Recipe for a Homecoming Page 2

  “Right. Roni didn’t like the idea, either, so she agreed to come and stay with Milly. She’s...assessing her, I guess.”

  Something stirred in his chest. “That was thoughtful.” And then he asked, “Is she still teaching?” It was late spring. Would she leave when summer ended? She always had. Left when summer ended. The stirring in his belly turned sour.

  “We didn’t talk much. Lizzie and I just popped into Milly’s store to say hello,” she said as she took another sip.

  Why the hell hadn’t Sam found out more? Like where was her husband, the handsome doctor who’d won her heart? The man who’d had more than one adolescent kiss? Sam was an inveterate gossip hound. Surely she could have found out more.

  Sam cleared her throat. “I’m sure she’d love to see you.”

  “Did she ask about me?”

  “She did.”

  His heart leaped. Oh, that was good to hear—

  “And Luke. And DJ.” Sam’s grin made clear she was tormenting him with the mention of his two annoying brothers. “She asked about all of us.”

  “Did she?” he grumbled.

  “Mmm-hmm.” Sam finished her root beer, gave Snoopy one last scratch, removed him from her lap and stood. “Well, that’s my news.”

  “Thanks for telling me.” His tone was hardly dry at all.

  “No problemo.” She walked to the door and turned back to send him one more irksome grin. “Sleep well,” she said right before she let herself out—leaving him alone, with a room full of snoring dogs and the memories of a girl who’d made him feel so alive. A girl he’d never been able to forget.

  He should stop by the bookstore Milly ran to say hello to her. And to Roni. She’d meant so much to him way back when... But then—with a bitter realization—he remembered that she was married, and he thought better of it. Seeing her again would be amazing. Meeting her husband—and pretending to be polite when he really wanted to punch the jerk—would be nothing short of galling. Better to just avoid her.

  And, somehow, he convinced himself that this was true.

  * * *

  Veronica James sighed and took another sip of her coffee, reveling in the peace of the moment as she soaked in the sight of a pink dawn breaking over the rolling hills of the Columbia Valley. A gentle breeze teased her hair and a small bird trilled a welcome to the day. From the balcony of Gram’s apartment, above The Book Nook, it seemed as though she could see forever.

  What a lovely way to start the day.

  After the last few years, she needed this. She needed this so much.

  When her cousins called to say they were worried about Gram and were considering putting her in a nursing home, coming here had seemed the perfect solution. In fact, it was more than a solution for Gram. It was a solution for Veronica, too. Once she’d made the decision to make the move, she’d been suffused with an unfamiliar sense of...peace.

  So she’d packed up and left Seattle—where she’d lived since college—and moved to the town she’d considered home during her nomadic childhood. No matter where Dad had been stationed, Veronica had spent all her summers here with Gram. This beautiful spot was the one place in the world where she’d always felt welcome. Safe. At home. Every memory of her childhood summers here was a treasured one. Veronica had loved it here. She’d been her true self here. She’d liked that girl; that girl was afraid of nothing.

  Maybe she could find that girl again.

  Even though coming back here should have been a no-brainer, Veronica had struggled with the decision. If she was being honest with herself, fear had been the culprit. A deep, dark fear that the ugliness that had shadowed her would follow. That it might infest and taint her most treasured memories.

  Or, worse, that she might discover there was no safe place in the world after all. That the sense of belonging and peace she’d experienced in Butterscotch Ridge had been a childish illusion. It was too early to make a decision on any of that. But she’d made it through the last couple of nights without any nightmares. That in itself was a minor miracle.

  With a happy sigh, she finished her coffee, picked up her plate and headed down the hall to the kitchen at back of the small apartment. She poked her head in to Gram’s bedroom as she passed, just to check on her.

  The bed was empty.

  A hint of worry trickled through her, so she hurried onward. Gram wasn’t in the living room, or in the kitchen. The bathroom was empty, too. Where could she be?

