The Comfort of Favorite Things (A Hope Springs Novel) (3 page)

“Come again?”

“Beans for soup. Navy and pinto and black. Lentils. Adzuki. Anasazi. Kidney and fava and garbanzo, and I’ll stop now,” she said, laughing. “Because I’m quite sure that’s enough about beans for one day.”

Actually, he was curious. Especially because of her enthusiasm, which she was using to hide something else. Nervousness, maybe. Though why she’d be nervous about selling beans . . . “Why beans? I mean, I could see if you were selling coffee beans by the pound, this being a coffee shop and all, but soup?”

She rubbed her hands up and down her bare arms, hugging herself tighter. “Soup is filling.
Beans
are filling and fairly inexpensive. And like I said, enough.”

Yep. Definitely nerves. And he was pretty damn sure the beans were only tangentially related. “You never did finish telling me about Becca.”

“Yeah, well, Becca’s story isn’t really mine to tell.” She walked back to where he stood, then to the table, picking up their dirty mugs. “Just know she has a good reason for reacting the way she does. Even when she’s wrong.”

“Sounds like she’s more to you than an employee,” he said, digging, though he didn’t want to think about the why of his interest. Then again, the woman had tried to crush his windpipe.

She looked at him, frowning, her expression conveying a battle of some sort. “And that sounds like you’re asking me about my past.”

“It was just a question, Clark. No need to get all defensive.”

“I don’t like it when people are nosy.”

“Sorry.” He gave her a nod. “I’m not so good at being a gentleman.”

“You never were,” she said, and turned for the kitchen, pushing through the swinging doors, coffee mugs in hand.

Can’t argue with that
, he mused, deserving both the dig and the dismissal.

Simple or not, this job was going to go south if he didn’t stick to the agreement he’d made with Thea, and the rules he’d set for himself: Get in. Get out. No involvement.

Those rules had served him well for a decade now. For longer. But they hadn’t taken Thea Clark into account. He was going to have to rethink the way he’d been living since he’d picked up that baseball bat and nearly ended a life. Because Thea was no longer a distant memory.

She was here.

And in under an hour, with no effort at all, she’d stirred up every bit of the past he’d worked so hard to bury.

Once she heard the front door close behind Dakota, Thea walked through the commercial kitchen and out the back. She found Becca in the alley behind Bread and Bean smoking a cigarette down to the filter.

She was also pacing a trough across the shop’s private parking area. Stress shimmered off her shoulders like heat from asphalt, the smoke barely having time to enter her lungs before she was blowing it out on top of a whole lot of not-so-nice words spoken into the air. It was how she coped, the closet ranting.

Thea felt a catch near her heart. Becca had come so far, and seeing her like this sent Thea’s joy at the other woman’s progress crumbling. But back to the drawing board was how life worked for all of the women living in the house on Dragon Fire Hill, so back they would go.

“I thought you’d quit.”

Becca held up what was left of the filter between two shaking fingers. “I just did. Again.”

Thea watched the butt hit the ground, watched Becca grind it flat then bend to pick it up. It was a ritual with Becca. Smoking. Quitting. Starting again. Quitting one more time. She rarely had more than a single smoke, maybe two, a month. Things had gotten better since she’d come to live with Thea.

Or so Thea had hoped. “You’re going to have to stop doing that, you know. Assuming any man standing close is a threat.”

Becca picked at the edge of the charred paper. “It sounded like you were arguing.”

“We weren’t. But even if we were . . .” She didn’t want to lecture. Becca had been lectured enough in therapy. “It’s okay to argue. It’s even okay to fight as long as it’s a fair one and no one gets hurt.”

“Someone always gets hurt. You know that as well as I do,” Becca said, flipping open the top of the cigarette box she always carried. Sometimes it was empty. Sometimes it held an emergency cig. She dropped the butt inside.

Thea understood the need for the crutch. She’d had plenty of her own over the years. Just nothing that would give her a bad case of vocal fry or emphysema. “I used to sleep with him. Dakota. When we were in high school.”

Frowning, Becca asked, “Seriously?”

“We weren’t serious”—though she never had been sure if that was the truth—“and I haven’t seen him since”—and she was still reeling from that particular surprise—“but yeah. He was hot. I mean, you saw him. Get rid of some of that scruff and the crow’s-feet, and his shoulders weren’t quite as broad . . .”

Then again, Thea could pretty much take him just like he was, and oh, boy how that could get in the way of their working relationship.

