Texas Roots: The Gallaghers of Sweetgrass Springs Page 4

  He shrugged. "Only because I probably outweigh you by a hundred pounds. You did good."

  The sense of pride was a welcome change from the last several weeks. Still, she handed him the tire tool. "I don't want to be foolish."

  They exchanged positions, and he did indeed manage to tighten all of them.

  While she tried not to notice his seriously fine behind in those jeans.

  "Remember how to take the jack apart?"

  She wrested her attention back to the car. "I think so." Okay, she didn't remember completely, but she began, anyway. She might be going a long way from here, and she couldn't be certain she wouldn't need to do this again. After she took it apart more swiftly than she'd assembled it, she picked it up and smiled as she stood.

  He towered over her, all male and muscle, but she didn't feel cautious about his size anymore. "Thank you."

  "You needed to learn. You're smart, just...small." He smiled back, killer gorgeous. "But banty roosters are small, and they're as fierce as any big one." He nodded. "Now for the real trick—repacking that tiny trunk."

  She sighed. "Too true. Not much room for error."

  He grabbed the tire and followed her around. "No reason to repack this tire. You don't want to be driving around without a spare. You can either follow me out to my place and I'll fix it, or we can take it into town and let Jonas repair it while we eat breakfast at Ruby's."

  "I can't ask you to do more. How much do I owe you?"

  "Owe me?" He seemed perplexed. "For helping you? Nothing. That's what neighbors do."

  "I'm a total stranger."

  "It's just how we are, New York."

  She thought abut Jeanette last night, asking if she had a place to stay. "I guess so." Just then her stomach growled.

  "Best breakfast in Texas just a few miles that way." He pointed back toward Sweetgrass Springs.

  Last night she'd considered returning, hadn't she? Anyway, she desperately needed to pee, and there was no way, after hearing about scorpions and snakes, she was playing nature girl. She wasn't ready to mention that she'd been there already, though. "How far?"

  "Follow me," he said. "Heck, I'll even buy you breakfast. Just to be neighborly." He pulled off his cap and ran a hand through hair the color of aged whisky, a rich brown sun-streaked with gold.

  "I should buy yours. Anyway, I thought you were dosing stock—whatever that means."

  "It means just what it sounds like. I'm giving them doses of various medications—" The dimple flashed again. "–in various places."

  She was not going to ask.

  "But first, I'm eating breakfast. I've been working since before dawn, and I'm hungry." He swept out an arm. "After you, New York."

  "I have a name."

  "And that would be?"

  "Scarlett."

  One eyebrow rose. "As in Gone with the Wind?"

  "Unfortunately." She shrugged. "My mother said Scarlett was a survivor. That despite her mistakes with men, she endured and that was something to remember."

  "So what's your middle name?"

  "I don't know you that well."

  He burst out laughing. "Then I'll have to make up my own. I'm Ian, by the way. Ian McLaren." He held out a hand, and she took it. "Pretty strong grip for a girl," he observed.

  "I'm tougher than I look."

  "I noticed." His eyes lit. "Well, let's saddle up. I got bacon and eggs calling my name." He slapped the side of one thigh and headed for his truck, dog at his heels.

  She watched those long legs eat up the ground.

  After a minute, she climbed into her own car and followed.

  * * *

  Ian only let himself look back once. The last thing he needed in his life was one more complication. His dad, the ranch...he had enough on his plate.

  Anyway, she had the figure of a twelve-year-old boy. If he was going to make time for a woman in his life, it sure wouldn't be one who barely qualified and had a sizable chip on her shoulder to boot.

  Though she did have one sweet little backside, he had to admit. And big blue eyes a man could fall into.

  Forget it. He was running late, thanks to New York back there, and he'd be working 'til dark-thirty as it was. He ought to just skip Ruby's and grab some jerky at the gas station.

  But he had his mouth all set for some of Ruby's biscuits, so no way would he let New York ruin that for him. He punched the accelerator but couldn't resist one glance in the rear view mirror.

  And there she was, in that silly foreign job that would barely hold a set of his boots, much less a saddle or a sack of feed.

