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Stein was silent for a moment. “I didn’t make another call.” And then, “Somebody else called you about franchising?”

  He sounded so anxious that Jake wanted to reassure him. “No. I don’t know what he was calling about. Are you a lawyer with Abernathy Foods?”

  “No. I’m vice president of acquisitions.”

  “He was a lawyer. So he was calling about something entirely different.”

  But what? He glanced at the other number and saw the Dallas area code, not New York’s, and the name Earl Ritter at the top. Lawyers made him nervous. So did the police. He’d had reason to be nervous when he was a kid, committing one petty crime after another. But not now. Not unless something from his past had come back to haunt him.

  Everything else seemed inconsequential now. The call from that lawyer—urgent, Becky had said—could be the big one.

  He made himself calm down. The man he was talking to now wanted to make him rich, or to make himself rich, at least. To stick to diners instead of doom, Jake consulted the notes he’d written on Clint’s instructions. “Tell me more about your proposal,” he said through the cottony dryness of his mouth.

  He listened to Stein drone on about “buying the concept, positioning the product”—which Jake took to be the diner—telling him pretty much what Clint had. He finished up with, “Those are the bare bones of the plan. Come to New York, and we’ll show you around corporate headquarters, give you a more visual idea of what we have in mind. Any questions?”

  “Yes. What other franchises do you control?”

  After a second of silence, maybe startled silence because he hadn’t expected any sort of intelligent response from the owner of Jake’s Place in Falling Star, Texas, Stein rattled off an impressive list of big names in fast food. Not that Jake would eat at any of them if he didn’t have to, but he knew they were successful.

  “How much input will I have into the plan for the Jake’s Place franchises?”

  “As much as you like!” Stein said heartily. “We’re going to pay you a lot of money. Don’t think we’re going to let you off the hook.” A riff of ho-ho-ho followed.

  “Will I have any say in quality control?”

  “Well, not directly, unless you’d like to work for us in that capacity. That’s a great idea, come to think of it,” Stein said with enthusiasm. “We’ll talk about it.”

  Since that idea didn’t appeal to him at all, Jake swiftly went on to his next question. “The concept, as you put it, is an ordinary diner that includes extraordinary barbecue,” Jake said. “Plus dinner specials, different every night. Can you do the same thing with a string of franchises?”

  “To some extent,” Stein said.

  Jake could tell he was hedging. “Might not be able to do different ones every night of the week, but…hey, my friend,” he said, hearty again, “these are details we can go into in-depth later on. Now, about coming to New York for a visit with us…”

  Jake thought for a few seconds, a long few seconds. He’d figured out how he could leave Jake’s Place for a day or two—cook ahead, write out detailed instructions, then pray quietly to the gods of good food that nothing went wrong. “I could do that, but I couldn’t stay long.”

  “We’ll have our presentation so well-organized it won’t take long,” Stein said. “When can you come? Next week? Wednesday sound good?”

  “I have to check some dates,” Jake said. “I’ll call you back tomorrow.”

  “I’ll call you,” Stein sang. “What about five or so this afternoon?”

  Jake was getting the not-unpleasant feeling that Stein really wanted to franchise his diner. Maybe it would be a good thing. He wouldn’t have to feel under so much pressure all the time. But something just didn’t sit right.

  “I’ll try to have an answer for you by then,” he said.

  As soon as the call with Stein ended, he called Clint. “Unless you tell me not to,” he said, “I’m going to New York to talk to these people.”

  “Good,” Clint said. “Successful company, give it a shot.”

  “I will.” Then he added, “I also have to return a phone call from a lawyer in Dallas.”

  “So?”

  “So? So maybe it’s bad news.”

  Clint made a huffing noise. “Why would you assume that?”

  “You know why.” Jake knew Clint thought he was being an idiot, and maybe he was. He looked at the phone number again. “I should stop second-guessing and just make the call.”

  “Well, yeah.”

  After saying goodbye to Clint, Jake picked up the message pad and dialed. He and his friends had been living honest, productive lives since they’d left juvenile correction.