Becca glanced over, her arms crossed, the hand holding the cigarette box tapping it against her elbow. “I didn’t really notice anything but how close he was standing to you. And how much bigger he is.”

Thea had noticed that, too. Dakota’s size. Dakota’s being so near. And strangely, she hadn’t hated either. Life with Todd had taught her to hate both. To brace against both.

But Dakota wasn’t and never had been Todd.

Plus, there was something about the shoulders and crow’s-feet and scruff that spoke to a very primitive part of her. And did so separately from her memories of their past.

She was really going to have to be careful about that. “His being bigger didn’t stop you.”

“I know, but—”

“No buts, Becca,” she said, moving closer. “You and I have had enough of the same training that you should know I can take care of myself.”

“And you and I swore on day one to have each other’s back,” Becca retorted, her gaze as sharp as her voice when it met Thea’s.

Thea sighed. “And I appreciate you more than you’ll ever know. I just hate the idea of you going through life thinking every man you meet is going to do you harm.”

Becca shook her head, returned the cigarette box to her pocket. “I’m pretty much batting a thousand in that regard.”

“No,” Thea said firmly. “You’re not. It may seem like it, but you’ve had quite a few good men looking out for you. Don’t paint them with the same brush as the few who treated you badly.”

“Badly?” Becca gave a snort, her eyes growing wide, big circles of white against her dark skin, before filling with tears. She swiped at them with her fingers. “Is that what we’re calling rape now? Is that what we’re calling being whipped like a cow or a horse or whatever animals cowboys use whips on?”

“Of course not,” Thea said, cringing. “And I’m sorry. I was thinking”—
and selfishly so
—“about Dakota and everything he’s gone through. I should’ve chosen my words more carefully.”

Becca sniffed, shrugged, scuffed the toe of her shoe against the concrete. “It’s no big deal.”

“Oh, sweetheart.” Thea took a step toward her friend, who was one of the strongest women she knew, then stopped. Becca wasn’t a hugger, and Thea had to respect her space. “It
is
a big deal. Hurting you, even inadvertently, is the last thing I ever want to do.”

“You didn’t. I overreacted. Again. Just now and”—she gave a nod toward the shop—“in there.”

The admission was more than Thea had hoped for, and she smiled, relieved. Reaching up to brush her bangs from her eyes, she said, “It’s been a while since you have.”

“I’m working on it.” One shrug. “I’ll get there.” A second.

“I know you will. And that’s because I did. And Ellie has, pretty much.
And Frannie will, too. Eventually.” Thea thought for a moment about the newest member of their household. “For the most part, anyway.”

Becca moved to lean against the rear of her car, an imported hatchback that had seen better days. “You seemed pretty cool with him. Dakota,” she added, as if trying out his name. “Even after, you know . . . Todd.”

Good to know. Because inside she’d been anything but. “He was always decent to me. We had a lot of fun together.” It was all true, though much more complicated, and she left it at that.

“You said he’s gone through some stuff?” Becca asked, the question casual, her tone of voice less so.

“I doubt he wants me talking about it.” Unlike Becca’s story, however, Dakota’s
was
public record. And with all Becca had been through, she deserved the truth about who she was working with. “But it’s not a secret that he spent three years in prison,” she said, adding, when Becca began to bristle, “for nearly beating to death the boy who’d sexually assaulted his sister.”

“Wow,” Becca said after a long and very still silence. “That’s intense.”

Thea nodded. “That past also has a whole lot to do with me trusting him, and his dealing with your arm at his throat the way he did.”

“Pretty sure I’d have done the same thing even if I’d known. That signal’s embedded and too strong to stop. But, yeah,” she said quickly when Thea began to frown. “I’m working on it.”

Time, Thea mused, for a big fat change of subject. “So what did you want to tell me earlier? When you came into the shop.”

And just like that Becca’s expression shuttered. “It doesn’t matter—”

Another strongly embedded signal: Becca’s feeling that she didn’t deserve to have anything go right, or anything that she wanted. “It matters. Becca. You were excited. I could tell. What is it?”

“I was excited for about five minutes,” Becca said with a huff, digging for the cigarette box before changing her mind. She pushed away from her car, her fingers laced on top of her head and flattening her hair. “Then I woke up.”

“Becca York. I swear—”

“Fine,” she said, swinging out her arms in an expansive gesture. “Peggy Butters told me she and her husband are retiring and selling the bakery. She asked if I’d be interested in buying it.”

