Book Ten of the Farraday Country Series
Jamison
Chapter One
Timing was everything, and now was the time.
Scattered pieces of crumbling construction, dust, mildew and old age mingled, creating the sweetest smell on earth. Jamison Farraday squeezed the keys to the ancient building in his hand—an establishment all his own. Well, not exactly his, but he would be the general manager. The concept, the research, the plans, those were all his. Fed and nurtured by years of observing, learning, working, and saving. Financed by one of the more successful conglomerates in the bar and nightclub industry.
“Are you sure about this?” Ian, his brother, and DJ, his cousin, swatted their arms, cutting through dangling cobwebs, making their way across the abandoned storefront.
“Never been more sure of anything in my life.”
Ian smiled at his older brother. “Anyone else and I’d have said you lost your mind, but I’m guessing this won’t be the last time you prove us short-sighted mortals wrong.”
Having the support of his family was probably the best reason he’d dared to dream, taken chances, worked his butt off at every job in the business until he was sure he could pull of his big dream. A family style Irish pub.
“You do know that Mabel Berkner is already starting up a petition to appeal the vote to sell liquor in this county.” DJ brushed the dust from his hands. “Not that she’s going to get very far with it, but she’s not the only one in town with ruffled feathers over this.”
“I expected a little flack, but by the time we’re ready and open for business and the crime rate doesn’t skyrocket overnight due to,” Jamison put on a thick southern accent, “our vile influence, everyone will settle down and get back to the business of ordinary living.”
“So what exactly is the plan?” Walking about, DJ eyed the exposed rafters.
“The architect we chose for the project is putting the most recent changes on paper. Final plans should be ready any day now. With plan approval in hand, the money men will take on the next step after the letter of intent and ink the final contract with Mr. Thomas. Then we’ll be down to a few more weeks for the title company to do their magic. I can hardly wait to get a crew in here. Clean it out and rebuild.”
“I can see it.” Ian stood in place, looking around and nodding. “I really can. Knotty pine walls?”
Jamie bobbed his head.
“Dance floor?” DJ asked.
Again, Jamie nodded. His smile pulling tighter against his cheeks. He had it all worked out. Including having lined up some of the best craft beers in Texas. One company on the verge of expanding even talked of growing out here, away from the overcrowded city.
The corners of Ian’s mouth tipped skyward, exposing the dimples the girls always gushed over. “Irish music?”
“Oh yeah.” Jamie grinned back at his brother.
DJ chuckled. “If that doesn’t have Uncle Brian here every weekend crooning with Dad, Saint Patrick isn’t Irish.”
“I’m counting on more folks than Dad feeling that way.” Jamison slapped his cousin on the back. “I wish all the legal stuff were over and done. I’ve been itching to get working on this place for months and now it’s all so close.”
“Overseeing concept, design, and now construction before the doors even open. Sounds like you’re going to be wearing an awful lot of hats on this project.” Adam Farraday crossed the threshold. “On my way back to the clinic and I saw the door open. Y’all throwing a party without me?”
“Wouldn’t think of it,” Jamie answered, glancing down at the express mail tube in his cousin’s arm. “What’s that?”
“Oh, Maggie at the post office asked me to give this to you.”
“The plans.” Jamie couldn’t get the container open fast enough.
Adam stood shoulder to shoulder with his brother. “For this place?”
“Yes.” Jamie squatted on the ground and unrolled the large pages.
His brother hovered behind him. “Why didn’t they just email them?”
“I don’t know.” Jamie studied the architectural rendering. “That’s what I was expecting.”
“You’re frowning.” Ian inched closer. “What is it?”
Jamie shook his head. He had to be looking at the wrong plans. Turning the page, he scooted around to align the front of the store with the top of the plans. There was no mistaking what he saw. Nothing was laid out the way the planning committee and the architect had originally discussed, the way he and the backers had agreed. “This doesn’t even look like a pub.” He pointed to the back section of the drawing. “This should be the dance floor.”
“I’m not an architect,” DJ leaned forward more, “but there doesn’t seem to be anything remotely like a dance floor on that page anywhere.”
“That’s because there isn’t. What should be space for a little boot scooting is an open kitchen.” Jaimie had worked enough bars and restaurants to know the concept and recognize it on paper. He looked to the corner of the drawings. Above the architect’s scales and name was the street address and town for the project. Correct. The establishment not so much. Not a pub. Not his pub. Hemingway’s International Grill. What the …
“From the look on your face,” Ian stretched upright, “I gather this is news to you?”
Jamie stabbed at his phone, held it to his ear and nodded.
“Is it that bad?” Ian asked.
“International grill,” Jamie muttered. “This town is no place for a chain restaurant.”
DJ looked from his cousin to his brother. “I suppose that’s no worse than Irish.”
“Seriously?” Jamie stared at his cousin. Before he could say another word, voice mail kicked in. “Thank you for calling Crocker International—”
“Like Betty Crocker?” Ian asked wide-eyed.
Jamie shook his head and mumbled, “No relation.” The recording came to an end and the beep signaled his turn to talk. He’d have much preferred speaking to Jeff Nimbus in person, but this would have to do. “Jeff, Jamison Farraday here. Just received the blueprints for The Public House and they’re marked Hemingway’s. Give me a call when you have a minute.”
“Don’t bite my head off,” Ian held a hand out at him, “but is there a reason an Irish pub is better suited to this town than an international grill?”
“An Irish pub is basically Abbie’s small town café with an accent. And in our case, local wine, maybe if all goes well, beer, and of course dancing. Pubs are neighborhood watering holes. People know each other. Men have a drink and tell stories that have been handed down for ages. Young and old gather.”
“He has a point.” Adam shrugged. “Except for the booze and dancing, it sounds an awful lot like the café.”
“Of course I have a point. Every small town in Ireland has and supports its own pub. The same would be true here, except Tuckers Bluff isn’t so small anymore, we’re growing.”
“With all the advertising the county’s been doing for the ghost town circuit, the vineyard the Brady’s have been working, and a hospital in town, we’re growing faster than any other small town in West Texas. And mark my words, if given a choice, folks living halfway to Butler Springs will want to come here to the pub for some dancing and a drink or two rather than go all the way to Butler Springs for the same old same old.”
DJ hooked his hand around the back of his neck. “I’ll admit, if international is code word for fancy and expensive, then Jamie’s right. Folks won’t be banging down the doors.”
“It’s worse than that.” Jamie raked his fingers through his hair and then hung his hand along the back of his neck. “Can you see the fine citizens of Tuckers Bluff eating sushi?”
“Sushi?” Adam’s forehead folded into layers. “What does Hemingway have to do with sushi?”
“The man, nothing, but the restaurant serves everything trendy. They’re based in California and last year spread their wings to Austin and Dallas. They cater to urban millennials.” In his shirt pocket, his phone buzzed. Recognizing the number, DJ was surprised to get a response from Nimbus so quickly. “Hello.”
“Hey, was on a conference call. Isn’t it great news?”
“Great news?”
“Yes. Babcock Foods wants in. We negotiated a sweet deal. Hemingway’s is all the rage.”
“In LA, sure. Maybe even Dallas, but it’s not a fit for West Texas.”
“Nonsense. Our research shows—”
“You mean my research.”
“No, Jamison. Our merchandising department ran some backup market analysis. The pub idea is good.”
Better than good, but no point repeating that now.
“And without Babcock Foods, we would have followed through. But Babcock has very deep pockets and this is the perfect alliance for Crocker to branch out to the restaurant side of the industry. If Babcock wants Hemingway’s in Tuckers Bluff, they’re going to get it.”
This wasn’t good. “Someone needs to explain to the board that this is not the time to—”
“It’s a done deal, Jamie. There’s no explaining. Come Monday, the final papers will be signed. The question is, do you still want to be a part of this?”
* * *
Standing on her feet from dawn to dusk, and then some, was Abbie’s reality. One she and her painfully expensive shoes had made peace with a very long time ago.
“Here, drink this.” Frank, the cook, slid a warm mug in front of her. “It won’t do much for your feet, but it will help your mood.” One corner of the man’s mouth tilted up in a cheeky grin. “I put some of your special stash in it.”
She kept a bottle of Bailey’s under the counter for the occasional customer who needed a little something extra in their coffee after an especially rough day. Or night. She didn’t care much for the taste of it herself unless it was buried deep in something chocolaty, but Frank knew that. The something special wouldn’t equate to much more than a splash. His desired intent accomplished. To make her smile.
Looking out for her had become a regular part of Frank’s routine through the years. Some days she didn’t need looking after as much as others, but she always appreciated it, appreciated him. Another slow sip of the chocolaty brew slid all the way down to her toes. “Just what I needed.”
“What you need,” Frank stepped back and took his place behind the grill, “is a day off. A real day off. Or two.”
This wasn’t the first nor the last time she expected to hear the same advice. “You sound like a broken record.”
“That doesn’t make it any less true.”
“Would that be the pot calling the kettle black?” The man worked every shift right along side her. She’d tried hiring a part time cook to give Frank a break, but the sour Marine became surlier than ever. In the end he once again became ruler supreme of his kitchen kingdom.
Reluctant to set the mug down, she took another sip, lingering in the relaxation a moment longer. The dinner rush would be picking up soon and as good as Shannon, the evening shift waitress, was at her job, Abbie needed to get out of the kitchen and do her share.
“You’re worried, aren’t you?” Plating an order, Frank didn’t bother to look up.
She blew on the warm liquid even though it was no longer that hot. “What’s there to worry about?”
