Laurel sat at Mr. Sam’s kitchen table the next morning, toying with her breakfast. She didn’t even bother to make coffee at the house anymore. Sam preferred to drink his own brew at his own pace. If she went into the coffee house and made a pot there while she worked, things were more peaceful.
She could hardly wait until all her equipment came and she could start making coffee for customers. She already had big signs in the windows advertising her opening. But going into business was more work than she thought.
That one year of junior college so many years ago might not be enough in the long run, she mused. Maybe once she got settled in here a little more she should check out the local junior college and see what business courses it offered. And she’d need more computer skills if she was going to keep inventory and tax records.
Too bad the junior college didn’t have a course on understanding sheriffs. That probably fell somewhere in the “abnormal psychology” category. Laurel wondered if she was qualified to teach that one: she had experience with one sheriff, and was now gaining more with another. But her father was easier to understand so far. Tripp was still a puzzle.
Now that she knew his name was Jesse, “Tripp” didn’t roll off her tongue the way it had before. He looked more like a Jesse, somehow. For a moment she slipped into a daydream where she whispered his name, softly and close to his ear. She could almost feel the way his dark hair would tickle her lips. Just the thought made her blush. Why was this man so compelling to her? And what was she going to do about it?
She was still mulling over those questions later at the coffee house, while she worked through a pot of Kona and a list of the things she needed to acquire that could probably be scavenged out of basements, garages, yard sales and auctions.
Almost everybody she knew had one set of mismatched flatware they’d be willing to part with for next to nothing. If she collected several of those, she’d have enough spoons to last her for a while. And she could always use those odd chairs that seemed to accumulate in family garages. Coffee mugs of all shapes and sizes cost next to nothing at most garage sales.
The heavy-duty dishwasher she’d need was going to be an expense, but when you factored in all the used things she was taking off folks’ hands, the cost of operating went down dramatically.
She was more nervous about the youth ministry part of the coffee house venture than the business management. In California, her ministry work had mostly consisted of teaching Sunday school to people a whole lot shorter than she was. She loved the teens, but always let the “professionals” in the youth group handle them.
Still, here she seemed to be surrounded by teenagers and loved it. Surely this was a nudge from the Lord that she was moving in the right direction. What was it that Claire had said when she told her all about this? “God doesn’t call the equipped, he equips the called.” Maybe this was Laurel’s chance to get equipped for something different.
There was a tapping on the front window glass. Laurel looked over, and there was Tripp banging on her window with a quarter. She started to motion for him to just come in, then remembered the front door was locked. Both sheriffs of her acquaintance would have a fit if she were in there with all the doors unlocked. Once she was open for business, it would be different. But alone, she knew better.
She hustled to the front, pulling keys out of her pocket.
“Hey. This is extremely embarrassing, but I think I want to be your first customer.”
“Why is it embarrassing?” Laurel asked, as she let Tripp into the store.
“Because I’m probably your biggest detractor so far. I know I’ve complained about everything that you’re proposing to do with this place. But I can smell that pot of coffee up in my apartment, and it’s marvelous. And, of course, I am totally out of anything that even resembles coffee.”
Laurel motioned toward the pot. “Go ahead and fill up. Do you have time to sit at my one lone table and enjoy a first cup? It’s definitely on the house, by the way. I don’t have all my licenses yet. I don’t think selling it would even be legal.”
“Suit yourself. As long as you’d do the same for anybody who asked. I don’t want police privilege.”
It warmed her heart to see his honesty. The more she was around Tripp, the more she had to revise her first opinion of him. He was canny and fair, reminding her, more than she wanted to admit, of her father. And he looked pretty good in that uniform, even hatless, standing in her kitchen area pouring coffee.
She knew he set great store by his hats. Even her dad had mentioned Tripp’s hats. “You miss them, don’t you.”
He looked across the room at her, puzzled.
“Your ‘real’ hats from your homicide days.”