“What?” Why in the world would Peggy do such a thing? It wasn’t malicious; Thea didn’t think the older woman had a mean bone in her body. But needlessly getting up Becca’s hopes? Even if just for the seconds it had taken Becca’s bubble to pop? Then again, Peggy wouldn’t have known that Becca—and Ellie and Frannie and even Thea—basically lived hand to mouth. No one but the women themselves knew that, or the reasons why.

Yes, Thea had money socked away—some she’d saved from her days waitressing at the upscale Austin restaurant where she’d met Todd; the rest was the money she’d taken from his safe and his bank account when she’d split—but it was money earmarked for the business. It had to be.

It was the business that would allow the women she helped to get back on their feet in an environment where they felt safe. And that’s what made the idea of another income stream so appealing. “I wonder what Callum would think, having Bread and Bean on both sides of Bliss.”

“She didn’t ask you,” Becca said, miffed. “She asked me.”

“Oh, I know.”
Me and my big mouth
. “I didn’t mean—”

“It doesn’t matter. None of it does.” Becca headed for the shop’s door and jerked it open. “I’ll never have anything of my own.”

“Becca,” Thea said, but it was too little too late. She’d screwed up because she hadn’t thought before speaking. It was the one thing she’d always been good at. Or at least according to Todd.

Seemed that hadn’t changed at all.

CHAPTER THREE

O
h, crap,” said the redhead who’d slammed into Lena Mining, causing Lena to grab Bliss’s sidewalk bistro table to keep from falling. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t see you.”

The woman had been standing in front of the window of the coffee shop next door as Lena walked by, and had obviously turned as Lena passed, knocking them both off balance. Lena bent to pick up the textbooks she’d dropped.

“Don’t worry about it,” she said, taking a nerve-settling breath. “You had your hands full.”

Pushing the big black frames of her hipster glasses into place, she smiled at Lena and pressed her hand to her chest. “But I should’ve been paying attention. It’s my fault. I’m so sorry.”

Lena set the books on the table and waved the hand still holding her phone, doing her best to be cool. It wasn’t easy, and the circumstances sucked, but whatever. She’d been hoping to meet this woman for weeks. Now not to screw it up. “I know better than to text and walk at the same time.”

The other woman leaned down to retrieve what looked like fabric swatches hooked in one corner on a ring. But it was the spools of thread rolling all the way to the front door of Bliss that had her groaning. “Crap. Just crap.”

She scuttled around, snatching up the little wheel-like runaways, the hems of her jeans too long and tattered because of the wear as they dragged the ground. Her hair, a mass of red waves that looked as if she’d slept in rag rollers, hung to the middle of her back.

“I think you got them all,” Lena said.

“I hope so. I’d hate for anybody to slip on one and fall.”

Lena, always the cynic, had assumed she was worried because she needed them for a project. “Are you making something?” And what a stupid question that was. Who walked around with spools of thread if they weren’t?

“Oh, no, I was double checking the thread against the fabric. How it will look from the shop’s interior, and from out here when the sun hits the window. I don’t want passersby to be put off by mismatched colors and not come in.”

For real? “I kind of doubt anyone will notice the thread.”

“I’ll notice,” she said with a completely beatific smile as a missed spool rolled toward her. She stopped it with the toe of a very tired-looking Birkenstock sandal. “And Frannie will notice. She’s the one making the curtains. I’m Ellie, by the way. Ellie Brass.”

“Lena Mining,” she finally said, still caught by the smile, her heart thudding.

“I know. You work at Bliss.” Ellie gestured behind her, her hair flying around her shoulders as she moved. It was nearly copper in the sun, and Lena, an old hand at hair color, knew it was real. It was also stunning. “I work next door. At Bread and Bean. Well, I don’t work there yet. When it’s open, I’ll be in the kitchen. I bake bread.”

It was a lot of information delivered in a quick rush of words. Lena wasn’t used to talking so much. She was the straight-and-to-the-point type. The less-is-more type. If she had her way, she’d be the completely silent type. She wondered if opposites really did attract. “Cool.”

“So . . . apologies again. And I guess I’ll be seeing you.” A tentative shrug. Nerves, maybe? “I mean, if you like bread. Or coffee.”

“Sure thing.” Hope Springs was a small town. It was hard not to see the people who worked nearby. “And I dig both.”

“I really like your hair, by the way,” Ellie said, waving the hand holding the spools. “I’ve always wanted to put color in mine. I mean, fun color. Not the color it is. Your pink and purple are great. Oh, and there’s blue, too. Really great.”

