The New Hope Cafe (4 page)

That was deceptive, though. It was a false sense of security.
Phoenix was bigger, more anonymous. Safer. There was the shelter, too, with
domestic violence counselors and kids Beth Ann could relate to, people who
understood what they’d been through. She would stick to the plan. As soon as
Rusty fixed her car, they had to go.

* * *

“W
HAT
THE
hell is
challah?
” Jonah
asked, adding a loaf of perfectly fine white bread to the stack that CJ had
rejected for her blasted French toast.

She’d hassled him from the minute she stepped into the café and
it was too damn early to be hassled. Rosie must have told her to kick his ass
because she didn’t back down one bit, no matter what he said.

He hoped to hell Rusty Duvall would choke down a raw egg and
some Tabasco and get going on her car.

“Jewish egg bread,” CJ answered, her voice muffled because she
was between shelves, pawing through all the breads and rolls he had in stock,
her spectacular backside close enough to grab.

Luckily, his hands were full of rejected bread.

She backed out with two loaves of thick-sliced French bread.
“These will have to do.”

“Look, this crowd just wants a hunk of bread to soak up their
yolks. Don’t expect many takers.” But his words fell on deaf ears. Pretty,
shell-like ears that peeked from beneath her flyaway hair, but deaf to good
sense all the same.

She’d made real whipped cream because the canned stuff was
gross,
doing this really distracting wiggling
and bouncing the whole time. He’d been so distracted he hadn’t noticed he had
scorched the back of his apron until he smelled burned cotton.

Now the bell jangled. “Customers.” He bent to look out the
pass-through at the construction crew heading for a booth.

“I need five minutes to get the bread soaking,” she said. “Can
you see what they want? Hold the breads until I tell them about the French
toast.” She scurried off. He couldn’t help but watch that hitch and jiggle she
had when she walked. It wasn’t her fault exactly. What did they call it in the
law?
An attractive nuisance.
Yeah. And he had the
charred apron to prove it.

Soon enough she’d wiggled out with coffee for the workers and
returned with a triumphant grin. “They all want French toast.”

“What they
want
is
you,
” he muttered, turning back to the stove.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he grumbled.

She slapped batter-coated bread onto his griddle, drips and
splats flying everywhere. “Flip these when they’re light brown, please. Also,
you might use more butter on those fried eggs. The edges are crusting. Where’s
the powdered sugar?”

“Top shelf to the left. With the brown sugar.”

She set off and he checked his eggs. They weren’t crusty. Or
not that crusty. Dammit. He added butter. Everybody was a critic.

“I don’t see it,” CJ yelled.

Hell’s bells.
He stomped into the
pantry. She was reaching up from the ladder, her backside at eye-level, the edge
of yellow lace panties peeking above her pants. Did her bra match?

Focus, man.
He hauled his gaze to
the shelf, where she had her fingers on the right sack. “You got it.”

She jerked, surprised by his voice, he guessed, and a cloud of
powdered sugar drifted onto him and the floor around them.

“You scared me.” She scampered down the ladder.

“You called me in here.” Powdered sugar puffed from his lips
with each word.

“I’m sorry.” She was clearly fighting a grin as she brushed the
sugar from his hair, then his shoulders, her breasts swaying gently before his
eyes. The woman had a million ways to drive him wild.

“There. All better.” She met his gaze, mere inches away.
Powdered sugar sparkled in her hair, on the pale down of her forearms, and on
her lips. Could they be as soft as they looked? Would they taste like the cotton
candy she smelled of?

“Something’s burning,” she breathed.

No kidding.
If the powdered sugar
were gunpowder, it might have blown them sky-high. Then he smelled what she
meant. Scorched bread. Her damn French toast. “Hell.”

They rushed out together, banging into the doorjamb, bumping
shoulders, but they caught the bread while it was still dark brown.

CJ plated it with powdered sugar, strawberries and whipped
cream, added it to the egg dishes and danced out to the workers.

When she returned, she fixed a slice and held out a forkful for
him.

“I don’t have time to—”

“Try one bite.” Her sky-blue eyes were lit with pride.

“If it gets you back on the floor.” He dragged the morsel off
the fork. Flavors exploded on his tongue. Tender bread, sweet with a zip of
spice, tangy with strawberries and the whole effect made dreamy by the
cream.

“Not bad, if you like dessert for breakfast.”

“Come on. I can see your pupils pulsating.”

“You can see my…what?”

“That’s a sign of pleasure.”

“It’s a sign we need brighter lightbulbs.”

“Don’t be such a poop. Admit it’s good.”

“Did you just call me a poop?”

“Would you prefer grouch?”

