Secrets and Lies (Hearts Of Braden Book 4) Page 6

  The first thing he’d noticed about her were the dark circles under her eyes, which bespoke sorrow and something more. As his uncle used to say, like called to like, and in her he’d sensed a kindred spirit, someone who’d suffered, and he didn’t think whatever had caused the slight limp he’d noted was responsible for all of it. She had lost someone—something—important, just as he had, and her lonely soul called to his. While her jeans had hugged her slender body, the worn T-shirt had been baggy, hanging on her slight frame, implying she’d been ill. Her skin might be pale, but it was almost translucent, not sallow, and her long, brown hair pulled away from her face and worn in a long, ponytail, shone under the lights. She’d ordered a burger and fries, and he was pretty damn sure from looking at her up close and seeing her clear eyes and beautiful smile that she wasn’t the binge and purge type either, the way he suspected Naomi was.

  At times, that woman hadn’t eaten enough to keep a mouse alive, but then she’d pack it in like a truck driver, but never gained an ounce. Maybe she’d been on drugs. It would explain her highs and lows.

  The brunette wasn’t a local as he’d pointed out to Kevin, but there were a lot of strangers in town right now, people who’d come to help family get their lives back on track after the tornado. Calvin needed to send Kevin for some sensitivity training classes. The man had been an absolute ass about her handicap status. That guy had to learn that many people had hidden disabilities that needed to be respected.

  He had to give it to her. Even when the cop from Hell was being his most obnoxious, she hadn’t lost her temper, although her clenched fists had indicated it hadn’t been an easy thing for her to do. He admired her for standing up to Kevin, even though she had to know the guy could’ve made things even more difficult for her had the call not come in. Once the creep was gone, she’d shown her delightful sense of humor and her resiliency in the way she’d laughed off Kevin’s strong arm tactics. Deputy Dunderhead, as she’d nicknamed him, wouldn’t be impressed by the fact he hadn’t made a lasting impression on her, but then neither had he since she’d been in a hurry to get away from him as well. Probably wanted to get back to her husband. If she were his wife, he wouldn’t have let her go to the bar alone.

  Jackson shook his head. Get over it. The woman isn’t anyone’s property. She can come and go wherever she pleases, and should be able to without someone creeping out on her.

  Whatever was responsible for her sorrow and thinness wasn’t his concern, even though he’d like to make it so, and would’ve gotten on that right away if that wedding band hadn’t screamed “hands off” at him. That ring said the lady was married, and he didn’t mess around with someone’s wife. Well, she’d be gone in a few days and life would eventually get back to the frantic pace it maintained during the school year. He had other problems to deal with, and as soon as he got that brunette out of his head, he could focus on Ms. Jacobson and how he was going to get her and Mabel to get along.

  Lightning lit up the sky as the rain came down more heavily, splattering the windshield.

  Great, just frigging great.

  He hoped his mystery woman had made it inside before the skies opened. Whomever she was staying with would make sure she stayed put. It had been very dry this past month, and a torrential downfall could spark a flash flood. Despite the fact he didn’t like Kevin, he prayed whatever had sent him racing off to the River Road wasn’t a fatality and wouldn’t keep him and Calvin out there all night.

  He turned into the driveway leading to the homestead, noting water was already accumulating in the drainage ditches. The crops in the fields would appreciate a long, steady rainfall rather than a short, heavy one like this, which could do more damage than good. Roots were parched and the one thing this area needed more than anything else right now was a bumper harvest.

  The lonely light above the stable shed its dim luster over the yard as he pulled the truck up to the front steps. Racing up the stairs, he hurried inside the empty farmhouse to change into barn clothes. The animals needed tending regardless of the weather. While he’d given up farming the land, he’d been unwilling to part with all of the stock. Since he loved riding, he did keep his two prize Arabians, Napoleon and Jezebel. On good days, he turned them outside into the field beside the stable before he left for school where they stayed until he got home, and if the weather was good, he’d take one of them out for a run, alternating between the two to keep them exercised.

