2000 Kisses (22 page)

She disappeared into the back room before Tess could protest. Pie dough? Tess didn't have a clue where to start. She could assess markets and develop new media campaigns, but making pastry had always terrified her.

“Don't worry, it won't bite you.” Mae's voice drifted into the room. “The trick is not to work the dough too long. Otherwise it gets tough. Go on, give it a whirl.”

Tess stared at the bowl. There was a mound of white flour and what appeared to be chunks of cold butter. “How do I—”

“Just dig in with a fork. Better yet, use two. Cut the butter twenty or thirty times until you have something that looks like cornmeal.”

Tess made a swift, tentative movement. Nothing happened. Gritting her teeth, she tried again and this time she saw the butter and flour crumble together.

Five. Six. Seven. She was actually making dough. Amazing. Her mother would faint if she knew. And Andrew would tease her for at least a year.

“How are you doing out there? No blood in sight, I hope.”

“It's working. It's actually working.”

“Of course it is.” Metal clanged. Mae reappeared with a layer of fine dust covering her head and shoulders. “One of these days I'll have that storeroom cleaned properly. At least my tinkering should hold off the electrician for a little while longer.” She glanced down at Tess's bowl. “Not bad. We'll give it about a tablespoon of ice water, gather it into a ball, and then it goes into the refrigerator. Keeping it chilled makes all the difference.” Tess watched her deftly add a small amount of water, stir the dough, and nod. “Just slip it over once, easy does it. When the butter melts in the oven, it leaves behind all those wonderful little holes and makes a perfect pastry.” She covered the bowl, then whisked it away to a huge industrial refrigerator. “Nice work. Any time you need a new job, just let me know.”

The idea was so fantastic that Tess almost laughed aloud. In her family, she was irrevocably classified as the kitchen klutz. She could just about manage to boil water on a good day.

Make pie dough? From scratch? No one would believe it.

“Have a seat. I'm going to finish this apple walnut filling.” Mae peeled apples as she talked. “First off, I want something different here at the cafe. I'm tired of doing my chicken pot pie and black bean cornbread with chiles.”

“Those sound pretty delicious to me.”

Mae barked out a laugh. “Stop pulling my leg, girl.”

“Why would I do that?”

After a moment Mae nodded. “No, I guess you wouldn't. You don't hardly look the type to mock a person. Nice, I call it.” She cut a long apple peel and let it fall onto her cutting board. “So how do you like Almost?”

“Just fine. At least what I've seen so far, which isn't much.”

“Not a great deal to see. Still, this town can suit a person fine, provided a person knows what he's looking for. Or what
she's
looking for.” She cast a measuring glance at Tess. “Do you know what you're looking for?”

There was no malice in the question, only honest concern. It was clear that the answer mattered to Mae.

“I thought I did. Lately my life has been very confusing.” That had to be the understatement of the new millennium.

Time to change the subject, Tess thought. “I need to know something about the history of Almost. That will help me develop the right theme for your Web site promotion.”

“History? I guess that started with our illustrious founder. Some people swear he ran out of water on the way to California, which made him decide to stake a claim right here. Myself, I think that's just a nasty joke.” Mae's eyes narrowed. “The fact is, people seem to come here for all the wrong reasons, then end up staying for all the right ones. Just like I did.”

Tess pulled out her notebook. “What brought you to Almost?”

Mae chuckled. “Ever since I was a child, all I ever wanted to do was cook. To feed people and make them happy. Oh, I never had grand ideas. Just good, solid
food—what you call comfort food-these days. I lived in Atlanta then. I worked hard, put money by, and after a few years I found myself a small restaurant. Then I heard the Pope was coming to visit. All I could think of was cooking for the Pope. Stupid Idea, wasn't it? A silly nobody like me cooking for the Pope.”

Tess propped her chin on her hands, smiling, “Not silly. If the man ever tasted your biscuits and gravy, he'd think he'd already gone to heaven. But what happened?”

“It didn't work out. Someone changed his itinerary at the last moment. That same day I decided it was time for me to try something different, so I sold the business and headed west. It seemed as good a direction as any.” She shook her head. “When I saw the name on the map, I thought it had to be a joke. But it wasn't. The day I drove in, the old cafe was up for sale, and I decided to buy it, just like that. The funny thing is, I haven't had a regret in all those years. It might be quiet here, but people look out for each other. From all that I hear, that's pretty special today.” She picked up another apple and peeled it carefully. “And there's the mayor—-Miss America runner-up, 1965. She was headed up to Vancouver to meet her fiance when her car broke down. She waited for parts for two weeks, and just when she was ready to leave, her fiance called saying he'd gotten cold feet and the wedding was off. At first she stayed here because she was too embarrassed to go back andtell her family what had happened. Later on she stayed because she'd found a good man who appreciated her. That's her husband, Frank.”

“He came here from somewhere else, too?”

“Golly, yes. Frank was in the astronaut training program. He was fairly old to fly a mission—the ripe old age of twenty-seven, but he had a good shot of walking on the moon. Then after three solid years of preparation, the
program was canceled. Given his age, that was the only chance he was going to get. He stopped in Almost on the way to do some hiking and then he came back after the hiking. Now he runs wilderness rock climbing treks in the rim country to the north. He also takes helicopter tours to some of the most beautiful country God ever made.”

Tess's pencil raced. She already had a dozen ideas for Mae's Web site, including a full-scale profile with photographs of the wilderness treks. It would be the perfect thing to appeal to jaded, stressed-out urban dwellers. “What about Grady?”