“You could get a liquor license too.”
“This is a café, not a night club.” Besides, rumor had it the town council was considering limiting the number of liquor licenses to keep Mabel Berkner happy. That woman’s devotion to a dry county would have made her temperance ancestors very proud.
“A dance floor wouldn’t hurt. A small one.” He rang the bell for Shannon to pick up her order.
They’d had this conversation before as well. The first time had been back when word got about that a new supper club was considering setting up here in town. Then the conversation resumed when the referendum came about to change Tuckers Bluff from a dry to wet town, making the county more appealing to competition. Worried or not, either way, her mind was set about not changing the cafe. Pushing away from the stainless prep area she’d been leaning against, she blew out a short breath. If only she could expel life’s aggravations as easily. “I’ll take that out.”
Lifting his chin to see over the shiny metal on deck shelf in front of him, Frank leveled his gaze with hers but didn’t say another word. He didn’t have to. She could see the worry in his eyes. Not that he had any reason to. Today was no different than any other day over the years. Except he was right about one thing. She was tired. Not just from working six and half days a week, every week, but the kind of tired that stopped a heart from dreaming, and after all these years, she wanted to dream again.
* * *
“I’ll be honest.” Jamie’s Uncle Sean rubbed at his chin. “Never understood why you’d want to take an idea you are so sure of, do the brunt of the work for, and let someone else reap most of the benefits.”
“That’s easy.” Catherine, his cousin Connor’s wife, chimed in. “Money. Building out a restaurant where there wasn’t one before is an extremely expensive venture. Then you have to squirrel away the funds to run the operation for at least six months while the patronage grows enough to support the business, never mind make a profit. A year would be even better. And then, in this case, include the purchase of real estate involved, well…”
“How much money are we talking?” His cousin Finn, the youngest of the West Texas Farraday brothers, dropped his ankle over his knee and took a sip of his beer.
“No.” Jamie skipped over answering the original question and jumped straight to the next one he knew would be coming. No matter how confident he was, he would not put his family’s money at risk. It’s why he hadn’t said anything to his West Texas kin until the deal was an inch from signed, sealed and delivered.
“No money involved?” Finn’s wife Joanna took a seat on the arm of her husband’s chair and grinned up at Jamie. A full-time writer, the woman had an interesting sense of humor—and irony—and could tease and rag on the family as good as the members born into the Farraday clan.
Aunt Eileen stood up from her spot on the sofa beside his uncle and moved to the ottoman along side Jamie. When his aunt got that determined look in her eye, he knew the chances of walking through a cow pen on shipping day without stepping on a paddy were greater than withstanding Force Eileen.
Glancing around the room of relatives, it dawned on him that almost everyone had that same expression painted on their faces. Whether they’d been born a Farraday or married one. He should have realized when his cousins from town and their spouses had shown up for a family supper in the middle of the week that there was more to the visit than hot food and a little moral support. Something else was brewing.
Aunt Eileen set her hand on his forearm. “We’ve been talking.”
“When?” Except for the time it took to drive from town to the ranch, Jamie had been with his aunt and uncle all evening.
She shrugged. “I suppose the conversation started back when you first mentioned bringing a pub to Tuckers Bluff.”
“Thought you’d lost your mind.” Uncle Sean chuckled. “Then I started listening a little more closely to the conversations around town. Paying attention to exactly how many folks go driving to Butler Springs for a special dinner or a little Friday night shuffle. More than I’d realized, I’ll tell you that.”
Aunt Eileen rolled her eyes at her brother-in-law. “Just cause you’re a homebody doesn’t mean the rest of the world is.”
“Since when is being a family man a bad thing?” Uncle Sean’s brow knit together.
“Even family men are allowed to get out of the house once in a while.”
“I get out.”
Waving a finger at her brother-in-law, Aunt Eileen’s mouth dropped open. “The barn isn’t considered—”
A loud whistle pierced the air cutting off conversation. Finn’s fingers slid away from his lips. “Can we focus please?”
Meg, Adam’s wife, flashed a broad approving grin at Finn before picking up the dropped thread of conversation. “Look at Friday Girls’ Night. We not only spend money for food or entertainment if we go to Butler Springs, we spend a ton on gas too. Just saving money on driving, never mind the time, would bring an awful lot of folks to a new night spot.”
DJ leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “I’ll admit I’ve been a bit concerned over what this would mean for Abbie. Frankly, I think she’s a little worried too, though she won’t admit it. But Dad’s right. This town and folks nearby spend a lot of money trucking all the way to Butler Springs. As long as the place is different from what Abbie offers, I think we can handle two choices for dinner.”
“What about lunch?” Becky, DJ’s wife, asked.
Jamie shook his head. “Not practical.” Though with the new direction Crocker wanted to take, he had no idea what the group’s intentions were anymore.
“You’re frowning.” Aunt Eileen’s brows buckled to match his. “What are you thinking?”
His recent concerns over the impact of Crocker’s possible new plans wasn’t something he wanted to expand on just yet. At this point he needed to focus on what he knew would work. “To start, the pub would be open for long weekends only. Thursday through Sunday. No lunch. No hard impact on the café.”
He didn’t have to say anything else. Several men cut from the same gene pool shifted forward or back, but all grit their teeth and nodded.
DJ sucked in a long breath. “And there are no guarantees what the backers will do now?”
Jamie shook his head. He should have known better than to assume he’d be the only one in the room to put the pieces together. “If they’re not following through on the deal as originally planned, there’s no telling what else they will, or won’t, do.”
“I’m not in the real estate or restaurant business,” Uncle Sean looked to his nephew, “but that building has been an eye sore on this town, sitting empty every since the feed store expanded across the street almost two decades ago. Not many people have a need for a place that size and old Jake Thomas asked a king’s ransom of anyone who showed interest. The way I see it, he wasn’t at all serious about selling till you brought a deal to the table.”
There was a grain of truth in what his uncle said. Jamie knew for a fact that there was a sense of owing the Farradays a debt for standing behind his son in an effort to keep him out of jail. Not that Jamie had been all that sure it wasn’t more a matter of timing, wanting all his business deals off his hands, the way he’d sold the feed store to Grace’s husband. Regardless, whatever the reason for the old man’s change of heart, Jamie was kicking up his heels. Or had been.
“Actually,” Adam spoke up, “there’s a rumor going around that without Farraday involvement, the old man won’t sell.”
That had Jamie’s ears perking up. “Where’d you hear that?”
Grace’s husband, Chase, smiled and raised one finger. “I may have planted a seed or two when I spoke with Jake this afternoon. Mentioned that I could see where it would have disturbed him to hear Jamie is considering stepping out of the project. The words the new plans were doomed to fail might have been mentioned, along with folks are slow to trust strangers around here without someone from town to back them up.”
“Not bad, hubby.” Grace leaned over and kissed Chase on the cheek. She, like Jamie, knew that the deal struck by Crocker was a lower point of sale with a profit percentage over time. “Not bad at all.”
“Hey,” he ran the back of his knuckles along her chin, “I may have given up life on Wall Street, but that doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten how to play the game.”
Game. Could he even consider what his family was setting up for him? Buy the place himself? Single and simple living had allowed him to stash some money. Nothing near enough for an investment like this on his own or he wouldn’t have settled for general manager to a company with Crocker’s track record. He’d dismissed business loans as an option. The kind of money he’d need, loans could be crippling when it came to getting the business off the ground. And even if he were willing to take the risk, he’d need more collateral. And that he didn’t have.
“Did you know old man Thomas carried the note for me when I bought the feed store?”
“I’d bet with the building as collateral banks would be willing to lend the money for the remodel,” Meg volunteered. “I may even still have a few connections that can help.”
He’d forgotten she used to run a boutique hotel and restaurant when she lived in Dallas. Still, the whole idea was simply crazy. Even with his savings and some good connections, with a note attached, the building wouldn’t be very attractive as collateral.
“Well, I think investing in this town is a smart idea.” Uncle Sean skewered his nephew with a stern glare. “I’d be willing to kick in for a share of the building, and I’m thinking so would your dad.”
A few voices tumbled over each other with comments along the lines of they each had money just burning a hole in their pocket. He knew they weren’t lying. He had savings as well and banks paid miserable interest rates. He also knew that risking their life’s savings wasn’t the Farraday way.
“And before you go thinking this is some silly whim,” Uncle Sean waved a finger at him, “there’s a condition attached.”
"Condition?” He hadn’t even agreed to let the family help and his uncle was already talking conditions.
“Let me guess.” Adam looked to his dad. “You want the place called Farradays.”
“Well, it does make sense,” Aunt Eileen almost scolded her oldest nephew.
“Actually,” Uncle Sean spoke directly to Jamie, “a good Irish pub needs a good Irish name.”
“Farraday’s isn’t Irish?” Aunt Eileen muttered.
“I was thinking something a bit older than that,” Uncle Sean leaned forward, “O’Fearadaigh’s.”
Chapter Two
“You really are going to do it.” Abbie passed through the open doors into the vacant storefront, Frank on her heels.
“Entering enemy territory?” Maneuvering over an old broken bench, Jamie inched forward. “Watch your step. This place is one giant booby trap.”
“No kidding.” She honed in on the ancient cash register sitting on what was left of a counter. “Oh, wow. I haven’t seen anything like that outside of photographs.”
“Works too.” Jamie flashed that same photogenic smile every Farraday possessed.
