Small Town Girl (30 page)

Flint slid in beside Jo, touching his thigh to hers under the table. "Yup," he answered noncommittally, sipping his coffee.

Jo choked. She knew he liked the cafe just the way it was. She'd been overwhelmed that he'd actually worked to restore it yesterday instead of giving up. But upholstering plastic benches was way beyond being a good sport and into the realm of dangerously stupid. How did one clean french-fry grease from upholstery?

But it was gorgeous material, she had to admit, all in richly woven combinations of rusts and wines and dark blues and golds that could all work together—not completely unlike a fabric form of Fiestaware.

"I can make seats for the chairs," Marie declared with satisfaction. "And Ina and Flo can upholster those cushions. Their unemployment checks are running out next month, too. Maybe Flint's insurance will pay some toward the booth damage."

Oh, wow. Oh, double wow. Rock-and-hard-place time. Jo squeezed Flint's thigh beneath the table, and he covered her hand with his to reassure her. So, this was what it was like to work in partnership with a man. She'd always kind of wondered.

"I'm going to come in and cook dinners when Flint starts opening in the evening this weekend," Amy declared from behind the counter.

Grasping this reprieve from the upholstery dilemma, Jo dared a look at Flint. "You really think we can pull this off?"

"Have to," he said without rancor, meeting her gaze with one that reflected concern and warmth at the same time. "It's almost the end of the month and I'm broker than I was when I started. I'm hoping maybe all that publicity will draw a few tourists."

A thrill coursed through her. He was staying! Knowing how much he was risking for the town and his sons shook her like an earthquake.

Jo released his thigh before she went up in flames.

"Okay. I could let Peggy handle tables in the morning, and I could come in Friday night. I'm in the back room most Fridays anyway."

Flint captured her hand and squeezed it on top of the table where everyone could see. "Thank you. You make customers feel at home."

"Guess that settles it," Jo declared, trying not to distill any meaning out of his gesture or words. "You're going to have yourself a restaurant instead of a cafe."

"Upscale coffee shop," Flint said solemnly, lifting his cup to his lips, his eyes dancing over the brim as they met hers.

Damn, the man had a way of making the impossible seem possible. She had to keep her foolish heart from believing the promises in his eyes.

"Hey, Dad." The boys came running out of the back. "Can we plug the laptop in your office?" Johnnie asked.

"Not until the electrician hooks us up. Isn't there a socket in the back?"

"We need a desk, and Louisa has to go potty," Adam announced matter-of-factly, reminding them that the boys weren't quite old enough to babysit a toddler.

"I'll look after them young 'uns." Marie slid from the booth. "Y'all got your hands full out here."

She sent Flint's and Jo's joined hands a pointed look that made Jo giggle.

Flint leaped up to help Marie out of the booth, and Jo slid out to flip the
Closed
sign to
Open
, and to join Amy behind the counter.

"You want to cook dinner for these slobs?" Jo murmured to her sister.

"What's my alternative?" Amy whispered back. "Go to Taiwan for a job?"

"You and Evan will work things out." They had to. Her sister's marriage was the only one Jo had ever seen work, and she longed to believe that happy-ever-after was possible. "You have a college degree. You don't belong here flipping hamburgers."

"You can flip hamburgers," Amy said, pouring flour for a new batch of muffins. "I'll just cook the meals I usually cook for dinner. The menu selection will be limited." She glanced around, saw that their mother had hobbled her way to the back room where Josh and Louisa were chattering, and continued, "Flint said he'd call Elise and ask her to hire someone to see what Evan is up to. He only called once all weekend."

Oh, filthy bad word
. Jo slammed a pot on the burner. "I vote we get Evan and Randy together in one room, lock them up, and throw away the key."

"And pour in molasses and chickens?" Amy asked with interest.

"While your muffins bake and smell delicious on the other side!" Jo added, her mouth watering as the first batch filled the air with the aroma of baking blueberries.

"And you sing Randy's stolen songs?" Amy managed a weak grin.

