Let's Do Lunch
K.A. Jordan
Published by K.A. Jordan, Smashwords Edition
This is a work of fiction.
The restaurant in this story exists in Elizabethtown, Kentucky. However, all the characters are the products of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead is entirely coincidental.
Cover art by Bradley Wind
Copyright © 2010 by Kathleen Jordan
All rights reserved.
ISBN:
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
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Table of Contents
Dedication
This book is dedicated to my husband Bob, my parents and sister, my extended family and all my friends, near and far, past and present. So many people have helped me and given me encouragement, I am so grateful to all of you.
Special thanks to: Karen, Dale and Jeff, who read the rough draft for me and told the truth. To the people of Bard's Corner, Forward Motion, Authonomy and Romance Angels Network, may you all follow your dreams and make them come true.
Chapter 1
Elizabethtown, Kentucky – 2006
It was a misty May morning in Elizabethtown, Kentucky. Lindsey Bennett parked her truck in the lot beside the Civil War era bank that housed her restaurant. She juggled a coffee cup, new menus and her keys to get the door unlocked.
Once inside, the faint scent of cleaning products greeted her nose. She dumped everything on the nearest table. This was her favorite time, when the restaurant was so quiet she could hear the coolers hum, like sleepy bees.
She made coffee, looking around to see what she needed to do before she could start cooking. The answering machine light was blinking. She hit the button.
"Hi, Miz Lindsey." The voice was that of a young woman, the cook-in-training. "This isn't working out. I guess there is nothing else to say." That was the message from Sunday. There was a beep then she was back – giving Lindsey the address to send her last check.
Lindsey grimaced, feeling equal parts annoyance and relief. The girl couldn't cook pasta. Rose, her experienced cook, would be leaving soon. She needed a replacement.
Lindsey flipped open her cell phone to call the employment agency. She drummed her fingers on the table as she waited for the other side to pick up.
"Work Fair Employment, Roger speaking."
"Hello, this is Lindsey Bennett of 'Let's do Lunch' in E'town."
"Miss Bennett." His voice was deep with a southern accent. "How is that gal doing?"
"Fortunately for me, she quit," Lindsey said.
"Well, I'm sorry to hear that." Behind the country drawl was a note of contempt that always put her back up. "I've sent the most experienced people I've got."
"You're sending me stoners, bimbos and twits," Lindsey said between her teeth. "I could put an ad in the newspaper to get people from fast food. I need someone who can cook."
"Are you willing to pay for a chef to come from Louisville or Lexington?"
Lindsey was silent. He knew the limit of her salary range. He seemed to delight in playing dumb, making her look like a raving lunatic.
"Miss Bennett, experienced cooks don't grow on trees."
"Flipping burgers is not cooking."
"Why won't you give these young people a chance?"
"I need someone who can use a chef's knife without cutting themselves."
"Well, I've got one candidate that meets your criteria." His emphasis on 'criteria' gave it the connotation of 'unreasonable.' "He has one year experience as a nursing home cook, four years in the Army."
"Army cook," she sighed. The horror stories about Army food were part of her childhood. Still anyone with five years experience should know how to follow a recipe.
"Would you like to set up an appointment?"
"Get him in here today, around four."
"That's short notice."
"If he wants the job, he'll be here." Lindsey closed her cell phone with a snap. She wheeled a dolly to her truck. She stacked two coolers of just-picked produce on the dolly and wheeled it all inside.
Ah, well, her father had warned her that hiring would be the hardest part of owning a business. The best part was waiting for her. It was time to get chopping.
Lindsey surveyed the cramped kitchen with a critical eye to be sure everything was in place. The preparatory work was the key to good food. She peeled and chopped onions then ran carrots through the food processor, radishes and celery followed. She turned the radio to her favorite station, humming along as she worked. Just as she was taking the pot of potatoes off the stove, Lindsey heard a knock at the door. She looked over her shoulder. Rose had arrived. Lindsey wiped her hands as she hurried to the door.
"Morning," Lindsey sang out. "How are you?"
"The Lord has blessed me with a new day." Rose was Afro-American, heavy set and motherly, she wore her gray hair short and crisp. "Sometimes that's as good as it gets."
"That bad?"
"Oh, I swear, if it's not one of them children worrying me near to death, it is another one. This morning it was a ruckus between Kevin and his daddy. Kevin's Algebra teacher emailed that Kevin got an 'F' on a test. I should have known something was amiss. He's been too good."
"I'm sorry to hear that."
"I don't know what I'm going to do when school lets out." Rose's extended family kept her close to God. She attended church regularly, praying for her troubled family. "Even if I'm there, I can't lock him in his room. Teen-aged boys aren't house pets." She smiled at Lindsey. "Well, that's enough of my troubles."
"I was about to get started on the lettuce." Lindsey opened one of the coolers, lifted out plastic baskets of produce. She started rinsing; the lettuce was beautiful, spiky red, deep green romaine, sweet butter crunch still as fresh smelling, crisp and dewy as when they'd picked it, just hours ago.
"I'll get busy," Rose walked to the fridge, humming along to the radio. They tore spinach and lettuce into a bowl set in ice, peeled new potatoes and chopped them into potato salad. By ten o'clock they were ready, the meats sliced and salads chilling. Lindsey and Rose sat down in the dining room to have coffee.
"Here's Mom and Heather." Lindsey rose to let them in.
Lindsey's younger sister, Heather, followed Eleanor, their mother. The resemblance was strong. Heather was a taller and more slender, version of their mother, all three with dark hair, high cheekbones. Eleanor and Heather had green eyes while Lindsey's were hazel.
Heather held a harvest basket overflowing with white and lavender lilac blossoms. The heady scent wafted through the room.
"Good God what a morning," Heather greeted them. "Travis missed the bus again. School's almost over, why can't he keep it together for a couple weeks?"
"I shall refrain from saying 'boys will be boys' since you weren't much different at that age." Eleanor smiled.
"I was never like that," Heather denied. "Girls are easier to raise than boys."
"Raising children is harder now than ever." Rose shook her head. "Wait until he's a teenager like my grandson Kevin. The high schools are filled with gangs and drugs."
"If his father was alive, he would keep Travis in line." Heather grumbled walking to the sink in the back.