  Today, Heath Sloan, the farmer who’d leased the land from him, would’ve seen the storm coming and have taken them inside earlier when he’d finished his work for the day. He would have brought Bessie in, too.

  Jackson had sold Heath all of the other stock, keeping the Guernsey for himself. Uncle Jack had insisted on drinking milk fresh from the cow as did a number of other raw milk proponents, and Jackson saw no reason to change that now. Bessie’s milk was the best—thick and rich, with a higher percentage of butterfat, beta-carotene and protein than other milks. Ms. Jacobson would no doubt spout all the reasons why doing so wasn’t good, but he didn’t care. He wasn’t selling it or giving it away, and Bessie was probably the cleanest, best fed cow in the county. He’d also kept a half dozen chickens for eggs. If and when they stopped laying, he’d replace them, but for now, fresh eggs and milk each day were part of his diet. No doubt, Madam Nutritionist would have something to say about that, too.

  Going into the kitchen, he opened the freezer, and took out one of the small casseroles Mabel had given him last month, continuing the practice she’d started last year when Uncle Jack had gotten sick. He’d passed on in his sleep just before Easter, leaving the house and everything else to his namesake. Jackson had taken more and more of his meals at either the Worthington Arms, The Hart, or Buddy’s…had probably tasted everything on all three menus…since dining alone in this house depressed him. It was the memories of years spent sitting at that table laughing and being cared for by the man who’d taken him in when his parents had died that kept him here, and it was the fear of losing those memories like he had of his parents that stopped him from moving on.

  As he hurried through the house to his room, he realized the place was a mess. While he passed the vacuum now and then, he was a lick and a promise style housekeeper, and the place needed work. Maybe someone who’d lost their home and couldn’t afford to rebuild just yet would be willing to work for a salary, room, and board. He needed talk to Mary about it on Thursday. She might know some older person—he didn’t care if it were a man or a woman—who’d be grateful for a roof over their head, meals, and a paycheck in exchange for housekeeping, laundry, and feeding him. Coming home to an empty house last winter had been hard. Shaking his head to get rid of the melancholy, he changed his clothes quickly and rushed out to the barn to feed the animals and muck out the stalls before the storm worsened and turned the yard into a lake of mud. Being with Jezebel and Napoleon always raised his spirits.

  As he shoveled the dirty straw into a wheelbarrow, he carried on a one-sided conversation with his horses. “You should’ve seen her, Jezebel,” he said raking up the dirty straw while the mare stood outside her stall watching him with her big, brown eyes. “She’s so slight, a strong wind would blow her over. I’ll bet if she got up in a saddle on your back, you wouldn’t even know she was there.”

  He threw down fresh straw and led the mare back in, filling her feed trough and giving her fresh water before turning his attention to his stallion.

  Napoleon obediently left his stall while Jackson cleaned it, and he took up the conversation again, “That dumbass Kevin tried to harass her for no good reason. Yeah, sure she stumbled when she stood, but any fool could see the woman was worn out, and the fact she had to eat her solitary meal alone couldn’t help the situation.”

  Shoveling the soiled material into the wheelbarrow, he pictured the woman in his mind, sitting at the table, eating her cold burger and fries. He stopped short, pitchfork in the air, as reality dawned on him. She’d ordered a meal for one.
Why would she do that unless she was alone? And if she was alone, she wasn’t here to help someone repair storm damage. Come to think of it, the Sunset Apartments has escaped the storm unscathed. He smiled and resumed his work, whistling a happier tune.

  “You know, boy, I think it’s time I spruced up the place. I’ll give Joey Manning a call tomorrow. There are a few days of summer left, certainly enough to white wash the fence and the stable, and wash the windows. I’m sure Joey can scare up a few friends to help him, and if I happen to ask him about a new tenant who happens to have Illinois plates on her car, well, I’m just being neighborly.”

