Coffee Scoop (2 page)

“Are you okay?”

Opening his eyes, Ryan looked down at Carrie. She wore a concerned look. “I’m fine,” he said. “It’s just that . . .”
 

There it was - the card with his name on it. The driver wore a dark suit like the others, but an oversized lapel pin with the Camex logo set him apart from the crowd.
 

“I’m hungry.” He swung his gaze from the driver to his companion. “Are you hungry?”

“I could eat,” she said slowly. “Why?”

Why? Am I that out of practice?
Truthfully he was, and she wasn’t making his first foray into the dating world in over a year any easier.
 

It’s not a date.

“Are you okay, Mr. Baxter?”

The second time she’d asked him in the span of thirty seconds. He was
not
making a good impression.
 

Ryan squared his shoulders and stared directly into eyes the color of the Costa Rican sky. “I’ve got a car here. What do you say we grab a bite somewhere?”

Was that relief he saw on her face? If so, he must have been wearing the same look.

* * *
 

What a relief.
 

Carrie allowed Ryan to push her cart toward the exit. The sheer bulk of her check-through bag combined with the weight of her carry-on and the precarious position of his briefcase and small overnight bag made the going rough, but the coffee magnate managed to reach the door in record time. To her surprise, he nodded toward a man in a dark suit.

“I’ll be right back with the car, Mr. Baxter,” he said before scurrying outside into the warm Texas night.

In short order, Carrie found herself being helped into a black limousine with tinted windows and a license plate that read “CAMEX3.” She’d made note of the plates, and the identification and description of the driver for the article.

Or, depending on the depth of Ryan Baxter’s deception, for the series of articles.

Her cell phone rang the moment she turned it on. Molly, of course. She’d be wanting to know how the retreat went. She’d also be asking to come by and pick up the stack of books Carrie promised to have autographed by some of the more famous conferees.

Rather than answer, she hit silence. Her host was speaking to the driver and she didn’t want to miss a word.

“Yes, I know the place,” the driver said.

“Then that’s where we want to go.” A pause. “You sure it’s okay?”

“Of course, Mr. Baxter. Mr. Renfro’s orders are whatever you say goes.”

Mr. Renfro? CAMEX3? Whatever Ryan Baxter says goes?

Carrie smiled. The plot had definitely begun to thicken.
 

Mr. Renfro had to be none other than George Renfro, CEO of Camex International. That would explain the license plates and the limo. But what possible explanation would Ryan Baxter, a man of God, have for taking up with a fellow who’d barely dodged one indictment after another in his long career as a businessman?

Sure, there had been rumors that the Camex CEO had mended his ways. Why, he’d even been seen attending worship services at a rather large church near downtown.
 

While Carrie always hoped for the best in people, her journalistic instinct told her to expect the worst. And if Ryan Baxter, a man who obviously liked to travel in style, was mixed up with George Renfro, then there could only be one conclusion.

Big dealings were afoot.

A moment later, Mr. Baxter slid inside and closed the door behind him. As the limo blended into the traffic exiting Terminal C, Carrie began to plan her cross examination. First she would ask her companion a few innocuous questions, queries about his home, his family, and his education. Maybe she would move on to ask him to speak about his adopted country, get him talking about the kids he claimed to be helping and . . .

“Miss Collins, I hope you’re hungry.”

Carrie reined in her thoughts and focused on the businessman beside her. “What? Yes, actually I don’t particularly care for airplane food.”

“Then you’re in for quite a treat.
 

Fifteen minutes later the limo pulled to the curb in front of a nondescript building in the shadow of downtown. Before the driver could exit the vehicle, Mr. Baxter jumped out and offered Carrie help in doing the same. The spicy scent of something yummy tickled Carrie’s nose. Her stomach grumbled a protest at her slow pace as she and Ryan walked toward the humble façade of a restaurant called
Ixtapa.

Funny, she’d driven within a few hundred yards of this spot and never noticed it.