“Thanks,” Lena said, pretty sure she’d never had anyone compliment her hair. Comment on it, sure. And Callum joked when she changed it up. But not call it great. Never that. “I’m thinking of going with orange and green next time. Maybe some turquoise.”

“Yeah? Those colors will be perfect together. So tropical. And they’ll totally suit your complexion. Orange and green are both secondary colors. One is warm. One is cool. For the most part, anyway. It can vary depending on the shade, of course. I mean, emerald green isn’t the same as spruce.

“Here,” she said, digging through the fabrics draped over her forearm. “This is what we’re using for the shop’s curtains. It’s mostly brown, but the rusts and greens keep it from being overwhelming. Thea—she’s the shop’s owner—says it reminds her of the desert. I think it looks like a gorgeous fall day.”

Lena would’ve said it looked like an old couch, but she didn’t. Also, she was still wondering if the scars on Ellie’s forearm were cigarette burns because that was exactly what the puckered circles looked like. She struggled to find her voice. What the fuck was wrong with people?

“I can see that,” she finally said. “The fall thing. And the desert thing, too. Perspective, I guess.”

“That’s why it’s going to be perfect.” Ellie’s grin pulled at the corners of her mouth. “It can be interpreted so many ways.”

“Makes sense,” Lena said, pocketing her phone and reaching for her books. She hated to go, but she needed to get to work.

“What are you studying? If you don’t mind me asking.” Ellie rushed through the words as if she was afraid of Lena leaving her alone on the sidewalk. Or as if she hadn’t had anyone to talk to in too long and didn’t want to lose the connection.

Whatever it was, it made it even harder for Lena to leave. She wanted to keep talking, to have a cup of coffee or something, grab a burger and a beer. Not that Ellie seemed like the burger and beer type. “I’m taking a couple of business courses. Basic accounting stuff. I’m not so good with money. And my mom needs to do a better job keeping a record of her income and expenses. Seemed an easy enough way to help.”

Ellie nodded, her green eyes focused and bright above her nose that was as freckled as her bare shoulders. Her skin looked so soft. “What does your mom do? If you don’t mind me asking. Again.”

Lena came close to telling Ellie to ask her anything. “She’s a midwife.”

“Really? Here in Hope Springs? That is so cool.”

“I guess. But not in Hope Springs, no. I mean, we live near Kyle . . . or she lives near Kyle.” She was going to blow this if she didn’t get a grip. “I just moved not long ago. But she works anywhere and everywhere she’s needed.”

Another nod, and another question. “You weren’t drawn to follow in her footsteps?”

That made Lena want to laugh, though not at Ellie. Just at the thought. “I’m not much for getting that close to people.”
Isn’t it obvious?
“I do better from behind a counter.”

“Or a chair?”

Lena looked down, completely unaware that she’d moved, and in doing so had put one of the bistro table’s chairs between herself and the other woman. Idiot. She was so screwed. “Sorry about that.”

“It’s okay,” Ellie said with a laugh. “I don’t take very many things personally.”

“It wasn’t meant personally,” Lena said, thinking the remark strange . . . or not, considering first impressions and all that.

Ellie went on, picking up the conversation as if the interlude hadn’t happened at all. “I guess you’re close to your mother then. If you’re taking classes for her instead of for yourself?”

“I figure a business education’s not a bad thing to have. It’s pretty versatile.”

“If you like business, sure.” Finally stuffing the spools of thread into her pocket, Ellie shrugged. “Do you?

“I like it more than unemployment.” But a whole lot less than setting up the animal shelter she’d been planning for a while now. She’d get around to doing for herself later. After doing for her mom. If the shelter ever saw the light of day, it would be because her mom had kept her alive to make it happen. “Peggy Butters asked me if I’d want to buy her out. Take over the bakery next door. I guess she and her husband are retiring. I figure the classes would help with that.”

Ellie’s smile, when she spoke, was soft, though it also seemed to be . . . disappointed maybe? As if somehow Lena had let her down? “Are you going to?”

“I haven’t really thought about it yet.” Desserts weren’t really her thing. And the classes would be just as helpful getting the shelter up and running.

“Well, good luck if you do.” Ellie backed a step away, raising one hand in a tentative wave. “I’m sorry for keeping you. And for bugging you. And for bumping into you.”

