Page 41 of Last Chance at the Someday Café

CHAPTER EIGHT

MORGAN DROVE THROUGH the night. The truck’s headlights cut through the dark, casting golden columns over the smooth blacktop. Raindrops fell like sparkling confetti. To the left, yellow lines flashed by, bisecting the road.

Every few miles, the circle of a white yard light announced the location of a ranch house. Some had a kitchen or living room light on, but mostly their inhabitants were already in bed.

He hadn’t met another truck or car in nearly an hour. Had the world vanished? God, he’d never felt this alone.

The empty road had been his home since he was eighteen. Tonight—not for the first time—he didn’t want to be here. Didn’t want to keep searching. Didn’t want to continue this damned quest. He wanted it done—wanted to have Brooke back and get on with his life.

It was worse, especially on nights like this, when the wind howled down the highway and his only company was late-night radio and a few stars. He could put in a CD or kick on the iPod, but music wasn’t what he wanted. Not this time. He needed voices. Human voices, even if they were saying inane things.

Who was he kidding? Tara’s face flashed in his mind. He wanted to hear her. Jack’s question rattled around in the darkness. Was he going back for Sylvie or Tara? For the past or his future? The only response to his questions was the hum of the tires on the pavement.

Leaning back in the driver’s seat, Morgan stared out the windshield, seeing where he was going through each swipe of the wipers. Muscle memory steered the truck as his mind leaped ahead to the diner. What was Tara doing right now?

Pushing through the kitchen’s swinging doors, carrying tantalizing dishes to hungry patrons? Joining in the camaraderie that wrapped around the staff as they teased each other?

She’d smile at everyone, even him, he hoped. How would she react when she saw him again after their last…meeting?

Morgan glanced at the dash clock. Ten fifteen. Dinner rush was long over. Maybe she was taking a break, climbing up on one of the counter stools. The one where he normally sat? On the end. The one with the view of the entire place.

His mind imagined her there. He wanted her to be there. And he wanted to be there with her. Wanted—

Damn. He’d outgrown adolescent crushes years ago. So, why couldn’t he get Tara Hawkins out of his head?

Rubbing his burning eyes, Morgan knew he needed to stop. Driving this rig into the ditch was not a good idea. But he was so close. He recognized the next exit. He’d park behind the diner just for tonight and maybe catch some z’s. Another glance at the clock told him Tara wasn’t on that counter stool. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a full, good night’s sleep.

Morgan knew that parking his truck in the diner’s lot was a bad idea. A really bad idea. Only problem was, there wasn’t anyplace else. Eighteen-wheelers weren’t the easiest things to park. Most public places with lots that were big enough didn’t allow it. Few streets did, either.

The Someday Café really was his best, and only, choice. Maybe some of Tara’s apple pie first, though, and a cup of warm coffee. That sounded so good right about now. It was a safe bet she was home, getting ready for tomorrow’s early shift. Living her life.

Steering his mind back to the road, Morgan headed down the ramp and onto the two-lane highway.

Finally, the lights of town loomed, curving around the horizon against the hills. None of the buildings were more than a couple stories, so everything was low to the ground. A sign welcomed him to town and told him how many people lived there.

Main Street was quiet and dark, with only the gas station and the diner giving off any light.

The lot was nearly empty this late at night, making parking easier—which was a good thing. Tonight, he’d sleep so tomorrow he’d be clearheaded. Maybe he’d go to the street fair to see if the T-shirt vendor was back. After that, he’d find Dewey.

His plans in place, Morgan climbed down from the cab. Rain landed cold on the back of his neck. That woke him up. A to-go order would be a good idea.

Halfway across the pavement, Morgan stopped. Through the glass panes in front, he saw her. There, behind the long counter, Tara frowned at the computer terminal that served as her cash register.

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