Chapter Ten
“This is the best coffee I have had since I got here.”
Liz put her mug down and shook her head. “It’s just diner coffee. But, yeah, this is the best in town. We don’t have a Tim Hortons in Brightside yet. One’s comin’, apparently, out on the highway.”
“Am I able to buy beans at the local grocery store?” he asked, and drained his mug, a sigh escaping him as he did.
“What for?” she asked, curious.
“In that mess of boxes is my Breville coffee maker. My friend sent me everything, even the furniture I put into storage when I sold my condo. I think he misunderstood what I meant,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck in frustration.
“I just spent six hundred dollars to bring my entire life here, by express courier.”
Liz blinked. That was a generous friend, because six hundred dollars was more than her grocery bill for a month.
“That is . . . wow,” she said, deciding to ignore the price tag for a moment. “We can set yours up, I suppose. We have a great one in the kitchen at the big house. Mom loves it, and there’s a grinder at the store.”
“Mine grinds the beans fresh, does espresso, has a milk steamer and all that,” he replied sheepishly. “A little fancier than your mom’s carafe brewer. It’s called the Oracle.”
“The Oracle,” Liz repeated. That sounded exactly like something a top chef would own. But if it did espresso, her mother was going to be over the moon. That old Cuisinart would be as good as gone when she found out. Her mom loved fancy coffees.
She remembered when they had done a day trip into the city and had stopped for a coffee at the café in the mall. Liz had hated hers—it tasted burnt—but her mother had been in ecstasy, her frouffy, whipped cream–covered drink wafting caramel and calories as she sipped.
“My mom will love that. Once you set it up and teach her how to use it, it won’t be yours anymore,” she said, chuckling.
“I like your mom. She has fire in her.” Jake laughed as well. “When did she find out about her arthritis?”
Liz frowned. That word. For a long time it had dampened her mom’s spirit. Thank god for Brett and his health plan, but now . . .
“About five years ago. She was in pain, had swollen joints, it would come and go. There were days she couldn’t eat and the dizziness would incapacitate her.
We took her into the doctor and after a whole set of tests, they told her it was rheumatoid arthritis.
Nothing really you can do. She has these strong prescription painkillers, but she says they hurt her stomach, so often she just sleeps through a flare-up. ”
“Did you look into her diet?” Jake asked, picking up the saltshaker on the table and turning it absently.
“Not really. I mean, food is food, right?” she replied.
She watched his hands. They were strong but had none of the weathered creases and callouses most men she knew had by the time they were in their thirties.
Despite the conversation topic, her mind wandered to what they would feel like running over skin, the palms smooth instead of rough.
She took a sip of coffee to ward off that particular line of thought. Where had that come from?
“Well, let me dig up some info online about inflammation and trigger foods. I think if your mom adjusts her diet, she might have flare-ups less frequently. One of my patrons in my last restaurant, he had lupus, and he and I used to have long conversations about his diet and how he effectively shut the disease down by avoiding certain food. I’d make up special dishes for him to try based on that. He said it helped.”
He was being way too nice. Liz narrowed her eyes. “Why?” she asked, suddenly annoyed both at herself for doubting him and because he seemed to be too good to be true. “Why are you so nice to us and helping us when—”
Jake straightened, looking her in the eye. It was one thing to be ungrateful, she realized, but another to voice it.
“Liz, I know you should resent me,” he said quietly, and folded his hands in front of his mug. “You don’t know me. I’m a stranger. I don’t belong here, and I’ll be gone when you get this all sorted out.”
Liz kept her eyes on his hands, not his face, because she didn’t want to see how her very personal question had affected him. “In your shoes, I would be so pissed off at everyone. I’m betting your temper can match Tanner’s, and you’ve been so tolerant, and helpful, and really great.”
She dared look up as he hmmed under his breath, and set her coffee cup aside.
Their eyes met again. She could see sadness in them.
He had a life story she didn’t know, apart from the snippets he had given out over the past couple of days.
She wondered how hard it had been for him.
How differently from his brothers he had grown up.
She understood growing up without a dad, but he never even got a chance, leaving here when he was so young.
She had a father she’d known, even if he was terrible.