"Yeah, we can rock-'n'-roll!" Jo pumped her fist in the air and swayed to her own music as the first of their morning customers entered.

"Not this early in the morning, Jo," Dave groaned, flopping down on a seat at the counter. "Remind Flint of the Chamber meeting, willya?"

"Consider him reminded." Flint strode back into the room.

"You really think you can bring in the Barn Boys?" Dave asked what was on everyone's minds.

"If their schedule permits." Flint slid a doughnut down to him as Jo poured his coffee. "How big is this place you use for the festival? It has to handle a good-sized crowd or it's not worth their setting up."

Flint watched as faces fell all around. Damn. He'd spent the night thinking about how to make this festival work—so he didn't have to think about how he missed having Jo naked by his side, buoying his spirits in the dark hours before dawn.

When silence reigned in response to Flint's question, Amy turned two shades of red, bit her lip, and twisted her hands. The lightbulb over the stove blew out.

Everyone turned to regard her with interest.

"Spit it out, Amy," Flint said gently. He was learning a little about Jo's older sister. Amy wasn't exactly shy, so much as intimidated by speaking her thoughts aloud.

"I'm not supposed to tell," she whispered. "Evan swore me to secrecy."

Jo snorted and shoved a mug of coffee at her sister. "Evan is a rat's ass right now. It's time we yanked his tail. Spill."

Amy clutched the mug between both hands. "The board is closing the mill. The only chance of keeping it open was those samples, and they probably would have shipped the business to Mexico if the samples sold well. They think the buildings here are too antiquated to update." While everyone stared in horror, she finished hurriedly, "The festival could use that big building they stripped of machinery this spring. It's just sitting there empty. It could hold a huge crowd."

Stoically, Flint topped off cups all around. His hand ached like hell from all the hammering and shoveling. He'd have to borrow money to have the tendons operated on in hopes that he could go back on the road once the shop shut down. Joella could sue him for everything he was worth, and all she would get was a building mortgaged to the hilt in a town that would close down by the end of the summer.

The only hope any of them had of survival was a half-assed music festival that was only a month away.

George Bob walked in, followed by a few more of the regulars. "What's going on in here? You holding a funeral?"

That just about summed it up, Flint figured.

Jo flipped the
Closed
sign over at three. "I don't
ever
want to experience another day like this again."

Dave had announced the mill closing at the Chamber meeting, and it had been all over town by noon. If nothing else, the news had been good for cafe business. Every person in the county had stopped in to confirm the gossip. They'd run out of coffee by one, and Jo had been reduced to begging a customer to run up to the grocery to buy Folgers. Even the electrician had come in early to hear the gossip. At least the air conditioner was back on.

The news of the mill closing had been lousy for morale. Half the Chamber was ready to call off the festival to save money.

"Why don't you go upstairs and relax?" Flint told Jo. "I can put the boys to slinging chairs and mopping. You went above and beyond the call of duty today." He flipped chairs onto tables on the way to his office where he'd left Adam and Johnnie. Amy had taken her kids and Marie home before the lunch rush. Her muffins had sold like hotcakes all morning—
better
than the hot-cakes.

"I've been thinking," Jo replied, starting on the chairs on the other side.

"Well, hold those thoughts." He opened his office door and caught his sons leaning over the laptop they'd set up on his desk. A pounding beat that he didn't recognize emanated from the machine's speakers. They threw him such guilty looks and turned off the music so quickly that he figured they'd been stealing music again. "Time to earn your keep," he ordered. "Come on out and help clean up so Jo can rest."

The protests that had been on the tip of their tongues shut up when he mentioned Jo. She might not be maternal, but she sure the hell knew how to be a boy's best friend. She'd fixed them special snacks all day, talked to them about their taste in music in between, and generally conquered them with her laughter and camaraderie. He was happy to see they were gentlemen enough to return the favor.

"Your head okay?" he asked his youngest before he could escape. Neither he nor Melinda had realized the boy needed glasses until Flint's parents had taken him to a doctor for his chronic headaches.