“That is just uncanny. Yes, I do. I know I must have said so, probably more than once. But that was what I was thinking right now. That it felt odd to be ready for work and bareheaded.” He crossed the distance between them and set down his mug. “Nobody else does that with me—knows what I’m thinking, or even cares. How come you do?”
His eyes bored into her, making it hard for her to answer. “I don’t know, exactly. It’s not like I’m studying you on purpose.”
“Or that you particularly like me, either—”
He was closer now, and his voice was husky. It sent a thrill of warning up her spine.
“—although you have to like me a little. At least you didn’t slap me silly when I kissed you the other day.”
“No need to. I enjoyed it, too. Of course, it probably violates the rules we’ve set up for our offspring on first dates. But it was a very odd first date.”
“That it was. Think we could follow it up with a more normal second one? Or would that be tempting fate with the two of us?”
“What are you doing Sunday? My favorite country church out past Labadie is having their annual picnic. We could take as many of our motley crew as wanted to go.”
Tripp’s brow wrinkled. “Not exactly what I had in mind, but why not? I need to get involved in more community stuff around here, anyway. What time do you want me to pick you up?”
“Eleven. There’s dinner on the grounds, and Ashleigh can probably find enough to eat among the side dishes and various goodies that she won’t have to confront anything with a face. Personally, I intend to make a fool of myself over fried chicken. Theirs is the best, and I haven’t had it in years.”
“Great. I’ll see you then.” He picked up his coffee and headed toward the door. “Now don’t think all this friendliness means I won’t cite you for noise levels if your clientele is rowdy after you’ve opened.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it. And Tripp? Wear a hat Sunday. I want to see one of your favorites.”
That seemed to put him off balance, somehow, and he almost spilled his coffee as he headed out. But he nodded and left, and Laurel was smiling as she went back to her lists. An unusual man, and an even more unusual relationship she was crafting. Only God knew where this was going, for sure, because she certainly didn’t.
A country church picnic wasn’t Tripp’s idea of the perfect date. He figured they’d maybe go into St. Louis, or at least Washington, to a fancy restaurant—have an evening alone where he wasn’t reminded of being acting sheriff and neither he nor Laurel had to be anybody’s parent. Leave it to her to find the polar opposite of what he expected.
Of course, Ashleigh wanted to go when he told her about it. So Tripp expected that the outing would include Jeremy, and probably Mr. Sam, as well. At least he could count on the old man to leave that tomcat at home. What little he knew about church picnics told him they excluded cats. For a change, Tripp was glad Buster wasn’t a big old yellow dog.
When he drove up to Mr. Sam’s, Laurel and Jeremy were the only ones sitting on the front porch. He leaned out the car window and asked, “Mr. Sam’s not coming? I hope he isn’t feeling poorly.”
Laurel shook her head as she came over. “Not this time. He just doesn’t care to go to this particular picnic. Want to scoot into the back with Jeremy so I can tell your dad how to drive?” she asked Ashleigh.
“Definitely. Anybody that can tell him how to drive is welcome to the front seat.”
Ashleigh got out of the front and slid deftly into the back seat, motioning to Jeremy. “Hey. How are you doing?”
Tripp knew that neither he nor Laurel had introduced the teens to each other, but with that radar kids of a certain age had, they had found each other anyway. And apparently at least grudgingly approved of each other. “Okay,” Jeremy said. “How about you?”
Ashleigh shrugged wordlessly, but Jeremy seemed to understand the gesture. Maybe it was teen code. Before Tripp could say anything more to either of them Laurel was in the front seat, claiming his attention.
Laurel looked cool and comfortable in a flowered sundress with a light jacket.
“I even wore a hat to keep yours company.” She modeled hers, a chic straw number trimmed with a hot pink ribbon. It made him feel almost underdressed in his white shirt, light gray trousers and gray felt fedora.