“Of course it does.” Standing beside the register, she ran her fingers along the dusty ornate trim, then pushed a button. The bell clanged and the drawer popped open. “These suckers were manufactured before planned obsolescence.”
Frank scanned the rear, inching his way in that direction. “It’s bigger than it appears from the outside. Mind if I take a closer look?”
“Recognizance?” Jamie laughed at Frank’s scowl. “Go ahead, but be careful. There are a lot of surprises everywhere.”
The moment the last café customer had paid the tab, Frank mentioned Jamie was in town at the vacant site and suggested they come check the place out. Abbie hadn’t needed much convincing, her curiosity was driving her to distraction. “Didn’t expect to see you here on a Sunday afternoon. Your Aunt Eileen can’t be too happy if you’re missing supper.”
Jamie tapped some papers sticking out of his shirt pocket. “Special dispensation.”
“Everyone’s talking about your plans to buy the building yourself. Word must have spread through church this morning faster than the sermon put folks to sleep.”
“Not a plan.” He tapped his shirt again. “Grace drew up the contract. We gave old man Thomas a cashier’s check about an hour ago. Everybody’s gone to the ranch to celebrate. I…” He looked up and across the rafters. “Just wanted to stop by a minute.”
“Closing the deal on a Sunday?”
“Timing is everything.” The guy was practically glowing from barely contained excitement.
Abbie didn’t have to imagine what was running through Jamie’s mind, she still remembered every blessed sensation that oozed through every pore the day she signed the papers for the café. The last thing she’d had in mind when she’d agreed to come to Tuckers Bluff was that one day she’d own the café in the little town that had saved her sanity.
“Don’t look so lost.” Jamie’s smile shifted from one of delight to reassurance. “It will be fine.”
For a small moment she thought he could read her mind before common sense kicked in and she realized he was talking about the two restaurants. Her response to folks since word of the new business had shifted from rumor to reality weeks ago had been the same. There’d be no liquor at the café, no dance floor at the café, and nothing needed to change. That was her story and she was sticking to it. And if she repeated it enough, maybe she’d eventually stop second-guessing herself. “I’m not worried.”
“You don’t look convinced.”
“Maybe it’s because I’m not.” Had she said that out loud?
Jamie moved a step closer. “I did a lot of research. You might lose a customer or two now and again, but others will come to replace them. Folks who have had no reason to come to Tuckers Bluff will come now to dance or drink. Many of these people will prefer to eat first at someplace with a larger, more diverse menu. These will be customers who don’t already live in town to patronize the café. It will be a good thing for both our businesses.”
“You sound so sure.” He really did. What was it about the Farradays that they all held so much confidence? No matter what piece of garbage life threw at them. No matter how many Henry Wiggins and his ilk crossed their paths. They could hold a parade into hell and, waving a flag and cheering them on, everyone would follow.
“That’s because I am. This isn’t a whim. No one opens a restaurant in the near middle of nowhere if they haven’t crunched the numbers. Especially not a big organization like Crocker.”
“Yeah, well, that’s great for you and Crocker, but that’s probably what Walton told all the mom and pop shops in the near middle of nowhere when he opened his first box store.”
Something very close to anger burned sharply in his gaze. “I’m not Wally. We’re not on a mission to take over the world, or the town. O’Fearadaigh’s will be good for both of us.” The tone in his words softened. “Believe me.”
What was it they said about the road to hell? “If you don’t mind, I think I’ll believe it when I see it.” Not that she didn’t trust Jamie or the Farradays, but if their luck were going to run out, she’d be first to bet it would be with something that her life depended on. After all, what were the odds a Farraday would save the day every time her world turned upside down?
* * *
In the years since graduating school, Jamie hadn’t spent nearly as much time in Tuckers Bluff as he had as a kid growing up. Nonetheless, he’d been here often enough to understand Abbie was as much a part of the fabric of this town as the sidewalk and the streets, Wally World could never replace Sisters, and Jamie would never try to replace the Silver Spurs Café. Somehow he had to find a way to reassure her. For both their peace of mind.
“Well I don’t see Frank.” She rocked back on her heels, scanning the empty rear of the store and called his name. When he didn’t respond, she turned to face Jamie. “Who knows what he’s gotten into. I’m going to head home and take advantage of what’s left of my afternoon off. Tell Frank I’ll see him tomorrow morning.”
Jamie nodded. “Will do.”
Not till she’d turned the corner onto the sidewalk and disappeared from view did he go looking for Frank. Halfway to the back door, a rustling sound loud enough to catch his ear had him scanning the area. The movement of a single empty feed sack atop a pile in a nearby corner told him the guilty noisemaker—if there was only one—would be there.
The real question was did he want to go after the rodent now, or wait for construction to drive the critters away? The more sensible thing to do would be to set out some rat traps. Or get a cat. But apparently today, sensible wasn’t in his vocabulary. Holding a broom handle he inched closer.
He'd almost reached the stack of empty bags when the movement stopped. Tightening his grip on the broomstick, he stood as still as the sacks. Like a ridiculous game of chicken, each of them seemed to be waiting to see what the other did. Seconds ticked by before movement started again. A small lift on one side, a smacking sound nearby, and then what appeared to be an all out wrestling match broke out underneath. The sack lifted, dropped, seemed to float in the air as something much larger than a single rat wiggled underneath. What was he about to get himself into?
For a new approach, he took a step back, held the broom from the bristle end and hooking it under the edge, braced himself to whisk the top sack away when a definitely non-rodent paw trapped the stick against the floor. What the heck?
Tipping his head sideways as though that would make it easier to see what was underneath the loose bags, and gripping his broomstick, Jamie took half a step forward and tugged lightly at the wooden handle. The paw released its hold and withdrew. Two seconds later two paws followed by a brown-tipped nose popped out from under the pile of empty sacks.
"Okay buddy." Jamie got down on his haunches and tapped his palm against the concrete floor. "Whoever you are, come on out."
Before he could fully brace himself, the fluffy body attached to the nose came barreling towards him. About twenty pounds of puppy energy ricocheted across his lap, up his chest, down his leg, around his back, and over again until finally flattening him and licking his cheek. Using both hands to grab hold of the pup and laughing, Jamie pushed him down to his lap and sat up, holding him steady. "Where did you come from?"
With the wag of his tail and a short woof, the puppy tried to push forward again.
"Oh, no you don't." Securing the animal under one arm Jamie pushed to his feet, scratching under the mutt's chin with his free hand. "Your owner must be around somewhere looking for you."
Returning to his original mission to find Frank, Jamie opted to check the storage area. Tired of wrestling a squirming puppy, he set his new friend down on the ground. "Frank, you in here?"
"Yeah. In the loft."
Loft? Jamie had checked the place out thoroughly and didn't remember anything about a loft.
Puppy let out a succession of three fast woofs then took off in the direction of Frank's voice and the pull down stairs at the back end of the former warehouse area.
"Hey buddy, wait for me."
Two booted legs came down from the ceiling, finding purchase at the top step. "I don't think anyone ever cleared out this area."
"I didn't even realize there was anything up there." Jamie moved closer to the stairs, the puppy dancing circles at the base.
"I'm not surprised. I almost didn't see it myself. More of an attic really, but I happened to notice the recessed pull and then I spotted the hook arm hanging on the wall over there." Frank took his time descending the rickety steps. "I thought it was just over the little office in the corner but it goes all the way to the back of the building. Same square footage as downstairs. There's furniture up there, crates, trunks. And judging from the period pieces, I’d guess a good bit of that stuff is over 100 years old."
Frank reached the second to last step at the exact moment Puppy barked and leaped upward onto the steps, bumping into Frank's boot.
"Whoa." Frank swung one leg outward to avoid stepping on the puppy. "For land sakes, where the hell did that thing come from?"
Wagging his tail and running circles around the foot of the ladder-like steps, Puppy barked up at Frank.
"Tell me we don't have another one." Frank released his hold on the ladder, taking the last step onto the ground just as Puppy did his dance routine underfoot bumping into Frank. Skidding under the steps, the bundle of fur in motion sent Frank tumbling to the ground.
"Buddy, no!" Jamie shouted, rushing to Frank's side. "Are you okay?"
Flat on his back, Frank blinked upward. "Define okay."
Jamie had to bite back a laugh. It had been a stupid question. Assuming being alive was a good thing, then he was okay. But judging by the way his foot twisted under the last step, Jamie did not need to be a doctor to know Frank was definitely not okay. "Don't move."
"Thought hadn't crossed my mind." Frank grit his teeth. "At least not until I can feel my leg."
Crap. This was so not good. Phone in hand, Jamison tapped speed dial for his cousin Brooks.
"You on your way yet?"
"Nope." Jamie looked at the puppy sitting perfectly still beside Frank. Now he sits. "Got a small problem here."
"How small?" All playfulness had slipped away from Brooks' tone.
"Frank fell from the pull down steps at the new restaurant. If his foot isn't broken it's awfully close."
"I'm more than halfway to the ranch but I'll turn around. Have you got him stabilized?"
"Does laying flat on his back count as stabilized?"
“Comedian. Any signs of injury other than his foot?"
Jamie held two fingers in front of Frank's face. "How many fingers do you see?"
Scratching the puppy with one hand, Frank looked at Jamie’s hand waving in front of him. "Two."
"What year is it?"
“Oh, for the love of Pete. Stop playing Marcus Welby and just tell your brother to get his backside down here. I’ve got to get this foot taped up and ready for work before tomorrow morning."
"You hear that?" Jamie said into the phone.
