Cedar Cove Collection. Debbie MacomberЧитать онлайн книгу.
wasn’t inside it.
“You okay?” Buffalo Bob asked from the tavern side of the restaurant. “Merrily was worried when she remembered you were driving to the McKenna place today. We heard there was a tornado warning out there. You see anything?”
Rather than launch into a long explanation, Linnette simply nodded. Doing her best to look composed, she walked past the men sitting at the bar and made her way to the stairs that led to the second floor. Dashing up the steps, she ran down the long hallway to the very rear of the building, where her room was situated.
She threw herself on the bed, breathing hard, torn between relief at surviving and humiliation at her own disclosures.
Thirty years from now, her experience in the tornado would be a wonderful story to relate to her grandchildren—if she had any. Naturally, Linnette would embellish it a bit, add some humor. At the moment, however, she could see nothing amusing in the circumstances. Nothing whatsoever.
A few days went by, and the traumatic events of that morning were relegated to the back of her mind. She refused to linger on them. Every time she thought about the tornado and everything that followed, her face heated up as if she had a bad case of sunburn.
Her parents had phoned, of course, after seeing images of the destruction on the TV news, and so had Maddy. She’d briefly described what had happened—without mentioning Pete. Everyone praised her clearheadedness and quick action, which made her cringe with guilt. Fortunately, she hadn’t seen Pete since that fateful day.
Then on Sunday afternoon, while she was waiting tables by herself, he sauntered into 3 of a Kind. He saw her and inclined his head in recognition. Choosing a corner table, he pulled out a chair and placed his Stetson—obviously a new one—on the empty seat beside him.
With no other alternative, Linnette brought him a menu and a glass of ice water.
“Good to see you again,” Pete said, smiling up at her.
Not trusting herself to speak, Linnette bit her tongue and nodded.
“What did you find out about your car?” he asked as he opened his menu.
“It’s a write-off,” she told him. There was major structural damage. One side was crushed when the car landed against a tree a few fields from where she’d stopped. Most of the glass was shattered and the damage to the frame was extensive. Although Linnette complained every month when she wrote out a hefty car insurance payment, she was grateful for it now. According to the adjuster, she had the go-ahead to order a new car.
“I’m glad,” Pete said, glancing away from his menu. He chose the meat loaf and mashed potato special.
“What about … your truck?” It seemed only polite to ask.
He shrugged. “A few dents. I figure they add character.”
She liked his attitude.
“Just like a broken heart adds character to a person …”
Glaring at him, Linnette jerked the menu out of his hands and stomped off to place his order. How dare he say that to her! Pete might have saved her life, but that didn’t give him permission to embarrass her.
She’d never talk to him again, Linnette decided. Ever.
Twenty-Five
Jack had three steaks ready for the grill when Olivia got home from the courthouse Thursday afternoon. They rarely ate red meat anymore; however, they’d invited Will to dinner, and she knew her brother’s favorite was T-bone steak. Besides, she had a few questions for Will and she wanted him in a good mood when she asked them.
No doubt Jack was pleased with the menu. Olivia kept a careful eye on her husband’s diet. After his heart attack, Jack had promised to abstain from fast food and late hours. He left the newspaper office as close to five as he could these days and often got home before she did, which was a real switch from the way things used to be.
“Hi, Jack,” she greeted him, setting her purse on a small table in the hallway alcove, just as she did every night.
“Out here,” Jack called. He had a Reba CD playing and the volume was loud enough to rattle the windows. She was surprised he’d heard her at all.
Moving into the kitchen, Olivia found her husband preparing a salad. He’d arranged pale green Boston lettuce and baby spinach leaves in a large glass bowl, which sat on the kitchen counter, along with two ripe tomatoes and a cucumber fresh from her garden.
“Do your talents never cease?” she teased, sliding her arms around his middle. She hadn’t realized how deeply she loved this man—who’d come into her life nearly twenty years after her divorce—until he’d almost died. Now she appreciated every day she had with him. Every minute.
“I picked up a bottle of a new spray-on salad dressing,” he was saying. “There was a coupon in the Chronicle and I used it. I think we’ll like this one.”
He handed her the bottle of Italian dressing and she glanced at the label with an appropriately enthusiastic comment. Who would’ve dreamed that Jack Griffin, editor of the Cedar Cove Chronicle and renowned junk-food fanatic, would care about low-fat salad dressing? Certainly not Olivia.
“You’re spoiling me,” she said with a laugh.
“Well, actually, I was thinking I’d get you happy and then lure you into my den of iniquity.”
“Den of iniquity? Den of books and stacks of paper is more like it.” Olivia loved the banter between them. “Anyway, after all this time you should know you don’t need gifts of salad dressing to get me into your arms.”
Jack turned and enfolded her in his embrace, kissing the tip of her nose. “The things you say to me, woman, it’s a wonder I don’t seduce you right here on the kitchen floor.”
“And let my brother find us?” she asked.
Jack scowled. “Oh, yeah. I forgot for a minute—Will’s coming to dinner.”
“Don’t forget, I need to talk to him….”
“And you want me to conveniently disappear.”
“If you don’t mind?” She sighed unhappily. “It’s just that this might get awkward.”
“I’m happy to retreat to my den,” he said, waggling his eyebrows in Groucho Marx fashion.
After a quick kiss, Olivia went into the bedroom to change while Jack finished making the salad. When she returned he’d poured two glasses of iced tea.
As they waited for Will, they sat on the front porch, which overlooked the Cove. The waters were a clear blue and, for September, surprisingly calm. Sitting side by side on the glider, they sipped their tea and enjoyed the quiet of early evening.
“How was your day?” Olivia asked, grateful for these few minutes alone. Will’s arrival would transform this peaceful mood into one of tension.
“I had lunch with Seth,” Jack said. “Ran into him at the deli. I had vegetable soup and a multigrain bagel with low-fat cream cheese,” he added righteously.
“Well, I had lunch with Justine.” She smiled. Her daughter had been full of news about the sale of the waterfront land and their purchase of a commercial plot off Harbor Street. Everything had come together so smoothly, Justine was convinced this was meant to be. She’d talked about collecting Charlotte’s special recipes. Justine planned to use them in the tearoom, which had pleased Charlotte no end. In fact, during their last conversation, Olivia had learned that her mother was finally writing down all her recipes. Although friends and family had been asking for ages, Justine had given her the inspiration she needed.
“Seth told me the permits have been issued and construction on the tearoom should start in the next few weeks.”
“Justine said the same thing.”
They