Five Years Later

“Mommy! Mommy!”

Margery turned toward the sound of Ainsley’s voice just in time to brace herself as her daughter barreled into her.

“Ainsley,” Margery gasped. “What in the world is the matter with you?”

Ainsley beamed up at her. “Mommy! I got a part in the pageant at school today. A big part!”

“Oh? That’s great,” Margery replied, smiling at her daughter, who was now bouncing up and down with excitement, her dark hair swirling around her.

“Don’t you want to know which part it is?” Ainsley asked.

“After you set your things down in that booth and wash your hands. I’ll bring you some pie, and you can tell me about your day.”

“Mooom,” Ainsley replied, drawing out the word in exasperation.

“Now, Ainsley.”

Ainsley made a big show of slinking off to do as her mother told her, causing the nearby diners to smile in amusement.

Margery shook her head. Usually, having Ainsley at the diner while Margery finished up the lunch shift and prepared for the dinner rush wasn’t an issue, but nobody could expect a seven-year-old girl to behave all the time. A few busy minutes later, Margery chanced a look over at the booth she had directed her daughter to sit in and found Ainsley sitting with her homework spread out in front of her. Scooping up a piece of pie, Margery whisked toward the booth and sat down across from her daughter, setting the pie in front of Ainsley.

“Now, Ainsley,” Margery began, and Ainsley looked up expectantly. “Why don’t you tell me how your day went?”

“I got a big role in the Thanksgiving Day Pageant at school,” Ainsley replied, excited.

“What’s the role?” Margery asked, unable to keep the smile off her face. Ainsley had been talking about the pageant for months now.

“I’m the Indian princess.”

“Native American,” Margery corrected her, motioning for her to continue.

“Native American,” Ainsley repeated. “I’m the chief’s daughter, and I get to lead the Ind—I mean, Native Americans in the Thanksgiving feast.”

“Sounds like an awfully big part. We’ll work on your costume and your lines when you get back from your dad’s house on Sunday.”

Ainsley groaned. “Do I have to go there this weekend?”

“Ainsley Elizabeth,” Margery scolded. “Your father misses you very much when you aren’t with him. You need to be more respectful.”

“But he never wants to spend time with me,” Ainsley complained. “All I do is watch TV or stay with a babysitter while he and Cathy go out.”

Margery frowned. “It doesn’t matter. He’s your father, and he loves you. See if he’ll take you to the park,” she suggested. “I bet if you ask him, he will.”

“Okay, I’ll try,” Ainsley said doubtfully.

“Finish your homework before he gets here, sweetie,” Margery said with a reassuring smile, rising and kissing her daughter on the head.

She took Ainsley’s empty plate to the kitchen, thinking about her daughter’s newest revelation. If Mitchell didn’t want to spend time with Ainsley, then why did he insist on having her every other weekend?

Their custody agreement stated that, during those weekends, Mitchell had her from Thursday evening until Monday morning, but Margery had always told him he was welcome to see her any time he wanted. He had never seen Ainsley outside his allotted time, but Margery hadn’t known he left her with a babysitter on the weekends he had her. It was ridiculous, especially when Margery lived in the same town and could just as easily have taken care of Ainsley herself.

Sighing, she washed off Ainsley’s plate and resolved to talk to him about it when he came to pick Ainsley up. It was possible Ainsley had been exaggerating, as that was not all unusual for her, but Margery wanted to be sure.

Margery settled herself back behind the counter and took orders as they came in. Glancing around the diner, Margery smiled to herself. The diner had passed to her from her grandfather upon his death. The building had been in their family for generations, but it was her grandfather, Billy Cartwright, who had turned it from an old saloon to a classic American diner in the 1950s.

Billy had practically raised Margery, and he had meant the world to her, and she to him. Margery had spent many childhood afternoons helping her grandfather in his diner, so it surprised no one when Billy left the business to Margery in his will.

