Chapter Eight
Maureen
The past week had been uneventful. King offered to let a few of his men help me get my room together for me to move in.
I declined. If he didn’t mind me staying at the clubhouse until after Thanksgiving, then I wanted to do it myself.
I did promise I would ask for help if I needed it.
So far, I was doing fine. I’d painted the walls, replaced the trim, and stripped the floors. Tomorrow was Thanksgiving, so I decided not to work on the house today.
Instead, I was helping the old ladies in the kitchen.
Thanksgiving was always a big deal back home. Dinners had dozens of family stopping by throughout the day.
Cooking a large meal was my forte.
“Do you think six turkeys are enough?” Ellie asked.
She was a sweet girl, recently married to one of the brothers, who coincidently, was also new to the club. I had gotten bits and pieces of their story. It was quite interesting.
“Six is plenty. There are dozens of sides we are making today, plus Abby and Evie are bringing more tomorrow,” Rachel said.
“Not to mention the pies.” Sam sighed.
Sam was wonderful. I really liked her. She actually reminded me a lot of Kara. She was friendly, but strong. The men respected her and were entranced by her. One young man in particular called her ‘Momma.’
I knew she wasn’t actually his mom. They couldn’t have been more than a handful of years apart.
Still, she mothered him. Maybe that was what he needed.
I’d always wanted more children. But after Colleen was born, I hemorrhaged. Duane was so scared, he refused to have more. It was the only thing we ever really fought about. My parents had groomed me to be a wife and mother throughout my childhood. And I was, don’t get me wrong. But when Colleen moved out on her own, I felt empty. I guess that’s why they called it the empty nest.
My nest was empty, with no hope of filling it again.
“Lily, how are you coming with those crusts?” Brandy, one of the girls who lived here at the club, asked.
“Almost done. I have fifteen bottom crusts done. Once they get filled, I will know how many top crusts I will need to make.”
“Abby is bringing six more pies tomorrow, and her famous chocolate cake,” Ellie added.
“How many cakes?” Rachel asked.
She had a hopeful expression on her face.
“Four.” Ellie laughed when Rachel’s shoulders dropped in relief.
“Good, maybe I can squirrel away a piece or two.” Rachel smirked as she sat peeling potatoes.
I was opening cans of green beans, making five pans of green bean casserole. I had never been in charge of only one dish before.
It was nice.
“I have to say, I am amazed at the way you all work together. Back home, the women all want to make the same things to prove who makes it best,” I admitted, shaking my head.
Dealing with Mob wives was exhausting. Especially the soldiers’ wives. Their men weren’t important enough to be close to the boss, so the women always tried to make an impression, even if it was on their backs.
“Oh God, could you imagine us all trying to make the same thing? We would all have to eat salad, because that’s the only thing Crystal can make,” Tiffany said with a laugh.
“Hey! I can make other things. Besides, food is not what the guys ask me for when they want to eat.”
Ewe. My nose scrunched up at her implication.
Sam saw my face and whispered, “Crystal is all talk. Don’t listen to her.”
Before I could answer, a few of the guys walked in; Micah being one of them. I still wasn’t used to thinking of him as Micah, but honestly, I wasn’t quite used to the thought of him being alive, either.
Maybe it would help if I thought of him as a new person.
I looked over at him and saw Eduardo, but the way his eyes softened as he gathered Beck in his arms, he looked just like Kara.
“What are you doing in here? You know the rules, Micah.” Beck whimpered as he buried his face in her neck.
Young love.
It was always beautiful. I hoped one day, Colleen would find someone that would love her the way Micah loved Beck.
The way her father had loved me.
“Out! All of you!” Rachel shouted. “We don’t need you in here, distracting us.”
I saw her wince as she shooed them out the door.
“Are you ok, Rachel?”
“Just a little headache.”
“Another one? You have been getting those a lot,” Beck said, watching her friend.
“It’s just the change in the weather. Barometric pressure or something,” she waved off their concerns, but it looked like it could be the beginning of a migraine.
“Why don’t you take a break and go lie down? I can finish the potatoes,” I offered.
“No, I’m fine.” She grimaced, closing her eyes again.
“Maureen is right; go lie down for a bit. We have this handled,” Amber said, looking at Rachel with her eyebrow raised. “I’ll call Cash if I have to.”
“Fine,” she huffed. “But only for a little bit. I’m not leaving you all here to do everything.”
“Yea, ’cause with one less person, everything will go to shit,” Beck scoffed, as another woman walked in. “Oh look, your replacement.”
“What’s going on?” the woman asked.
“Rachel has a headache, so we are sending her to bed. You can take her place peeling potatoes,” Sam explained.
“Of course. Go lie down, Rach.”
“I’m going. Thanks, everyone.” Rachel left the kitchen as the woman looked at me.
“Hi, I’m Grace. We haven’t met.”
“Maureen.”
“Oh. Hi,” she said, her tone changing immediately.
Then she sat in the chair Rachel vacated and took over where she had left off.
Ok, that was strange. That was the chilliest greeting I’d gotten since moving to Diamond Creek last week. Not counting the sheriff. Even after finding out who I was, Micah had been wonderful. I didn’t know what I could have done to this woman.
Sam looked over at me with sympathy. I returned her gaze with a questioning one. She just shook her head as if to say, it isn’t you. So I left it alone.