“Now, there's a story.” Mae shook her head. “Grady's one of the few people I know who was actually born here. But he left the day he graduated from high school. Worked on a steamer, then did some construction work in Australia, and somewhere along the line became a journalist—and a darned good one. He sent some reports from Vietnam when the war was ending and almost got himself killed trying to save a family when a shell exploded on their junk. He never did find out which side dropped the shell. He said by then it didn't matter because he was tired of looking for excitement. So he came home to Almost. If you ask him real nice, you might get him to show you his desk full of journalism awards.”

Tess stared down at her notebook, drawing aimless circles. “What about T.J.?”

“I figure if you want his story, you'll have to ask him. The man's mighty private about things like that.”

“I didn't mean to pry. I was just wondering about what happened yesterday with that hostage situation. Does he get called in like that often?”

“Often enough,” Mae said grimly. “TJ.'s marksmanship
skills make him one of the first choices when a situation turns nasty.”

Tess yearned to ask Mae how he'd gotten those skills and what secrets his past held.

But she didn't. His past wasn't any of her business.

Nor was his future.

She wasn't going to let this comfortable little town or its rugged, handsome sheriff get under her skin. The minute her case was solved, she'd be behind the wheel of her Mercedes with the wind whipping through her hair as she headed straight to Boston.

“So what about Sheriff McCall? How do you feel about him?”

“He's a nice man,” she said tentatively.

Mae snorted. 'TJ. wouldn't thank you for that particular description. Honorable, sexy, tough maybe, but not nice, though he's that, too.” She diced a half-dozen apples with swift, practiced movements. “He was hurt before, you know.”

Tess swallowed. “You mean in a shootout?”

“Not that kind of hurt,” Mae muttered. “It happened about four years ago, not too long after he came back to Almost. He got himself involved with a hotshot television reporter from California. Any person with eyes could see it wouldn't work out, but no, they went at it like umpires with scorecards.” Mae's lips pursed. “Two weekends here in Almost, two weekends over there in California—everything split nice and neat down the center. Any fool could have told them you can't take the square root of love or chop a relationship into nice, equal pieces. It doesn't work that way and it never has, never will.” Mae scraped a mound of chopped apples into her bowl and sprinkled lemon juice over them.

“What happened?” Tess asked, consumed with curiosity.

“There were no fireworks or angry arguments, but one month he stopped going to California. Right after that, she stopped coming here. He never talks about it much. Men are like that. The big fools think it's a sign of weakness to talk about how they feel. At any rate, he heard three months later that she'd been reassigned to Paris, She didn't even call to say good-bye.” Mae shook her head. “I think that's why reporters make him see red these days.” Mae slid into the chair beside her and leaned forward. “So, Tess, that's why I want to know if you're planning to stay?”

Tess locked her hands. “I've only just gotten here. There are problems, complications.”

“There are always problems. The question is what we do about them.”

Tess peered down at her hands, shifting restlessly. “Things haven't gotten personal, if that's what you mean. I haven't been asked to stay.”

“What does being
asked
have to do with it?” Mae gave a disgusted snort. “Life is short, and you don't always get an invitation to dance. If you see something you want, go after it.”

“It's not like that.” Tess shook her head. “T.J. and I are … well, we hardly know each other.”

“Well, get to know the man! There's nothing stopping you. My advice is to decide what you want and go after it. Opportunity comes when it comes and you'd better not let it get away.” The lights flickered as she banged on the counter for emphasis. “I guess I'll need that electrician after all.”

“By the way, where is T.J.?” Mae asked.

“He had some work to finish.” Tess smiled wryly.
“He told me to go take a hike.” She looked out the window to the northeast, where rugged blue peaks rose against a cloudless sky. “Are there many ruins in the area?”

“All over the place.”

Tess couldn't seem to pull her eyes from that particular jagged range. “What about the ones in the picture at the sheriff s office?”

Mae tapped at her jaw. “That's it there—right where you're staring. It's not so far, maybe about twenty miles. But it's rugged going. Why do you ask?”

“I was just … curious. I thought going there might help me to create a background for your products. You know: ancient spices, ancient cultures—that sort of thing.”

“You'll never make it there in that car of yours. You're welcome to take my Explorer, if you want. I'll be here all afternoon and a good part of the evening.”

“But I wouldn't want to—”

“No problem.” Mae dug in her apron pocket and pulled out a set of keys. “The tank's full and there's a jug of water in the back. You got a hat?”

“No.”

“Well, you'd better take mine.” Mae tossed Tess a broad-brimmed panama that had seen a lot of miles. “Wear it. The sun out here can be deceptive. But I guess you know that by now.”

“I'm not likely to forget.” Not ever, Tess thought. Especially the part where she woke up and found TJ.'s hand under her skirt.

She flushed.

“You okay?”

“Absolutely. If you're certain you don't mind loaning
me your car, I'll go now.” Before TJ. could find her gone, Tess thought. “Maybe you could draw me a map.”

“That's easy enough. The ruins are right up in those foothills.” Mae pointed out the window to the rugged mountains in the northeast.

Somehow Tess had known that's where the ruins would be. The mountains seemed to call her, shimmering in the bright sun.

Mae quickly sketched a map and jotted down an estimate of the distance. Then she shook her head. “Maybe I should go with you after all. Or maybe T.J. should go. That's pretty deserted country up there.”

“TJ. is busy. So are you,” Tess said firmly. The last thing she wanted was company. How could she explain this compulsion she had to visit an isolated canyon that somehow seemed—familiar? “Don't worry, I'll be fine. I'll stick to the roads and I won't climb anything that looks unstable.”

Feeling the hum of excitement, Tess glanced at her watch. It was almost noon. Everything would be fine. In fact, she would be back before TJ. even knew she was gone.

Blue foothills rose before Tess like a dream. There was something rich and intensely welcoming in the green chaparral and the waves of bright wildflowers. Above all rose one blue peak, calling her, claiming her.