When Margery had taken over, she’d recognized the need to impress the tourists while keeping the townsfolk happy. She had kept the name—Cartwright Diner—to honor her late grandfather but had done a complete overhaul of the space using the rest of her inheritance money as funding. She had replaced the 1950s decor with a western theme. A giant stone fireplace sat against the far wall, and even now, there was a small crowd of people milling around it, seeking the warmth and comfort of the fire. Vaulted ceilings gave the diner a more spacious feel, and the wooden beams crisscrossing over their heads made her customers feel like they were in a cozy barn instead of a restaurant. She had kept the original breakfast counter but had changed the black swivel barstools for wooden ones.

Even the menu had changed some. Margery had kept the old favorites but had added a few new things like homemade brick oven pizza, and in the summer, they had pounds of smoked BBQ cooking out back in the giant fire pit.

Margery had dedicated every inch of her diner to comfort and warmth. She couldn’t help but be proud of all she had accomplished over the years, particularly the last five when she hadn’t had Mitchell breathing down her neck about how much money she was spending on the diner. It was everyone’s favorite place to eat besides Rose Callahan’s bar, and most people went there for the liquor and the atmosphere, not the food. Rose was never one to cook for the masses, only for her friends and family. No, Cartwright Diner was the best place in town to get a nice, hot meal, and Margery couldn’t be happier about that.

A few more customers placed orders before Mitchell and Cathy came sauntering into the diner. Sighing, Margery wiped her hands on her apron and strode over to the duo where they had stopped at Ainsley’s booth.

“Mitchell,” she said when she stood next to them. “I need to speak with you for a few minutes.”

Mitchell hesitated. “Sure,” he said. “I need to talk to you, too.”

Mitchell glanced pointedly at Cathy, and his wife stalked off, rolling her eyes. Ainsley wrapped her small arms around Margery’s waist as her mother leaned over and kissed her on the cheek.

“Have fun,” Margery whispered. “I’ll see you on Sunday.”

Ainsley smiled and followed Cathy outside to Mitchell’s car.

Margery eyed Mitchell. He had changed little in the five years they had been apart. He was still medium height with sandy brown hair and gray eyes. His oval face had gotten a little rounder with age, but he was still the pretty boy he had been when she had married him. Mitchell wasn’t the most attractive man she had ever met, but he was the most charming. It was why she had fallen so hard for him. It was only after they’d gotten married and the charm had worn off that she’d realized things weren’t all they appeared to be with Mitchell Andrews.  

“What did you want to talk about?” Margery asked warily.

“I can’t take Ainsley for Thanksgiving this year.”

“What?”

“Cathy and I are going to see her parents this Thanksgiving,” Mitchell continued, ignoring Margery’s shock.

“And Ainsley can’t go with you?” Margery asked, narrowing her eyes. She wasn’t upset at the unexpected change of plans. Part of her was ecstatic to have her daughter for Thanksgiving, but the other part of her knew this development would only reinforce Ainsley’s feeling that her father didn’t want to spend time with her.

“It’s not like that,” Mitchell insisted, recognizing Margery’s look of disgust and anger. “Cathy and I don’t get a lot of time alone together, and—”

“From what I’ve heard,” Margery interrupted, “you get plenty of time alone.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Is it true you leave Ainsley with a babysitter almost every weekend you have her?” Margery hissed, fixing Mitchell with an icy glare.

“Is that what Ainsley told you?” Mitchell growled.

“It’s a small town, Mitchell, and people love to gossip. Ainsley didn’t have to tell me anything,” Margery lied.

“What I do with Ainsley while she is with me is my business, Margery.”

“Actually, it’s not,” Margery snapped. “We live in the same town, Mitchell. If you’re going to leave her with a babysitter, then you can leave her with me. There’s no reason for a stranger to watch her when one of her parents is more than willing to spend time with her.”

“Are you saying I don’t want to spend time with my own daughter?” Mitchell demanded.

“Do your actions speak any differently? Whether you like it or not, she is your daughter, Mitchell, and she wants a relationship with you. As much as you might want to start over with your new wife, you still have a child, and that won’t change.”

“I spend time with her,” Mitchell defended weakly. “And you don’t get to tell me what to do, Margery. It was you who wanted to have kids so late, anyway.”