  He whipped his gaze from the mirror and focused on the town cropping up ahead. "I shouldn't have invited her," he said aloud. He should sit at the counter at Ruby's and grab a quick meal, then be on his way. "Right, Blue?" He stopped in front of Ruby's and shoved the truck in Park. Beside him, Blue whined. "Yeah, yeah...I'll remember the bacon." Ian reached over and absently rubbed the dog's head.

  * * *

  Ruby heard Jeanette enter through the front door and wondered what on earth she'd do without the girl. Woman, really—Jeanette had been with Ruby since high school, and that was, what, nearly fifteen years ago?

  Jeanette needed to leave Sweetgrass Springs and see the world, but lordy, how Ruby hoped she wouldn't. She wasn't sure how much longer she could be on her feet all day, but at least with Jeanette around, she didn't have to ramrod everything else. Yes, they butted heads from time to time, but that was necessary to ensure that Jeanette and everyone else here knew that Ruby was still paying attention, still determined that no one ever got a bad meal at Ruby's Café.

  But she sure did wish Jeanette could cook.

  Not that she didn't love feeding people, because she did—it was only that her feet were screaming by midmorning, her right hip never quit aching and her fingers were losing some of their grip.

  She was getting old—shoot, who was she kidding? She was already old.

  And Sweetgrass Springs was dying. Ruby's was the only part of it that didn't have one foot in the grave already.

  Jeanette rounded the corner.

  "Get the—"

  "Coffee started," Jeanette completed. "Yeah, yeah…don't I know every blessed move we make, inside and out?" she muttered.

  Ruby's gaze followed her. She was all too aware that Jeanette had never intended to stay here, had only taken the job to save up money for college, but somehow one year had turned into the next, and Jeanette was still around. Still hoping for—

  The front door opened, and Jeanette didn't even need to turn. "How's it going, Raymond?"

  "Fair to middlin'," said one of their regulars.

  "Raymond's here," she called out to Ruby.

  "Already got it goin'," snapped Ruby. "Like I don't know who just walked in." The man ate the same thing every morning of the world—oatmeal with butter and sugar, two eggs, bacon and buttered toast—heavy on the butter—with exactly two cups of coffee, no more, no less. The miracle was that Raymond Benefield remained skinny as a rail, despite the caloric intake of a longshoreman.

  Jeanette frowned at her tone, and Ruby knew she should apologize. She was just so blasted tired. Some of that was from being her age and having made thousands of chicken-fried steaks and flipped a million or so pancakes.

  But most of it had to do with the sleepless night she'd had, wrestling over the call from the bank over in Fredericksburg about the note on the abandoned courthouse building.

  As if she were likely to forget.

  A fool's errand, it seemed, buying the history-filled building, but she just couldn't let the past die. Her forebears had recorded the deeds that had created Sweetgrass Springs there. Records of births and deaths and marriages…maybe they were on computers now, but once they'd been contained in big leather-bound ledgers Ruby was still trying to get custody of for the museum she wanted as part of a center for tourism that would make Sweetgrass Springs hum again.

  She was a foolish old woman who was beating a dead horse, a
nd her arm was so tired she was ready to give up.

  Except somehow she just couldn't, blasted cockeyed optimist that she'd always been.

  Her great-nephew Jackson would give her the money to pay it off—he was always asking what he could do to help her—but she would never ask. She was the only soul in Sweetgrass Springs who knew whether he was dead or alive—not that half the folks here wouldn't still gladly see him dead—and she couldn't give up hope that someday he'd return. It wouldn't be fair to use his money to save the town that had cast him out.

  Sure he'd gotten richer than Croesus with his video game empire and he had a real fancy lifestyle up there in Seattle, but every time they spoke, she could hear his longing for Sweetgrass, however much he would deny it.

  He missed this place. His best friend Ian. Missed his sisters, his twin Penelope and their kid sister Rissa.

  And, though he would never say it, he missed Veronica, the Juliet to his Romeo. Ruby was almost certain she was the only one besides the two of them who knew about their young love. Veronica's father would have killed Jackson if he'd known.

  The bell rang again, and she knew without looking that it was Arnie.

  Hadn't she just seen the old fool snoring away two hours ago?

