washed over Libby.
Julie immediately maneuvered her toward the kitchen, where they could talk with some semblance of privacy.
“Gordon followed up his e-mail with a phone call,” she said, in a desperate whisper. “He’s willing to take things slowly, but he definitely wants to get to know Calvin.”
“Okay,” Libby said. “What are you going to do?”
“Hide,” Julie responded. “Calvin and Harry and I are going to hit the road. We’ll be gone for as long as we have to—”
Libby held up both hands. “Julie! Are you listening to yourself? This is not something you can run away from. Besides, you have a house and a job and friends and—” she paused to clear her throat “— family in Blue River. Shouldn’t you at least hear Gordon out?”
“Did Gordon hear me out when I told him I was expecting his baby?” Julie demanded, though she was careful to keep her voice down so Calvin wouldn’t hear.
Libby knew there was no way to win this argument. Julie was just venting, anyway. “Did you hear about Pablo Ruiz?” Libby asked.
Julie’s eyes widened. “No. What—?”
“He’s dead, Jules. There was some kind of accident, yesterday or last night, on the Silver Spur—”
Julie gasped. “Not Pablo,” she said, splaying the fingers of her right hand and pressing the palm to her heart.
Libby nodded sadly. “He was so proud of Mercedes,” she whispered. Pablo and Isabel’s only daughter would graduate from medical school in Boston in just a few weeks. She’d already been accepted into the internship program at Johns Hopkins: eventually, Mercedes wanted to become a surgeon.
Julie nodded, dashed at her wet eyes with the back of one floury hand, leaving white, sticky smudges on her cheek. “Do you remember how Pablo came and mowed our lawn every week, after Dad got too sick to leave the house?”
Libby did remember, of course, and she might have broken down and cried herself, if Calvin hadn’t yelled, at that precise moment, “I see one! I see a customer!”
Pablo’s smiling face lingered in Libby’s mind. She’d tried to pay him once, for taking care of the yard, and he’d refused with a shake of his head and a quiet, heavily accented, “Friends help friends. Mr. Remington, he helped our Mercedes with her schoolwork. Nico, too, when he was applying for scholarships. It is a privilege to do what little I can. “
“The scones!” Julie blurted out, suddenly remembering that they were done, and rushed to pull a baking sheet from the oven.
Despite an almost overwhelming sense of loss, there waswork to be done. Libby straightened her shoulders and headed for the espresso machine again.
The customer Calvin had announced turned out to be Tate McKettrick, and he looked, as the old-timers liked to say, as if he’d been dragged backward through a knothole in the outhouse wall.
“I’m so sorry about Pablo,” Libby said, wanting to go to him, take him in her arms, but uncertain of the reception she’d get if she did. The old sparks were definitely back, but she and Tate were older now and things were different. They had adult responsibilities—the shop for her, the children for Tate.
He was pale, he hadn’t shaved—which only made him more attractive, in Libby’s opinion—and his clothes, the same ones he’d worn the night before at supper, looked rumpled. What was he doing here, in the Perk Up, on the morning after he’d lost a dear friend and long-time employee?
He acknowledged her words of condolence with a nod. Shoved a hand through his hair. “It’s either strong coffee,” he said, “or a fifth of Jack Daniels. I figured the coffee would be a better choice.”
“Sit down,” Libby said, indicating the stools in front of the counter. “Where are the girls, Tate?”
He sat. Rested his forearms on the countertop. “With Esperanza. I haven’t told them about Pablo yet—but of course they know something’s going on…”
Calvin hurried over. “We’re getting a
Julie immediately maneuvered her toward the kitchen, where they could talk with some semblance of privacy.
“Gordon followed up his e-mail with a phone call,” she said, in a desperate whisper. “He’s willing to take things slowly, but he definitely wants to get to know Calvin.”
“Okay,” Libby said. “What are you going to do?”
“Hide,” Julie responded. “Calvin and Harry and I are going to hit the road. We’ll be gone for as long as we have to—”
Libby held up both hands. “Julie! Are you listening to yourself? This is not something you can run away from. Besides, you have a house and a job and friends and—” she paused to clear her throat “— family in Blue River. Shouldn’t you at least hear Gordon out?”
“Did Gordon hear me out when I told him I was expecting his baby?” Julie demanded, though she was careful to keep her voice down so Calvin wouldn’t hear.
Libby knew there was no way to win this argument. Julie was just venting, anyway. “Did you hear about Pablo Ruiz?” Libby asked.
Julie’s eyes widened. “No. What—?”
“He’s dead, Jules. There was some kind of accident, yesterday or last night, on the Silver Spur—”
Julie gasped. “Not Pablo,” she said, splaying the fingers of her right hand and pressing the palm to her heart.
Libby nodded sadly. “He was so proud of Mercedes,” she whispered. Pablo and Isabel’s only daughter would graduate from medical school in Boston in just a few weeks. She’d already been accepted into the internship program at Johns Hopkins: eventually, Mercedes wanted to become a surgeon.
Julie nodded, dashed at her wet eyes with the back of one floury hand, leaving white, sticky smudges on her cheek. “Do you remember how Pablo came and mowed our lawn every week, after Dad got too sick to leave the house?”
Libby did remember, of course, and she might have broken down and cried herself, if Calvin hadn’t yelled, at that precise moment, “I see one! I see a customer!”
Pablo’s smiling face lingered in Libby’s mind. She’d tried to pay him once, for taking care of the yard, and he’d refused with a shake of his head and a quiet, heavily accented, “Friends help friends. Mr. Remington, he helped our Mercedes with her schoolwork. Nico, too, when he was applying for scholarships. It is a privilege to do what little I can. “
“The scones!” Julie blurted out, suddenly remembering that they were done, and rushed to pull a baking sheet from the oven.
Despite an almost overwhelming sense of loss, there waswork to be done. Libby straightened her shoulders and headed for the espresso machine again.
The customer Calvin had announced turned out to be Tate McKettrick, and he looked, as the old-timers liked to say, as if he’d been dragged backward through a knothole in the outhouse wall.
“I’m so sorry about Pablo,” Libby said, wanting to go to him, take him in her arms, but uncertain of the reception she’d get if she did. The old sparks were definitely back, but she and Tate were older now and things were different. They had adult responsibilities—the shop for her, the children for Tate.
He was pale, he hadn’t shaved—which only made him more attractive, in Libby’s opinion—and his clothes, the same ones he’d worn the night before at supper, looked rumpled. What was he doing here, in the Perk Up, on the morning after he’d lost a dear friend and long-time employee?
He acknowledged her words of condolence with a nod. Shoved a hand through his hair. “It’s either strong coffee,” he said, “or a fifth of Jack Daniels. I figured the coffee would be a better choice.”
“Sit down,” Libby said, indicating the stools in front of the counter. “Where are the girls, Tate?”
He sat. Rested his forearms on the countertop. “With Esperanza. I haven’t told them about Pablo yet—but of course they know something’s going on…”
Calvin hurried over. “We’re getting a
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