A fresh coat of green paint covered the door and decorated the hand-lettered sign stating the hours of business. Inside the dozen or so tables were covered with bright red cloth and filled with happily chatting diners. Mariachi music blared from a speaker situated behind an antiquated cash register, adding to the noise level.

Not much hope for a decent interview in this chaos. However, a wonderful meal did seem to be a distinct possibility.

A slender main dressed in a white chef’s outfit picked his way through the crowd to meet them with a smile. Just above the pocket on his shirt the name Javier was embroidered in brilliant turquoise thread. “
Buenos nochas
, Senior Baxter, Senorita.” Javier swung his gaze toward Carrie then back to Mr. Baxter. “Just the two of you?”

At Mr. Baxter’s nod, the trio headed off toward the rear of the restaurant, weaving around chairs and people until they reached a surprisingly quiet corner. Javier held a metal chair out for Carrie, and she settled onto its cracked red vinyl seat in time to watch a waiter appear with a basket piled high with chips and a brilliant yellow bowl of poblano pepper salsa.

Javier and Mr. Baxter carried on a spirited discussion in Spanish while Carrie settled her purse beside her. A dark-eyed little girl peered at her from the booth to her left, offering a snaggle-toothed smile before sliding down out of sight at her mother’s insistence.

Carrie watched the men’s faces go from happy to serious as their voices lowered. An envelope passed from the chef to his customer then more discussion took place.

When Javier nodded, Mr. Baxter shook his hand. The chef gave instructions to a nearby bus boy in rapid-fire manner then scurried off to the kitchen, sparing Carrie a quick smile as he hurried past.

“I hope you don’t mind, Miss Collins.” Ryan settled the napkin into his lap. “I took the liberty of ordering for us.”

She smiled rather than state her independence. Since when did men still order for their dates?
 

Dates? This was
not
a date. This was a business dinner, and no matter how wonderful the food or how charming the company, she intended to keep things all business.

After all, she had a story to get, a feature writing job to land, and her Lord to serve.

CHAPTER THREE

The food was as good as the company, and it nearly cost Ryan his promise to concentrate on the reason for his trip rather than the woman across the table. After all, his whirlwind visit to the States had one purpose: to find new outlets for distributing the coffee that funded
Casa de Dios.

It seemed bad form to come right out and beg the woman for publicity, so he endured her barrage of polite generic questions and waited for the chance to slip in some morsel of information on Heavenly Beans. He admitted his connection to Harvard Business School grudgingly, but not because of any shame over graduating from the prestigious university. Quite the contrary. He felt humbled and in awe of the fact that the Lord had allowed him such a fine education, especially since he’d done very little to deserve it until recently.

But then that’s why he kept his briefcase around. All it took was one look at the reminder of his former life and thankfulness overwhelmed him. To think he’d once believed that happiness could be found in faster cars, fuller bank accounts, and expensive toys.

Funny how much he had now that he’d given almost everything away. Maybe he would save that story for another day – should the Lord decide they were to meet again, that is.

She asked him something about California, something he barely heard for the memories. Pressing them back into the corner of his mind where they belonged, Ryan focused on Carrie.
 

“I’ve been lost in thought,” he said. “Something about this place, I guess. Please forgive me.”

“Nothing to forgive,” she said with a shrug. “I believe you were asking me about California.” When she nodded, he continued. “Actually my business was up in Seattle. My direct flight to Austin got redirected and the rest is history.”

Carrie seemed to mull the statement over a moment. “So you got bumped too.”

“Yes, I guess so. Why?”

Again she seemed to be thinking. “Interesting,” she said as her phone rang. Probably Millie. She’d called twice since the plane landed, each time leaving a detailed message regarding the speed in which Carrie should return the call.

Checking the caller ID, she frowned. “I’m sorry, Ryan, but I have to get this one. It’s my boss.”

“Of course,” he said as she rose. “Go ahead. I should probably call my office and let them know I arrived okay.”

He watched her sprint toward the exit then picked up his own phone and dialed the main number of Heavenly Beans to leave a message for Alvaro on the voice mail. A second call, this to his home produced the same result – the answering machine. Tempted to call the house mother at
Casa de Dios,
Ryan scolded himself as a worry wart instead.

