Coffee Scoop (4 page)

“Interview.” Carrie pushed the down button. “Ryan Baxter’s leaving town and I’ve got from here to Hobby Airport to find out everything there is to know about him and his company.”

Her best friend smiled and stepped onto the elevator ahead of her. “Well then, we’d better hurry.”

“What do you mean
we
?”

Millie feigned disappointment. “Do you mean to tell me you don’t intend to introduce me to Mr. First Class?”

Carrie pretended to consider the question. “No, I’m not introducing you. And his name is Ryan.”

The doors opened and Carrie stepped out into the lobby with Millie at her heels. “All right,” Mille said. “How about a quick introduction and then I’m out of there.”

“No.”

“Carrie, girl, you owe me.” She stepped in front of Carrie. “Remember the time you made that date with the guy who gargled his water? Who came and picked you up so you wouldn’t have to ride the Metro home?”

She gave her friend a sideways look. “All right. I will introduce you but that’s all. He’s in a hurry. He’s got a plane to catch.”

“And I’ve got a man to check out. ”

At the curb, Ryan’s limo awaited. Carrie made the introductions then, true to her word, Millie excused herself to go back to work.

Forty minutes later, she had the beginnings of a great feature article and an invitation to visit Costa Rica and the Heavenly Beans offices any time she liked.

Little did Ryan Baxter know, but before the limo left the airport Carrie had already begun planning her trip.

* * *
 

When Ryan emerged from Juan Santamaria Airport into the overcast Costa Rican afternoon, Alvaro’s face was the first one he saw. His friend enveloped him in a bear hug then grabbed his bag and threw it into the truck.
 

“It’s good to see you, my friend,” Alvaro said. “I’m sorry you chose to end your trip so soon. We could have lasted a few more days here sharing the extra work.”

Ryan shrugged. “I achieved what I set out to do. It’s more important that I be here.”
 

He pictured the geriatric force of nature whose injury had caused him to cut his trip short and tried to think of what would come of them should Maria Conchita Elena Zamora no longer live in the brightly painted cottage that served as headquarters for the orphanage. Among the locals, the
Tico
, Mama was revered as a woman whose love for children knew no bounds.
 

Most of the adult staff at Heavenly Beans had once rested in Mama’s care, but only Alvaro de los Santos could claim an actual relation to her. He was Mama’s grandson, the only child of Mama’s deceased daughter, and the reason
Casa de Dios
had come to exist.
 

“If my Alvaro can grow to be a man of God and a pastor besides, then so can anyone,” she was fond of saying. Always, the statement was punctuated with a chuckle and a wink. Mama did have a sense of humor, although rumor held that Alvaro had not always followed the Lord so closely.

“How
is
Mama?”

“Much improved,” he said. “Asking for you, of course.”

“That’s a good sign. Any idea how she fell?”

“Answering the door in the dark again.” Alvaro turned the key and the truck roared to life. “I tried to tell her she was lucky she only suffered a fall and not the blows of a robber’s fist.” He paused. “Or worse.”

“You know Mama,” Ryan said. “She would never risk turning away a child in need.”
 

“
Si
. Perhaps now is the time to disconnect her doorbell.”
 

“You know that won’t work,” Ryan said. “I wonder if we can’t figure out a way to have Mama’s route to the door lighted. What do you think?”

His friend smiled. “I think that’s an excellent idea. I’ll see what I can come up with.”

The pair lapsed into a companionable silence as Alvaro wove his way around a collection of taxis and buses to point the truck toward the airport exit. Soon they merged into traffic heading west on the main highway toward San Ramon.
 

Layer by layer the city fell behind them until nothing lay ahead except the mountains, thick gray clouds shrouding their green peaks. The sign for Rio Rosales slid past and soon the exit for home loomed ahead. Ryan’s heart soared.

“I never get tired of this drive, Alvaro,” Ryan said. “Look at those mountains and tell me God didn’t favor this little corner of the world.”

His companion nodded. “Most certainly He did, my friend.”

A few minutes later, they exited at Grecia and began the last leg of the journey to Rincon de Salas. The old truck rattled and shook on the poorly maintained road, but it was a welcome rhythm for Ryan. A ride in Alvaro’s truck suited him
 
much better than the extravagant transportation he’d been provided in Austin.