"I'm pretty sure the whole county heard that. If you've got access to some ice, no harm in using it. And if he plans on going to work tomorrow morning, you'd better hope you're a lousy doctor and that foot isn't even close to broken."
Visions of Frank flipping burgers, wobbling on one foot, flashed through Jamie's mind like scenes from a really bad play. His gaze shifted to the foot still hooked at an awkward angle. If Abbie was upset that he and his family would be opening a dinner pub in town, when she learned he’d incapacitated her only cook, upset would be an understatement. He didn’t have the slightest doubt. Abbie was about to kill him.
Chapter Three
Pacing in the small waiting room, Jamie didn't know what was worse, the silent pained grimace on Frank's face as they moved him to Brooks' clinic, or Abbie’s brave efforts to hide the worry and concern he clearly saw in her eyes.
"Well," Brooks came out from behind closed doors, "do you want the good news first, or the bad?"
"Good" and "bad" tumbled over each other as both he and Abbie responded.
The clinic front door burst open, Sister and Sissy scurrying in like hungry children late for supper. Tall and slender, Sissy spoke first. "We just heard. How is poor Frank?"
"I was about to explain--"
Aunt Eileen came barreling through the same doors, Uncle Sean only two steps behind her. "Got here as fast as we could once we heard Frank had fallen. How bad is it?"
The shorter of the two sisters turned to his aunt. "That's what we want to know too."
Jamie shifted around the growing crowd to move closer to his cousin. "I'm thinking we could all use a little good news."
"Good news? Then he's going to be just fine," Aunt Eileen interrupted.
"Eileen." Sean Farraday slid between his sister-in-law and the two mismatched owners of the town general store. "Give the man a chance."
Straightening her shoulders and jetting out her chin, Abbie ignored the chatter and looked to Brooks. "At this point I don't care if it's good or bad news, I just want to know how Frank is."
Brooks opened his mouth ready to speak, then paused to glance at the front door as though expecting someone else to fly in and interrupt.
“We’re it,” Aunt Eileen spoke. “Rest of the family is waiting at the ranch.”
“And we didn’t say a word to anyone else,” Sister said. “We ran straight over as soon as we bumped into Ned.”
Jamie didn’t want to know why Ned the mechanic, who was older than dirt, knew about Frank’s injury. All he wanted to know was what they were up against.
"His foot is not broken."
Jamie could actually feel the air shift with a group sigh of relief.
"But he might've been better off if he had,” Brooks continued.
Aunt Eileen frowned. "I don't like the sound of that."
"With a clean break we know we’re looking at a six week recovery. Frank’s got soft tissue damage."
"Torn ligaments?" Abbie asked.
Brooks nodded. "And tendons. To make things more difficult, he’s injured this ankle before."
"I don't remember him having a hurt leg." Sissy turned to her sibling. "Do you remember that, Sister?"
The shorter of the two, with a bee hive hairdo that would do any Texas matron from the nineteen fifties proud, shrugged. "For as long as he's lived in Tuckers Bluff, I've never known him to have a hurt foot."
"I don't think that it's possible for a man to make it through twenty years as a career Marine and get out without a bad something or other for a reminder of his service." Uncle Sean shook his head.
"That's right," Abbie hissed. "He's got a bad knee. I've always assumed it was from his days in the Marine Corps, but he's never confirmed that."
"He didn’t say,” Brooks continued. “Bottom line is he's looking at quite a few weeks before he's back to normal. Minimum one week no weight at all on that foot and then we can re-evaluate.”
Uncle Sean shook his head. "He is not going to like that."
The crease in Abbie’s brow deepened and Jamie knew Frank wasn’t the only one for who weeks off his feet was not a good thing.
"Frank is a man of few words.” Brooks looked to his dad. “And the ones he shared when I told him I expected him to keep his foot elevated above his heart until the swelling was completely gone would get my mouth washed out with soap even at my age."
"Well," Aunt Eileen rubbed her hands together, "guess we'd better take him home."
The two sisters nodded. "He's going to need looking after."
"Exactly." Aunt Eileen looked to her nephew. "He'd best be coming home with us."
This time the two sisters shook their head. "No point taking him all the way out to the ranch. He can stay with us. Sister and I will look after him."
"What about the shop?" Uncle Sean asked.
Sister shrugged. "We can make that work. No need for both of us to be there all day."
"That's right,” Sissy agreed, looking a little too satisfied for her own good. “This town looks after its own. Frank is one of ours."
The words almost made Jamie spit with laughter. He’d been visiting the ranch the year that Frank came to town. One of their own wasn’t quite the words he’d remembered the sisters using at the time.
"Can I see him please?" Abbie asked, her voice low and strained.
"Of course. I gave him something for the pain. Not much. The man is stubborn, amongst other things. But he's expecting you."
Abbie nodded and moved slowly forward. He could only imagine all the things running through her head. He didn't know the history between Abbie and Frank, he didn't think anyone in town did, except maybe DJ. But it was no secret to anyone in town that Frank Carter would lay down his life for Abbie. Same as any man would for a sister, mother or daughter.
Increasing his gait to catch up with her, Jamie gently took hold of her elbow. "I'll come too, if that's okay."
Abbie merely nodded.
Eyes closed and his hands across his chest, Frank looked almost peaceful. Only the bandaged ankle nearly twice as thick as the other foot and propped up high on a pile of pillows gave a picture of reality. And right now, reality was one hell of a mess.
* * *
There's been a small accident. From the moment Jamie uttered those words, Abbie's heart had not been able to slow to a normal rhythm. Not until Jamie explained only Frank's ankle had been hurt from falling down the pull down stairs had she been able to expel the breath she'd been holding.
Frank had saved her life in so many ways. From that fateful day nobody could ever forget, to the day he moved to Tuckers Bluff to cook for her café, and every day since. She couldn't imagine life in Tuckers Bluff without him.
Even now she worried. Could he have hit his head? Could there be more internal damage obscured by the attention to his foot? If he refuses meds, would blood clots be a problem?
Reeling in every rogue thought and concern by reminding herself what a fantastic doctor Brooks was, and knowing he cared as much about Frank, almost as much, as she did. "If you wanted a vacation, you could have just asked." She wished her voice hadn't come out quite so shaky.
The corner of Frank's mouth lifted into a snarl that substituted for a smile. "Vacations are overrated."
Stepping up beside the exam table, she laid her hands over his and squeezed. "Like it or not, it looks like you're gonna have one now."
Frank groaned and rolled his eyes. "Not happening. I'll be up and about tomorrow morning, same as always. You can count on that."
Her gaze shifted briefly from Frank to Brooks. The family physician remained silent and shook his head.
"I have it on good authority," Abbie patted his hand, "you are on mandatory rest. At least until the swelling is gone."
"Bull...” He paused. “Feathers."
If her world wasn't about to spin around on its axis, she might have laughed out loud at Frank's efforts not to curse in front of her. After all, it wasn't like she hadn't heard him use a few choice words before. Apparently living in the small Texas town for as many years as he had, had done some good to his vocabulary.
"Like it or not, you're staying off that foot until the doc says it's okay to be up and about."
"No offense, Doc," Frank waved a finger at Brooks, "but it will take more than just a twisted foot to keep me down. Good laced boot and I'll be ready to go."
Brooks chuckled. "Even if you are ornery enough to work on that ankle—against doctor's orders, mind you—you'd have to get past that bunch out there."
"What bunch?" Frank turned his attention to the closed door.
"It seems," Jamie spoke for the first time, "that you have an abundance of potential nurse maids."
Frank looked at Abbie. "What the hell is he talking about?"
"Common sense says you can't stay off your foot and take care of yourself at the same time," she explained.
"Says who?"
"My aunt," Jamie and Brooks echoed.
"And," Abbie added, "the sisters."
Letting out a deep groan, Frank dropped his head back on the table. Shaking his head, the scowl that had been permanently in place gave away to a soft chuckle that slowly grew into rumbling laughter.
Shaking off the nervous edge that regurgitated in her gut at his bizarre reaction, Abbie hefted one hand onto her hip. "And what may I ask is so funny?"
"Of all the times in my life, and there have been many, when I imagined what it would be like to have women fighting over whose bed I would sleep in," Frank waved a finger at the door, "not once did any of that lot come to mind."
The two Farradays quickly covered their mouths. Jamie suddenly found the floor very interesting and Brooks tinkered with the pen in his pocket. Both failing miserably to hide their laughter. Under any other circumstances, she might've found that comment funny too.
“You will be more comfortable with help,” Brooks added.
Frank merely groaned.
“If you want to move into the apartment upstairs from the restaurant, then I can run up and check on you every little bit. Make sure you’re eating and keeping your foot up.”
“That’s not half a bad idea,” Frank agreed. “I can stay in the apartment upstairs, but you won’t have time to run up and down stairs. I’ll just come to work in the morning.”
Brooks shook his head. “No work.”
“She needs me,” Frank grumbled.
“Says who?” Abbie barked back. Just because it was true didn’t mean she had to let him know it.
Balancing on his elbows, Frank winced when the movement jostled his foot.
“And that,” Brooks pointed, “is why you need to let your foot heal.”
Frank shook his head at Abbie. “You can’t work the kitchen and wait tables. Someone has to cook, and it isn’t you.”
“I’ll do it.”
All heads in the room turned to Jamie.
“Don’t look so surprised. I do know my way around a kitchen. I'd have no business running my own pub if I didn't."
Surprise slid away from Abbie's gaze. She turned to face Frank. "There you have it. He can cook. Now, who's gonna take care of you? The Farradays or the sisters?"