"Yeah, it's okay," Johnnie answered grudgingly. "Jo gave me aspirin. Do you think Mom would have liked her?"

Ouch
. Where had that come from? Flint sent a quick glance across the room, but Jo was chatting with Adam and not paying attention to them. Well, not paying attention for Jo meant she wasn't looking in his direction, but Flint knew she had eyes in the back of her head and picked up signals without his saying a word. He'd been aware of her on so many levels today that it was a wonder he was still coherent.

"Yeah, I think your mom would have liked her." He supposed Jo and his late wife had a lot in common on the surface, and Jo was very likable. It occurred to him that Jo would have seen through Melinda, though. She was sharp like that.

"Mom probably wouldn't have liked it here," Johnnie said tentatively, a deeper question hiding behind his words.

Why the hell did kids pick the worst possible times for these discussions? Flint rubbed his brow and tried to guess what his son was really asking. "No, I'm afraid not, Son. Your mama wanted things I couldn't give her. It's kind of like how some people like Merle Haggard and others like Shania Twain. We had different tastes."

To his surprise, John nodded wisely. "Yeah, that's kinda what I thought. I'm glad you can live here now. Are you gonna stay?"

Oh, hell. That wasn't a decision he was prepared to make right this minute. But the kid wanted reassurance that he had a home with a parent in it, and Flint could offer no other choice. "I'm gonna try."

Johnnie beamed. "That would be cool. Nana wouldn't talk about it."

His son liked it here, without pools and soccer teams and YMCAs? Flint tried not to show his shock or the burden of decision that had just been laid on him. "Your nana doesn't want you to be hurt if things don't work out, but you're old enough to understand. Go get the broom and start sweeping so Adam can come after you with the mop."

Flint threw the last chair onto the table and straightened to discover Jo beside him. He checked, and Adam had followed his brother to the cleaning closet.

"I think you just passed your first daddy test with flying colors," she murmured, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "You're a good man, Charlie Brown."

She was back behind the counter and reading the instructions on how to set the oven to clean by the time the kids had returned with mop and bucket and broom.

Flint wore Jo's kiss like a Medal of Honor for the rest of the afternoon. Maybe his career and business had gone to hell, but maybe, one of these days, he could be a good dad.

For that kind of reward, he would move mountains.

Chapter Twenty-three

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Walking across the oil-stained planks of the unused mill building, Flint imagined the echoes of crowd applause, the crunch of peanut shells beneath his feet, and an introductory drumroll.

He couldn't go down this road again.

Rubbing the crease between his eyes, he tried to erase the memories, but they were in his blood, and he'd have to erase himself to be rid of them.

Country music was written for big old barns like this. The soft pine floors and high rafters absorbed and echoed the music at the same time. The bass would rattle the tempo right through a man's boot soles and into a woman's heart.

The mill was an ideal venue for any country musician worth his salt.

And he couldn't do it. He couldn't go back to those days of drinking, flirting, and playing. The music created an artificial high that made him believe he was superman, that he could do it all, have it all—and he couldn't. He just wasn't made that way. He could have fortune and fame, or family and love. He'd suffered the torments of the damned learning which he wanted.

"Hey, Dad, look at this!" Adam called from the back end of the enormous building. "There's a loft up there for the light system."

And rafters for speakers and video screens. And room enough for a high stage and a thousand people. This temptation was precisely why he'd left Nashville.

Flint dragged his boot heels toward his sons, who were practically bouncing in excitement. He'd never taken them on tour. They'd never understand how precarious music was to their existence.

"The offices would make great dressing rooms," Jo sang out as she emerged from a door in the rear. "There are big restrooms on the other end for the audience."

She was glowing and bouncing even more than the boys. Flint bit back a sarcastic reply, unwilling to pop their balloons. They had little enough to be happy about. The mill had officially filed for bankruptcy yesterday, sent the employees home, and locked the doors.

They weren't supposed to be here now, but Amy had known a maintenance man with keys.

"The players would have to stay in Asheville," Jo continued worriedly, apparently reading his face. "But we could rent a bus to transport them, couldn't we?"