Austin.

The image of Carrie Collins came to mind. What would she think of this truck, of those mountains, of Alvaro and Mama and the others? Perhaps someday soon he would know. For now he preferred to believe she would look favorably on each.

He also preferred to think she might miss him just a little. After all, she
had
asked for his email address.

Sure, she’d said it was standard procedure with all her interviews but he wondered - no, he hoped - she wanted to get to know him better. He certainly would like to get to know her better.

“It’s good to be back?” Alvaro shot Ryan a sideways grin.

“It is very good,” Ryan said. As the truck wound its way down the last few kilometers of narrow roads under Alvaro’s expert guidance, Ryan felt the last of the tension melt away. He noticed his friend giving him a sideways look. “What?”
 

“Nothing.” Alvaro shook his head. “No, that’s wrong. There is something.”

“Okay. What?”

“I can look at you and see how very glad you are to return to us.” Again he paused, this time to navigate the overlarge truck around a significant hole in the road. When they were rattling along again, he reached over and gave Ryan a playful jab in the arm. “You are here and yet something tells me you left a bit of your heart in the States.”
 

Ryan frowned. Had he?

Alvaro braked and made a right turn. “You did not answer. Am I wrong?”

Another three kilometers and they would arrive at the village of Rincon de Sales.
 
Just past the crossroads was the dirt road leading to the humble collection of buildings that comprised Heavenly Beans headquarters. Beyond that lay the coffee plants that provided the best beans in Costa Rica.
 

Even at their slow pace, the entire drive would take less than ten minutes. If he kept his mouth shut and his attention focused on anything but Alvaro, he might get away with ignoring his friend’s question.

If.

Alas, Ryan knew he could not.

“You are not wrong,” he said in Spanish. “There was someone.”

“The woman you mentioned? The journalist?”

Ryan regarded his friend with a mixture of surprise and fondness. How well Alvaro knew him.
 

“Yes,” he said. “But I believe the Lord sent her to help us with the cause.”

To his relief, Alvaro did not laugh. “What makes you think this?”

“She’s a journalist, a newspaper writer in Austin. From the moment she sat next to me on the flight out of Los Angeles I felt as though God meant us to meet. I knew this for sure when she interviewed me for an article.”

“So this woman you’re still thinking of, she’s only on your mind because of some story she is writing for a newspaper? Is that all that keeps you from appreciating your homecoming? I don’t have your Harvard degree, Ryan, but even I am smart enough to know that makes no sense.”

Ryan chuckled. “No, I don’t suppose it does.”

“So, what is it that keeps this woman . . . what is her name?”

“Carrie,” he said. “Carrie Collins.”

Alvaro nodded. “So what is it that keeps this Carrie Collins on your mind?”

“I find her. . . interesting.” He added the last work in English, unsure exactly which word in Spanish would give the proper meaning. “It’s nothing, I’m sure, but I do wonder if a bit of free publicity for Heavenly Beans is why she and I crossed paths.”

“Ah, the Lord, He will tell you if He means to,” Alvaro said.
 

“I suppose so,” Ryan said. “In the meantime, there’s always E-mail.”

“Ah, E-mail. I suppose that will work for a time.”

Before Ryan could respond, Alvaro pulled the truck to a stop within inches of the gate to the property and bounded out to clear their way. The squeals of children at play floated toward them, mixed with the shrill call of birds and the sound of tree limbs rustling.
 

“Like music, the sound of a happy child,” Alvaro said as he climbed back into the truck. “I pray you have many, my friend.”

Ryan shook his head. “You know Mama’s set to marry you off first.”

“Perhaps,” Alvaro said as he inched the truck down the shadowed lane toward the clearing, “but Mama’s no match for the Lord, even if she sometimes forgets that. What Mama wants may not be what the Father intends.”

CHAPTER SIX

Despite her promise to the contrary, Carrie pulled up her E-mails before she began her writing day. In the past, before Ryan Baxter entered her life, she spent at least an hour working before she allowed herself the perk of checking E-mails. The self-imposed rule had served to boost her productivity considerably, especially when the temptation to “just read a few E-mails” generally gave way to hours lost in following the links to sites or chatting with friends on Instant Messenger.