Timing was everything, and now was the time.
Scattered pieces of crumbling construction, dust, mildew and old age mingled, creating the sweetest smell on earth. Jamison Farraday squeezed the keys to the ancient building in his hand—an establishment all his own. Well, not exactly his, but he would be the general manager. The concept, the research, the plans, those were all his. Fed and nurtured by years of observing, learning, working, and saving. Financed by one of the more successful conglomerates in the bar and nightclub industry.
“Are you sure about this?” Ian, his brother, and DJ, his cousin, swatted their arms, cutting through dangling cobwebs, making their way across the abandoned storefront.
“Never been more sure of anything in my life.”
Ian smiled at his older brother. “Anyone else and I’d have said you lost your mind, but I’m guessing this won’t be the last time you prove us short-sighted mortals wrong.”
Having the support of his family was probably the best reason he’d dared to dream, taken chances, worked his butt off at every job in the business until he was sure he could pull of his big dream. A family style Irish pub.
“You do know that Mabel Berkner is already starting up a petition to appeal the vote to sell liquor in this county.” DJ brushed the dust from his hands. “Not that she’s going to get very far with it, but she’s not the only one in town with ruffled feathers over this.”
“I expected a little flack, but by the time we’re ready and open for business and the crime rate doesn’t skyrocket overnight due to,” Jamison put on a thick southern accent, “our vile influence, everyone will settle down and get back to the business of ordinary living.”
“So what exactly is the plan?” Walking about, DJ eyed the exposed rafters.
“The architect we chose for the project is putting the most recent changes on paper. Final plans should be ready any day now. With plan approval in hand, the money men will take on the next step after the letter of intent and ink the final contract with Mr. Thomas. Then we’ll be down to a few more weeks for the title company to do their magic. I can hardly wait to get a crew in here. Clean it out and rebuild.”
“I can see it.” Ian stood in place, looking around and nodding. “I really can. Knotty pine walls?”
Jamie bobbed his head.
“Dance floor?” DJ asked.
Again, Jamie nodded. His smile pulling tighter against his cheeks. He had it all worked out. Including having lined up some of the best craft beers in Texas. One company on the verge of expanding even talked of growing out here, away from the overcrowded city.
The corners of Ian’s mouth tipped skyward, exposing the dimples the girls always gushed over. “Irish music?”
“Oh yeah.” Jamie grinned back at his brother.
DJ chuckled. “If that doesn’t have Uncle Brian here every weekend crooning with Dad, Saint Patrick isn’t Irish.”
“I’m counting on more folks than Dad feeling that way.” Jamison slapped his cousin on the back. “I wish all the legal stuff were over and done. I’ve been itching to get working on this place for months and now it’s all so close.”
“Overseeing concept, design, and now construction before the doors even open. Sounds like you’re going to be wearing an awful lot of hats on this project.” Adam Farraday crossed the threshold. “On my way back to the clinic and I saw the door open. Y’all throwing a party without me?”
“Wouldn’t think of it,” Jamie answered, glancing down at the express mail tube in his cousin’s arm. “What’s that?”
“Oh, Maggie at the post office asked me to give this to you.”
“The plans.” Jamie couldn’t get the container open fast enough.
Adam stood shoulder to shoulder with his brother. “For this place?”
“Yes.” Jamie squatted on the ground and unrolled the large pages.
His brother hovered behind him. “Why didn’t they just email them?”
“I don’t know.” Jamie studied the architectural rendering. “That’s what I was expecting.”
“You’re frowning.” Ian inched closer. “What is it?”
Jamie shook his head. He had to be looking at the wrong plans. Turning the page, he scooted around to align the front of the store with the top of the plans. There was no mistaking what he saw. Nothing was laid out the way the planning committee and the architect had originally discussed, the way he and the backers had agreed. “This doesn’t even look like a pub.” He pointed to the back section of the drawing. “This should be the dance floor.”
“I’m not an architect,” DJ leaned forward more, “but there doesn’t seem to be anything remotely like a dance floor on that page anywhere.”
“That’s because there isn’t. What should be space for a little boot scooting is an open kitchen.” Jaimie had worked enough bars and restaurants to know the concept and recognize it on paper. He looked to the corner of the drawings. Above the architect’s scales and name was the street address and town for the project. Correct. The establishment not so much. Not a pub. Not his pub. Hemingway’s International Grill. What the …
“From the look on your face,” Ian stretched upright, “I gather this is news to you?”
Jamie stabbed at his phone, held it to his ear and nodded.
“Is it that bad?” Ian asked.
“International grill,” Jamie muttered. “This town is no place for a chain restaurant.”
DJ looked from his cousin to his brother. “I suppose that’s no worse than Irish.”
“Seriously?” Jamie stared at his cousin. Before he could say another word, voice mail kicked in. “Thank you for calling Crocker International—”
“Like Betty Crocker?” Ian asked wide-eyed.
Jamie shook his head and mumbled, “No relation.” The recording came to an end and the beep signaled his turn to talk. He’d have much preferred speaking to Jeff Nimbus in person, but this would have to do. “Jeff, Jamison Farraday here. Just received the blueprints for The Public House and they’re marked Hemingway’s. Give me a call when you have a minute.”
“Don’t bite my head off,” Ian held a hand out at him, “but is there a reason an Irish pub is better suited to this town than an international grill?”
“An Irish pub is basically Abbie’s small town café with an accent. And in our case, local wine, maybe if all goes well, beer, and of course dancing. Pubs are neighborhood watering holes. People know each other. Men have a drink and tell stories that have been handed down for ages. Young and old gather.”
“He has a point.” Adam shrugged. “Except for the booze and dancing, it sounds an awful lot like the café.”
“Of course I have a point. Every small town in Ireland has and supports its own pub. The same would be true here, except Tuckers Bluff isn’t so small anymore, we’re growing.”
“With all the advertising the county’s been doing for the ghost town circuit, the vineyard the Brady’s have been working, and a hospital in town, we’re growing faster than any other small town in West Texas. And mark my words, if given a choice, folks living halfway to Butler Springs will want to come here to the pub for some dancing and a drink or two rather than go all the way to Butler Springs for the same old same old.”
DJ hooked his hand around the back of his neck. “I’ll admit, if international is code word for fancy and expensive, then Jamie’s right. Folks won’t be banging down the doors.”
“It’s worse than that.” Jamie raked his fingers through his hair and then hung his hand along the back of his neck. “Can you see the fine citizens of Tuckers Bluff eating sushi?”
“Sushi?” Adam’s forehead folded into layers. “What does Hemingway have to do with sushi?”
“The man, nothing, but the restaurant serves everything trendy. They’re based in California and last year spread their wings to Austin and Dallas. They cater to urban millennials.” In his shirt pocket, his phone buzzed. Recognizing the number, DJ was surprised to get a response from Nimbus so quickly. “Hello.”
“Hey, was on a conference call. Isn’t it great news?”
“Great news?”
“Yes. Babcock Foods wants in. We negotiated a sweet deal. Hemingway’s is all the rage.”
“In LA, sure. Maybe even Dallas, but it’s not a fit for West Texas.”
“Nonsense. Our research shows—”
“You mean my research.”
“No, Jamison. Our merchandising department ran some backup market analysis. The pub idea is good.”
Better than good, but no point repeating that now.
“And without Babcock Foods, we would have followed through. But Babcock has very deep pockets and this is the perfect alliance for Crocker to branch out to the restaurant side of the industry. If Babcock wants Hemingway’s in Tuckers Bluff, they’re going to get it.”
This wasn’t good. “Someone needs to explain to the board that this is not the time to—”
“It’s a done deal, Jamie. There’s no explaining. Come Monday, the final papers will be signed. The question is, do you still want to be a part of this?”
* * *
Standing on her feet from dawn to dusk, and then some, was Abbie’s reality. One she and her painfully expensive shoes had made peace with a very long time ago.
“Here, drink this.” Frank, the cook, slid a warm mug in front of her. “It won’t do much for your feet, but it will help your mood.” One corner of the man’s mouth tilted up in a cheeky grin. “I put some of your special stash in it.”
She kept a bottle of Bailey’s under the counter for the occasional customer who needed a little something extra in their coffee after an especially rough day. Or night. She didn’t care much for the taste of it herself unless it was buried deep in something chocolaty, but Frank knew that. The something special wouldn’t equate to much more than a splash. His desired intent accomplished. To make her smile.
Looking out for her had become a regular part of Frank’s routine through the years. Some days she didn’t need looking after as much as others, but she always appreciated it, appreciated him. Another slow sip of the chocolaty brew slid all the way down to her toes. “Just what I needed.”
“What you need,” Frank stepped back and took his place behind the grill, “is a day off. A real day off. Or two.”
This wasn’t the first nor the last time she expected to hear the same advice. “You sound like a broken record.”
“That doesn’t make it any less true.”
“Would that be the pot calling the kettle black?” The man worked every shift right along side her. She’d tried hiring a part time cook to give Frank a break, but the sour Marine became surlier than ever. In the end he once again became ruler supreme of his kitchen kingdom.
Reluctant to set the mug down, she took another sip, lingering in the relaxation a moment longer. The dinner rush would be picking up soon and as good as Shannon, the evening shift waitress, was at her job, Abbie needed to get out of the kitchen and do her share.
“You’re worried, aren’t you?” Plating an order, Frank didn’t bother to look up.
She blew on the warm liquid even though it was no longer that hot. “What’s there to worry about?”