Lindsey exchanged a 'there-she-goes-again' look with Rose as she went back to cooking. Heather held on to her late husband the way a miser held onto gold. Lindsey suspected that the Richard Morgan enshrined in her sister's heart bore little resemblance to the man Heather married.
Eleanor got the vases for the flowers from the cast iron bank vault. It was the biggest storage area in the tiny restaurant. Heather emerged from the kitchen with a pitcher of water. Heather sat at the table with Eleanor to fill the vases with water and flowers.
The phone started to ring at around ten with carryout orders. Eleanor switched on the open sign. A couple of customers came in. The lunch rush was on. Sometime in the middle of the rush, Lindsey heard a bright, tinkling giggle. She turned to see her sister waiting on a bearded man.
"So what does a guy have to do to get a plate of fried chicken and French fries in this place?" His dark blond hair was pulled back, a reddish beard and mustache hid most of his face. He wore an Army T-shirt tucked into old jeans.
"Order from another restaurant and have it delivered. We don't serve fried food."
"You call this a menu?" he teased. "All I see is sissy food."
"This is not a greasy spoon," Heather chided. "Denny's is by the interstate."
"Health food in E'town? This is Kentucky, girl. Even steak is breaded and fried."
"Honey, if you don't like our pasta salad, I'll take you to McDonalds and buy you a Big Mac." Heather giggled.
"That's a deal!" He winked at Heather. "I'll take a club sandwich, too. Just don't serve me a little bitty sandwich, or you'll owe me that Big Mac."
"What was that about?" Lindsey asked as Heather came back behind the counter.
"He's giving me a hard time," Heather rolled her eyes. Waitress-baiting was a national pass-time; a good waitress took advantage of it.
"So what did he order?" Lindsey took the ticket with a grin.
"A super-club sandwich and pasta salad, make it good, or I'll owe him a Big Mac."
"Can't have that." Lindsey stacked the sandwich high, then squirted a smiley face on the top of a slice of tomato with mayonnaise. They giggled together before Lindsey started the next order.
A few minutes later, Lindsey saw him at the register, paying Heather for his meal.
"Well, do I owe you a Big Mac?" Heather grinned at him.
"No ma'am, it was very good." He looked over at Lindsey. "I take back everything I said about sissy food." He held Lindsey's gaze for a moment then tipped a finger towards one eyebrow in a mock salute. Lindsey smiled back and waved.
Lindsey made sandwiches and dished out various salads, sprinkled bacon bits or sunflower seeds, croutons or pretzel buttons. By the time the rush was over, shortly after two, Lindsey and Rose were dragging, the gallons of pasta salad were gone and they all were in dire need of a break.
Lindsey shooed Rose out of the kitchen then grabbed cups of coffee for both of them. Everyone was glad they didn't stay open for dinner. After the short break, they were on cleanup detail. Heather counted the little notebook pages, ninety-five meals served total, 40 take out orders, a typical Monday. They pooled the tips between them so everyone had some pocket money.
"Well ladies, another great day," Lindsey congratulated them. "We've got a heck of a team here."
"Did you ever hear from the agency about the cook?" Eleanor asked with a frown.
"I'm interviewing a cook today," Lindsey announced. Rose and Eleanor looked pleased.
"Tell me you found someone who knows how to cook," Heather said.
"Your father needs help in the garden, too," Eleanor said. "He was just talking about it this morning."
"Dad has to find someone. I hope he has an easier time of it. Help is hard to find."
"I hate to leave but I need to keep that grandson of mine on the straight and narrow. If I can just keep him out of trouble this summer, his daddy and I might make something of him yet." Rose sighed. "Wish I could have kept my daughters out of trouble. I was working two jobs just to keep the roof over our heads in those days." Rose was determined to save her grandson from the drug scene that had the boy's mother and two aunts in and out of jails and rehabs. "I'll see you all tomorrow, God willing."
Eleanor locked the door behind Rose then went to the old register, to cash out for the day. The machine printed in a monotonous whir, whir, whir, while Eleanor counted the drawer to make out the deposit. Lindsey went back to the kitchen to finish the last of the dishes while Heather cleaned the dining area. With just six tables, it was important to keep everything tidy.
After they left, Lindsey did some detailed clean up as she waited for the interview. The building was quiet, so quiet that she could hear the coolers humming. Lindsey looked around with a satisfied sigh. She never got tired of being here, never lost the thrill of having her own little Queen-dom.
A dark-haired man in kaki-colored Dockers and a green polo shirt knocked at the door. Lindsey opened the door for him.
"Hi, good to meet you, I'm Brandon Pendleton." He was handsome, with dark brown hair, faintly sun-streaked and curly. He looked to be twenty-something, with a narrow jaw, a straight nose and a mobile mouth. He gave her a high wattage smile.
"Lindsey Bennett." She was conscious of her disheveled state, as she shook his hand. "Please have a seat." The application and the pen were already on the table. "Could you fill out the application for me, please? Can I get you some ice tea?"
"Sure, sweet tea is fine." He sat down, turned to watch her with one arm draped over the back of the bench.
Lindsey retreated behind the counter to get glasses. She took a deep breath as she poured two glasses of sweet tea. She was grateful that her mother wasn't here to probe his prospects as a potential son-in-law.
What would her father do? The Colonel wouldn't allow a pretty face to distract him.
That thought steadied her. This wasn't a date. Pendleton was a prospective employee. She needed a cook, not a boy-toy. Still she couldn't help glancing at her reflection in the cooler's glass door.
"Get a grip," she mouthed silently at her ghostly reflection.
"Let me know when you are ready." She set his tea on the table, then went back to cleaning behind the counter.
"I'm set," he said a couple of minutes later. Lindsey slid into the seat across from him. She took the simple application from him, looking it over for a moment. He'd left the nursing home a month ago. He'd been in the Army two years before that. There was a year unaccounted for, but she'd seen worse.
"Let me tell you a little bit about the restaurant, because what I do here is different from most places." Lindsey hoped that she wasn't wasting her breath. "We keep to foods that are wholesome: nothing fried in fat or doused with gravy."
"Way cool." Brandon grinned. "Completely opposite most restaurants."
"I think of it as 'slow food' instead of 'fast food'. My family grows most of the produce on our farm. It isn't organic, but it is close." Lindsey took a sip of tea.
"Who wants poison sprayed on their food?"