“C’mon, hurry up,” she said under her breath as she waited for her slow-as-Austin-traffic laptop to pull up her E-mail program and chug through the process of downloading new mail. While she waited she glanced at the corner of her desk where a thick stack of papers awaited her attention. At the top of the stack was her rough outline of the Heavenly Beans story along with notes she’d added last night after a lengthy E-mail from Ryan.
 

Ryan.

Had it been just a week since she said good-bye to him at the airport? Since then she’d traded at least a dozen E-mails with him, most on the topic of Heavenly Beans and
Casa de Dios
. It all started with a short E-mail from Jeff asking if Carrie had any more questions for the interview.

She came up with a whole list of queries, not that she needed the answers to any of them. It seemed rude not to respond.
 

By the next morning, her inbox contained Ryan’s responses as well as a chatty discourse on an evening spent stringing night lights to make the path safe for the elderly woman who ran the orphanage. Carrie inquired as to the purpose of this and Ryan responded with a story of a knock in the night, a fractured ankle, and a fiercely independent senior citizen who loved children.

Carrie had laughed out loud at that one. Mama Zadora sounded like quite a character – and an excellent candidate for a follow-up article.
 

In all, they traded four E-mails that day. By the time she went to bed that night, guilt had all but caused her to put a stop to their correspondence. After all, how could a man with a nefarious purpose seem so kind?
 

Ryan loved old ladies, children, and the Lord. Any other man would be considered near to perfect with those qualifications .

In her rush to serve the Lord in a big way, had she broken her iron-clad promise not to go into a story with a pre-conceived idea about the people involved? Worse, had she allowed what she saw, namely the expensive briefcase, first class seat, and wealthy contributor, color her opinion of the man and his mission?

It was certainly something to consider. And to pray about.

Seven days after that first flurry of correspondence, Carrie began each morning, after her prescribed writing time, with a note from Ryan and ended each day with the same. Her responses to him were feeling more like friendship and less like work with each time she pressed “send.” Just last night he ended his E-mail with a note giving her his Instant Messenger screen name, “just in case she might want to chat sometime.” Of course, she quickly responded with hers.

While she waited for her E-mails to download, she signed onto her Instant Messenger program. There was Ryan’s name highlighted in black, indicating he was also online. Sending a message might be fun. But what would she say? The familiar chime was followed in rapid succession by a pop-up window and the words “Good morning, Carrie!”

“Thanks for making the first move.” She giggled like a teenager. “Now, what to say back?”

Carrie typed a quick greeting in return and smiled and she pressed enter. In the background, her E-mails popped up. Among the ads for low cost mortgage and health insurance was an E-mail from Ryan. She double-clicked on his name and watched as his note appeared on her screen.

It was a short note, one obviously written in haste, and the subject line read “Costa Rican vacation?”
 
Beneath the subject line he’d written the following:

Dear Carrie,

I should be attending to business, but instead I find myself wondering if you’ve had any decent coffee lately. After all, it wouldn’t do for a professional journalist of your caliber to be writing about a coffee company and not enjoying the beverage. I know I promised I would send a case and I will do that today if you’d like, but I feel I must tell you I have a much better offer for you than that. Why not come get it yourself? Friends of the ministry who own a local bed and breakfast have offered the use of one of their guest rooms and the Camex jet is at your disposal, with a few days notice, of course. I join these friends of the Heavenly Beans and Casa de Dios in hoping – no praying – that you will accept our hospitality very soon.

Ryan

How to respond? Carrie typed a clever line warning him to watch out what he prayed for then quickly hit delete. It wouldn’t do to sound silly or flirty. After all, this was merely an assignment, not a social situation.

She closed out her E-mail program then sat pondering the situation. Her meeting with Mr. Scott loomed large on her afternoon calendar. The purpose of the meeting was to go over the final draft of the church fire story, or at least that was what she led her boss to believe. Her real agenda was to try one last time to interest him in the Heavenly Beans story.