“You could get a liquor license too.”
“This is a café, not a night club.” Besides, rumor had it the town council was considering limiting the number of liquor licenses to keep Mabel Berkner happy. That woman’s devotion to a dry county would have made her temperance ancestors very proud.
“A dance floor wouldn’t hurt. A small one.” He rang the bell for Shannon to pick up her order.
They’d had this conversation before as well. The first time had been back when word got about that a new supper club was considering setting up here in town. Then the conversation resumed when the referendum came about to change Tuckers Bluff from a dry to wet town, making the county more appealing to competition. Worried or not, either way, her mind was set about not changing the cafe. Pushing away from the stainless prep area she’d been leaning against, she blew out a short breath. If only she could expel life’s aggravations as easily. “I’ll take that out.”
Lifting his chin to see over the shiny metal on deck shelf in front of him, Frank leveled his gaze with hers but didn’t say another word. He didn’t have to. She could see the worry in his eyes. Not that he had any reason to. Today was no different than any other day over the years. Except he was right about one thing. She was tired. Not just from working six and half days a week, every week, but the kind of tired that stopped a heart from dreaming, and after all these years, she wanted to dream again.
* * *
“I’ll be honest.” Jamie’s Uncle Sean rubbed at his chin. “Never understood why you’d want to take an idea you are so sure of, do the brunt of the work for, and let someone else reap most of the benefits.”
“That’s easy.” Catherine, his cousin Connor’s wife, chimed in. “Money. Building out a restaurant where there wasn’t one before is an extremely expensive venture. Then you have to squirrel away the funds to run the operation for at least six months while the patronage grows enough to support the business, never mind make a profit. A year would be even better. And then, in this case, include the purchase of real estate involved, well…”
“How much money are we talking?” His cousin Finn, the youngest of the West Texas Farraday brothers, dropped his ankle over his knee and took a sip of his beer.
“No.” Jamie skipped over answering the original question and jumped straight to the next one he knew would be coming. No matter how confident he was, he would not put his family’s money at risk. It’s why he hadn’t said anything to his West Texas kin until the deal was an inch from signed, sealed and delivered.
“No money involved?” Finn’s wife Joanna took a seat on the arm of her husband’s chair and grinned up at Jamie. A full-time writer, the woman had an interesting sense of humor—and irony—and could tease and rag on the family as good as the members born into the Farraday clan.
Aunt Eileen stood up from her spot on the sofa beside his uncle and moved to the ottoman along side Jamie. When his aunt got that determined look in her eye, he knew the chances of walking through a cow pen on shipping day without stepping on a paddy were greater than withstanding Force Eileen.
Glancing around the room of relatives, it dawned on him that almost everyone had that same expression painted on their faces. Whether they’d been born a Farraday or married one. He should have realized when his cousins from town and their spouses had shown up for a family supper in the middle of the week that there was more to the visit than hot food and a little moral support. Something else was brewing.
Aunt Eileen set her hand on his forearm. “We’ve been talking.”
“When?” Except for the time it took to drive from town to the ranch, Jamie had been with his aunt and uncle all evening.
She shrugged. “I suppose the conversation started back when you first mentioned bringing a pub to Tuckers Bluff.”
“Thought you’d lost your mind.” Uncle Sean chuckled. “Then I started listening a little more closely to the conversations around town. Paying attention to exactly how many folks go driving to Butler Springs for a special dinner or a little Friday night shuffle. More than I’d realized, I’ll tell you that.”
Aunt Eileen rolled her eyes at her brother-in-law. “Just cause you’re a homebody doesn’t mean the rest of the world is.”
“Since when is being a family man a bad thing?” Uncle Sean’s brow knit together.
“Even family men are allowed to get out of the house once in a while.”
“I get out.”
Waving a finger at her brother-in-law, Aunt Eileen’s mouth dropped open. “The barn isn’t considered—”
A loud whistle pierced the air cutting off conversation. Finn’s fingers slid away from his lips. “Can we focus please?”
Meg, Adam’s wife, flashed a broad approving grin at Finn before picking up the dropped thread of conversation. “Look at Friday Girls’ Night. We not only spend money for food or entertainment if we go to Butler Springs, we spend a ton on gas too. Just saving money on driving, never mind the time, would bring an awful lot of folks to a new night spot.”
DJ leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “I’ll admit I’ve been a bit concerned over what this would mean for Abbie. Frankly, I think she’s a little worried too, though she won’t admit it. But Dad’s right. This town and folks nearby spend a lot of money trucking all the way to Butler Springs. As long as the place is different from what Abbie offers, I think we can handle two choices for dinner.”
“What about lunch?” Becky, DJ’s wife, asked.
Jamie shook his head. “Not practical.” Though with the new direction Crocker wanted to take, he had no idea what the group’s intentions were anymore.
“You’re frowning.” Aunt Eileen’s brows buckled to match his. “What are you thinking?”
His recent concerns over the impact of Crocker’s possible new plans wasn’t something he wanted to expand on just yet. At this point he needed to focus on what he knew would work. “To start, the pub would be open for long weekends only. Thursday through Sunday. No lunch. No hard impact on the café.”
He didn’t have to say anything else. Several men cut from the same gene pool shifted forward or back, but all grit their teeth and nodded.
DJ sucked in a long breath. “And there are no guarantees what the backers will do now?”
Jamie shook his head. He should have known better than to assume he’d be the only one in the room to put the pieces together. “If they’re not following through on the deal as originally planned, there’s no telling what else they will, or won’t, do.”
“I’m not in the real estate or restaurant business,” Uncle Sean looked to his nephew, “but that building has been an eye sore on this town, sitting empty every since the feed store expanded across the street almost two decades ago. Not many people have a need for a place that size and old Jake Thomas asked a king’s ransom of anyone who showed interest. The way I see it, he wasn’t at all serious about selling till you brought a deal to the table.”
There was a grain of truth in what his uncle said. Jamie knew for a fact that there was a sense of owing the Farradays a debt for standing behind his son in an effort to keep him out of jail. Not that Jamie had been all that sure it wasn’t more a matter of timing, wanting all his business deals off his hands, the way he’d sold the feed store to Grace’s husband. Regardless, whatever the reason for the old man’s change of heart, Jamie was kicking up his heels. Or had been.
“Actually,” Adam spoke up, “there’s a rumor going around that without Farraday involvement, the old man won’t sell.”
That had Jamie’s ears perking up. “Where’d you hear that?”
Grace’s husband, Chase, smiled and raised one finger. “I may have planted a seed or two when I spoke with Jake this afternoon. Mentioned that I could see where it would have disturbed him to hear Jamie is considering stepping out of the project. The words the new plans were doomed to fail might have been mentioned, along with folks are slow to trust strangers around here without someone from town to back them up.”
“Not bad, hubby.” Grace leaned over and kissed Chase on the cheek. She, like Jamie, knew that the deal struck by Crocker was a lower point of sale with a profit percentage over time. “Not bad at all.”
“Hey,” he ran the back of his knuckles along her chin, “I may have given up life on Wall Street, but that doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten how to play the game.”
Game. Could he even consider what his family was setting up for him? Buy the place himself? Single and simple living had allowed him to stash some money. Nothing near enough for an investment like this on his own or he wouldn’t have settled for general manager to a company with Crocker’s track record. He’d dismissed business loans as an option. The kind of money he’d need, loans could be crippling when it came to getting the business off the ground. And even if he were willing to take the risk, he’d need more collateral. And that he didn’t have.
“Did you know old man Thomas carried the note for me when I bought the feed store?”
“I’d bet with the building as collateral banks would be willing to lend the money for the remodel,” Meg volunteered. “I may even still have a few connections that can help.”
He’d forgotten she used to run a boutique hotel and restaurant when she lived in Dallas. Still, the whole idea was simply crazy. Even with his savings and some good connections, with a note attached, the building wouldn’t be very attractive as collateral.
“Well, I think investing in this town is a smart idea.” Uncle Sean skewered his nephew with a stern glare. “I’d be willing to kick in for a share of the building, and I’m thinking so would your dad.”
A few voices tumbled over each other with comments along the lines of they each had money just burning a hole in their pocket. He knew they weren’t lying. He had savings as well and banks paid miserable interest rates. He also knew that risking their life’s savings wasn’t the Farraday way.
“And before you go thinking this is some silly whim,” Uncle Sean waved a finger at him, “there’s a condition attached.”
"Condition?” He hadn’t even agreed to let the family help and his uncle was already talking conditions.
“Let me guess.” Adam looked to his dad. “You want the place called Farradays.”
“Well, it does make sense,” Aunt Eileen almost scolded her oldest nephew.
“Actually,” Uncle Sean spoke directly to Jamie, “a good Irish pub needs a good Irish name.”
“Farraday’s isn’t Irish?” Aunt Eileen muttered.
“I was thinking something a bit older than that,” Uncle Sean leaned forward, “O’Fearadaigh’s.”
Chapter Two
“You really are going to do it.” Abbie passed through the open doors into the vacant storefront, Frank on her heels.
“Entering enemy territory?” Maneuvering over an old broken bench, Jamie inched forward. “Watch your step. This place is one giant booby trap.”
“No kidding.” She honed in on the ancient cash register sitting on what was left of a counter. “Oh, wow. I haven’t seen anything like that outside of photographs.”
“Works too.” Jamie flashed that same photogenic smile every Farraday possessed.
“Of course it does.” Standing beside the register, she ran her fingers along the dusty ornate trim, then pushed a button. The bell clanged and the drawer popped open. “These suckers were manufactured before planned obsolescence.”
