CHAPTER TWO
When half the crowd in Trish’s diner turned his way, Cal wished to hell he’d picked up a pizza and gone home. Or that he’d actually learned how to cook. There were times he was very glad his parents had finally bought the beach condo of their dreams, and times when he really missed them. Like breakfast, lunch, and dinner. His mama had spoiled him with good food his whole life, but now she was getting deservedly spoiled by spending her days on the beach.
That night he was longing for his mama’s famous chili. So he’d decided to have the next best thing, a bowl of Aunt Trish’s. She wasn’t actually his aunt, but that’s what everyone called her, and she and Cal were related in some convoluted way, third cousins or such.
But even Trish’s nearly perfect chili and cornbread wouldn’t make up for Cal being the source of gossip for the bunch seated at the counter. How early was it? He glanced at his watch. Maybe Irene and Elsie would leave soon. They shouldn’t be on the streets after dark.
Damn. How was it only six thirty? They still had a good bit of light left. He considered turning around and hightailing it home, but that would cause even more talk.
He sighed and headed to an unoccupied seat at the opposite end of the counter from the elderly lady gossip club, though he knew he wouldn’t be alone for long.
After placing refilled napkin dispensers in strategic spots along the counter, Trish ambled down to see him. “Hey, Cal, what can I get ya?”
“A bowl of chili.”
“Cornbread on the side?”
He nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”
She scribbled on her order pad. “What you drinking? Tea?”
Tea wasn’t going to cut it today. “Nah. I’ll have a Corona.”
“You want a lime?”
“Yes, please.”
Trish headed through the swinging metal door into the kitchen. At least she hadn’t said anything about his new neighbor. Yet.
He kept his gaze on his phone, wishing he could turn invisible. But in less time than it took him to open Instagram, Irene had made her way down to his end of the bar.
“How are the farm tours coming along? You must be busy with it, planting season too and all?”
Just relax, like there’s nothing unusual going on. “Tours are good, but you’re right; I’m busy as hel…um…heck. I’m going to try to use up the last bit of daylight as soon as I eat my dinner.”
Irene studied him for a moment. “Too bad your mama’s not around.”
That could mean a variety of things—he looked like hell, he need someone to cook for him, or who knows what else. He decided not to ask.
“So have you seen Beckett yet?”
She’d always called Beck by his full name. “Yes, I saw him this morning. Katie decided to run over there, and I went to fetch her back.”
Irene laughed. “I bet you were glad for the excuse.”
“I would’ve made my way over there eventually.”
“Irene, let that boy alone, and come back over here.”
Cal grinned. Elsie always tried to keep Irene in line.
“I’m just making conversation,” Irene said.
Elsie snorted. “You’re just being an old gossip.”
Trish reappeared with his beer, and he could tell she was trying not to laugh. “Near as I remember she was a young one too.”
Irene bristled, but she was grinning, so her annoyance was only pretense. “Enjoy your dinner, Cal. I’ll talk to you later when the atmosphere is more welcoming.”
“Have a good evening, Miss Irene.”
Trish stayed at Cal’s end of the counter as he dropped the lime into his beer and took a sip.
“You should take him some produce,” she said. “Lord knows if he can cook it any better than you, but it would be a good way to welcome him.”
“I assume you’re talking about Beck.”
“Of course I am, or has another new man joined our little community?”
Cal laughed. “Hardly.”
Trish gave him a pointed look.
“Fine. I’ll do it.”
“Good.” She headed around the counter to take orders from a group of newcomers.
Her suggestion really was a good one. Leaving things like he had that morning was sure as hell not going to win him Beck’s land. Taking over some vegetables and some frozen meat from last fall’s pigs was a good idea. Beck clearly wasn’t going to be intimidated, so Cal needed to turn up the charm for him. He used to be damn good at that, but lately, he found it too much hassle.
Shit. He was only twenty-eight. How was he already getting gruff and stodgy?
He realized Trish had returned. “Cal, you all right?”
“Yeah. Sorry. I’m just tired. Two of the sows had piglets this week.”
“Oh, how are they?” Elsie asked. She and Irene had been headed toward the door, but they stopped to chat.
“Good. Healthy, energetic. They’ve worn their mamas out.”
“Sounds just right, then.”
“We lost two, but there are still fifteen in good health.” He was trying a new heritage breed and was hoping for more success than he’d had when he’d tried to raise pigs a few years ago.
He was proud of his farm and the ways he’d modernized it, shifting to organic methods for many of the crops, raising pigs along with the chickens while still keeping the stable going. He was determined to do whatever was needed to stay afloat, even if that meant sucking up to his new neighbor.
Elsie, Irene, and Trish continued talking as his mind wandered. Then Elsie patted him on the back. “I’ll bet you get the land in the end. You can talk anybody out of anything. We all know that.”
If only that were true. “I sure hope so, but for all we know, he’ll decide he loves the place and stay.”
Irene sighed. “I don’t think that’s going to happen. If it weren’t for needing to go through his grandma’s things, God rest her soul, I’m not sure he’d ever have set foot here again.”
“So he’ll stay a bit, clean the house, lick his wounds, and move on,” Cal said, hoping that was the case.
Trish shrugged. “Maybe. Now, don’t you ladies have an altar guild meeting to be at?”
Elsie looked at her watch. “Come on, Irene. We’re going to be late.”
“We’d better not be. We’ve got twice the usual work with it being Palm Sunday.”
“You take care, Cal,” Irene said. “I want to come by and see those piglets before they’re all grown.”
“Anytime, Miss Irene. You just come on by.” Hopefully he’d be out in a field somewhere and one of his hands would show her around. He loved her, but she’d keep him talking half the day.
When he looked back at Trish, she was studying him like she knew something.
Cal narrowed his eyes. “What?”
“I just have a feeling.”
That was not good. Trish’s “feelings” had a way of being more like premonitions. No one went so far as to say she was psychic, but she’d predicted a hell of a lot of things nobody expected. Like her good feeling when Paxton Marshall, one of the town’s few out-of-the-closet gay men, moved back home and started an art gallery/pottery painting business. He’d been so successful, tourists were now heading to the gallery after seeing the bridge. Cal still couldn’t quite believe there was art in Ames Bridge now that wasn’t airbrushed and sold on the side of the road.
Trish had also warned people something was up with Rev. Wilkes, who used to preach at the Ames Bridge Tabernacle. She’d lost some friends and customers over that, but it turned out he was siphoning donations for a new sanctuary into a private account. The man’d had the nerve to tell Cal he was going to hell, while he was busy stealing money from the elderly.
“What is this feeling?” Cal asked.
“That Beck belongs here. That something big’s gonna happen to convince him of it.”
Aw, shit.
A bell dinged. “Order up!” Trish’s husband, Duke, hollered, and a steaming bowl appeared in the pass-through window.
“That’s your chili.” Before she turned to get it, Trish patted his arm. “Cheer up. Everything’s going to be fine.”
He sure as hell hoped so, but Trish’s words—I just have a feeling—were echoing in his head, making him less sure than ever.