Maybe he had misunderstood. “This is a picnic. Like, outside, right?” he asked.
“Sure. But it’s a church picnic. If we hustle we’ll still catch most of the service. Head out to I-44 and go past Labadie, and I’ll give you directions after that.”
“Okay.” He was a little confused by the “church” part. And the way she just slid into his car and started telling him what to do. Some date. But then again, this was Laurel. Did he really expect normalcy where she was concerned? It hadn’t happened in the past and it wasn’t likely to happen now.
They found the church on Laurel’s first try. That impressed Tripp because he was pretty sure from what she’d said that she hadn’t been there for a couple of years. Several old gentlemen were directing parking in a fenced pasture borrowed for the occasion. Today neat rows of trucks, SUVs and cars filled it, instead of cows or horses.
There was already a good crowd heading over to an old stone church. Tripp listened to the bells ringing in the steeple, wondering how he was supposed to act in this church. He hadn’t been inside many since Rose died. After that he’d just lost the will to sit and talk to God on a regular basis.
Granted, he still believed in God. Still read his Bible when he felt the need, still prayed on the rare occasion. But he just didn’t do anything on a daily basis with God. After all, Rose had—and look where that had gotten her.
That probably wasn’t fair to Ashleigh. He knew that Pearl set a better example than he did in that regard. His daughter’s religious education was being neglected, he knew. That part almost nagged him back into a proper relationship with God—one that included going to church on a regular basis and talking about his faith more. Making it a part of his life, the way Laurel did.
As a teenager, having a mother who prayed for him was the one thing that Jesse James Jordan could testify had probably kept him out of jail. True, Ashleigh wasn’t anywhere near as wild or as angry as he’d been as a teen. But without that strong foundation, how would she grow up?
All this went through his mind as he made his way from the car to the doors of the church, Laurel, Jeremy and Ashleigh in tow. It wasn’t a long enough trip for all his thoughts.
Laurel didn’t mean to spend most of the service watching Tripp and Ashleigh. This country church was one of her havens. She usually spent her limited time here praying, just soaking up the atmosphere. She felt so close to God in this place, more than in any other church she’d attended on a much more regular basis.
There seemed to be less in the way, between herself and her Lord here. It wasn’t a fancy place, just an old stone building with a roof that obviously leaked, given the water stains. The windows weren’t stained glass, and the bottom panel of each window was flung open because the church had stopped being used on a daily basis long before air-conditioning came along.
Still, people came for special events such as this picnic, and then it became a beautiful place. Fresh flowers lovingly tended in backyards and gardens graced the altar in vases. The minister seemed as glad as Laurel was to be here in this place doing what he was doing today.
That was apparently a new concept for Ashleigh. The girl watched the minister intently. She didn’t seem familiar with any of the hymns, even though they were old-fashioned favorites that most of Laurel’s Sunday school classes probably would have recognized.
When at times there was laughter, and even applause at one point after the small choir finished a beautiful number, Ashleigh looked concerned, almost worried. This didn’t seem to be what she was used to in church, if she was used to any at all.
By the time they were leaving the sanctuary and shaking the hand of the minister, Laurel was brimming with questions for Tripp all about his faith experiences and Ashleigh’s as well. She might not have the right time to answer them all day. Which meant she was going to come near to bursting with suspense, if she didn’t watch it. Of course, she would probably come near to bursting, anyway, later when they sat down for fried chicken. Why not twice in one day?
It wouldn’t do anybody any good if she gave vent to her questions. Tripp would probably be angry and defensive. And Laurel sensed a yearning in him, too, as if he were coming to some spiritual decision. Better not press any issue that steered him away from that resolve. Whatever he was struggling with, he had to deal with on his own.
Laurel hurried out of church, instead, to buy tickets for the dinner.
“Are we under five hundred?” Jeremy asked, making Tripp and Ashleigh look confused.