“Yeah. More dignified.”

“Deal. Not that you asked, but it’s the flour that makes the
batter richer. And the honey gives it that bite.”

“Big hassle for a side dish. Would you get the sugar off the
pantry floor before we get ants?”

“You’re such a p—”

“Eh, eh, eh. Grouch, remember?”

Jonah turned back to his grill, grinning despite himself.

CJ pitched the new dish to every soul who wandered in and Jonah
spent half the morning frying battered bread. The men, especially, went for it.
But then what man could say no to CJ? He sure as hell couldn’t.

He’d let her disrupt his kitchen, use up dozens of eggs and
loaf after loaf of bread
and
pop the clutch on his
sex drive.

She was far too pretty and way too bouncy, a temptation he
didn’t need. Casual sex was all he could offer anyone and CJ wasn’t the
type.

He’d been wrong to let Suzanne coax him into marriage and a
family. He’d held it together okay until they lost the babies. Then he’d cracked
like paper-thin veneer.
I’m lonelier with you than by
myself,
she’d said. He hadn’t blamed her for seeking solace
elsewhere. What hurt was that she’d found it with Jared.

When his wife and his best friend and business partner had
slept together, that had pretty much taken down all the load-bearing walls in
his soul.

So, yeah, he’d be better off without a delectable pixie dancing
around his kitchen making him want what he didn’t dare have.

CHAPTER FOUR

B
ETH
A
NN
STARED
at the fried-egg
sandwich her mother had ordered for her. It looked toasty, at least.
Eat one bite. Then one more. Then another.

If she ate half, her mom said she could ask to pet Jonah’s
cat.

She lifted the sandwich to her mouth, but the icky egg smell
made her gag, so she put it back down again. Eating had been hard since The
Terrible Thing. The Terrible Thing happened because of how much Beth Ann loved
ice cream on Family Night.

She glanced up and caught her mom watching her, looking all
worried. She’d gotten worse since they’d left Grandma Price’s. She wanted Beth
Ann to be all right, to be better, to be happy and regular.

It made Beth Ann tired trying to pretend she was. Tired and
mad.

Try again.
She held her breath and
brought the sandwich up, but her stomach heaved. She set it down.

“Psst, Bunny.” Jonah called to her from the silver kitchen.

Bunny
sounded so fake, so babyish.
Whenever someone called her that, Beth Ann felt lonelier. She should have picked
a better name.

Too late now.

Too late for everything she wanted.

“What?” she called back.

“Try the cure.”

Oh, yeah.
She squirted the bottle,
smashed down the bread and took a bite. Her stomach jumped, but the ketchup hid
the egg smell and the sweet taste made it easier to swallow.

Whew.
When she looked up, Jonah
wasn’t there. Good. He didn’t watch her like her mother did. She sighed and ate
another bite. Four more and she could ask about the cat.

Serena had an orange cat named
Chulita—Cutie
in Spanish. When Serena watched TV, the cat sat on her
lap, all puffed up and purring. Beth Ann had wanted a cat, too, but Grandma
Price was allergic.

She wished she could tell Serena about the black cat here. She
missed Serena so much she ached everywhere like when she had the flu.

They were like twins, the two of them. Sometimes they didn’t
even need words, which was good because Serena’s English wasn’t that great yet.
They’d been teaching each other their languages.

Would Serena be mad that Beth Ann had disappeared? Or hurt?
She’d be too shy to call Grandma Price and ask what happened.

That made Beth Ann ache even more. She had to explain to
Serena. Her mom said no phone calls, but how could one hurt? There was a pay
phone by the bathrooms. She could slip down here at night. Easy peasy.

Her mother zipped behind the counter to clip slips to Jonah’s
wheel. “Every single order has French toast,” she told him in a bossy voice.

“Quit selling it so damn hard. We’re low on eggs.”

“Take the heat down a hair. The crust was a pinch too
dark.”

“A pinch? Really?” He held out his spatula handle. “Be my
guest, Ms. Pinch. Grill as you will.”

“I’m just giving you a tip.”

“Save your tips for Rusty. You’ll need them to pay for your
car.”

“I didn’t understand what he was trying to say on the
phone.”

“I’ll drive you over after we close. But not until you scrape
the stalagmites of batter off the ceiling.”

“You mean stalac
tites.
Stalag
mites
grow from the ground up.”

“Scrape those, too.”

“Oh, please. It’s not that bad.”

Her mom was way more cheerful in the café, almost like before
they found out about Beth Ann’s dad.

It was funny, but even when Jonah sounded mean, her mom didn’t
act afraid, not like she got whenever she talked about Beth Ann’s dad.

