Emily began enumerating Holly River citizens on her fingers. “We know lots of people. Lucy, Lawton and Dale, and that policeman who talked about Daddy. We might see one of them.”
Miranda marveled at her daughter’s enthusiasm. There was one person on that list who brought an old familiar tremble to Miranda’s chest, and she certainly couldn’t admit to the rush of complicated feelings, even to herself.
* * *
THE RIVER CAFÉ was crowded this Friday evening. Tourists occupied the outside seating area, where they could enjoy the live entertainment. Tonight Carter’s younger brother, Jace, was strumming his guitar for Diana Melton, who could carry a sweet tune about as well as anyone in town. Tourists who wanted a quieter environment sat at the interior dining room tables. Holly River locals gathered at pub tables in the bar, where Carter had agreed to meet his friend Sam McCall after work. Carter glanced at his watch. Sam was late, so he ordered a beer and waited.
Sam came striding in a little after seven and settled on the other of the bar-height stools across from Carter. “Been waiting long?”
“Only as long as it takes to down one beer,” Carter said.
“You’re one ahead of me,” Sam said. He raised a finger to get the waitress’s attention and indicated he’d like two more brews brought to the table. Then he leaned across the table and said, “You see that waitress?”
“Yeah,” Carter said. “I ordered my first beer from her. Don’t think I’ve seen her in the café before, though.”
“She’s cute, don’t you think?”
“Sure. She’s cute.”
“Her name’s Allie and she’s new in town. She waited on me Wednesday night.”
Carter studied the waitress as she lingered at the bar for the bartender to fill the order. Pretty brown hair, a cute figure that showed to its full advantage in the River Café T-shirt. “So that’s why you wanted to come to this place,” Carter said.
“Good deduction. That’s why you’re the chief, Chief.”
Allie brought the drinks and set them on the table. “Hey, I remember you,” she said to Sam. “Wednesday night, right?”
Sam grinned in that easy, redheaded way a lot of Irish guys seemed blessed with at birth. Sam was the hottest bachelor in town. He attracted many local girls, but this was the first time Carter could remember his seriously returning the attention.
Sam leaned back, kept the grin in place and said, “Say, that’s a pretty ring you’re wearing.”
Allie held up both hands. “I’m not wearing a ring.”
Sam laughed. “I know you’re not. Works every time. It’s an old cop trick.”
She returned his smile with her own flirty grin. “Somehow you don’t seem like an old cop.”
Allie sauntered off to another table, and Carter just stared at his friend. “Could you be more obvious, Sam?”
“Sure could. Watch and learn, my friend. By the end of the night I’ll have her phone number and a few other vital statistics.”
Despite the troubling day Carter was having, he smiled. “I don’t doubt it.”
“What’s with the glum expression you were wearing when I got to the table, Carter? You seem down even for you. Something bothering you?”
Carter didn’t appreciate the unwarranted critique of his personality. He didn’t think he was a downer. He was just a guy who’d loved and lost not one woman, but two, and was working his way back up the emotional ladder. And despite that ladder appearing to reach into the clouds sometimes, Carter thought he was doing darn well. “Not especially,” he said.
“Then my guess is, this has something to do with an old girlfriend coming to town,” Sam said.
Carter settled back on his stool and shook his head. “Oh, for heaven’s sake. Who told you about that?”
“Betsy. She was practically bursting with the news. Says she remembers you and this Miranda gal from when you were both in high school.” Sam took a long sip of beer. “Kinda romantic if you ask me—two sweethearts meeting up again. Bet you were prom king and queen.”
Carter wasn’t about to admit that Sam was only half-right. Miranda had been beaten for the crown by a Winchester Ridge debutante. Carter’s dance with the queen had seemed like the longest of his life while Miranda stood on the side and watched.
“Who cares about all that high school stuff?” he said. “It’s all history.”
“Got it. And it’s apparent you want to change the subject.”
Sam opened his menu, though like most of the locals he probably had it memorized by now. “What do you feel like eating, Carter?”
“Fried chicken,” Carter said. “Won’t be as good as Mom’s, but it won’t be bad either.”
“Make that two.” Sam called Allie to the table, shamelessly flirted with her again and ordered. Then his gaze wandered to the door, and Carter’s soon followed—and lingered. Miranda and her daughter had obviously picked the River Café for their supper. What were the odds of that since the tourist guide showed at least ten restaurants in town?
Sam chuckled. “I see you noticed her, too, Carter. Tells me your cold heart is at least still beating.”
“That’s her,” Carter said in a hoarse whisper. “That’s Miranda and her kid.”
“She has a kid?” Sam looked genuinely disappointed. “Is she married?”
“Didn’t Betsy tell you that, as well? She was married, but she’s divorced now.”
“Oh, that’s cool, then. You want them to join us?” Sam started to raise his hand.
“No. That’s the last thing I want. I’m already wishing I was at any other restaurant in town but this one.”
A restaurant employee led Miranda and Emily to a table in the bar. They were almost seated when Emily noticed Carter. “What did I tell you, Mom? There’s the policeman, so we did see someone we know.” She scurried over to Carter’s table. “Hello, what’s your name again?”
Carter told her.
“Hi, Mr. Cahill. Mom told me to call you by your last name. She said it’s respectful.”
“Hello.” Carter fumbled for words. He didn’t know how to talk to little girls, especially Donny Larson’s kid. “Your name’s Emily, right?” Of course he knew, but asking filled in a short block of time.
“Emily Larson,” she said.
Carter introduced her to Sam, who complimented her Minions T-shirt. There was no female too young for Sam to charm.
Carter thought she’d go back to her table, but she stood there with her little hands gripping the side of his table. For a moment, Carter had a flashback of other small hands that might have reached out for him if Fate had dealt him a better future. “Is there something else you wanted, Emily?”
She hunched one shoulder. “No.”
Miranda ambled over to the table. “Come on, Em. We have our own table and you’re bothering Officer Cahill and his friend.”
True enough. Carter was bothered plenty by this whole situation, not the least of which was trying to make conversation with this miniature mirror image of Donny Larson. It didn’t help that seeing Miranda with her child only brought back memories of his own losses.
And then there was the way Miranda looked. A bit tired perhaps, but that didn’t detract from her put-together style.