  "Hey, Arnie," Jeanette greeted and went on pouring Raymond's coffee at the oval table reserved for the regulars. Every chair was spoken for, and woe betide the fool or stranger who plopped down in one of them. Even if one of the morning coffee bunch was absent, a given person's seat could only be used by that individual.

  Raymond's chair was at the far end on the north side of the table.

  "It's a lovely day out there, Jeanette." Every day was lovely in Arnie Howard's estimation.

  Silly darned old man had proposed to her again last night. Ruby shook her head and started his breakfast.

  "Mornin', sweetheart," he called out.

  Ruby slammed a skillet onto the stove instead of answering.

  "Somebody got up on the wrong side of the bed," Jeanette stage-whispered as though Ruby couldn't hear her.

  "I, uh, I wouldn't know," Arnie replied.

  "Uh-huh," Jeanette responded, likely rolling her eyes.

  It was not the town's business whether or not Ruby wanted to get married, no matter how often Arnie proposed. He'd made a habit of it for eighteen years now, ever since his wife Lurlene passed on, but Ruby had survived having and losing a child with no partner, had built a business all by herself and she would be dadgummed if she would take on all the trouble and aggravation a man could cause, at this late date.

  She was an independent woman. She'd die that way.

  Jeanette kept on going, as though Ruby didn't have two perfectly good ears and couldn't stand on tiptoe to see them clearly over the pass-through if she wanted to bad enough.

  A quick lift to her toes showed Jeanette patting Arnie's hand while she poured him coffee. "Just one of those days, I guess."

  "She's not feeling so good lately," he said quietly. "Her bad hip is acting up. But I didn't say that."

  Jeanette made a zipping motion across her lips. "She should have retired five years ago, but—"

  He nodded. "What would this town do without Ruby's? I know you don't much like to cook, but something's got to give."

  "I don't have the touch, even if I wanted to."

  "Order up!" Ruby hit the bell extra hard. She was not a subject to be gossiped over.

  The chime on the door rang again. Out of the corner of her eye, Ruby spotted the real reason Jeanette wouldn't leave Sweetgrass Springs entering the café.

  But Ian McLaren had never really seen Jeanette, not the way she wanted him to.

  He nodded as he entered. "Hey, Jeanette."

  "Your stool's warmed up and ready. Coffee's hot." She lifted the pot.

  But he didn't approach. Instead, he remained by the door and peered out a window. "I'll be there in a second."

  His tone was odd. Odder still when he pulled off his cap and finger-combed his hair, since Ian had no vanity about his looks, though he had every right to. He was surely one of God's finest specimens of manhood on this earth.

  And one of the best men, to boot.

  Suddenly he straightened, then pushed the door open.

  And who should walk through but the woman Ruby had glimpsed here last night? She'd been too busy to pay much attention, but Jeanette had been full of speculation about why the clearly out of place woman would be here and hang around so long.

  Just then the woman pushed her hair back from her forehead in a gesture Ruby had seen untold times.

  And Ruby couldn't breathe.

  The long, curly black hair was indeed very much like Georgia's.

  And her petite build resembled Ruby's own.

  The room spun.

  Ruby lost her balance, and the skillet tilted. Grease splashed over the edge and onto the burner. Flames shot high, grease spattering her hand.

  She gasped. Dropped the cast-iron skillet.

  The floor rushed up to meet her.

  * * *

  Scarlett was removing her coat when she heard the yelp of pain from the kitchen. The crash.

  The waitress named Jeanette called out, "Ruby? You okay?"

  A sudden flame flared high behind the pass-through, and Ian charged toward the kitchen. He grabbed the fire extinguisher off the wall, aiming toward the stove.

  "Wait—" Scarlett dropped her purse and coat and shoved past him, then grabbed an empty pan and covered the flame, which immediately went out. "You shoot that thing into a kitchen fire, and she'll be shut down for the rest of the day."

  The kitchen was suddenly filled with people all talking at the same time. Scarlett ignored them and crouched next to Ruby. "Don't move. I only see a burn on your arm. Did it splash anywhere else?" She spoke without looking up. "Somebody hand me my purse."

