fist.

What if it was too late? What if he never managed to connect with his son? What if Dillon’s retreat into silence was permanent?

It’s not too late. It can’t be.

“Right. I’ll see you tomorrow, then.” Ryan scanned the room, in case anyone else on his minuscule staff looked as though they needed to speak to him. But the other three full-time employees were all bent over their desks, eyes glued to their laptops. Ryan thought he spied a computer game on at least one of the screens.

He sighed and stalked out of the building, back onto Main. Dappled sunlight drifted through the branches of the trees lining the street, warming his face as he made his way to the large public parking lot adjacent to the Granary, where he’d left his car—a small SUV. New, like nearly everything else in his life.

Sometimes he forgot what color it was or where exactly he’d parked it. Hell, sometimes he forgot he drove that to work now instead of taking the Metro.

He just needed a little time, that’s all. They both did. Eventually, this new life would feel right. It would fit, like a favorite sweater. Time heals all wounds. Isn’t that what people always said?

God, he hoped so.

But he was starting to wonder. So were Maggie’s parents, and that was a problem. A big one.

Ryan tipped his head back to down the rest of his coffee. He didn’t want to think about his overbearing in-laws right now. Thankfully, he didn’t have to. The move to Spring Forest had put nearly three hundred blissful miles between him and his late wife’s mom and dad.

I’ll drink to that.

He swallowed the dregs from his paper cup and turned to throw it in a nearby recycling bin, but as he did so he crashed into something. Or more accurately, someone. A woman.

Ooof.

She stumbled backward, and Ryan reached for her shoulders to keep her from falling. “Oh God, I’m sorry. I’m in a hurry and wasn’t looking where I was going. Are you hurt?”

“Ouch,” she wailed. His elbow had rammed right into her nose.

The woman’s hands were covering her face, and something about her graceful fingers seemed vaguely familiar, but Ryan couldn’t imagine why. He stared at her buffed nails and the slim gold bands on her middle finger and thumb, trying to figure out where he’d seen those feminine details before.

“I’m sorry.” He swallowed, forcing himself to release his hold on her since she was standing perfectly still now.

His throat went thick, and he was suddenly extremely conscious of the fact that he hadn’t touched a woman in quite a long time. She smelled like something decadent and sweet—vanilla, maybe. And her sweater had been soft beneath his fingertips. So soft that an ache formed deep in his chest. He inhaled a ragged breath and nearly choked.

“I’m fine, but you plowed into me pretty hard. It’s okay. It’s...” she peeked up at him from between her hands “...you.”

Ryan frowned. “Me?”

“Yes.” She nodded. “You.”

Had they met before? Ryan would have remembered her. He was sure of it. She had a lovely bronze complexion, full lips and eyes the color of fine Southern bourbon.

But he’d been walking around in a fog for months now—looking without seeing. Existing without living.

“The diner,” he said as realization dawned. “You handed me my coffee before.”

Her lips curved into the smallest of smiles, and she nodded.

“It was very good, by the way.” What was he doing? Flirting?

No.

Definitely not.

Her eyes narrowed. Somewhere in their depths, Ryan spotted flecks of gold. “See, now you’re frowning again, so I don’t believe you.”

“I never lie about coffee,” he said solemnly.

She smiled again, and it sent a zing through his chest, quickly followed by a pang of guilt.

He had no business taking delight in making this beautiful woman smile. No business whatsoever. His life was a disaster, his wife was dead, and in the year since her accident, his son hadn’t uttered a word.

What would she think if she knew the ugly truth?

He didn’t want to know. “I’ve got to go.”

It came out sharper than he intended, and she flinched. But Ryan barely noticed, because he’d already begun to walk away.