"Exactly, with most food you never know what's in it, on it, or how old it is. This way we know the vegetables are fresh, because I bring them to work with me every morning."
"Grow it on the farm and sell it at the restaurant." Brandon nodded. "You must make a lot of money by cutting out the middle man." He saluted her with the glass of tea. "That's an impressive business plan."
His eyes said he admired more than just her business plan.
"Thank you." Lindsey was flattered, and a bit flustered.
"You have the perfect location for this type of restaurant. The County Government offices are right across the square." Brandon gave her a mischievous smile. "All the old fogies must love this place."
"Those are my best customers."
"You know, my experience in the nursing home ties in perfectly. I learned a lot about special diets and menus while I was there."
"How long were you there?"
"A year." He tipped his hand back and forth. "More or less." His mobile mouth made a sour expression.
"Why did you leave?"
"I had a difference of opinion with the manager." He shifted backwards, to lean against the seat. "Which looks like it was a good thing for me in the long run." Brandon raised one wing-shaped eyebrow at her, an outright come-on.
Taken by surprise; Lindsey cleared her throat, she'd never had a prospective employee flirt so blatantly with her. What had she been about to ask him? Her whole line of questioning was gone from her head. She looked at the application again.
"Where did you get your original training?"
"Fort Lee, Virginia." Brandon gave her a cocky grin. "They tossed me into the program like a football. Sink or swim, it was crazy. I cooked all morning, soldiered in the afternoon, and partied all night."
Army training wasn't like that. Lindsey raised an eyebrow, warning him to stop talking smack.
"Once basic training was over." He caught her disapproval, becoming business-like again. "I learned to follow recipes, how to adjust for the number of servings, I can do that math in my head in ounces or metric."
"Where were you stationed?"
"All over, I swear I hit every backwater post between here and Afghanistan." Brandon shook his head. "I was in 'Stan for two years. Now I'm going to make that training pay off." He sounded sincere. "So what kind of hours do you keep here?"
"I get in before eight to get everything ready. The rest of the crew comes in around nine. We open for business at ten, and generally everything is done by three." Lindsey played her trump card. "We have weekends off."
"No nights, no weekends?" Brandon sat back in his chair, looking very surprised. "No shit? I mean that's great! Sign me up!"
Lindsey smiled at his enthusiastic response.
"Why aren't you open for three meals?" He asked, drawing his eyebrows together. "Your menu is geared to an older crowd; you could be missing out on a lot of money."
"The last owner tried serving three traditional meals, but he went bankrupt." Lindsey shrugged. "Someday I may give breakfast a try. But now is not the time."
"Maybe what you need is a good waitress to bring in a crowd."
"My mother and sister wait tables for me." She gestured at the small space, six booths and six seats at the counter. "It doesn't take that many people to run this place."
She quizzed him about cooking. As she had expected, he knew the basics, nothing fancy, but enough to tell her that he was a trained cook, not an over-confident burger-boy.
She stood to indicate the interview was over. He stood too; they walked to the door.
"It was a pleasure to meet you," he said in a deep sexy voice.
Lindsey locked the door behind her. She watched him drive off in a glittering, blood red Pontiac Grand AM. He was the 'give them an inch and they'll take a mile' type. Her ex-boyfriend Tommy was cut from the same cloth.
Lindsey heaved a sigh.
Just out of college, Lindsey had landed the job at a big insurance company call center. She met Tommy her first day. He was the opposite of every military man she'd ever met: soft featured and disorganized. Casual flirtation escalated until they were living together, but they ended up on different shifts. The relationship floundered along, until 9/11 when Heather's husband was killed at the Pentagon. Tommy's outrageous behavior that day was the final straw.
She didn't want to think about the past, her day wasn't over yet.
When Lindsey got home, the family sat down at a big glass-topped table under the pergola where an ancient wisteria sent out tendrils of flower buds.
"So, tell us all about him," Eleanor quizzed her.
"The most important question: is he good looking?" Heather giggled.
"Oh, well enough, if you like 'em tall, dark and handsome." Lindsey teased her sister.
Heather sat back and fanned herself.
"He was trained by the Army."
"You don't want him." Jim snorted. "That's the worst food on the planet!"
There was laughter all around.
"I've got good news, too. I found someone to help in the garden. He's a veteran, back from Iraq, with lots of time on his hands."
"That's terrific." Lindsey smiled. "Maybe I'll get to sleep in until – oh six o'clock or so."
"Don't count on it." Heather joked. "Dad doesn't like slackers." They all laughed again.
The next day Lindsey called the nursing home to check Brandon's references. The Human Resources department would only verify the date of his employment. Frustrated, Lindsey looked at his application. Everything seemed in order.
Lindsey called Brandon to offer him the job.
"Hello?" Music and loud voices in the background drowned out Brandon's voice.
"Brandon, its Lindsey at 'Let's Do Lunch'."
"Hang on a second, I can't hear you." Brandon was silent a moment, then the noise faded. When he came back his voice dropped to a sexy growl. "Hey Lindsey. What's your pleasure?"
Lindsey rolled her eyes.
"I called to see if you would like to come to work for me?"
"Oh yeah, I sure would. When do I start?"
"Can you come in Monday morning at eight?"
"I'll be there." His voice dropped again. "I can hardly wait."
Lindsey hung up the phone before she allowed herself to laugh. This was going to be interesting.
Chapter 2
Monday, the family harvested produce then sat down to breakfast under a pergola. The sturdy structure supported an old wisteria that was just sending out shoots.
"I want to make some changes," Jim announced. "I want to experiment with something."
"What did you have in mind?" Lindsey paused between sips of coffee.
"Heirloom tomatoes," he said. "They have the most intriguing names: Mortgage Lifter, Cherokee Purple, all thought extinct until a few years ago. The problem is I can't find any."
"Have you looked them up over the Internet?" Lindsey asked.
"I wouldn't touch one of those infernal machines." Jim stabbed his eggs.
"It's dead easy, Papaw." Travis piped up. "I could do it."
"That's a great idea," Lindsey said to encourage them.
"Okay, sport," Jim smiled at Travis. "We'll give it a shot."
"I'll get on it." Travis bounced up from the table.
"Oh, that's a no go!" Heather stopped him. "The school bus comes in half an hour."
"Okay." Travis slanted a glance at his mother. "I'll look it up at school and email the sites here."