That’s why they had to move—because her dad was after them.

Beth Ann was scared, too, because her dad might tell her mom
what Beth Ann had done and her mother would stop loving her like she’d stopped
loving him.

The thought swelled in Beth Ann’s mind, turning into the black
blob and making her feel so bad she wanted to tear off her skin.

Think about the cat. You’ll get to pet the
cat.

She gulped down two bites at once and chewed fast.

“Look how much you ate,” her mother said, so relieved it made
Beth Ann’s heart tighten. Her mother’s worry felt like a pile of dictionaries on
Beth Ann’s head.

“It was the ketchup cure,” she said.

Her mom’s eyes shot toward Jonah.

They stared at each other like they were having a contest. Beth
Ann couldn’t tell if they wanted to yell at each other or laugh or talk or
what.

Lots of the time, adults made no sense. She wouldn’t be like
that when she grew up. She would always say what she meant and mean what she
said and never say,
you’ll understand when you’re
older.
If a person knew enough to ask the question, she could
understand the answer.

Her mom looked away first, losing the staring contest, and
grabbed a bunch of dishes then ran off to serve customers.

Jonah watched her go, his elbows on the silver ledge, a funny
look on his face.

“Can I pet your cat? Jonah?” He didn’t seem to hear her at
first.

“Huh? My cat? Louis isn’t mine. He’s feral.”

“What’s that?”

“Wild. He was born outdoors and lives there, too. He doesn’t
like people.”

“But we saw you pet him.”

“He’s used to me because I took care of him after he got hurt.
He’s only got one eye and one leg’s messed up.”

“Would he get used to me?”

“That depends.” Jonah studied her for a few seconds, then got a
bowl and poured cream from a carton into it. “He likes to lie in the sun. Take
this to the clearing just past the big pines. See what happens. Don’t rush
him.”

“I won’t. Thanks.” She told her mom the plan so her mom
wouldn’t freak out and set off for the trees.

Beth Ann put the bowl in the middle of a sunny circle and sat
on the edge, half in the sun, half in the shade, feeling hot and cold at
once.

The pine needles looked golden brown in the sun. They smelled
like Christmas mixed with dust. Nearby, a creek made a friendly bubbling sound.
No wonder Louis liked it here.

She held very still, since Louis was wild and quick moves would
scare him off, ignoring the way the pine needles poked her butt and legs.

It was so hard to wait and hold so still.

Come on, Louis. Where are you?

She waited until her legs went to sleep. She was about to give
up when she saw a flicker of blackness against the trees. She stared so hard her
eyes watered.

Yes! There he was. When he saw her he froze, blinking his one
golden eye, holding up his broken paw.

He looked so lonely. She felt the same way. He had secrets,
too—where he lived, how he got hurt.

Would he go for the cream? She looked away like Jonah had when
Louis had sneaked up to be petted, listening with all her might for the crackle
of the cat’s paws in the dry needles. She held her breath.

Come and get your nice cold cream, Louis.
Please, please, please.

When she finally dared to look, Louis had run away. Not even
cold, fresh cream would make him get close to her.

Stupid loser girl. Not even a broken-down
cat wants to be your friend.

Now the sun was too hot, the trees too scary and the bubbling
creek seemed to be laughing at her.

Beth Ann’s nose tingled.
Don’t cry. Do not
cry. You are no baby.
She told herself that all the time. She didn’t
deserve to cry after the bad thing she’d done, so she made herself be
strong.

She went back to the café with the bowl of cream. Rosie was at
the counter. “What’s with the face? You look like you lost your best
friend.”

She
had
lost her best friend, but
she told Rosie about Louis.

“Come help me at the shop. It’ll be lots more fun than waiting
on that god-awful cat.”

It sounded boring, but she was too polite to say no, especially
when her mom thought it was a good idea. She put books and drawing paper in her
backpack in case she ran out of stuff to do. At the store, Rosie gave her a
duster and lemon spray and told her to dust all the old furniture and vases and
junk.

When she was done, she returned to Rosie, who sat at a
black-metal desk clicking a calculator and grumbling. She balled up a paper,
then noticed Beth Ann. “I’m not paying you to stand around.”

“You’re paying me?”

“That depends on the kind of job you did, Little Miss Speed
Demon. Make yourself useful and bring me that trash can.” Beth Ann liked that
Rosie said stuff straight out, no puzzles or tricks.

When she picked up the can, she saw that a cell phone had
fallen into it. She took it to Rosie. “You dropped your phone.”

“I didn’t drop it. I threw it where it belonged. It was a
come-on. They loaded it up with minutes to start with, but then you pay through
the nose. I’m already paying for too many phones.”