  Seriously, what was the worst the folks around here could do if they found out they had committed crimes as children? Find a vet outside the valley? Stop eating at the diner? Stop wearing wool?

  That was enough to make him smile.

  “Jake Galloway,” he said crisply when an assistant answered, “returning Mr. Ritter’s call.”

  “Oh, yes, Mr. Galloway.” Rather than being coolly professional, she sounded distraught. “Mr. Ritter’s been called away on a family emergency. He was very anxious to speak with you, but I’ve just discovered he left his cell phone behind, so I can’t give you a cell number.”

  “No problem,” Jake said, his stomach muscles clenching. “I’ll wait to hear from him.” Not smiling now. He’d wanted so badly to get it over with, whatever it was, and now he’d have to worry about it for hours, days maybe.

  He put the phone down slowly. He had to call Stein back about going to New York. He’d have to get through the dinner rush, smiling, chatting, and twisted like a licorice stick inside.

  It wouldn’t help that Abbie would be there waiting tables, either, but maybe the annoying attraction he’d felt this morning wouldn’t come back. Instead, maybe it would feel like old times having her around.

  And she might take his mind off both the lawyer and the franchise deal. Tonight he just wanted to run his restaurant.

  Abbie couldn’t believe how quickly it all came back to her. Working at Jake’s Place felt as comfortable as the old black flats she’d worn to work. She’d quickly picked up the changes to the menu, and the new cash register was a snap to figure out.

  The only downside was that she knew almost everyone who came into the restaurant. And everyone wanted to know the same thing—what was she doing working at Jake’s Place? Why wasn’t she in medical school?

  Except that Texans didn’t ask people about their private lives. Not directly. Instead, they said, “Abbie, heard you were home,” their eyebrows lifted almost to the hairline, hoping she’d explain.

  When she said cheerfully, “It’s great to be back. Let me tell you about the dinner specials.”

  The next prod was something like, “How’s med school?”

  And when all she said was, “The university has a great medical school. The specials tonight are…”

  Her cross-examiner would say, “Bet your mom’s glad to have you home.”

  At which she would smile, blurt out the specials, take their orders, and then speed away.

  Several times during the evening she’d managed to say hi to Jake, or send him a little wave, but she hadn’t had a chance to have a conversation with him. Jake’s Place was swamped. At eight, business started to slow down. Abbie carried a stack of plates into the kitchen and observed that Jake was in his office.

  “Busy night,” she said, just tossing it into the room, not wanting to disturb his work at the computer.

  Instead of ignoring her, Jake swiveled his desk chair toward her. “How’re you doing, kiddo?”

  She knew he was talking about more than her first night back at the diner. “Okay.”

  He kept staring at her.

  “You know, half relieved that I made a move to save myself, half scared to death that I’ll regret it. But I’ll be fine.”

  “Are you?”

  “Yes, I have things to keep me busy.
One of them is that I’ve agreed to chair the dinner committee for the benefit.”

  “Your mother lured you in?”

  “Afraid so.” It was true, but she hated to admit it. “I’m so glad you’re catering it.”

  “What choice did I have?” he said. “In fact, what choice did Lilah have when she was planning the benefit? But the good news here,” he added, “is that it sounds like you and Elaine are speaking to each other, at least.”

  “Yes, thank goodness. She more or less apologized for overreacting, but I know what she’s hoping I’ll decide.”

  “Your mom’s a stubborn woman,” Barney said.

  Abbie jumped. She hadn’t noticed Barney standing behind her.

  “She’ll come around,” Barney said, and then added, “I just wanted you to know we served all the whatever it was, the chicken special, and lots of brisket.” He turned and went back to his after-dinner, pre-breakfast jobs.

  “Barney knows my mother?” Abbie asked Jake. “I mean, well enough to know she’s stubborn?”

  “News to me,” Jake said. “By the way,” he asked her, “what’s the date of the benefit? Nobody tells me anything.”

  She named a date in late October. “Any problem?”