"Have you got all your homework done?" Heather frowned.
"I have plenty of library time." Travis turned back to Jim. "If you make me a list, I'll look up sources for all the vegetables you want."
"You get ready. I'll make the list," Jim promised.
Travis bounced away, a big smile on his face. Jim grinned as he wrote out the list. Lindsey bit her lip to stop from chuckling aloud.
Later Lindsey pulled up to her restaurant and parked her truck. As she was getting ready to unload coolers, Brandon arrived in his red Grand AM, the stereo blasting.
Lindsey wondered how he could afford the expensive car on a cook's wages.
After they hauled the coolers in, Lindsey showed him where to find everything. Brandon shelled peas while Lindsey explained the menu. When the other's started coming in, Lindsey made introductions.
"Brandon, this is my mother, Eleanor."
"I see where Lindsey inherited her beauty."
"Flattery will get you nowhere." Eleanor winked at him. "But keep talking."
Brandon smiled a little wider but his cell rang, distracting him. He gave Lindsey a sheepish smile as he pulled it out of his pocket.
"Excuse me," he said turning away.
Eleanor raised her eyebrows. Lindsey let it ride since he was off the phone in a moment.
Heather came in, dressed in Capri length jeans and a white shirt. She had her hair up in a clip; the style showed off her face. She wore just enough makeup to enhance her cheekbones. Lindsey wondered if Heather was ready to start dating again.
"I can't believe Travis missed the bus again!" Heather complained. "Honestly mother, I don't know what to do with that child. I shouldn't have to play father as well as mother."
"Heather, this is Brandon." Lindsey watched Brandon's face. When Heather smiled and shook his hand, Brandon looked thunderstruck. Lindsey's jealously of her sister flared up. Men fell for Heather like ripe apples fell off trees.
"Hello beautiful babe," he said in his sexy growl.
"Don't call me 'babe.'" Heather gave him a quelling look. "I have a name. It's Heather. Use it."
Lindsey winced, so much for that. Brandon's cheeks were red, his mouth twisted to one side as if he had bitten something sour.
"Is there any fresh coffee?" Heather looked at Lindsey, ignoring Brandon.
Lindsey waved towards the coffeepot, shooting a disapproving look at Heather. Why had Heather chosen today to cop an attitude? Heather rolled her eyes, mouthing her assessment of Brandon. "Gag me."
"She's in a bad mood," Lindsey said softly. "Sorry about that."
"Not your fault." His brown eyes were hooded. "You can't choose your relatives."
"Isn't that the truth," Lindsey sighed. Heather was usually all too happy to banter and flirt.
Unlike Heather, Rose took to Brandon.
Brandon knew his way around a kitchen. The constant ringing of his cell phone annoyed everyone. Lindsey made him put it on silent. It was crowded behind the counter with five people, but they managed.
The rest of the week passed the same. Brandon flirted as he worked, never missing a beat. He smoked too much, and his cell phone buzzed constantly. However, he was willing and able to take on any task that Lindsey gave him.
Lindsey decided that she was right to hire him after all.
"Morning boss." Brandon greeted her as he walked in the door.
"Morning." Lindsey looked up from her prep work. "How are you?"
"Fine as frog hair." Brandon affected a country drawl. "What's on the menu today?"
"The usual."
"Nothing new?"
"We're getting ready to plant the basil tonight. The adventures begin when we harvest the basil."
"I can't wait." Brandon's sly smile was capped with a twitch of an eyebrow. He filled the big stockpot then lifted it with a flex of bulging biceps. Everything about Brandon attracted a woman's attention: the sexy growl, the 'come-on' smiles, the strategically placed barbed wire tattoo on his biceps, the car, and the hint of 5 o'clock shadow on his jaw. Even the way he kept a couple extra buttons on his shirt undone to show off a thick gold chain.
The first few days of the heavy-handed come-ons had left her blushing. After a week, Lindsey was able to take it all in stride. Brandon was an equal-opportunity flirt. Luckily, his cooking was better than his 'charm.'
To give him credit, Brandon was a hard worker. He picked up the pasta salad recipe and sautéed the vegetable medley to perfection, tender and crisp. Cooking was effortless for him – a trait Lindsey admired much more than his Don Juan attitude.
Everything was ready by the time Heather and Eleanor arrived. While Eleanor took phone orders, Brandon and Rose cooked orders. While Heather worked the dining room, Lindsey bussed the tables. By 2 o'clock, everything wound down.
Lindsey arrived home, changed into garden clothes then went to the garden to transplant ten flats of basil seedlings. Jim was running the rototiller while Eleanor popped the little plants out of their plastic six packs. Lindsey made holes with a bulb-setting tool, inserting the plants under the string in long straight rows. Heather and Travis watered the little plants, setting the roots.
Basil was the main ingredient in pesto, a flavoring that Lindsey used by the quart all summer. The basic recipe was olive oil, garlic, basil, cilantro, pine nuts and hard Parmesan cheese. By planting all the main ingredients, basil, garlic and cilantro, she could make a gallon for a fraction of the purchase price and have an infinite number of variations by using pecans, walnuts, sage, flavored basil, different herbs or even different types of cheese.
Lindsey was mentally creating menus, when she heard her mother cry out behind her. "Mom, are you okay?"
Eleanor was on the ground, clutching her ankle, rocking and moaning.
"What happened?" Heather was there in an instant.
Jim cut the tiller motor then was beside the girls as they knelt by Eleanor's side.
"It popped." Eleanor's eyes were squeezed shut, with tears caught in the lashes.
"Can you stand?"
"No!" She shook her head, clutching her ankle.
Jim worked the shoe off, careful not to jar her ankle. The flesh was puffy and swelling.
"I'll get some ice." Heather bolted for the house, Travis jogging behind her.
"How bad is it?" Jim said. "Can you move it?" Experimentally flexing, Eleanor stiffened, shaking her head.
"No, I can't move it, it hurts too much."
"Lindsey, get the car," Jim ordered.
When Heather and Lindsey came back, the three of them helped Eleanor into the car. While Eleanor held ice wrapped in a towel to her ankle, Jim drove them to the hospital emergency room on Fort Knox. Hours later a gloomy doctor informed them that Eleanor had broken two bones in her ankle.