  Finishing the mucking, he placed fresh straw in the stallion’s stalls then fed and watered him and moved on the Bessie. After he cleaned her area, he washed her and attached the electric milking machine to her before going in to check on the chickens. The little red hen hadn’t been laying, and if she didn’t produce by the end of the week, he would have fresh chicken for Sunday dinner. He felt a lot better when he found a brown egg in her nesting box.

  After unhooking Bessie from the milker, he picked up the bucket of fresh milk and hurried back to the house, feeling far more upbeat than he had an hour earlier. He had his teachers, would see about getting someone to share the homestead with him, and find out all he could about the little brunette with the sad eyes who might not be as married as he’d imagined she was. Now, if Mabel and the formidable Ms. Jacobson would get along …

  * * * *

  “You’re a miracle worker,” Emily said smiling as she scrutinized her reflection in the mirror. Her long, brown hair had been died a rich, healthy chestnut and then cut to a three-inch length, leaving her feeling like a newly-shorn lamb. Alex had loved her long hair, but he was gone, and no amount of praying would bring him back.

  Earlier in the day, she’d shown her landlady the note she’d found under the door, and Lisa had reluctantly told her as much as she could about the intrepid cafeteria lady who’d been running the show for as long as anyone could remember. Mabel Loucks was talking to whoever would listen, bemoaning the loss of all of the kids’ favorite foods from the menu. She’d written a scathing letter to the editor for the Braden Bugle, the town’s weekly paper, and Emily had done her best not to laugh at some of the erroneous and outrageous conclusions the woman was spouting as fact.

  While it was true certain things had changed, eating properly wasn’t the end of the world, and with a rise in child obesity because of a more sedentary lifestyle, eating less saturated fat and more fresh fruits and vegetables simply made good sense. The woman hadn’t mentioned anything about the rest of the Healthy Living Initiative, but Emily didn’t need to keep putting out fires in her cover job. That would take too much time away from the real reason she was in town.

  Knowing she would have a fight on her hands to be accepted by the townspeople, Emily decided to start at the grassroots. Everyone knew hairdressers, like bartenders, had the pulse of the town and Braden’s hairdresser was no exception. She’d asked Lisa for the woman’s number and had been able to get an appointment on short notice.

  Quinn Howard was chatty, not really gossipy, but she loved her hometown and was ready to promote it to the hilt. Emily hadn’t gone in with the intention of getting her hair cut short, but when she’d asked about a new, modern style, Quinn had taken it from there. The woman was knowledgeable and persuasive, and before Emily knew it, the floor was covered in brown hair. As it usually did in any hair salon, the conversation became personal, and Emily explained who she was—that she was windowed, her husband having died in a car accident—and why she was in Braden. Quinn had asked astute questions, and before long, as Emily was transformed, so was the hairdresser’s opinion of the Healthy Living Initiative.

  “I really don’t know why I didn’t cut it sooner,” Emily said, captivated by her new younger looking appearance. “I guess it was letting go of the last of Alex that stopped me.”

  “Losing someone you love is always hard, but you have a lifetime ahead of you. You’ll find someone else, just like I did. When Matt was killed, it seemed like the end of the world, but now I have Trent and Lizzy. I couldn’t be happier.” She cocked her head to the side. “You look a little like Molly Ringwald,” Quinn said. “Hair that short doesn’t look good on everyone, but you’ve got those incredible cheekbones and those cat’s eyes … What’s the point of keeping your hair long if you spend more than half the time with it tied up in a ponytail? If you don’t like it, you can always let it grow out again.” Removing the hairdressing cape, she used the clippers to clean up the neckline.

  “Well, since I’ll have to wear a God-awful hairnet at work, at least I won’t look like a Ruth Bussi Gladys clone.”

  “As if you ever could,” Quinn replied and laughed. “I remember watching her on Laugh-in when I was a kid. She used to crack me up.” She sobered. “You know, Emily, people need to hear your side of the story. Mabel has made you out to be the bad guy, trying to force more changes on us when this community has had more than it can handle already. I think once everyone hers the truth about the Healthy Living Initiative, they’ll support you. We all want what’s best for our kids and our town. What’s on your agenda for the rest of the day?”