Frank scanned the rear, inching his way in that direction. “It’s bigger than it appears from the outside. Mind if I take a closer look?”
“Recognizance?” Jamie laughed at Frank’s scowl. “Go ahead, but be careful. There are a lot of surprises everywhere.”
The moment the last café customer had paid the tab, Frank mentioned Jamie was in town at the vacant site and suggested they come check the place out. Abbie hadn’t needed much convincing, her curiosity was driving her to distraction. “Didn’t expect to see you here on a Sunday afternoon. Your Aunt Eileen can’t be too happy if you’re missing supper.”
Jamie tapped some papers sticking out of his shirt pocket. “Special dispensation.”
“Everyone’s talking about your plans to buy the building yourself. Word must have spread through church this morning faster than the sermon put folks to sleep.”
“Not a plan.” He tapped his shirt again. “Grace drew up the contract. We gave old man Thomas a cashier’s check about an hour ago. Everybody’s gone to the ranch to celebrate. I…” He looked up and across the rafters. “Just wanted to stop by a minute.”
“Closing the deal on a Sunday?”
“Timing is everything.” The guy was practically glowing from barely contained excitement.
Abbie didn’t have to imagine what was running through Jamie’s mind, she still remembered every blessed sensation that oozed through every pore the day she signed the papers for the café. The last thing she’d had in mind when she’d agreed to come to Tuckers Bluff was that one day she’d own the café in the little town that had saved her sanity.
“Don’t look so lost.” Jamie’s smile shifted from one of delight to reassurance. “It will be fine.”
For a small moment she thought he could read her mind before common sense kicked in and she realized he was talking about the two restaurants. Her response to folks since word of the new business had shifted from rumor to reality weeks ago had been the same. There’d be no liquor at the café, no dance floor at the café, and nothing needed to change. That was her story and she was sticking to it. And if she repeated it enough, maybe she’d eventually stop second-guessing herself. “I’m not worried.”
“You don’t look convinced.”
“Maybe it’s because I’m not.” Had she said that out loud?
Jamie moved a step closer. “I did a lot of research. You might lose a customer or two now and again, but others will come to replace them. Folks who have had no reason to come to Tuckers Bluff will come now to dance or drink. Many of these people will prefer to eat first at someplace with a larger, more diverse menu. These will be customers who don’t already live in town to patronize the café. It will be a good thing for both our businesses.”
“You sound so sure.” He really did. What was it about the Farradays that they all held so much confidence? No matter what piece of garbage life threw at them. No matter how many Henry Wiggins and his ilk crossed their paths. They could hold a parade into hell and, waving a flag and cheering them on, everyone would follow.
“That’s because I am. This isn’t a whim. No one opens a restaurant in the near middle of nowhere if they haven’t crunched the numbers. Especially not a big organization like Crocker.”
“Yeah, well, that’s great for you and Crocker, but that’s probably what Walton told all the mom and pop shops in the near middle of nowhere when he opened his first box store.”
Something very close to anger burned sharply in his gaze. “I’m not Wally. We’re not on a mission to take over the world, or the town. O’Fearadaigh’s will be good for both of us.” The tone in his words softened. “Believe me.”
What was it they said about the road to hell? “If you don’t mind, I think I’ll believe it when I see it.” Not that she didn’t trust Jamie or the Farradays, but if their luck were going to run out, she’d be first to bet it would be with something that her life depended on. After all, what were the odds a Farraday would save the day every time her world turned upside down?
* * *
In the years since graduating school, Jamie hadn’t spent nearly as much time in Tuckers Bluff as he had as a kid growing up. Nonetheless, he’d been here often enough to understand Abbie was as much a part of the fabric of this town as the sidewalk and the streets, Wally World could never replace Sisters, and Jamie would never try to replace the Silver Spurs Café. Somehow he had to find a way to reassure her. For both their peace of mind.
“Well I don’t see Frank.” She rocked back on her heels, scanning the empty rear of the store and called his name. When he didn’t respond, she turned to face Jamie. “Who knows what he’s gotten into. I’m going to head home and take advantage of what’s left of my afternoon off. Tell Frank I’ll see him tomorrow morning.”
Jamie nodded. “Will do.”
Not till she’d turned the corner onto the sidewalk and disappeared from view did he go looking for Frank. Halfway to the back door, a rustling sound loud enough to catch his ear had him scanning the area. The movement of a single empty feed sack atop a pile in a nearby corner told him the guilty noisemaker—if there was only one—would be there.
The real question was did he want to go after the rodent now, or wait for construction to drive the critters away? The more sensible thing to do would be to set out some rat traps. Or get a cat. But apparently today, sensible wasn’t in his vocabulary. Holding a broom handle he inched closer.
He'd almost reached the stack of empty bags when the movement stopped. Tightening his grip on the broomstick, he stood as still as the sacks. Like a ridiculous game of chicken, each of them seemed to be waiting to see what the other did. Seconds ticked by before movement started again. A small lift on one side, a smacking sound nearby, and then what appeared to be an all out wrestling match broke out underneath. The sack lifted, dropped, seemed to float in the air as something much larger than a single rat wiggled underneath. What was he about to get himself into?
For a new approach, he took a step back, held the broom from the bristle end and hooking it under the edge, braced himself to whisk the top sack away when a definitely non-rodent paw trapped the stick against the floor. What the heck?
Tipping his head sideways as though that would make it easier to see what was underneath the loose bags, and gripping his broomstick, Jamie took half a step forward and tugged lightly at the wooden handle. The paw released its hold and withdrew. Two seconds later two paws followed by a brown-tipped nose popped out from under the pile of empty sacks.
"Okay buddy." Jamie got down on his haunches and tapped his palm against the concrete floor. "Whoever you are, come on out."
Before he could fully brace himself, the fluffy body attached to the nose came barreling towards him. About twenty pounds of puppy energy ricocheted across his lap, up his chest, down his leg, around his back, and over again until finally flattening him and licking his cheek. Using both hands to grab hold of the pup and laughing, Jamie pushed him down to his lap and sat up, holding him steady. "Where did you come from?"
With the wag of his tail and a short woof, the puppy tried to push forward again.
"Oh, no you don't." Securing the animal under one arm Jamie pushed to his feet, scratching under the mutt's chin with his free hand. "Your owner must be around somewhere looking for you."
Returning to his original mission to find Frank, Jamie opted to check the storage area. Tired of wrestling a squirming puppy, he set his new friend down on the ground. "Frank, you in here?"
"Yeah. In the loft."
Loft? Jamie had checked the place out thoroughly and didn't remember anything about a loft.
Puppy let out a succession of three fast woofs then took off in the direction of Frank's voice and the pull down stairs at the back end of the former warehouse area.
"Hey buddy, wait for me."
Two booted legs came down from the ceiling, finding purchase at the top step. "I don't think anyone ever cleared out this area."
"I didn't even realize there was anything up there." Jamie moved closer to the stairs, the puppy dancing circles at the base.
"I'm not surprised. I almost didn't see it myself. More of an attic really, but I happened to notice the recessed pull and then I spotted the hook arm hanging on the wall over there." Frank took his time descending the rickety steps. "I thought it was just over the little office in the corner but it goes all the way to the back of the building. Same square footage as downstairs. There's furniture up there, crates, trunks. And judging from the period pieces, I’d guess a good bit of that stuff is over 100 years old."
Frank reached the second to last step at the exact moment Puppy barked and leaped upward onto the steps, bumping into Frank's boot.
"Whoa." Frank swung one leg outward to avoid stepping on the puppy. "For land sakes, where the hell did that thing come from?"
Wagging his tail and running circles around the foot of the ladder-like steps, Puppy barked up at Frank.
"Tell me we don't have another one." Frank released his hold on the ladder, taking the last step onto the ground just as Puppy did his dance routine underfoot bumping into Frank. Skidding under the steps, the bundle of fur in motion sent Frank tumbling to the ground.
"Buddy, no!" Jamie shouted, rushing to Frank's side. "Are you okay?"
Flat on his back, Frank blinked upward. "Define okay."
Jamie had to bite back a laugh. It had been a stupid question. Assuming being alive was a good thing, then he was okay. But judging by the way his foot twisted under the last step, Jamie did not need to be a doctor to know Frank was definitely not okay. "Don't move."
"Thought hadn't crossed my mind." Frank grit his teeth. "At least not until I can feel my leg."
Crap. This was so not good. Phone in hand, Jamison tapped speed dial for his cousin Brooks.
"You on your way yet?"
"Nope." Jamie looked at the puppy sitting perfectly still beside Frank. Now he sits. "Got a small problem here."
"How small?" All playfulness had slipped away from Brooks' tone.
"Frank fell from the pull down steps at the new restaurant. If his foot isn't broken it's awfully close."
"I'm more than halfway to the ranch but I'll turn around. Have you got him stabilized?"
"Does laying flat on his back count as stabilized?"
“Comedian. Any signs of injury other than his foot?"
Jamie held two fingers in front of Frank's face. "How many fingers do you see?"
Scratching the puppy with one hand, Frank looked at Jamie’s hand waving in front of him. "Two."
"What year is it?"
“Oh, for the love of Pete. Stop playing Marcus Welby and just tell your brother to get his backside down here. I’ve got to get this foot taped up and ready for work before tomorrow morning."
"You hear that?" Jamie said into the phone.
