Page 95 of Last Chance at the Someday Café

“What is it?” Wyatt stood, looming over her.

“There’s been an accident,” Tara whispered. “A jackknifed rig.”

She completely forgot about Wendy, until Wyatt took the phone and started talking to her. Tara couldn’t listen, couldn’t even think. She could only stare at Brooke.

So close. He’d been so close.

* * *

WATER POURED ACROSS the diner’s parking lot. A single vehicle, a battered red pickup, sat in the rain. The water lapped halfway up its tires.

Morgan turned in the narrow drive, pulling up to the door, not even bothering to do more than stop. He jumped down, pounding on the glass doors. There was a light on, clear in the back. Dear God, was Brooke back there? With Tara? Alone?

He pounded harder. “Hey, anyone in there?”

Wade stuck his head out the swinging doors and ran across the dining room. He hastily unlocked the door. “I was yellin’ at you that we’re closed. Sorry, man.” Wade let him in and struggled against the wind to close the door again. “They ain’t here,” he told Morgan and headed into the kitchen.

“Where are they?”

“Headed out to Wyatt’s ranch. It’s upriver and on a hill.”

Relief so thick it threatened to knock him to his knees washed over Morgan. Brooke was safe. She was with Tara. She was with all those cowboys who’d taken such good care of Tara. He let it all sink in.

“What are you still doing here?” he asked Wade.

“Trying to get this stove disconnected. We don’t need a gas leak on top o’ all this water.” He waved toward a stream of water coming in under the back door. “DJ put it back last time, and that man’s got some serious torque power.”

“Let me help.”

They headed to the big stove and together pulled the coupling loose.

“Whew. That’s a relief.” Wade stood back and wiped his brow. “I just wish I could do somethin’ about the rest.” He looked sadly toward the dining room.

“What do you mean?”

Morgan stepped away from the stove and took in the area around them. On the big pastry table where he’d watched Tara make bread and so many other things, two small plates still sat side by side. The chair from Tara’s office and a step stool were next to it, as if someone had sat there.

Wade saw him staring. “That little girl with Tara ate pert’ near three sandwiches. Not sure where she put it. She’s a skinny little thing.”

Morgan couldn’t move. The crust of bread had little girl teeth marks in it. Brooke’s. His heart stopped, then pounded. After all this time, all this pain and anguish and work, he’d finally found Brooke? What was that stinging in his eyes?

“Hey, man, we need to get goin’. That water’s a comin’.” Wade was staring at the screen on his phone. Another weather alert blared through.

“She’s going to lose this place,” Morgan whispered.

“Maybe.” Wade nodded. “Those boys did a bang-up sandbag job, but even a little water’s gonna ruin that wood furniture. Took her months to find it all.”

“Not if I can help it.” Morgan sprinted through the dining room and flung open the glass doors. The Closed sign on the door whipped in the wind. He unlocked the back doors of the empty trailer, barely hearing the slam of the metal against the frame as they opened.

“You need some help?” Wade yelled.

“If you can spare the time. We gotta hustle.”

Neither of them spoke as they set to work. Chairs. Tables. Putting the buffet, with all the linens that weren’t stuffed under the back door, inside.

“Sure wish I could save that stove.” Wade stood staring at it.

“There’s no way, man.”

“I know.” Wade smiled faintly. “Just a thought.”

“Anything else?”

They looked around. The patter of the rain on the French doors echoed in the nearly empty room.

“Just that chair in the kitchen. She’d be awful upset to lose that one.”

So would he, he realized, as he pictured Brooke sitting on it eating the sandwiches. He hustled through the door, and snagged the little wooden chair.

“Guess that’s it,” Wade finally said, heading to the front door.

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