"You have to understand," the doctor said as he was applying the cast. "Someone in their teens or twenties would heal in four to six weeks." He turned to Eleanor. "If you have osteoporosis, it complicates everything."
"Osteoporosis?" Jim's face was grim. "How would we know?"
"It will show up in the healing process," the doctor explained. "You're looking at twelve to sixteen weeks. With osteoporosis, we could be looking at six months or more."
There was stunned silence.
"Six months?" Eleanor looked at the doctor, disbelief written on her face. "Nonsense."
Jim smiled at her, giving her a wink. Lindsey and Heather exchanged a nervous look.
The ride home was very quiet.
Lindsey fidgeted, never once had she considered how her parent's aging would affect their health. If her mother's bones were brittle – how could she stand being cooped up for months? How would they take care of her?
Next to her, Heather stared out the window, a million miles away. Would Heather be able to help, or would Lindsey have to worry about her, too?
The next morning, harvesting vegetables in the garden, Lindsey's father looked exhausted. He hadn't even shaved.
"How is Mom?"
"She fell on her way to the bathroom." Jim tossed a handful of peas into a basket. "She couldn't keep the pills down." He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "There has to be something else they can give her."
"You should get her back to the doctor."
"I don't want her left alone today." Jim looked at Lindsey. "Could you stay with her?"
There was a pregnant silence.
"Ask Heather, I can't leave the restaurant."
"Heather's too moody." He gave Lindsey a one-sided smile. "Don't worry; your mother will get better in no time."
"Six months is a long time."
"The doctor was pessimistic, in case there were problems later." Jim shrugged it off. "I'm worried about her reaction to the medication."
"All the more reason to get her to the doctor," Lindsey said.
"This needs to be planted." He waved his hand across the unplanted sections of garden. "Where am I going to get time to sit in a waiting room?"
"Hire someone to help you." Lindsey's shoulders knotted, the fate of the restaurant hinged on the garden. "What about that guy?"
"He's a disabled vet, with a lot of time on his hands." Jim picked up an empty basket. "He would have to put in a lot of hours."
"Feed him," Lindsey joked. "You'll have to shove him out the door."
"That's a good idea." Jim grinned at her.
When Lindsey pulled up to her restaurant, Brandon was there – the Grand AM was polished to a glittering shine from the sunroof to the chrome wheels. Rap music played, the bass beat blasted like tank fire, boom, boom, boom until Brandon cut the engine. He stepped out, looking tanned, polished and professional in his pressed pants and restaurant whites; his dark, curly hair tousled.
Lindsey's breath caught in her throat.
Then he ruined it by checking his reflection in the glass.
Lindsey rolled her eyes.
They hauled the coolers inside. Brandon shelled peas while Lindsey snapped asparagus. She ran down the menu for the special of the day, so he would know what they were going to cook. While they were working, she told him about her mother's injury.
"She seemed to be in such good health, too." Brandon's voice was low and sorrowful. "I'm really sorry, Lindsey."
"What?" Lindsey recoiled. "You make it sound like she's dying."
"You never know. I saw it happen all the time. It started with a fall, a bruise or a broken bone, next thing you know it's blood clots, stroke, dementia and then they're gone." His eyebrows were drawn together, his brown eyes were sad. "You know that you can count on me in case the worst happens, right?"
"She'll be fine." Lindsey's throat started to close. She fought it off.
"Sure." He patted her shoulder with a damp hand. "Sure, she'll be fine."
Lindsey pulled herself together then grabbed another basket of asparagus. Work was the answer for worry.
"We're going to braise this asparagus in broth, serve it with herbs and pasta." Snapping asparagus, she explained. "The flavors should sparkle."
"Do you have some meat to use as a garnish? Maybe some smoked turkey?"
"Hmm, that's a thought." Lindsey paused. "That would work with chicken stock." She gave Brandon a smile of approval; she'd been right to hire him.
The doorbells chimed, Heather came in, her dark hair back in a clip, long gold earrings framing her face. Her green eyes were stark; she looked worried.
"Mom fell out of bed last night. Her face is all bruised."
Brandon gave Lindsey an 'I-told-you-so' look. Heather caught the exchange.
"What?" Heather demanded looking from one to another. "What's wrong?"
"I was just telling Lindsey about the ladies at the nursing home."
Lindsey glared at him. How many times had her mother warned: 'don't upset your sister?' Maybe she should have told Brandon how her sister over-reacted to bad news.
"I guess I shouldn't say anything," Brandon mumbled.
"Lindsey?" Heather's eyes went wide with panic.
"I talked to Dad this morning." Lindsey soothed. "I'm sure he can handle it."
"He called the hospital. The appointment isn't for days." Heather's voice was thin and shrill. "Those doctors don't care. We were at the ER for hours before they looked at her."
"A lady in the nursing home broke her leg, laid in an emergency room for eight hours before she saw a doctor," Brandon said mournfully. "She never got over it."
Lindsey wanted to kick him.
"Dad has work to do; somebody should be there with her." As she had done since Rich died, Heather turned to Lindsey. "We can't leave her alone. Hire a nurse for her."
"We can't afford a nurse. Dad will be in and out of the house. Mom will be fine." Guilt gnawed at her. What if Heather was right?
"Did Dad tell you that she fell out of bed?"
"Yes. He asked me to stay with her, but I need to be here."
"Is this place all you care about?" Heather's eyes were shiny. "We have one mother you should care about her."
"I care." Lindsey's eyes started to sting. "But I can't be two places at once."
"You should be home with Mom."
"I can't leave!" Lindsey set the chef's knife down, controlling her temper with an effort.
"If you really loved Mom you would be home with her!" Tears ran down Heather's face.
"You can't run this restaurant!"
"Why not?" Heather sniffed, wiping her eyes. "Rose and Brandon will help."
"I've got orders to call in." Lindsey served up her excuses. "I've got to order food, beverages, cleaning supplies – I've got to do the books, the taxes and the payroll. You can't do all that."
"I can do the ordering." Brandon grinned. "I used to do it at the nursing home."
"See?" Heather turned from Brandon to Lindsey. "Please Lindsey; it's just for one day."
"Okay, I'll go." Lindsey swallowed a big chunk of her pride. The restaurant would be okay for one day.
"Thank you," Heather wiped her eyes. "I have to pick Travis up after school. Is it okay if Brandon locks up?"