  After dropping her dishes in the sink, Veronica pulled a sweater on over her sleeveless shirt to ward off the morning chill—which the sun wouldn’t burn off until later—and headed down the front stairs into the bookstore Gram had opened after her retirement.

  She stopped short. Her breath caught. Her heart thudded as she took in the ransacked shop. Had they been vandalized? Books had been pulled from the shelves and strewn all about.

  “Gram?” she called, trying to control the waver in her voice. “Gram?”

  “Here, dear.” Gram’s soft voice floated from the other side of the jumbled bookstore.

  It took Veronica a moment to find her amid the teetering piles of novels, but there she was, peeping over the books with her hair awry, her glasses askew and her eyes alight.

  “What on earth did you do?” Last night, they’d finally gotten every book firmly shelved by genre and in alphabetical order by author. Now...well, now there appeared to be no order whatsoever.

  Gram shot her a grin. “I’m organizing,” she said.

  Oh, dear. This kind of impulsive behavior was probably why Max and Gwen had been worried. But really, did it matter? If reorganizing made Gram happy? Hardly anyone came to The Book Nook anymore—probably on account of the fact that Gram didn’t like letting go of her favorite books. And they were all her favorite books.

  “Can I help?” Veronica asked, making her way through the piles.

  “Of course,” Gram said happily. “You can do those.” She pointed to several stacks of romance novels. Gram had always loved romance.

  Veronica patted her shawl-covered shoulder. “All right.”

  “Unless you want to make some molasses cookies?” Gram gave her a sly look. Besides her love of reading, she’d always had a wicked sweet tooth.

  Veronica grinned. “Sure. Perhaps I’ll make some later.”

  Gram nodded, delighted at the prospect.

  “I think there are still some lemon bars left. Would that do for now?” She’d baked a pan of them yesterday.

  “Oh, yes, please.”

  After a lovely break featuring lemon bars and chamomile tea, and several hours of reorganizing and re-reorganizing novels, the bell on the door rang. Gram didn’t even hear it—she was too absorbed in the stacks—but Veronica jumped. Unexpected noises still made her react like that sometimes. She was getting better, but occasionally surprises pierced her newfound calm. It was a process, after all.

  She let out a relieved sigh when she recognized a familiar face coming through the door of the shop. Her lips curved upward into a smile, and her pounding heart turned from trepidation to delight.

  “Sam!” Veronica headed toward the door, knocking over a stack of historical romances in her rush. Samantha Stirling had been one of her best buddies during those long summers in Butterscotch Ridge. Though they’d seen each other a few days ago, it had been a short visit. Sam had just been showing her new sister-in-law around town so there hadn’t been much time to catch up.

  Sam greeted her with a bear hug and, without thought, Veronica allowed it. Gosh, it felt nice. The warm, comforting hug of a friend. It had been a while since anyone had hugged her.

  “I see you escaped from the ranch,” Veronica teased.

  Sam Stirling was a bona fide country girl who broke horses and herded cattle and all that stuff that had seemed so romantic and exciting back when they were young. Probably still was. T
o Sam, at least.

  Sam threw back her head and laughed. “I snuck out,” she said conspiratorially “Don’t tell DJ.” DJ was her oldest brother. Now that their grandfather had passed, he was—for all intents and purposes—in charge of the family business. The selfsame ranch where Veronica had spent the summers of her youth.

  Because she knew Sam was teasing, Veronica slapped her hand to her chest and said melodramatically, “I swear, I won’t say a word.” Not that it would matter. She’d never once seen any of the Stirlings lose their temper with Sam. Besides, to be honest, of the four Stirlings, Sam was, by far, the bossiest. She pretty much did what she wanted to do regardless of what DJ, Luke or Mark thought.

  And, oh, the thought of him pinged at her heart.

  Rats. She’d done a pretty good job of not thinking about Mark up until now. Not imagining what their reunion might be like. Whom his wife or girlfriend would be—because, of course, he would be married by now.

  Not that it mattered. Mark had been her friend. He’d kissed her once, when she was fifteen, that was all. It had been a wonderful kiss and she remembered it fondly.

