Magnolias and Mercy (Wildflower Wishes Book 1) Page 9

  “No, but I think Noah’s trying to get your attention.”

  “Noah?” Hope turned toward the windows, where snow had indeed begun to fall in fat, sloppy flakes that blanketed the parking lot. A guy who sat tucked into the last booth in the corner motioned with a single finger raised into the air. He offered a slight grin as if apologizing for interrupting her rhythm, and slipped from his jacket, setting it on the seat beside him. She tried not to notice the way his navy polo shirt hugged a terrain of muscles across the wide breadth of his shoulders. He sported disheveled dark hair, just long enough to make him look a bit dangerous, and eyes the color of blue topaz.

  “Oh, thanks for the heads-up. I don’t know how I missed him.” Hope padded in his direction, her tennis shoes squeaking across the polished tile. As she approached his booth, she grimaced. “I’m so sorry—”

  “Don’t be.” He brushed her off with a wave of his hand. “I see you’re packed to the proverbial gills in here. Just coffee, please. Make it strong and black.”

  “Decaf okay?”

  “For this round, if that’s all you’ve got. But I’d be beyond appreciative if you’d bring the next round fully loaded.”

  “Sure.” She splashed a hit of coffee into his cup. For some reason her hands trembled as his eyes studied her, and her pulse raced like she was the one downing gallons of caffeine. She chastised herself as she bumped the creamer, splattering the table. She sopped up the mess as she distracted him with small talk. “Been shopping?”

  “No.” He lifted the cup to his lips, drew a long gulp, then tilted his head and offered her a sidelong glance. “I wouldn’t be caught dead out there with all those bargain-hungry vultures.”

  “Sorry for assuming.” Hope’s mouth curled into a slight smile at his offhanded remark. Until now, she’d felt as though she was the only one who avoided the annual sale-hungry mobs.

  “You just look…”

  “What?” He leaned back in the booth, his gaze slipping over her as he waited for her to finish.

  “I mean, you seem a bit tired and…frazzled.”

  “That so?” He scratched a spatter of stubble across the length of his jaw. His fingers, Hope noticed, were long and strong—and lacking a wedding ring. “So, now the coffee comes with a therapy session?”

  “No.” Hope backpedaled, stumbling over a chair. The coffee carafe bobbled in her hand, and she was glad she had a tight grip on the handle or the guy— Noah—may have been gifted with a scalding coffee shower. The song on the radio segued into a festive Christmas tune as she stuttered, “I’ll, um…refill your cup. Would you like anything else?”

  “Nothing I can find in here.” He drew another gulp of coffee, his gaze drifting to the snow that began to engulf the parking lot and the quiet, two-lane road beyond. “So, no, thank you.”

  The aroma of french fries mingled with coffee and grilled chicken, making Noah Armstrong’s stomach lurch as he watched the harried woman juggle a tray filled with lunch plates. She wove her way along the string of booths, her cheeks flushed from the exertion. He hadn’t been by the diner in a while, but he knew Sam always scheduled at least three hostesses on a busy day such as this.

  Where had the others gone?

  The woman was smaller than average, her hands petite and delicate. But she seemed to have no trouble juggling a quartet of plates. Steam drifted from a meatloaf dinner, filling the diner with the aroma of rich ground beef and brown sugar. Usually the meatloaf was Noah’s favorite. But not today—no, he couldn’t imagine trying to eat anything with his gut wound so tight.

  Something about the woman seemed incongruous to their surroundings. She was too polished for the greasy diner, with a sassy blunt cut that skimmed her shoulders when she crossed by the wall of windows overlooking the snow-covered parking lot. Her eyes were a rich mahogany—a near reflection of her hair color—and he imagined she had a bite of temper to match the dark red hair. He’d noticed the look she’d given Joe Suttleman, the old codger, when he clinked his mug and demanded more coffee in an overly-gruff tone. Yes, Miss Hostess could surely hold her own.

  Noah hadn’t seen her here—or anywhere else in Miracle Cove, for that matter—before. She must be new in town. He watched her rush back to Mr. Hoffman’s table for the third time in less than a dozen minutes. Why didn’t she just leave the old guy his own personal coffee carafe and let him serve himself?

  Coffee…ahh. The muddy liquid warmed Noah’s belly, chasing away nausea. This morning had been less than smooth, and the afternoon didn’t look much better. Now, the snow falling like a burst of confetti from a dark, ominous sky just further complicated things.

  Mrs. Donaldson, his volunteer to help coordinate the church’s Christmas pageant, had been rushed to the hospital with a gall bladder attack just after midnight. He’d been to visit her, and though the surgery was deemed successful, she’d be off her feet for the next few weeks. And there wasn’t another volunteer on the docket. It had taken Noah a full week to persuade Mrs. Donaldson to take the job in the first place. She was an expert at set design and had a way with the kids, too. The prospect of finding someone to replace her was less than bleak.

  “Here you go.”