"Fine. Give your key to Brandon." Lindsey was not sure she was doing the right thing for the restaurant, but she was positive that her mother needed her. They rushed through the rest of the prep work.
Lindsey made Heather swear that she would call it she couldn't handle it.
Chapter 3
When Lindsey arrived at her sister's house, she found her mother in the bathroom, violently ill. Lindsey managed to get her mother settled back in bed, with a bucket next to her. Eleanor lay back on the pillows with a sigh.
"Mom, I think we should get you back to the hospital."
"Absolutely not, my head is pounding. I'm not moving an inch."
"But Mom…"
"Lindsey." Eleanor opened her eyes to glare at her daughter. "No is a complete sentence. Let me be."
There was no arguing with that tone of voice.
Lindsey tried to get in touch with the doctor. She was on hold so long that all three cordless phones went dead. Her cell phone was low on power, too. She gave the nurse her cell number before the connection was broken. Swearing under her breath, she put all three phones on their chargers. Didn't anybody ever charge the phones in this house?
Her father came in around noon.
"You changed your mind." He gave her a light kiss on the cheek. "Good."
"I was just in the way," she quipped.
He gave her a measuring look.
"What do you want for lunch?" Lindsey hid in the refrigerator.
Lindsey spent the rest of the afternoon waiting for the phone to ring. She checked on her mother every few minutes. The stress put her on a cleaning jag. The house was spotless when Heather got home. Lindsey had a monster headache.
"How did it go?"
"It was a madhouse, I counted a hundred orders." Heather collapsed at the table. "Brandon knows a waitress. She's coming in tomorrow." She gave Lindsey the deposit slip and the register tape. "How is Mom?"
"She's out cold." Lindsey rubbed the back of her neck. "She wouldn't eat."
"Why didn't you take her to the hospital?"
"She refused to go."
"Did you call the doctor?"
"I called the doctor," Lindsey snorted. "Every stupid phone in the house went dead. Don't you ever charge them?"
"Travis runs off with them." Heather countered. "Did you leave a number?"
"Of course! Nobody called back."
"Well, I had a whole day of nursing home horror stories." Heather shuddered. "Is Brandon right? Is it that serious?"
The two sisters looked at each other, neither one spoke for a moment.
"She goes back in tomorrow; I'll talk to the doctor."
"I'll sit with her." Heather collapsed into the chair by Eleanor's bed.
Lindsey checked the cash receipts. It was short twenty dollars. She counted four times. There was no receipt. Lindsey peeked in on Heather and her mother again.
"Heather, the bag is short twenty dollars."
Heather looked so tired and sad Lindsey felt guilty for bringing it up.
"I needed gas money." Heather shrugged. "It's not a big deal."
"Put in a slip next time so I know where it went," Lindsey suggested. "Otherwise my deposit is off."
"Whatever."
Heather stayed in the bedroom with Eleanor while Lindsey made dinner. Jim dragged in late for the meal. Travis bounced in behind him, wearing stained and dirty school clothes.
"Travis, go change before your mother sees you like that," Lindsey scolded. The boy shot a glance toward the bedroom then scooted upstairs.
"I've got to get some help," Jim washed his hands in the kitchen sink. "I can't do this alone. I'm going to call McTaggart tonight." He paused, his voice dropped. "Thank you for staying with your Mother."
"No problem."
"I want you to take her in to the hospital tomorrow."
"I – I don't know." Lindsey glanced at the bedroom door. "What about Heather?"
"Heather, run the restaurant tomorrow." Jim stepped into the bedroom. "Lindsey is taking your mother to the doctor."
"Yes, Dad."
Lindsey gritted her teeth; their father was the least tactful person on earth.
Lindsey felt torn in two. She wanted to help her mother, but Heather didn't know anything about running the restaurant. She ate dinner with a heavy heart; it sat like lead in her stomach. She couldn't be in two places at once.
It wasn't fair!
Lindsey tossed and turned all night worrying first about her mother, then about her father. Jim was a Vietnam veteran who suffered with Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. When under stress he wouldn't sleep for days but be edgy and irritable, often flying into uncontrollable fits of rage or drinking himself senseless.
Which would it be this time?
In the garden the next morning, he was unshaven and haggard. Lindsey tried to talk to him, but he would not be drawn out. How would she cope if he went off the deep end?
They finished the harvest. In the house they found Heather throwing a fit at Travis, holding up the stained school clothes he had worn the day before.
"Richard Travis Morgan," Heather scolded. "How many times have I told you to change your clothes when you come home from school?"
"Sorry." Travis hung his head.
"What am I going to do with you?" Heather threw up her hands. "Your father would have a fit if he were here, you know that don't you?"
"Well, he isn't here," Travis shot back. "Stop talking about him like he's coming back."
There was silence.
Lindsey winced, truth from the mouths of babes.
"Get ready for school, now." Heather walked upstairs, throwing a parting shot at Travis. "If you miss the bus you're going to walk!"
Travis had a mulish set to his mouth, but a stern glance from his grandfather sent him scurrying.
At the hospital, Lindsey and Eleanor spent the day waiting – for the doctor, tests, x-rays, results, the doctor then the hospital pharmacy. Eleanor's face was bruised from hairline to cheekbone. By the time they got the test results, she looked shriveled and frail.
"Your blood pressure is dangerously high. A clot could form in your legs, be carried to your lungs or your brain. If you feel any burning pain, in your legs, chest or head, come in immediately," the doctor said to Eleanor. "I'm putting you on blood pressure medication to get this under control."
"Will that make me sick, too?"
"What is making you sick?"
"The pain medication," Eleanor said.
The doctor checked the chart, but shook his head.
"Anything else would be less effective."
"I can't eat!"
"I'll give you another prescription to help with the nausea."
Eleanor just looked at him. Lindsey wanted to groan aloud. More pills? Another agonizing wait at the pharmacy? Great.
Back at the house, the day's receipts were on the table, so Heather must be somewhere. Lindsey started supper. While supper cooked, she did a quick count of the day's receipts. The cash was short one hundred sixty-four dollars and some change.
Good grief, what happened? Lindsey counted again then pushed herself away from the table. She got up to check the calendar. Beverage order – had to be the beverage order! Where was the invoice? Drat it! Why couldn't Heather keep track of the simplest things? It didn't take any effort to put the stupid invoice in the bag!