Rosie had tossed out a phone with minutes on it! A phone that
didn’t belong to anyone. Beth Ann’s heart turned over in her chest. She could
call Serena and it would be totally safe.

When she could do it without Rosie noticing, she hid the phone
in her backpack. Her mother would be mad if she knew, but she didn’t understand
how terrible this was for Beth Ann. Her mom wanted her to act normal. If Beth
Ann could talk to Serena, she might be able to.

* * *

W
HEN
THEY
GOT
to Duvall’s, Jonah
opened his truck door for Cara and held out his hand.

She braced herself, then took it.
Zing.
Heat zoomed through her, head to toe. At least she was
prepared this time. In the pantry, she’d been caught off guard. She’d been
trying not to laugh at him with sugar puffing from his mouth, as she brushed the
dust from his shoulders and hair. Then she saw his face, the tiny gold flames in
the center of his dark eyes.

He wanted her.

She’d been thrilled…and scared.

Cara felt the same way now, holding Jonah’s hand, as she
stepped down from the truck. He gazed over her, head to toe, the same glow in
his eyes. It was like the heat swooshed back and forth between them. Her stomach
jumped and it was hard to breathe. She was playing with fire and she knew
it.

Jonah let go of her hand, as if he realized it, too.

They turned at the same time and started for the shop. She saw
her car was in the left bay. “Maybe it’s fixed.”

He gave her a skeptical look.

“It doesn’t hurt to hope.”

“That’s later, after it fails.”

“That’s a pretty grim attitude.”

“That’s how my mind runs,” he said as they stepped into the
cool garage. “Rusty!” Jonah yelled. “Hello?”

“No need to shout.” A man rolled out from beneath a red SUV in
the other bay and got to his feet, wiping his hand with a greasy rag.

“What’s the story on CJ’s car?”

“Rusty Duvall,” he said to Cara, ignoring Jonah. “Nice to match
the face to the voice. I’d shake your hand, but I’m a bit greasy.”

“I understand. About my car, I didn’t quite get what you were
telling me on the phone.”

“That’s because the bachelor party threw my circadian rhythms
off.”

Jonah rolled his eyes.

“It’s true. They’ve done studies. Daylight saving time lowers
your IQ. Take SAT scores for instance—”

“The lady wants her
car.
”

“No need to take a tone, Jonah,” Rusty said, then turned to
Cara. “On that, we’ve got a problem complex.”

“A complex?” she asked.

“Interlocking issues.” He laced his fingers. “You know
intermittent
problems are the worst. Real
puzzlers.”

“Intermittent?”

“On-again and off. I tried a few things. Some worked. Some
didn’t.”

“What does that mean exactly?”

“It means we need a full diagnostic.”

“How long will that take?” Her heart sank at another delay.

“Normally a day, but my unit’s being recalibrated. It should
get here tomorrow. Day after at the latest.”

“You won’t know what’s wrong until tomorrow?”

“Or the day after, like I said. But then we’ll get the full
picture on your car’s health. Kind of like a CAT scan for your auto.” He
grinned, pleased with the analogy.

She was stuck another day. At least.

“Say the unit arrives in the morning,” Jonah said. “Can you fix
it by day’s end?”

“Here’s what I tell all my customers. Fast…good…cheap. Pick
two. I can do fast and good, but it’ll cost you. Or good and cheap and it’ll
take time. Or fast and cheap and that’ll be crap—”

“Just do your best as quickly and cheaply as you can,” Jonah
said. “Okay?”

“That’s why people come to me.”

“And you’ll call as soon as you know anything?” Cara asked.

“You bet.” He saluted her, leaving a smear of grease over his
eyebrow.

They walked to Jonah’s truck. “Circadian rhythms, my ass,”
Jonah groused. “Rusty Duvall likes to hear himself talk.”

He held the door for her, then went around to his side and
started the engine.

Cara was grateful that Jonah kept quiet as they started off.
She was beside herself with frustration. Even if Rusty could fix the car
tomorrow, it was starting to sound expensive. If it was too much, they’d have to
give up the car and take a bus. Losing the car would hinder them in a town with
as much sprawl as Phoenix. She sighed.

“Rosie will be happy to keep you longer,” he said. “I could use
you in the café…long as you leave my menu alone.”

“Thank you, I guess.” He was trying to cheer her up, but panic
began to swirl in her head.
Barrett’s after you, maybe
closing in. You need to move, leave, hit the road.
He would be
furious when he found they’d run. Just as he’d been when she said she wanted a
divorce. She’d seen in his face that he’d rather kill her than lose her and she
knew then she was in a fight for her life.