  Emily opened her wallet and counted out the four twenties she needed to pay for the new look. It would’ve cost her twice that much in El Paso or Chicago. “I’ve got to do some grocery shopping and then laundry. I need more clothes, but so much of what I had is too big and out of style.”

  “Like the T-shirt you’re wearing?” Quinn asked and chuckled. “There are some great stores in Waterloo. But if you’re looking for baked goods, wait until the morning and go and see Merryn. She owns Braden Buttery Bites, the Triple B Bakery, as we all call it. Best bread and desserts on earth. Tell her I sent you. As far as everything else goes, try Anderson’s before you go into the city and the chains. Food is fresh, and they aren’t expensive. They used to provide most of what Mabel sold at the school.”

  “Thanks, I’ll check it out, and thanks again for the new look.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Maybe the next time she visited Quinn, she would ask about new haircut man. Last night, instead of her usual storm-induced nightmares, she had highly inappropriate dreams about the man. She waved goodbye and headed to her car. Tonight, while she did her laundry, she would do a little research. There was no way she was going to let Mabel get the best of her.

  The next morning, sore but not unnaturally, so Emily went out to her car and headed downtown. She’d start her campaign to convert the locals and hope for the best. This needed to be sorted out before the Chef got to work.

  Opening the door to The Triple B Bakery, Emily breathed in the rich aroma of freshly baked bread mixed with the tantalizing scent of recently brewed coffee.

  The bakery/café, a long, narrow room that bespoke bygone days, with shelves on one side and glass display cases on the other, had eight small tables, each with four chairs around them, of which four were occupied this morning. Lisa Manning had mentioned the place had once been a mercantile store until Merryn, the owner, had resurrected it as the best place for baked goods in town. On one wall, next to the shelves holding a variety of breads, were bookcases filled with a combination of old, leather-bound books and newer paperback novels.

  On the opposite side, an old-fashioned cash register stood atop a glass display case filled with delectable confections that made her mouth water. If she weren’t careful, she’d gain back every one of the pounds she’d lost, plus a few more, and while she could certainly use a few more pounds, she would rather not end up fat and flabby since her exercise options were limited in Braden. She could probably still jog, but if she did, someone was bound to notice her unusual gait, and if she ordered a running blade for her prosthesis, then the cat would be out of the bag for sure.

  Lowering the hood on her raincoat, she scanned the room looking for the owner. After she’d picked up a frozen dinner for herself last night, she’d gone home
to laundry and had poured over the menus and dietary restrictions that were part of the National School Lunch Program and had decided to see how much of the necessary food could be purchased locally. Knowing how badly beaten down some of the town’s people had been by the tornado, she would do whatever she could to support the local economy. After spending the morning with Lisa Manning and the afternoon with Quinn, she had a better understanding of the problems she would face. With both Deputy Dunderhead who went out of his way to make life difficult for all the unattached women in town and the current cafeteria workers who’d begun circulating a petition against her program before she’d even started to implement it.

  And this was supposed to be the easy part of this assignment.

  A woman came out of what Emily assumed was the kitchen and moved behind the counter, placing the tray of tarts she carried on the top shelf of the glass case. When she turned, Emily could see the woman, in her mid to late thirties was obviously pregnant, nearing the end of her third trimester. With the baby bump visible under her apron, it made Emily’s heart ache. Torn between the desire to flee and never come back, and her need to establish her cover identity as well as satisfy her sweet tooth, she stood rooted to the spot, staring into space as she remembered her own pregnancy, terminated by the time she regained consciousness.

  “Can I help you?” the woman asked, her blue eyes filled with just the right amount of curiosity to drag Emily back to the present.

  “Hi. Everything looks and smells so good…I don’t know where to start.”

  “Well, you can start with a cup of coffee on the house. I’m Merryn Sota,” the brunette said, the ponytail poking out of her ball cap swinging back and forth as she turned and reached for a clean mug and filled it from the glass pot. “Cream and sugar are on the tables.”