He hadn’t thought he’d see Laurel in the Town Hall. Tripp expected that she’d eat lunch at home with Mr. Sam and Jeremy. Maybe even fix them something nutritious, and California like a good old-fashioned sprout sandwich with a side of tofu.
So seeing her eating a bacon cheeseburger was a surprise. The smile she gave Tripp in greeting was a relief. He still wasn’t sure if he’d offended her with that kiss goodnight. If she’d been offended then, it had definitely faded by now, judging from the warmth of that smile. She waved them over to the booth. How could anybody still look that elegant while eating a drippy cheeseburger? Yet Laurel could pull it off.
“Hey, come on over. If you aren’t politically opposed to my lunch, that is.”
“And as long as I sit as far away from it as possible, I’m okay,” Ashleigh assured her.
“So you won’t be reminded that it had a face?” Laurel crinkled up her nose.
“So I won’t be reminded how good the bacon smells. I don’t like killing animals for food, but I sure miss the smell of bacon.”
His daughter’s comment took Tripp by surprise. He watched her slide into the vacant side of the booth, leaving him to sit on the outside, directly across from Laurel.
They ordered quickly from a waitress who didn’t look much older than Ashleigh. His daughter probably didn’t approve of Tripp’s choice of grilled ham and cheese, but he hoped the salad he ordered alongside his sandwich would mollify her.
Ashleigh sighed as the waitress left. “I was counting on you to back me up here, Laurel. But you let me down.”
She shrugged, looking at her cheeseburger. “I know, Ash. I’m usually with you on the vegetarian issue, but about once a month I go real carnivorous. I don’t know what that’s about, but I tend to listen to my body on those occasions, even though it’s probably a reminder of my animal nature. Did you ever notice that before Adam and Eve left the garden, the Bible doesn’t talk about people eating other animals? Just plants and fruit from trees.”
“Whoa. Never caught on to that before. Of course, I don’t read the Bible much.”
Tripp nearly did a double take on that one, too. As far as he knew, Ashleigh had never read the Bible, period. He wasn’t even sure that she owned one. But he sensed now was not the time to bring that up.
Laurel grimaced. “Jeremy’s the same way. I can’t get him real interested, even in one of those teen study editions. I figure if I leave enough of them around in the coffee house, maybe I can snag him and a few others, as well.”
Tripp’s ears perked up. “Coffee house? What coffee house?”
“I made a decision to open a business. You’re looking at the owner of Friedens’ newest retail establishment.”
Tripp felt the back of his neck prickle. “Don’t tell me you’re Wings & Wheels?”
“Guilty as charged. It’s actually Sam’s corporation, left over from some of his screenwriting projects that went to charity. I was a corporate officer and took it over after he died. Yesterday my friend Gina convinced me that a coffee house in Friedens, Missouri, was enough of a charity project to interest the corporation.”
“Hooray for Gina. Remind me to thank her in person next time I see her.”
“Not likely to happen soon. She lives in California.”
“That’s probably healthier for her. So you’re the one that bought my building and will turn my life upside down.” His appetite was fading fast.
“Yes, I bought the building. Didn’t know it was your building until after I’d bought it. Gloria didn’t fill me in on that part right away—just that it had a good, stable tenant upstairs. And I promise we won’t make much noise. I intend to have a clientele with an eleven o’clock curfew, maximum.”
“And that’s supposed to calm me down?” Tripp was aware he sounded like a grumpy old man. “I went into that building thinking the bottom floor would be vacant for good. Maybe something like an antique store or a quilt supplies shop would go in.”
“Sorry. There’s already an abundance of antique stores in town. And you should see my one attempt at fancy sewing. It wasn’t pretty.”
Ashleigh stifled a giggle. “You should hear what Grandma Pearl said about my pillow from consumer ed class. She liked my cookies, though. Of course they were the kind you didn’t have to bake. Just stir up melted stuff like peanut butter and chocolate chips.”
“I could go for some of those some time. Think you could make a batch for me?”
“Sure. I’ve got the recipe someplace. It’s probably in my backpack with the rest of the school stuff I haven’t taken out of there.”
Was Tripp hearing correctly? His daughter was offering to unpack something?