  The quiet, skittish waitress produced it from where Scarlett had dropped it.

  "Thank you. Is there a first aid kit?"

  The young woman nodded and hurried to a set of shelves.

  Scarlett rummaged inside her purse and produced a small spray bottle she was never without.

  "What is that?" Jeanette demanded from above her. "What are you doing?"

  "What needs to be done." Scarlett sprayed the ointment over the burn, about three inches long and one inch wide. "It's a burn treatment."

  Ian crouched on the other side, a worried older man beside him. "Ruby? Where else are you hurt besides your arm?"

  "Sweetheart?" the old man asked. "Honey, wake up."

  Sweetheart? Could this man be her grandfather? But Mama's diary had said she didn't know who her father was.

  The old woman stirred. Her eyelids fluttered.

  The young man who'd been bussing tables the night before keened and rocked himself. "Are you okay, Ruby? Please be okay." He wrung his hands over and over.

  Scarlett glanced up at Ian.

  "What do you need?" he asked.

  "I guess it's too much to expect there to be a medical facility in town?"

  Ian nodded. "Yes, but the county EMS is available." He pulled out his cell and handed it to the old man, who had tears in his eyes. "Arnie," he said gently. "If you'd call for an ambulance—"

  "No ambulance." At last Ruby spoke.

  "Sweetheart, we don't know how bad you're hurt," Arnie protested.

  "Not the first kitchen burn I ever had," she groused. "Won't be the last. Hand me my burn goo, Jeanette." She tried to rise.

  "Whoa there, Ruby," Ian said. "Lie still for a minute. You took a fall, too. Let's make sure nothing is broken."

  "I've already treated it. The burn is only first degree," Scarlett said. "But you need to be looked over anyway."

  Eyes as blue as her own snapped to hers. "Who are you?"

  Scarlett wondered if that was hope she saw there. She hesitated, afraid of what she would learn once she revealed her identity. This woman had a sharp tongue—had she driven Scarlett's mother away? Why hadn't she tried to fin
d them? Would she care?

  At this low point in her life, Scarlett wasn't sure how much more rejection she could take.

  Oh, get over yourself. She had a sharp tongue of her own, and she was no weakling. "I'm Scarlett Ross. My mother's name was Georgia." She heard the entire group gasp, but she only had eyes for the woman in front of her. "I think I'm your granddaughter."

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Ruby blinked. Blinked again, and her eyes filled. "Was? My baby girl is…"

  My baby girl. That was not a term for a child who was unloved. The mystery deepened.

  Scarlett's chest tightened. She could only manage a nod.

  "When?" Ruby shoved up to sitting and winced.

  "Two years ago."

  Ruby sagged.

  "Please—" Scarlett found her voice. "Are you sure you should be sitting up? Let's wait for the ambulance."

  "Help me up, girl." Ruby curled her legs beneath her, drawing her injured arm close to her chest.

  "Not yet," Scarlett said firmly. "We need to see what else is hurt."

  "Ian, you get me up, you hear? I have breakfast to cook. Arnie, get that hangdog look off your face. I'm nowhere near—" Her voice cracked, but she shook her head fiercely. "I'm not dead yet."

  "Sweetheart…" The poor man was clearly at a loss.

  "I'll help you up," Scarlett offered. "After you tell me where else you're hurting."

  "I'm old. Something always hurts." Her gaze narrowed. "A bossy little thing, aren't you, girl?"

  "My name is Scarlett. And I'm no bossier than you."

  The older woman's lips twitched.

  Scarlett fought a smile, then looked at Ian. "Let's get her up slowly. Jeanette, will you make everyone back up?"

  "You heard her. Move back. Give Ruby some air," he ordered.

  As Ruby gained her feet, the group crowded into the kitchen cheered. Scarlett kept a hand on Ruby's good arm, and she noticed that Ian didn't release his grip on Ruby's waist.

  "See? Good as new." Cradling her injured arm, Ruby took one step, but she swayed.

  "Henry—" Ian ordered. "Bring a chair in here."

  "I don't need an ambulance," Ruby snapped. Then her shoulders sank. "But I guess the café is closed for the day." She settled in the chair the young man provided.