"I'm pretty sure the whole county heard that. If you've got access to some ice, no harm in using it. And if he plans on going to work tomorrow morning, you'd better hope you're a lousy doctor and that foot isn't even close to broken."
Visions of Frank flipping burgers, wobbling on one foot, flashed through Jamie's mind like scenes from a really bad play. His gaze shifted to the foot still hooked at an awkward angle. If Abbie was upset that he and his family would be opening a dinner pub in town, when she learned he’d incapacitated her only cook, upset would be an understatement. He didn’t have the slightest doubt. Abbie was about to kill him.
Chapter Three
Pacing in the small waiting room, Jamie didn't know what was worse, the silent pained grimace on Frank's face as they moved him to Brooks' clinic, or Abbie’s brave efforts to hide the worry and concern he clearly saw in her eyes.
"Well," Brooks came out from behind closed doors, "do you want the good news first, or the bad?"
"Good" and "bad" tumbled over each other as both he and Abbie responded.
The clinic front door burst open, Sister and Sissy scurrying in like hungry children late for supper. Tall and slender, Sissy spoke first. "We just heard. How is poor Frank?"
"I was about to explain--"
Aunt Eileen came barreling through the same doors, Uncle Sean only two steps behind her. "Got here as fast as we could once we heard Frank had fallen. How bad is it?"
The shorter of the two sisters turned to his aunt. "That's what we want to know too."
Jamie shifted around the growing crowd to move closer to his cousin. "I'm thinking we could all use a little good news."
"Good news? Then he's going to be just fine," Aunt Eileen interrupted.
"Eileen." Sean Farraday slid between his sister-in-law and the two mismatched owners of the town general store. "Give the man a chance."
Straightening her shoulders and jetting out her chin, Abbie ignored the chatter and looked to Brooks. "At this point I don't care if it's good or bad news, I just want to know how Frank is."
Brooks opened his mouth ready to speak, then paused to glance at the front door as though expecting someone else to fly in and interrupt.
“We’re it,” Aunt Eileen spoke. “Rest of the family is waiting at the ranch.”
“And we didn’t say a word to anyone else,” Sister said. “We ran straight over as soon as we bumped into Ned.”
Jamie didn’t want to know why Ned the mechanic, who was older than dirt, knew about Frank’s injury. All he wanted to know was what they were up against.
"His foot is not broken."
Jamie could actually feel the air shift with a group sigh of relief.
"But he might've been better off if he had,” Brooks continued.
Aunt Eileen frowned. "I don't like the sound of that."
"With a clean break we know we’re looking at a six week recovery. Frank’s got soft tissue damage."
"Torn ligaments?" Abbie asked.
Brooks nodded. "And tendons. To make things more difficult, he’s injured this ankle before."
"I don't remember him having a hurt leg." Sissy turned to her sibling. "Do you remember that, Sister?"
The shorter of the two, with a bee hive hairdo that would do any Texas matron from the nineteen fifties proud, shrugged. "For as long as he's lived in Tuckers Bluff, I've never known him to have a hurt foot."
"I don't think that it's possible for a man to make it through twenty years as a career Marine and get out without a bad something or other for a reminder of his service." Uncle Sean shook his head.
"That's right," Abbie hissed. "He's got a bad knee. I've always assumed it was from his days in the Marine Corps, but he's never confirmed that."
"He didn’t say,” Brooks continued. “Bottom line is he's looking at quite a few weeks before he's back to normal. Minimum one week no weight at all on that foot and then we can re-evaluate.”
Uncle Sean shook his head. "He is not going to like that."
The crease in Abbie’s brow deepened and Jamie knew Frank wasn’t the only one for who weeks off his feet was not a good thing.
"Frank is a man of few words.” Brooks looked to his dad. “And the ones he shared when I told him I expected him to keep his foot elevated above his heart until the swelling was completely gone would get my mouth washed out with soap even at my age."
"Well," Aunt Eileen rubbed her hands together, "guess we'd better take him home."
The two sisters nodded. "He's going to need looking after."
"Exactly." Aunt Eileen looked to her nephew. "He'd best be coming home with us."
This time the two sisters shook their head. "No point taking him all the way out to the ranch. He can stay with us. Sister and I will look after him."
"What about the shop?" Uncle Sean asked.
Sister shrugged. "We can make that work. No need for both of us to be there all day."
"That's right,” Sissy agreed, looking a little too satisfied for her own good. “This town looks after its own. Frank is one of ours."
The words almost made Jamie spit with laughter. He’d been visiting the ranch the year that Frank came to town. One of their own wasn’t quite the words he’d remembered the sisters using at the time.
"Can I see him please?" Abbie asked, her voice low and strained.
"Of course. I gave him something for the pain. Not much. The man is stubborn, amongst other things. But he's expecting you."
Abbie nodded and moved slowly forward. He could only imagine all the things running through her head. He didn't know the history between Abbie and Frank, he didn't think anyone in town did, except maybe DJ. But it was no secret to anyone in town that Frank Carter would lay down his life for Abbie. Same as any man would for a sister, mother or daughter.
Increasing his gait to catch up with her, Jamie gently took hold of her elbow. "I'll come too, if that's okay."
Abbie merely nodded.
Eyes closed and his hands across his chest, Frank looked almost peaceful. Only the bandaged ankle nearly twice as thick as the other foot and propped up high on a pile of pillows gave a picture of reality. And right now, reality was one hell of a mess.
* * *
There's been a small accident. From the moment Jamie uttered those words, Abbie's heart had not been able to slow to a normal rhythm. Not until Jamie explained only Frank's ankle had been hurt from falling down the pull down stairs had she been able to expel the breath she'd been holding.
Frank had saved her life in so many ways. From that fateful day nobody could ever forget, to the day he moved to Tuckers Bluff to cook for her café, and every day since. She couldn't imagine life in Tuckers Bluff without him.
Even now she worried. Could he have hit his head? Could there be more internal damage obscured by the attention to his foot? If he refuses meds, would blood clots be a problem?
Reeling in every rogue thought and concern by reminding herself what a fantastic doctor Brooks was, and knowing he cared as much about Frank, almost as much, as she did. "If you wanted a vacation, you could have just asked." She wished her voice hadn't come out quite so shaky.
The corner of Frank's mouth lifted into a snarl that substituted for a smile. "Vacations are overrated."
Stepping up beside the exam table, she laid her hands over his and squeezed. "Like it or not, it looks like you're gonna have one now."
Frank groaned and rolled his eyes. "Not happening. I'll be up and about tomorrow morning, same as always. You can count on that."
Her gaze shifted briefly from Frank to Brooks. The family physician remained silent and shook his head.
"I have it on good authority," Abbie patted his hand, "you are on mandatory rest. At least until the swelling is gone."
"Bull...” He paused. “Feathers."
If her world wasn't about to spin around on its axis, she might have laughed out loud at Frank's efforts not to curse in front of her. After all, it wasn't like she hadn't heard him use a few choice words before. Apparently living in the small Texas town for as many years as he had, had done some good to his vocabulary.
"Like it or not, you're staying off that foot until the doc says it's okay to be up and about."
"No offense, Doc," Frank waved a finger at Brooks, "but it will take more than just a twisted foot to keep me down. Good laced boot and I'll be ready to go."
Brooks chuckled. "Even if you are ornery enough to work on that ankle—against doctor's orders, mind you—you'd have to get past that bunch out there."
"What bunch?" Frank turned his attention to the closed door.
"It seems," Jamie spoke for the first time, "that you have an abundance of potential nurse maids."
Frank looked at Abbie. "What the hell is he talking about?"
"Common sense says you can't stay off your foot and take care of yourself at the same time," she explained.
"Says who?"
"My aunt," Jamie and Brooks echoed.
"And," Abbie added, "the sisters."
Letting out a deep groan, Frank dropped his head back on the table. Shaking his head, the scowl that had been permanently in place gave away to a soft chuckle that slowly grew into rumbling laughter.
Shaking off the nervous edge that regurgitated in her gut at his bizarre reaction, Abbie hefted one hand onto her hip. "And what may I ask is so funny?"
"Of all the times in my life, and there have been many, when I imagined what it would be like to have women fighting over whose bed I would sleep in," Frank waved a finger at the door, "not once did any of that lot come to mind."
The two Farradays quickly covered their mouths. Jamie suddenly found the floor very interesting and Brooks tinkered with the pen in his pocket. Both failing miserably to hide their laughter. Under any other circumstances, she might've found that comment funny too.
“You will be more comfortable with help,” Brooks added.
Frank merely groaned.
“If you want to move into the apartment upstairs from the restaurant, then I can run up and check on you every little bit. Make sure you’re eating and keeping your foot up.”
“That’s not half a bad idea,” Frank agreed. “I can stay in the apartment upstairs, but you won’t have time to run up and down stairs. I’ll just come to work in the morning.”
Brooks shook his head. “No work.”
“She needs me,” Frank grumbled.
“Says who?” Abbie barked back. Just because it was true didn’t mean she had to let him know it.
Balancing on his elbows, Frank winced when the movement jostled his foot.
“And that,” Brooks pointed, “is why you need to let your foot heal.”
Frank shook his head at Abbie. “You can’t work the kitchen and wait tables. Someone has to cook, and it isn’t you.”
“I’ll do it.”
All heads in the room turned to Jamie.
“Don’t look so surprised. I do know my way around a kitchen. I'd have no business running my own pub if I didn't."
Surprise slid away from Abbie's gaze. She turned to face Frank. "There you have it. He can cook. Now, who's gonna take care of you? The Farradays or the sisters?"
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