His temper cooled down a little. Having a coffee house under his apartment was still a lousy idea. But if a byproduct of Laurel’s crazy scheme was getting his daughter interested in something in Friedens, maybe it wouldn’t be all bad. At least, it would be something to ease his troubled mind when Laurel’s clientele got on his nerves.
“So tell me about who this coffee house is going to serve. Since you said they’d have a curfew, I have to gather it isn’t the same crowd that hangs out at the Town Hall.”
“Not exactly. I have to admit that at least half my desire to have a coffee house is fueled by my own selfish need for a good cup of cappuccino. Gina’s arranging for my equipment to be shipped, and it’s store quality.”
Tripp hoped he wasn’t gaping. “You’re kidding. You didn’t have to go out and buy stuff to start a coffee house? Where did you put all that stuff in California?”
“Well, let’s just say our house had an interesting wall between the family room and the kitchen.” Laurel looked sheepish. “But I have an ulterior motive in terms of whom I hope to attract to the place. I’ve noticed there’s precious little to do in Friedens if you’re under twenty-one.”
“If you haven’t noticed, there isn’t much to do if you’re over twenty-one and don’t want to hang out someplace with beer and pool tables.” Tripp was aware that he sounded even older and grumpier than before.
“Right. But the teens don’t even have an option like that. I figured a coffee house could be fun. And if I work with the pastor from my dad’s church, he can show me how to do Christian youth outreach the right way, while I’m serving up coffee.”
“Lost sheep and lattes, huh?”
“That’s awful, Tripp. Or should I call you Je—”
He didn’t even let her finish. “‘Tripp’ works just fine. Or ‘Sheriff.’ Or even ‘Deputy.’ Out on the street, I don’t go by anything else.”
She must have caught the guarded look in his eye.
“Got it. Sheriff Jordan it is. Will I get used to saying ‘Deputy Jordan’ in a few weeks, when Dad goes back on duty?”
“I hope so. Because you’re probably the only person looking forward to his return more than I am, believe me.”
“I don’t know. I think Mr. Sam is counting the days.”
“Only because your dad apparently has a soft spot for old guys with block-long convertibles. Can’t you do anything to keep him off the street?”
“Not a thing. He’s licensed, he’s legal and he hasn’t hit anything yet. I do believe it would absolutely kill him to give up driving that car, and I’m not about to be the one to deprive him of the one pleasure he has left in life.”
Tripp shook his head. “Suit yourself. I just hope you’re not with him when the inevitable happens.”
Laurel had a stubborn glitter in her eyes. “Maybe it’s not inevitable and it won’t happen.”
The argument was defused by the arrival of Tripp’s and Ashleigh’s lunch. Tripp was glad to see the food. He didn’t feel like squabbling any more with Laurel.
They ate in silence for a few minutes. “So what are you calling this coffee house?” he finally asked her.
“I’m playing with a couple of ideas. Nothing definite yet. And I’ve got my sisters working on it, as well. Not that I expect to get much from Carrie. Now Claire might come up with a name. But like I told Jeremy, if I keep praying about it while I paint walls and get the place ready to open, something will come to me.”
“Really? You’re that trusting that a name for a venture like this, where you’re investing thousands of dollars, will just pop into your head?” It didn’t sound practical.
“I truly believe that it will.”
The glow to Laurel’s expression scared him even more than thinking about her as his landlady. Tripp tried to find enough appetite to dig into his salad.
The first thing Laurel had done at the coffee house was have a phone installed. That way she could paint walls and talk to her sisters at the same time. It seemed as if she talked to them on the phone much more than she ever saw them. Carrie was always working odd shifts. Claire’s family and her work with The Caring Closet kept her busy, and she was involved in something with her husband Ben’s business, as well.
While Laurel painted, she also made calls to Gina. Though the painting made her feel that she was on track, talking to Gina comforted her in a far different way.
“So tell me again about this guy that took over for your dad. He still sounds like Andy Taylor or something.”
Laurel almost told her friend that Tripp was a far better kisser than the sheriff of Mayberry had probably ever been. But then Gina would have demanded a full explanation, and she wasn’t ready to give her that yet. So she went for an easier answer.