She banged around the kitchen, venting her frustration on pots and pans. Heather stuck her head out of the bedroom.
"What is wrong with you?"
"Oh, gee, let me think," Lindsey snarled. "Maybe having a hundred and sixty dollars missing?"
"The soda guy came in." Heather glanced back in the bedroom.
"Mom is out cold." Lindsey still dropped her voice. "So where is the invoice?"
"It's not in the bag?"
"No, it isn't."
"Then it's in the cash drawer." Heather crossed her arms over her chest. "I don't see what the big deal is."
"You wouldn't."
"I'm doing my best here."
"Well, try harder." Lindsey took a breath to really lay into her sister. However, her father walked in through the patio. The sisters glared at each other. Jim walked into the kitchen where he started to wash up.
"How did it go at the hospital?"
"Mom's blood pressure was way up today, the doctor put her on medication for it." Lindsey swallowed. "He's worried that Mom could have a stroke."
"Stroke?" Jim's face was lined and grave.
"Yeah." Lindsey wanted to reassure them, but she couldn't.
"Brandon wasn't lying," Heather noted bitterly. "Imagine that."
Sunday Lindsey was cleaning the restaurant when her cell phone rang.
"Mom fainted." Heather was crying. "We're on our way to Ireland hospital, now."
"I'll be right there."
Eleanor was rushed inside. Heather and Travis waited for Lindsey. Travis wouldn't sit still. He was up and down, fidgeting until Heather snapped at him. He then drummed his heels against the chair, sulking.
Lindsey went to the cubby where her father sat, his back stiff and his hands clenched. She knew hospitals brought back bad memories. She could spare him the stress of waiting.
"Travis is acting up. If you take them home, I'll stay with Mom."
"I'll be fine," said Eleanor who was hooked up to an IV. "Go ahead."
Jim nodded then kissed Eleanor.
Eleanor dozed while they waited for the test results. A doctor Lindsey hadn't met before came with the diagnosis in the late afternoon.
"You're dehydrated. You need fluids."
"I'm too nauseous to drink."
"You've got to keep your strength up."
"I can't keep anything down." Eleanor protested. "I can't even eat."
"Try liquid meal replacements." The slightest hint of a smile crossed his face as he turned to Lindsey. "You can get them anywhere."
"See to it that she gets plenty of electrolytes. I'll give you a list before you leave. Stay away from sports drinks. They contain too much sugar. She needs to drink at least four glasses a day. The meal replacement shakes will make three more. Make sure she gets a couple glasses of water too. Fluids will help bring her blood pressure down."
"Bring her back tomorrow. We need to check her blood pressure, make sure the medication is working." The doctor handed Lindsey some paper work.
After a stop at the store for meal replacements, Lindsey drove back to the house in better spirits. Surely she could go back to work in the morning!
Her hopes were dashed when she reported to her father.
"I can't take her; I have a meeting at the Extension office." Jim rubbed his face. "You'll have to go."
"But Dad…" Lindsey protested.
He gave her 'the look.' This wasn't a request, but an order.
"What about Travis?" Heather protested. "He can't be trusted to catch the school bus."
"Leave Travis to me," Jim said with a glint of humor in his eyes. "After thirty years in the Army, I can handle a ten-year-old."
Eleanor's blood pressure was still high. The doctor ordered more tests. Lindsey had the foresight to bring her laptop to work on her books and the payroll. However, a day at a makeshift desk in a waiting room wasn't enough. She needed the invoices to balance the books. Out of desperation, Lindsey called the restaurant.
"Hey, boss lady." Brandon answered, cheerfully. "How are you?"
"I'm at the hospital with my mother."
"Oh, no."
"No, she's fine."
"Oh." He sounded relieved and surprised. Couldn't he be optimistic just once?
"Is Heather there?"
"No. She said she had to pick up her son." He paused. "She's been – um – worried about your mom. She's not holding up very well."
Lindsey bit back a scathing comment about his nursing home stories. Better not, he was picking up Heather's slack.
"Heather didn't bring any receipts home. Do you know where she put them?"
"No. You want me to take a look?"
"Yes," Lindsey listened while he rummaged around. "I have to get the books balanced and frankly, I can't do it without them."
"Oh, yeah, I know how that goes." Brandon took a deep breath. "You know that Heather paid the invoices in cash?"
"I'm the only person on the check book."
"Even the –" his phone cut out.
"What did you say?"
"Nothing." His tone was uncertain. "It was nothing." His phone cut out again.
"How is the waitress doing?"
"Mychou is great. She had it all under control in no time." His phone cut out yet again. "Look, I've got another call coming in. I'll call back when I find the receipts."
"Okay."
"Later then."
Why was Brandon so pessimistic? He had her jumping every time her mother twitched. She went back to her books, but he didn't call back. She was going to choke Heather!
When they got back to the house, a red truck was parked in the driveway.
Help at last.
Lindsey's relief was short-lived. The deposit didn't balance again. Lindsey glanced over the register tape. It was a mess. How was she supposed to balance the books?
"Heather, did you bring the invoices home?" Lindsey did her best to be pleasant when she wanted to scream.
"I couldn't find them."
"What happened with the register?"
"The new girl couldn't get the hang of it. Every time I turned my back she made another mistake." Heather shook her head. "It was pitiful."
"What's she like?"
"I think she's Vietnamese or Korean. She flirts with every guy who walks in." Heather rolled her eyes. "It's disgusting."
"How is Brandon doing?"
"If he's not talking about the god-forsaken nursing home, he's acting like a clown. You sure know how to pick 'em."
"Well, this is only…" Lindsey's cell phone chirped. "Crap." She fished in her pocket for it.
Heather started clearing the dinner table.
"Hi, this is Lindsey."
"How are you?" Rose's voice was a welcome distraction.
"We are hanging in there." Lindsey walked outside. "How is everything going for you?"
Rose sighed; the sound put Lindsey on alert.
"What's wrong?"
"Things just aren't the same without you."
"I'll be back as soon as Mother is feeling better."
"How is Eleanor?"
"Not so good." Lindsey spilled it all in a rush, aching to get it off her chest. "Her blood pressure is sky high. We've had her on two different pain pills; both of them make her sick. I don't think she's had a solid meal in a week."
Rose made a sympathetic noise.
"I've never seen her like this, I'm terrified. She looks frail. I think we've been to the hospital every day this week."