“Grow up, Mitchell,” Margery spat, disgusted. “Next time you plan date night on one of the six nights a month you have Ainsley, call me, and I’ll pick her up early. I don’t want strangers watching my child anymore. Not when I can do it myself.”

Mitchell sneered. “Fine. Next time we need to talk about our daughter, let me know beforehand if you’re going to be a complete bitch so I can prepare myself.”

He spun on his heel and marched out of the diner—which was probably for the best since Margery was seriously contemplating throwing something large and heavy at him.

She stomped back to the breakfast counter, angry tears brimming in her eyes as she took a few deep breaths in an attempt at getting her temper under control. Mitchell always brought out the worst in her. She had been mistaken to think they could have a calm and rational conversation. Nothing was ever calm and rational where Mitchell was concerned. He was combative on his best days, particularly with her.

“Are you okay?” a soft, melodious voice asked from behind her.

Startled, Margery spun around and met the kind, russet brown gaze of the most striking man she had seen in a long while. With copper skin and raven hair braided back from his square face, he appeared Native American. She couldn’t help but trace the hard lines and angles of his smooth jaw that led into the equally hard lines of his body. She sensed muscle and raw power under his simple flannel shirt and jeans.

Jerking her gaze back up to his face, Margery blushed and nodded. “I’m fine,” she answered, mortified to hear the squeak in her voice. Clearing her throat, she tried again. “I’m okay.”

The beautiful man gave her a doubtful look. “I couldn’t help but overhear,” he began.

“You and everyone else, I’m sure,” Margery replied, blushing again. “Mitchell, my ex-husband, isn’t one for discretion. I’ll be okay, though. Really,” she added when his concern didn’t seem to fade. “I’m used to it. Now, what can I get you, Mr.…?”

He gave her one last doubtful look before reaching his hand out to her. “Niyol,” he said. “I’m cousins with—”

“Rose,” Margery finished for him.

He looked at her with surprise.

“Rose and I go way back,” she explained. “She told me about you, and I recognized the name. Are you here for Thanksgiving?”

He nodded. “Yes. And to spend time with Jill before the baby comes.”

“Well, I’m sure you’ll have a great time with those two. They’re a barrel of fun when they aren’t meddling.”

Niyol laughed.

“You ready to order?” Margery asked, smiling; his laughter was infectious and seemed to fill the room with warmth.

He placed his order and Margery went to tell the cook. When she came back up to the front, she couldn’t help but drift back over to where Niyol was sitting. There was something about him that drew her in, which was slightly unnerving.

“So, you have a daughter?” he asked, turning his dark eyes on her.

“Yes,” Margery answered breathlessly. “She’s seven.”

What is wrong with you? she thought. You are a grown ass woman, not a blushing school girl. Get yourself together.

Over the next hour and a half, Margery found herself drifting back to talk to Niyol long after he had finished his meal. They talked about Rose and what it was like growing up with her, and Niyol spoke about growing up on the reservation.

Margery could think of only one other person she could talk with this comfortably, and that was Rose. But Rose never looked at her with such intensity as Niyol did the whole time they talked. It was as if she were the only person in the room with him, and it was both alarming and thrilling to be the center of such undivided attention. After catching herself basking in the warmth of his gaze more than once, she realized it was time to make her exit.

Flagging down the night manager, Jamie, Margery excused herself to Niyol and made a hurried excuse to Jamie for leaving early. Not wanting to offend Niyol, Margery walked back over and chatted with him a little longer. Even though she told herself it was to save face, she knew deep down she didn’t want to leave his company just yet.

Eventually, she forced herself to leave, waving to Niyol and Jamie as she left. Margery scolded herself the entire way home for her behavior. She did not want another man in her life. Not now, not ever.

But her traitorous body disagreed. Her dreams that night were full of dark eyes and a smooth tenor voice that made her toss and turn in a heated frenzy of desire, and she woke the next morning exhausted but unable to recall the dreams that had caused such mayhem.

If she had remembered the passion and desire of her nighttime fantasies, she would have realized it was never a good idea to say never. She might also have noticed the wall around her heart cracking just a bit as she subconsciously sought the warmth only one strikingly handsome man could give.