“Hardly. He’s got a much quicker temper than any jovial television lawman. And Friedens is hardly Mayberry, despite what you think about my entire home state.”
Gina laughed on the other end. “You almost made me upset my iced chai. And I’m sorry, but anyplace that is the way you’ve described that little town comes close enough to Mayberry to make me know I’m happier here, thank you.”
“Well, I’m still happier in Missouri. I think….” Laurel dipped the roller into the pan again, readying another width of wall to be covered with paint the color of café au lait.
“Oh? Do I detect a little uncertainty?” Gina got to the heart of the matter, as usual.
“Just a touch. I wish I felt a clear guidance on this whole issue. I thought I did, or I wouldn’t have started it—but now I’m not as positive.”
“What does your family think of this whole adventure?”
“That’s a good question. I have to admit I haven’t asked their opinions—just told them I was doing it.”
“Just jumped on in, huh? Gee, Laurel, it’s like you were used to living two thousand miles away from them or something.”
Gina’s teasing made her smile. “Okay, I see the point. Maybe I do need to work myself into the family again. Get used to answering to somebody, and having others to bounce opinions off. I know what Gloria thinks of this idea. But then, it was her building I bought, so of course she’d be happy about it.”
“And your dad?”
“I just assumed that if Gloria was happy with it, then he would be, too. Maybe talking to him about this whole issue would be best.”
“Maybe it would. I’m sure he has a definite opinion.”
Laurel knew Gina had heard too many stories about the whole Collins crew to be polite or tactful anymore. “That is true. So I get to solicit that opinion from a guy just recovering from major surgery. Won’t that be fun?”
“Oh, lighten up. It could be a diversion for both of you.”
“It could. Or it could be the shot heard ’round the world. Hard to tell with my father. But you’re right about my asking for his opinion. Even your timing is excellent. Early morning there means midday here, and Dad should be up and as ornery as he’s going to be.”
“Sounds delightful. Call or e-mail me to let me know what they say.”
Gina said goodbye, and Laurel could hear papers rattling in the background before she finished hanging up the phone. Leave it to Gina to be doing at least two things at once.
Of course, Laurel was doing much the same—painting walls and talking to her friend on the phone. She finished another swath with her roller and then decided that when she used up the paint in the pan she’d take Gina’s good advice and go talk to her father. After all, she had come back to Missouri to be near her family. And their opinion was important to her.
Hank looked as if he was recovering nicely. Of course, that meant that Gloria looked frazzled and out of sorts—the result of having a man hanging around the house.
“If he gets any healthier and starts rearranging the kitchen, I’m making him go back to work,” she said to Laurel. “Do you have time for a cup of coffee?”
“Don’t bother,” Hank groused. “It’s that decaffeinated stuff they said I should drink at the hospital. Tastes like dishwater. Besides, I hear you’re starting your own business because you don’t like Missouri coffee.”
Laurel wasn’t sure if he was teasing or gently complaining about being left out of the decision. With her dad, either was possible. “Not just because I don’t like Missouri coffee. And if you’ll come visit me at the coffee house when it opens, I’ll make sure to have a pot of decaf ready just for you.”
Hank snorted. “You’re just too kind. It’s a conspiracy between those doctors and my family, I swear. You’ll probably rat on me if I ask for anything stronger, won’t you.”
“Never. Because I know you wouldn’t do that to me and put me in an awkward position.” Laurel decided to tease him back. He wasn’t sick enough to be treated with kid gloves anymore.
“I’m just too honest for my own good. Is that why you didn’t ask me what I thought of this crazy business venture to begin with?”
His eyes were twinkling, so Laurel didn’t take things too personally. “I think my friend Gina in California had that part right. I’m so used to living two thousand miles from anybody that I just go ahead and make my own decisions.” Suddenly she really wanted to know what he thought. “So do you really think it’s that crazy?”
“I was surprised when Gloria told me she was selling you the building. Can you afford that?”
“If I stretched, Dad, I could afford two. Sam may have been many things you didn’t approve of, but he was a good provider. We’ll never have to worry about money.”