  No, she remembered it with reverence. She’d clung to it; that sweet memory had been her salvation at times. Something to latch on to when things got too dark.

  But to him? To Mark Stirling? To the cutest boy in town? It had been just a kiss. Certainly not his first, considering how good it had been. He’d probably long ago forgotten that moment in a swirling sea of other memories, other encounters.

  She didn’t know why that made her feel maudlin, unless it was the backwash of emotion from her angsty teen years. They’d been kids, after all. Aside from that, she wasn’t interested in kissing anyone now. Or ever. She’d sworn off men and relationships, and for a damn good reason.

  Sam glanced at the empty plates on the table, covered with lemon-bar leavings...not that there were many crumbs left. “I don’t suppose you have any more of that coffee cake from the other day?” She was really good at waggling her eyebrows, and took a moment to show off her skills.

  Veronica shook her head to loosen all thoughts of her first, and lost, love. “Um, you mean the coffee cake you and Lizzie devoured the last time you were here?”

  “It was damn good. Maybe you can make some more?”

  Sam’s praise lit a warm glow within her, and the batted lashes, a smile. The thought of making goodies for Sam, anyone really, somehow wiped away her ennui, the way a baker wiped clean her pastry mat before beginning anew. What a lovely visual.

  “How are you doing, Milly?” Sam asked, making her way through the room to give Gram a hug.

  “Why does everyone keep asking me that? I’m fine.” And she turned her attention back to her work.

  Sam surveyed the deconstructed library and commented, “And look what you’ve done to the place.” Her sarcasm was starchy. As though someone had ironed it.

  Astonishingly, Veronica found herself chuckling again. Twice in one day might be a record. “That wasn’t me. Gram is reorganizing.” Though the bookstore looked as though a hurricane had hit, somehow Gram knew the exact location of each and every volume in the place.

  “Is that what the kids are calling it? Reorganizing?”

  Sam’s dry observation sent a warm reminiscence through Veronica’s heart. How many times had she howled with glee at one of Sam’s snarky comments?

  This place was good for her. She could feel it.

  “Well, it keeps her happy,” Veronica said, sotto voce, even though Gram was hard of hearing.

  “You’re sweet,” Sam said. “Gwen loses her mind when Milly unshelves—”

  “That’s because Gwen still thinks this bookstore can make it financially.” Not that it mattered. When Gram retired from working at Stirling Ranch, she’d bought this property outright. It had a live-in apartment upstairs and lots of shelves from back in the day, when it had been a five-and-dime, before it had been an auto-parts store and a plethora of other things. Gram had long dreamed of owning a bookstore, even though hardly anyone in Butterscotch Ridge read anything other than the Farmers’ Almanac. Still, she’d filled the shelves with a variety of used books—mostly fiction, but she was fond of encyclopedias and craft workbooks, as well. So what if people rarely came in? All that mattered was that Gram was happy, and there was enough money to pay property taxes. Fortunately, when her husband passed, long before Roni was born, he’d left her a nest egg.

  Sam patted Veronica’s shoulder. “I’m sure you can find a way to make this place work.”

  “Not as a bookstore.” Not in this town.

  “As something.” Sam shrugged. “You’re clever.”

  “Am I?” Veronica hadn’t felt particularly clever lately. Not since that day in March two years ago. Having your head repeatedly knocked against a tile wall did that. Rattled one’s thoughts.

  No. No melodrama! She was healing. Maybe she could be clever again someday.

  Sam took her hand. “Listen, I didn’t come over here to discuss business plans. I’m on my way to the B&G for lunch and I’ve come to kidnap you.”

  Oh. Crowds. Something cold whispered across her nape. She shivered.

  Veronica glanced at Gram, who’d found a book that—apparently—needed immediate rereading, and was curled up on the couch, among tilting heaps of other tomes. “I should stay with Gram.”

  “I’m not an invalid,” Gram barked without looking up. “No matter what Gwen seems to think.”