"How is your father holding up?"
"Dad can't sleep. He's up at dawn, out in the garden working. I know he's worried, but he can't show it." Lindsey took a deep breath. "Oh, Rose, what if she doesn't get better?"
"Now Lindsey, don't you talk like that," Rose scolded gently. "The good Lord is watching over you and your Mama. You just hang in there."
"I'm sorry I can't get back in, you know that I'll be back as soon as I can."
"You just take care of your Mama, we'll be all right."
"Okay," Lindsey smiled. "I'll talk to you later."
"Take care."
The call from Rose galvanized Lindsey; she had to check on things. She went outside to speak to her father. She found him in the garden, talking to a tall, broad-shouldered man.
"Lindsey, come meet Kevin McTaggart. Tag, this is my daughter Lindsey."
"How do you do?" Lindsey shook his hand.
"Pleased to meet you," his voice was low with a pleasant touch of the south. He looked familiar, with long dark blonde hair, reddish beard and mustache. His blue eyes crinkled at the corners. "Call me Tag."
"I've seen you before." Lindsey racked her mind to place him.
"I stopped in for lunch last week."
This was the guy from the restaurant, the one who gave Heather such a hard time. He could have been any age from 30 to 40. His jeans were well worn, his shirt old and frayed, both showed the results of a hard day's work in the garden. But his smile was genuine, he reminded Lindsey of a friendly, shaggy, stray dog.
"Tag started this morning." Jim grinned. "We got a lot of work done today."
"That's great! Listen, Dad - Heather lost my invoices. I really have to go in tomorrow." As Lindsey spoke to her father, she looked at Tag. He was watching her, intently. There was something in his eyes, just for a second.
What was he thinking, looking at her like that?
Chapter 4
The restaurant was open when Lindsey arrived. The sandwich board proclaimed: "Breakfast your way - $5.95." Just her luck, Brandon was making changes.
A pretty, young Asian woman was chatting with two customers sitting at the front table. The girl was dressed in faded jeans and a nice, if worn, shirt. She wore her long hair braided back. Thin and petite, she was in her early twenties.
This must be Mychou.
Lindsey brushed passed her on her way to the kitchen. The smell of burning grease assaulted her nostrils. Brandon was cooking bacon, sausage and hash browns on the grill. Enough to feed far more than the two people seated.
"What are you doing?" Lindsey was dismayed by the mess. She didn't have time for this!
"Breakfast," Brandon replied with an engaging grin as he swirled a pan of frying eggs.
"Are you frying those in olive oil?" Part of her mind screamed to fire him on the spot. The more practical part wondered who would run the restaurant if she did?
"It was that or butter." Brandon gave the eggs a flip, spilling oil down the side of the pan. The gas burner flared, billowed a choking cloud of smoke. He left the eggs to check on the pasta for the daily special. "How's your Mom?"
"Much better," Lindsey lied to keep from hearing his nursing home stories. Stay focused on receipts, she thought as she rummaged through the cash drawer.
Nothing.
"I'm glad to hear that she's still – you know – doing okay." He swirled the eggs again.
Lindsey shuddered; extra virgin olive oil was too expensive to waste frying eggs!
"Your Mom is lucky to have you to look after her." He set the pan down to flip sausages. "So many ladies came to the home; their families never came see them. No wonder they died in a couple of weeks."
Lindsey deliberately changed the subject.
"Brandon, you can't change the menu."
"What menu? The price is on the board." Brandon finished flipping sausage and scraped the grease off the grill. His movements were quick and automatic; he was obviously used to cooking like this.
"How can you get the lunch prep completed before we open at ten o'clock?"
"Honey, now don't you worry," Brandon laid the accent on thick. He tipped his head to one side and batted his eyes at her. "Ah have every thang un-der con-trol."
Lindsey's cell phone rang.
"Oh, damn," Lindsey swore. It was Heather.
"Come home. Mom fell again."
"I can't! I need the receipts you lost! I have to get the books balanced. I've got taxes due in a week." Lindsey closed her eyes. "You're supposed to be running this place for me!"
"I'm doing the best I can. Between your damn restaurant and Travis I'm too busy to care about some damn piece of paper."
"Talk to Dad then."
"Yeah. Right." Heather hung up.
"Is everything all right?" Brandon asked.
"Everything is fubarred." Lindsey ground her teeth. Stay calm, she thought, stay focused on her missing paperwork. She could handle Brandon and the menu later.
"I got'cha covered, doll-face." He gave her a sexy smile and a wink. Leave it to Brandon to try to make her laugh. "Take care of your Mom. Take all the time you need."
"Okay, but if breakfast doesn't take off, we stop." Lindsey would humor him for one more day. "Agreed?" She stuffed her invoices in her back pocket before she forgot them.
"Don't worry, I can run this place with one hand tied behind my back." He winked at her as he plated his eggs. "Hey, Mychou, come meet the boss."
"Hello, Miss Lindsey." The girl came behind the counter, smiling. She had the dainty features common in Asian woman and a shy smile.
"Nice to meet you." Lindsey wondered why Heather didn't like her.
"I'm pleased to be here." Mychou picked up the plates.
"It's okay, Lindsey." Brandon took Lindsey's hand. "I've got this place under control." The compassion in his face, so sincere, could she leave him here one more day?
"Okay." She barely protested as he guided her from the kitchen, out the door and to the truck. He loaded the four coolers onto the dolly.
"Take good care of your mother," he advised.
Lindsey sat in the truck, feeling utterly torn in two, holding in frustrated tears. Her mother needed her, but her restaurant was being turned into a Greasy Spoon. She drove down 31W home to Sonora. When she arrived at the house, the red truck was back in the driveway. Heather was on her way out the door.
"You'd better take Mom back to the hospital." Heather told Lindsey as she crossed the porch. "She's not doing very well."
"Where is Dad?" Lindsey looked around.
"Dad and his helper are in the back field."
Lindsey walked to her parents' bedroom. Her mother was propped up on pillows, pale against the white sheets. Her eyes were closed; bruises bloomed, huge and dark across her face and arms. Her skin was as white as milk, her lips pressed together.
Her mother looked so frail. Brandon's nursing home stories flashed through her mind. She left the bedroom and walked to the patio. More tears stung her eyes and closed her throat. If she started crying, she'd never stop.