“That’s good to know. And Laurel, honey, you have to realize by now that it wasn’t that I didn’t approve of your husband. I just didn’t like that he took you away. We’d been a close family, living right here in Friedens. I always figured it would stay that way and that I’d have all my kids and grandkids around forever.”
Laurel breathed a silent prayer of thanks. She’d come over to talk about the coffee house venture, but had gotten something much more important out of her father. This was a discussion that should have happened years ago.
“You could have said that a while back.”
Hank nodded. “Like when Sam was still alive? Guess this heart surgery has put everything closer to the surface for me. I’m not hesitant to say what I think anymore. Never know if you’re going to get another chance.”
Laurel felt herself tearing up. “Aw, Dad. I didn’t come over here to cry at your kitchen table.”
“Oh, go ahead,” Gloria piped up from the counter. “Everybody else has so far. I’ve gone through more boxes of tissues in the past month than I normally use in a year.”
“And some of them have been for me,” said Hank. He reached out and covered Laurel’s hand with his. His hand was gnarled and familiar, with a couple of new scars where IV lines and other needles had made their marks.
That final gesture of caring from her father let loose the tears Laurel had held in until now. “I’ll take you up on that tissue offer,” she said to Gloria. “Dad, what am I going to do?”
“What do you want to do? It’s not likely you’ll take anybody else’s advice if it conflicts with what you feel in your heart. You never have before.”
Laurel laughed a little through her tears. “Yeah, I wonder where I get that from.”
“Both your parents. And my charming new bride seems to be as opinionated as any other member of the Collins family.”
“Which is why I fit right in,” Gloria said, putting the box of tissues next to Laurel’s elbow. “And I don’t think your coffee house idea is so crazy. It’ll give you something to do. Plus, the kids need somewhere to hang out. There wasn’t a place for teenagers to do anything fun and trouble-free even when my son Mike was that age—and Friedens hasn’t changed much since.”
“Tripp thinks I’m crazy,” Laurel blurted. It surprised her how much she cared what her father’s deputy thought of her behavior.
“Ah, he’s more conservative than I am, and that’s saying something.” Her father patted her hand again. “He’ll come around to your way of thinking, once the place is all fixed up. At least, he will if it won’t be too difficult to keep the peace there. You’re not planning on having loud rock music at all hours, or building Jeremy a skate ramp in the back parking lot, are you?”
“I might have said something to Jeremy about some small apparatus in the parking lot. No ramps. It’d be too hard to keep track of safety issues. And the music will be loud Christian rock, no matter when it plays. Late hours will not be encouraged.”
“Then you’ll probably be okay. Give Tripp a little credit, Laurel. He’s a good guy. I wouldn’t have hired him if I hadn’t seen a lot of potential there.”
“Oh, he’s got plenty of potential.” Laurel sniffled a last time with her tissue. “I just hope he won’t drive me absolutely mad before this coffee house opens.”
“You’ll probably have more problems with the building inspector than with Tripp.”
Gloria sounded as if she was trying to be reassuring. Laurel wasn’t sure doing battle with the building inspector would be all that much worse than doing battle with Tripp.
“At least we can probably get you an ‘in’ with the fire marshal through Mike and your sister Carrie. But only if you offer her free coffee every day for about a month.”
“Great. I haven’t even opened yet and I’m already running a tab for my sister.” Laurel chuckled.
“Hey, this was your idea. And I’m the one that’s supposed to be giving you encouragement, right?”
“Right.” She stood up and hugged her father gently so she wouldn’t hurt his incision. “And in your own special way you’re doing just that. Thanks, Dad.”
“Anytime. Think my doctor would complain if I came over to help you paint?”
“Yes,” Gloria and Laurel chorused.
“You’re still doing physical therapy exercises just to cough the right way. There is no way you’re lifting anything like a paint roller,” Gloria reminded him.
He shrugged. “Hey, you can’t blame a guy for trying.”
Gloria walked over to where he sat and kissed him on the forehead. It made Laurel smile to see the gesture between the two of them. Her dad was going to be all right. And he had a loving companion to make sure of it.
“Well, just keep trying dear,” Gloria said to him. “I’m sure eventually you’ll get away with something. Just not this time.”