  “Nope.” He gave her an odd look, then blurted out, “Want to come to breakfast tomorrow morning and talk about the menu?”

  “Sure,” Abbie said, surprised by the suggestion but strangely excited, too. “Breakfast would be great.” With a wave, she went back to cleaning up the dining room with Colleen and Becky.

  A few words with Jake, and she already felt better. What was it about him? For one thing, he was consistently calm and unruffled. In spite of his bright-green eyes and his short, almost military-style auburn hair that indicated some fighting Irish in his blood, she’d never seen him lose his temper.

  Hold it back, maybe, but never lose it.

  Maybe it was because he was happy with his life. He’d found his calling. Jake and food. They went together like love and red roses.

  And what went together with her? She’d learned she wasn’t meant to be a dedicated doctor. She’d always thought it was what she wanted to do with her life until she actually began to study medicine.

  First, she’d had that calm “I’ll start to enjoy it later” feeling. Next came doubt, then disinterest.

  She’d had to force herself to retain her rigorous study habits, her intense focus on being at the top of the class. But at last, she’d been overwhelmed by boredom.

  That was when she knew she could never be the kind of doctor a patient deserved.

  Sooner or later, she’d figure out what she did want to do. In the meantime, she’d work at Jake’s Place and throw the best benefit dinner the Texas Panhandle had ever seen.

  For now, it was enough.

  4

  After Abbie walked away, Jake groaned.

  Breakfast.

  He’d asked her to meet him for breakfast. Had he lost his mind? The entire time she’d been talking to him, he’d been thinking big-bad-wolf thoughts that surprised him even more than they might surprise her.

  In his current state of uncertainty about how to treat an adult, attractive, desirable Abbie, he should have suggested they discuss the benefit menu by phone, email, and text.

  Anything but in person.

  Maybe the upcoming trip to New York would help. He’d be gone for a couple of days, and the change might do him good.

  Deliberately pushing thoughts of Abbie out of his mind, he considered which dinner specials Barney and Maury could handle while he was in New York. Then he went back to worrying about the lawyer.

  Twenty-four hours ago, everything was fine. Abbie was happy in med school, or so he’d thought, instead of running around Jake’s Place in a starched white shirt and black pants that weren’t too tight, but they weren’t loose, either.

  Nobody was bugging him to franchise Jake’s Place and come to New York to discuss it. Maury wasn’t cutting football practice to learn how to make Moroccan chicken. Lawyers weren’t calling and then not being around to explain why they’d called.

  He wished it would all just go away.

  At a little after ten at night, he locked up and wearily climbed the stairs to his apartment over the diner.

  It was such a relief not to be pretending anymore that life was just hunky-dory. He poured a glass of wine, hoping it would make him sleepy, and collapsed on the sofa.

  His eyelids drooped. He stifled a yawn. Just as he was dropping off to sleep, he heard the phone in Jake’s Place ring. He didn’t even try to make it downstairs to catch it before the fourth ring. He needed his rest.

  He needed to be alert—and cautious—when he saw Abbie in the morning.

  When Abbie breezed into the diner, she brought with her the scent of autumn, the aroma of woodsmoke and apples. She wore black slacks that skimmed her slender hips and a dazzingly white shirt.

  “You’re wearing your uniform?” Jake asked her.

  “In case you needed extra help.” She bounced over to him, all smiles, her eyes glowing. “I wanted to be dressed appropriately.”

  “Thanks, but we can’t have you working around the clock.” Jake grinned back.

  Even though he knew it was selfish, knew that Abbie should be a hundred and fifty miles away in school, he was glad she was here temporarily and working for him. “What if I started to depend on you? Because when you decide what you want to do with your life, I insist that you desert me.”

  “Don’t worry.” Her eyes narrowed. “The second I decide what to do next, I’ll be out of here so fast you won’t even have a chance to say goodbye.”

  “Sure you will.”

  When Abbie left—and she would—she wouldn’t just desert him, and they both knew it. He led her to a table in the back. “Want a menu?”

  Her eyes twinkled. “I have one, thank you, branded on my memory. The chicken special last night was wonderful, by the way.”