Someone will call you back. It’s nothing.

But it felt like
something.
With all the live bodies in the vicinity of those three phones, the odds of getting even a single voice mail were high. Multiplied times three gave him pause for concern.

Still, there was nothing he could do sitting here in Austin. He left the business in the capable hands of Alvarado and the orphanage in the capable hands of Mama Zadora. Someone would call him back.

He checked his watch. A quarter to eight. He’d call again in an hour.

Ryan looked up as his companion wound her way through the maze of tables to rejoin him. They had moved from the formal to the informal in the span of half an hour, and he now thought of her as Carrie.
 

As he watched her sidestep a crawling baby, he imagined her back in Costa Rica doing the same thing. When she stopped to lift the cooing baby into her arms then return him to his mother, Ryan’s heart melted.

She was a natural with children, this city girl. He sent a quick prayer skyward that the Lord would someday bless her with babies of her own.

“I’m sorry,” she said as she allowed him to help her settle into her seat. “I’ve been away from the office for less than a week but you would think I’d been gone a month.”

“I understand,” he said. And he did.
 

“What an interesting place.” Carrie pushed aside the half-eaten plate of flan to meet his gaze. “You seem to know the owner. Is he from Costa Rico?”

“Javier?” Ryan shook his head. “No, he’s from Monterrey, I believe.”

“Ah.” She sipped at her water then gently swirled the ice with a twist of her wrist. Her gaze held steady but several emotions seemed to cross her face. Finally she met his inquiring look. “I was wondering if . . .” She paused. “What I mean is . . .”

“Carrie?” He leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table. “Is there something wrong?”

“Wrong? No, nothing. . .actually, yes.” She took a hasty sip of water then set the glass down a bit too hard. “Look, I’ve made no secret of the fact that I’m a journalist. Asking questions is just something I do.”

“So what’s the problem?”

“The problem is I have all these questions I want to ask and I’m afraid I might be overstepping my bounds. I mean, it’s not like I’m doing a story on you.”

Ryan could barely contain his smile. “Would you like to? Do a story, I mean.”

* * *

“An article?” She pretended to mull the idea over. “Well, I don’t know. What do you see as the focus?”

Carrie fought the urge to jump out of her chair and jump for joy. Only the fact that she might cause him to change his mind kept her seated. In order to get a serious scoop she would have to conduct herself as a serious journalist.

There was also the little problem of her boss. Mr. Scott turned her down flat on her proposal to turn her scoop into a feature story. The idea of a series on fraud in religious circles was nixed as well. He then began a monologue on crusading journalists and eligible bachelor subjects that she’d heard one too many times.

Her only retort had been a weak, “Are you going to tell me I can’t date him either?”

She’d regretted those words the moment they escaped her lips and had spent the last ten minutes trying to talk her way out of them. Just about the time she had Mr. Scott convinced she was meeting Ryan Baxter under condition of a serious interview, the front door of
Ixtapa
had opened and a family numbering several dozen spilled out. The combined chattering, laughter and mariachi music ruined her cover and her story.

Finally Carrie settled for a “maybe” on the story and a “watch yourself” on Ryan Baxter. She hung up knowing she’d lost the battle and praying she would win the war. Mr. Scott would see the value of her story and the Lord would use her to rid the Christian community of one more bad apple.

Inwardly something jolted at the thought. Her deductive reasoning told her Ryan Baxter was up to no good with his fancy brief case, first class tickets, and connection to the folks at Camex. Something else, her heart perhaps, begged that the opposite be true.

And what if it were? What if Ryan Baxter really was a do-gooder with a heart of gold?

“Look, you’re the expert,” the object of her thoughts said. “I’d be grateful for whatever publicity our cause can receive.”

He looked so sincere when he spoke the words that Carrie almost believed him. If he hadn’t taken that moment to yawn, she might have suggested they begin their questions right then. Instead she watched in silence as Javier appeared tableside with steaming mugs of coffee.