“Just barely,” Laurel told him. “In the four-eighties. And yes, they do start calling tables to sit down to dinner with the number one, and work their way forward from there.”
Tripp raised an eyebrow. “Are you telling me that there are four hundred and eighty-odd people ahead of us for fried chicken? Every chicken in the county will have died by the time we get there.”
“It won’t be as long as you think. Besides, I have things to do for a while, anyway. I need to stop by the bazaar tables and see what’s going on.”
As usual there was a whole table of beautiful potted plants and flowers. Laurel chose two pots of English ivy and further confused Tripp by asking if he had any tools in the car, like a trowel or a shovel.
“I do, but are you going to plant those here?” He looked down at the ivy she held in both hands.
“Of course. Want me to go with you to get the trowel?”
“It’s a shovel, and I’ll find it myself, thank you.”
“Great. I’ll get the kids something cold to drink, and meet you right back here.”
He was back with the shovel before they’d taken more than one deep swallow of cold lemonade. “I got you one, too. Freshly squeezed and shaken with ice.” She handed him the plastic cup in exchange for the shovel. Jeremy and Ashleigh each had a pot of ivy by this time, and followed her as she led them to the back of the churchyard.
Tripp still looked perplexed, and Laurel mentally smacked her forehead. “I forget sometimes that you aren’t from around here. And that I’ve only known you a few weeks. Sam is buried in this cemetery, and we’re going to plant these on the Harrison family plot.”
“Dad said he wanted to be back here because it was peaceful.” Jeremy spoke back over his shoulder, still managing to move forward without stumbling in the ruts on what passed for a path into the cemetery. “Not in some weird smoggy place in Los Angeles, even if he wasn’t going to know he was there anyway.”
Jeremy moved ahead of the grown-ups, and Ashleigh caught up with him. “This is peaceful. I can see why your dad said that.” She turned around and looked at her father. “How come Mama isn’t buried out in the country someplace quiet like this?”
“Because when your mom died, none of us had ever lived closer to any green space than Forest Park. And although it is peaceful, they discourage burying people there. Especially near the zoo.” Ashleigh stuck her tongue out at him and turned around to follow Jeremy.
Laurel lagged a little. “Didn’t mean to bring up a sore subject. Sorry about that.”
“Not your fault, exactly. I’m almost glad to hear her talk about her mother. She doesn’t usually say anything. Is Jeremy that way?”
“Not anymore. For a while after Sam died, he was angry and sullen most of the time. Of course, he was also a boy just a little younger than Ashleigh is now, and they’re not known for being talkative in the best of situations. But he’s coming around.”
“That’s good. Ashleigh was nine. I know she remembers her mom and misses her.”
“Do you? Miss her still? I have no doubt you remember her.” That was evident from the look Tripp got sometimes when they were together.
“I think so. Her name was Rose, by the way. She did have an identity other than Pearl’s daughter and Ashleigh’s mother. Although by the time she died, I’d reduced her to those roles most of the time in my mind.”
They reached the Harrison’s plot, which was edged in tennis-ball sized stones. Jeremy and Ashleigh were pulling a few stray weeds and discussing the best place to put the ivy.
“Do you want to dig, or hand me the shovel?” Laurel asked Tripp.
“Hand you the shovel. As odd as this day has been so far, somehow wielding a shovel in there would just make it too odd to continue. Although I look forward to anything that gets us onto another topic of conversation.”
“Fine. Then go up the path in the direction we came. Find the chalkboard on the side of the white, screened building on top of the hill and see what’s written on it. You can motivate us all to work faster if you do that. It’s the numbers they’re serving for dinner.”
Tripp looked grateful. “Now, that I can handle. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
Laurel had no doubt that he would be back. But she also knew he’d probably try to time his reappearance with their finishing up their planting and being ready to move on. She supposed that was understandable. This was a pretty odd “date.”
She handed Jeremy the shovel. “You seem to have picked out the right place. Let’s start digging.”