  “Thanks,” he said. “It nearly cost Maury his position on the football team.”

  Before he could explain away her puzzled expression, Colleen and Becky, both stout and motherly, descended on their table.

  “Coffee?” Becky asked, pouring without waiting for an answer.

  “Jake?” Colleen looked surprised. “You’re eating?”

  “I do, occasionally,” he said, “standing up in the kitchen. It’s me sitting down that scares you.”

  She giggled, opened her order pad, and turned to Abbie. “Gosh, we’re glad to have you back with us,” she said. “It’s just like old times.”

  “Good to be home for a while,” Abbie said.

  “What’s for breakfast, you skinny little thing?” Colleen asked fondly.

  “Everything,” Abbie said. “Eggs over easy, bacon, home fries, whole wheat toast—”

  “We’re serving biscuits now,” Colleen said. “A Southern touch. Want to try one? Barney thinks he’s finally got the recipe just right.”

  “Absolutely. Maybe I should look at a menu if you’re changing things around here.”

  Jake ordered the same thing and instructed Colleen to bring out cinnamon rolls as soon as the next batch was out of the oven.

  “That’s more than I eat in a week,” Abbie protested.

  “Good thing you came home so we can feed you. How are things?”

  “Everything’s fine except that I feel even guiltier now that Mom’s not hysterical anymore,” Abbie said.

  “I’m glad she calmed down.”

  “I’ve disappointed her, and she makes gingerbread for me. I’ve dashed her hopes and dreams for me, and this morning she brought me coffee in bed.” She sighed. “I’m being killed by kindness.”

  Jake laughed. “Maybe she feels guilty for being so upset.”

  “Could be. It seems she ran away once.” She told him about Elaine fleeing to Vegas.

  He was astounded. He would have sworn Elaine Jackson had never done anything reckless her entire life. “That’s an eye
-opener. She has to understand, right?”

  “Ah, but the point is,” Abbie said, “that she came to her senses and married my father. The parallel”—and she gestured dramatically as a lecturer might—“is for me to come to my senses and go back to med school.”

  Jake couldn’t imagine how it would feel to have a parent in his court the way Elaine was in Abbie’s, but he did know how terrible he’d feel if he let down someone he cared about. “It’s none of my business, but what made you decide to quit?”

  “A lot of things,” she told him. “Not enjoying the work, being bored by it. I tried hard, but my grades weren’t up to my standards. Not bad, just…”

  “A three-point-five average instead of a four?”

  She cleared her throat. “Three-point-seven,” and when she saw how much that amused him, she said defensively, “but when you’ve made all As for twelve years and a four-point grade average in college, it’s not enough.”

  Jake nodded. She’d always been a perfectionist, even when she was folding paper napkins in the diner. “Just remember it’s your decision,” he told her. “Sooner or later you’ll find your four-point field.”

  When he realized he was holding her gaze too long to call it “making eye contact,” he forced himself to look away. What was he doing here? This was not good. Abbie was a friend. He was eight years older than she was. He’d known her since she was a kid.

  He had to cut it out.

  “…better be sooner,” she was saying when his mind stopped wandering and he started listening again. “I have to make a fresh start at the beginning of the second semester. I just have to.”

  Jake nodded, fiddling with his napkin to keep his eyes off her face. “You will. You did the right thing,” he said, and there he was, gazing at her again. “You figured out you’d made a mistake, and you did something about it before you invested too much in it to quit.”

  “I guess,” she said, “but I feel better when I have a plan.”

  “You’ll have a new plan in no time at all.” He had to stop wanting to touch her. He was behaving like an idiot. So, he started babbling like an idiot instead. “I’d always wanted to be a chef, and when I got tired of being yelled at by pretentious chefs dreaming up pretentious food to serve to pretentious people, I decided instead to open a down-home diner. I was scared out of my wits. What if I replumbed this place, redid the electrical system, decorated it, and bought all that kitchen equipment—and then it failed? My only option would have been to drown myself in vinaigrette.”