Once everything was prepared and ready to be finished off tomorrow, we all gathered in the main room. I thought about just going up to my room, but decided maybe I should make an effort, if I was going to stay in Diamond Creek after all.
I sat at the bar, alone.
“Hello, darlin’.”
“Hey, King.”
“Why are you sitting here alone? The girls are all over there.” He tipped his head toward the couches. The young man behind the bar dropped off a glass of whiskey, setting it down in front of King,
“I just needed some time to myself.”
I wouldn’t tell him the truth.
I didn’t fit in here. The women were all considerably younger than me. The truth was, they were all young enough to be my daughters.
I didn’t fit in here, but I was stuck.
“How are things coming with the house?” King asked.
“Good. The bedroom is almost done. I just need to finish the floors, and then I can put together the furniture that is stacked up in the living room.”
“You know if you need any help—”
“Thank you. If I find myself unable to do something, you will be the first one I call,” I promised.
I looked across the room at the women and saw Grace watching us. Her eyes dancing between King and me.
I didn’t miss the frown that marred her beautiful face.
“There something going on with you two?” I asked, tipping my head in Grace’s direction.
“Nah.” He emptied his glass and lifted it toward the young man, who rushed to fill it.
“Why not? You obviously want her, and from the daggers she is sending over here, I’d say she wants you, too,” I pointed out.
Sam had pulled me aside and gave me the scoop on Grace and King.
“Is it the age thing?”
King gazed across the room at Grace. She sat in the middle, among the group of women. To anyone looking, he could have been watching any of them. But I saw the look in his eyes as they drank her in.
“The age gap isn’t a big deal. It’s ten years, but not an issue.”
“Then what is the issue?” I wondered.
“Her father.” He sighed, then stood up. “Don’t hide from everyone, Maureen. If you’re gonna live in Diamond Creek, you gotta get to know the people,” he said, knocking his knuckles on the bar twice before walking away.
I knew he was right. But there was always tomorrow.
I finished my drink and headed upstairs to bed.
Thanksgiving dawned bright and early. It was like my body knew what day it was. After almost thirty years of getting up at the crack of dawn to put the turkey in, I was awake, regardless of whether I wanted to be.
Knowing I wouldn’t get back to sleep, I climbed out of bed and stepped into the shower.
Once I was dressed, I went downstairs.
It was quiet when I stepped into the kitchen. I started by filling the big thirty cup coffeepot on the counter and then opened the fridge. There were plenty of items to make breakfast, but I had a feeling it would be a few more hours before anyone came down.
Walking to the pantry, I scanned the shelves and found everything I needed to make cinnamon rolls. It would keep me busy while I waited for the clubhouse to wake up, and what better way to show my gratitude for being allowed to stay here than with some pastry.
Forty-five minutes later, I had three bowls covered with towels, waiting for the dough to rise. I sat at the table, drinking a cup of coffee, and thought about everything that had happened in the past week.
I didn’t have the best introduction to Nebraska. I had yet to really meet anyone outside of the club. Maybe it was nerves. The reception here was 50/50. Who knew what it would be like in town?
Once my bedroom was done and I could be in my own space, I would venture into town and start getting to know the residents.
“Mornin’.”
I looked up at the man that walked in. He was handsome, of course; they all were. He wasn’t quite as tall as the others, but he wasn’t short. I would have guessed he was maybe five foot ten or eleven.
“Morning.”
“What’s this?” he asked, his eyes on the bowls.
“Well, I’ve been up for a while. I didn’t think anyone would be up for a few more hours, so I thought I would make some cinnamon rolls.”
He snapped his head in my direction. “You made cinnamon rolls?”
“Yea,” I said hesitantly.
“You use a recipe?”
“No, I’ve been making them since I was a kid. It’s second nature now.”
“Marry me!” he begged.
I laughed at the sincerity in his expression. “How old are you?”
“What does age matter?”
“How old?” I asked again.
“Thirty-two.”
“I am old enough to be your mother,” I told him, standing from my seat and walking to the sink. I rinsed my cup and set it on the counter beside the sink.
I spread flour out on the counter and grabbed the first bowl, dumping the dough on the counter. I proceeded to knead the dough and rolled it out flat while the young man in the kitchen with me tried to convince me of all the reasons we would make a great couple.
“Young guys have more stamina,” he said, and I stopped to look at him.
“Really? That’s what you are starting with?” I shook my head and continued what I was doing.
“Hey, that’s an important aspect. That, and my recovery time is only ten minutes. There’s a lot I can do in that ten minutes while we wait.” He wiggled his eyebrows up and down at me, and all I could do was laugh.
“I don’t even know your name,” I said, as I sprinkled the cinnamon and sugar mixture over the dough.
“Hash.”
“Really?”
“Yea, well, I’m the cook,” he said with a shrug.
“It has nothing to do with smoking?”
When he hung his head, I laughed.
Yeah, I had a feeling it was more than just him being the cook.
“How about I teach you how to make them instead?”
“Nah, I don’t have the patience for baking. I could pay you to make them, though,” he said with a hopeful glint in his eyes.
“You don’t even know if they’re any good.”
“You bake without a recipe. If they weren’t good, you wouldn’t keep making them.”
“You might have a point there.”
Hash and I spent the next hour talking and getting breakfast ready, as everyone slowly made their way downstairs. Once breakfast was cleaned up, I helped the girls with the final touches needed to have a wonderful Thanksgiving meal.
The day would have been enjoyable, had it not been for the sheriff.