“I can’t be mad at anyone, really. It isn’t Tanner’s fault or Brady’s. I can’t blame your mom, or you, even. My . . . Brett’s decision to mess around with the lives of his children wasn’t your doing.”
“But he’s taken you away from your life in New York. Your family, your job—”
“Don’t have either there. Not currently,” he replied, interrupting her. He looked away, out the window, squinting. “I sold my restaurant, signed my divorce papers, and I don’t know where my mom is right now.”
“Friends?” she asked. There had to be something.
“Yeah, friends of course,” he said and let out a frustrated breath. “Aside from that, not even my stuff is there now, since it’s all in the back of your horse trailer. I intend to regroup once I get home.” His voice was clipped and tense. Shit.
“So, you’ll open another restaurant once you go back?” she asked, hoping to change the direction of their conversation to something he’d want to talk about.
“Don’t know yet. Not as easy as you’d think.”
“Oh,” she said. That answer sounded like a lot of baggage, literally and figuratively.
He seemed to be a stable, intelligent guy who was nice to boot, so what was the catch?
There had to be one. Guys like him always had one.
Doubt crept in, the suspicious side of her nature getting the better of her.
Why wasn’t he fighting mad to get this situation cleared up and get himself back to his own world?
He’d said he wanted no part in the ranch, but what if he did?
What if his mind changed, prizing the financial gain to be had in hanging on long enough to sell the place and get out, doing exactly what Tanner expected him to do?
The terrible thought of developers carving up the land, or worse, a big operation coming in and bulldozing the century barns for a massive feedlot was horrifying to think.
“So, maybe the ranch could seed your next one? I mean, it is yours. You could sell it, once you can. Big payday in that,” she blurted before she could stop herself, the words sounding much worse spoken than in her head. She put her hand over her mouth, wincing.
Jake sucked in a breath and his face went hard. She shouldn’t have said that and poked the bear. Her mouth had gotten her into trouble, yet again.
“Is that what you think? That I could just up and pull it out from under Tanner and Brady? Leave you and your mother in the lurch? I’ve already said I won’t,” he snapped, and stood, signaling to the waitress for the bill.
“No, no, I—” she spoke quickly. “I—”
“Listen, Liz. I don’t want to be here. As soon as we can get this fucking ridiculous will figured out, I’ll be out of your hair. The West legacy is intact. I’m not that kind of man.”
“Jake, please stop, just—” she pleaded, but his eyes shot angrily to her, and he flipped out an American twenty, slamming it on the table before the waitress could actually deliver the bill he’d asked for.
He stormed out as she stood, hat in her hand, immediately angry at herself.
He’d never once given her any inkling he would do that, and with one impulsive thought, she’d accused him of it.
“Sorry, Jenny, see you later,” she mumbled.
Jenny gathered up the cash with a surprised face, her eyes following Jake. “You want change, Liz?” she asked, but Liz just kept walking and followed Jake out the door, embarrassed to her toes.
Jake was standing by the truck, his back tense, his shoulders around his ears, arms folded. Liz had the oddly timed thought that she needed to get him a hat or he was going to burn if he was going to stay out here much longer. If he did now, because of her stupidity.
“I’m sorry,” she said, and he turned his head toward her. He sighed and shoved his hands in his pockets.
“Anywhere else you need to go?” he asked brusquely, and walked around to the passenger side of the truck, getting in, scowl firmly planted along with his sunglasses. So much for comfortable.
“Fuck,” she whispered, and got into the truck. She wanted to apologize again, but part of her wasn’t willing to put out the effort if he was going to brush her off.
* * *
Liz dropped Jake at the office so he could deliver the paperwork and talk to Tanner, telling him she’d drop the trailer with his stuff up at the house.
He nodded silently and strode off, folder under his arm, shoulders still jacked up to his ears.
She turned and drove over to the garage at the main house, backing the trailer up to one of the bays.
She switched off the engine and sat for a moment, forehead on the steering wheel, attempting to shake off the tension.
The past few days had been strange, and that drive had taken the cake.
Silence all the way home, just the radio playing.
He was as sensitive and hair-triggered as his brother, but instead of being able to weather it like she could with Tanner, she was hypersensitive to Jake’s mood. Probably because she didn’t know him.