  Sam immediately grasped at that straw. Urging Veronica into mischief had always been one of her stellar traits when they were kids. “Oh, come on. We need to catch up.”

  “But Gram—” Her hesitation wasn’t about Gram. Not really. It was probably wrong to use her as an excuse, but the thought of being around that many people, strangers, unable to see all angles... It gave her the willies.

  “Heck. She can come along. Hey, Milly,” Sam called. “How about some lunch?”

  Gram waved a dismissive hand and barely lifted her head as she called back, “Can’t. Reading.”

  To which Sam responded with a broad, triumphant grin. “Come on, buttercup. Let’s get a bite together.”

  Gram lifted her head. “Go. I promise I won’t burn the place down.”

  Sam shrugged and offered a wicked grin. “And if she does, we’re just down the street.”

  Veronica sighed, but she allowed Sam to hook arms and pull her onto the street and into the sunshine, which was far too bright. “Wait,” she said, and then flipped the Open sign to Closed and pulled the door shut, on the off chance someone might be inclined to come in, with a sudden desire for literature, and disturb Gram’s peace.

  “Look at you. Still a good girl,” Sam said as they walked down the broad Main Street sidewalk to the only restaurant in town, which was, conveniently, just down the street. Everything in Butterscotch Ridge was conveniently just down the street. Trouble was, there wasn’t much. A restaurant, a liquor store, a sadly deficient grocery store... Oh, there was a gas station, and a park and a church and all the things a small town needed. What it lacked was options.

  Anyone who wanted anything out of the ordinary had to go to the Tri-Cities—Kennewick, Pasco and Richland—nearly an hour away or Spokane, which was two hours.

  Veronica toyed with the buttons on her sweater. It was a little too warm to be wearing a sweater, but she was used to it. “You say that like being a good girl is a bad thing.”

  “The patriarchy wants us to be good girls, remember? Ergo, it is incumbent on us to misbehave and have a roaring good time as often as possible.” This, Sam Stirling said with the blasé conviction of a woman who’d never truly been broken.

  Of course, it was wrong to make such assumptions about people. Veronica had learned that so well during her marriage and the ensuing months of therapy, but still...she could see it in Sam. That lightness of spirit, a purity of self-ac
ceptance, an easiness of being. It was clear she’d never been taken apart like a jigsaw puzzle and put back wrong. All her pieces were still in place. She wasn’t afraid of anything.

  Though Veronica smiled and murmured something that sounded like accord, she knew better than to let herself slip into such a mindset again. It was too dangerous to give in to the longing to let herself go and live without fear. How on earth did a person do that?

  Even though Veronica had made a sacred vow not to be ruled by fear, she wasn’t stupid. A woman had to protect herself in this world. A woman had to be careful.

  “Here we are,” Sam said as she pushed open the double doors of the Butterscotch Ridge Bar & Grill, which everyone called the B&G for short. “Chase McGruder owns it now. Do you remember him?”

  Veronica shook her head, but it didn’t matter. Sam rattled on. “He bought the restaurant, then the bar next door, knocked out the wall, and voilà.” She gestured, like Vanna White, to the bright and airy establishment, featuring a restaurant on the left side and a bar on the right. “You want a booth or a table?”

  “A booth, please.” A table was too exposed. “It smells so good in here.” A mélange of scents wafted by, dominated, in good part, by the heavenly aroma of frying potatoes. It was, pretty much, a burger joint, after all.

  “You’re probably hungry,” Sam said. This observation was followed by a quick once-over. “You look like you could eat.”

  Veronica tried not to wince. Yes. She was skinnier than she should be. That’s what happened when a person didn’t have an appetite. Some days it was a challenge to make sure she ate three meals. Cooking for Gram helped a little. Baking helped a lot.

  “What’s good?” Veronica asked as she reviewed the menu.

  Sam grinned. “Don’t ask me. I’ll eat anything.” She set herself to the task of reading the menu, making soft mmms every now and again. And then... “Ooh, bacon.”

  Being with her old friend felt so familiar, it made Veronica smile. She didn’t even have to try.