“You’re not bugging me, and the bump was nothing. But I do need to get to work,” she said, turning to go, hating to go.

“It was nice to meet you, Lena Mining.”

“And you,” Lena said, silently adding
Ellie Brass
.

Becca wasn’t sure why she let herself get her hopes up about anything anymore. She, more than anyone, should know better. It was almost as if once she’d left the Fort Worth hospital for the shelter in Austin where she’d met Thea, she’d forgotten every life lesson she’d ever learned.

Do not expect things to go your way.
That was the most important one.

Of course, she couldn’t say that to Thea. Or to Ellie, really, who was as fragile as she was strong. Thea was a big proponent of not looking back, though Becca wasn’t sure the other woman practiced what she preached to any of the women living in the house on Dragon Fire Hill.

Still, Becca had promised to do her best to move on from the abuse she’d gone through. At least her physical scars were on her back, where she couldn’t see them. Ellie had to look at hers every day. Yet Becca had to give it to her. Though she chose them occasionally, Ellie had given up always wearing long sleeves.

Becca wasn’t sure she would’ve been that brave. The idea of being faced with that visual reminder every day . . . Oh, who was she kidding? She didn’t have to see her scars to remember.

At the sound of the front door opening, she pushed aside the thoughts and looked up from the plans for the barista station, glancing at Ellie as she shut it and collapsed back against it. “What happened to you? You’re all flushed.”

“I’m all embarrassed, is what I am. Humiliated.” Ellie closed her eyes and waved a hand in front of her face like a fan. “Mortified. Absolutely, ridiculously mortified.”

Hmm. Ellie Brass’s personality defined mood swings, but Becca couldn’t remember ever seeing the other woman so fully flustered. All over the place, sure. Up one minute, down the next, yep. But embarrassment was not in Ellie’s repertoire. “Ellie. Spill.”

“I ran into the woman who works at Bliss,” Ellie said, pushing off the door and adjusting her glasses. “Like literally.” She crossed to the table set up with the espresso machine and unloaded several spools of thread from her pocket. “Like some movie meet-cute, but it wasn’t cute at all. She dropped a big stack of books, though thank God she held on to her phone, and I dropped my swatches and thread. Spools everywhere. Rollin’, rollin’, rollin’.” Ellie frowned as she added the fabric to the pile. “Isn’t that a song?”

Becca nodded. “
Rawhide
. A TV western from the early sixties. Clint Eastwood starred as Rowdy Yates.”

Ellie stopped what she was doing to consider Becca curiously. “How in the world do you know that?”

Becca rolled her eyes and went back to looking at the blueprint Thea had tacked to the wall. “You have to ask?”

“Right. Thea and her retro shows.”

Which was probably why they were all living in a house that would’ve suited the Waltons, another show she only knew about because of Thea’s obsession. Not that Becca was complaining. Besides, she had a feeling Thea’s choice of entertainment had a lot to do with the past being a lot simpler than the present. “So you ran into the woman next door and . . . what happened exactly? Besides both of you dropping things?”

Ellie leaned against the wall beside the blueprint, her hands at her back, her head rolling to the side on her shoulders. She met Becca’s gaze with a fanciful smile. “Do you believe in love at first sight?”

Good grief. Was the woman never going to learn? Becca shoved a hand at her hip and turned to face her friend. “Ellie—”

“I know. I know. It’s not love. It’s not even infatuation.” She pushed away from the wall and crossed to the front windows, peering out through the Kraft paper’s loose edge. “Or maybe it is infatuation. I mean, I don’t know her. I just met her—”

“Who is her?” Obviously the woman who worked at Bliss, but Becca needed more.

“Her name is Lena Mining. She’s taking some business classes to help her mother who’s a midwife. She’s got chunks of pink and blue and purple color in her hair, and three rings in one eyebrow, and she was so nice to me, Becca,” Ellie said, coming back. “I ran smack into her, and she dropped her books, and she didn’t yell or call me stupid or anything.”

“Most people don’t, you know. Most people are pretty nice.”

The words settled between them, and it took a second, but Becca felt the stirrings of a smile, then Ellie chuckled, then both women laughed. The idea of Becca lecturing anyone, but especially Ellie, about the nature of people was absolutely ridiculous. The two of them knew more about what people were capable of than anyone should ever have to.

“It was weird, though,” Ellie finally said. “We started talking about her mom, and she moved to stand behind one of the chairs outside on the sidewalk. I don’t know if it meant anything. She obviously didn’t know she’d done it.”