  Noah glanced up to see the hostess staring at him with voluminous eyes. She slipped a slice of warm apple pie, buried in a mound of vanilla ice cream, onto the table. Steam curled, carrying the rich aroma of cinnamon. The knot in his belly eased slightly as his gaze held hers.

  “But I didn’t order that.”

  “On the house.” She smiled. “You look like you can use a little pick-me-up.”

  Apples mingled with vanilla and Noah breathed deeply, feeling his blood pressure slack just a bit. Maybe the day would be okay after all. Maybe…

  “That’s really nice of you.” He nodded, splaying a hand across his belly as it rumbled. Mortified, he glanced up to see her staring at him. “Sorry about that.”

  “No problem.” She laughed and dimples deepened at the corners of her mouth. Noah noticed a cute little smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose, too. Suddenly his pulse kicked up a notch.

  What the heck…

  “You’ll need this.”

  As she handed him a spoon, he caught the scent of her perfume…something subtle and lightly floral.

  “And I think you’ll need more than coffee, too.”

  “I guess so.” Five minutes earlier, his stomach had balked at the idea of food. Now, he found himself ravenous. He struggled to draw his gaze from her, and failed miserably. “Thank you.”

  “No problem.” She nodded, and a few strands of hair skimmed her cheek. “It just came out of the oven. Enjoy.”

  Noah watched her retreat as he dug into the sweet confection, her hair swishing along her shoulders in time to the music that sang overhead. He didn’t know which was more appealing…her or the pie. Of course, the pie was delicious with warm apples and a perfect blend of the cool vanilla bean ice cream. But she was an appealing mystery, as well.

  Noah shook the thought from his head as he washed down apples with a sip of coffee. What had gotten into him? He refocused on the task at hand— finding a replacement for Mrs. Donaldson. He took out his day planner and went through the list of contacts once more. There had to be someone who could help him out…someone who enjoyed being around kids and was willing to carry an extra load for the next month.

  Someone who knew the true meaning of Christmas held more than the thrill of hunting for the best deal on Black Friday.

  Chapter 2

  HOPE STOMPED ACROSS THE PARKING lot toward her sedan. Wet, cold snow seeped into her sensible tennis shoes to chill her feet, and sloppy flakes caught in her hair. They melted and slipped beneath the collar of her coat to trace a shiver down her back.

  She opened the driver’s door and scooted into the seat, fumbling for her keys. Mama Cantori was expecting her home by two, but the crowd inside the diner—and now the snow, as well—were sure to make her late.

  Hope prayed
the car’s balding tires would get her home, and vowed to replace them with the tips in her pockets—even if it took every cent.

  At least, right after she paid the electric bill and stocked the pantry. And bought one or two of the gifts on Sydney’s Christmas list.

  Hope slipped the key into the ignition and turned. The ominous, clicking noise that followed made her blood run cold.

  “No!” She smoothed a hand over the dashboard, caressing the weathered plastic as if it were a sick child. “C’mon, baby, don’t do this to me now. Please, you have to start.”

  Another turn, another series of the dreaded click, click, click, then nothing but looming silence.

  Hope pounded the dash and then slumped back in the seat, tears stinging her eyes. The effect of several sleepless nights, a string of double-shifts, and worry over Sydney’s bout of bronchitis suddenly caught up with her, and she felt as if she was drowning.

  Now, she could add to the list a lifeless car…the traitorous beast. How would she ever get home?

  A tap on the window startled her. She glanced up to find the guy from the diner staring at her. She rolled down the window, swiping tears from her cheeks as the cold wind swirled in to bite her. She cleared the lump from her throat as she spoke. “Was there something wrong with your pie?”

  “No.” He laughed. “Nothing wrong with that, but you seem to be having a bit of trouble.”

  “Yes.” She sighed and let her hands fall to her lap. “I think the battery’s dead.”

  He leaned into the open window and glanced at the dash. “Let’s see. Give it a crank.”

  “I did. It just clicks.” She lifted her right hand to give the key a turn in the ignition. “See?”

  “Yeah, it’s dead.” He nodded. “Hang on. I’ll get my cables and pull over here. Maybe a jump will get her going.”

  “I don’t want to trouble you.” Snowflakes littered his dark hair. Christmas music drifted across the parking lot from the diner. The lot was full, and Hope wondered if she was the only one who had trouble navigating the snow. She wasn’t used to cold winters, though, having spent the past several years in Jacksonville.

  “Oh, it’s no trouble.” He gathered the collar of his jacket and yanked up the zipper. “Just give me a minute, okay?”

  “Sure. I guess I don’t have a choice.”

  As he shuffled across the snow-swept asphalt, Hope could have kicked herself for sounding so unappreciative. She’d let her frustration get the best of her again.

  When he returned to park his car on the median facing hers, and then produced a set of jumper cables, she slipped from the car and started around to the driver’s side of the SUV to meet him.

  As soon as he caught sight of her, he held up a hand to stop her. “It’s cold out here, and there’s no need for you to be chilled. Stay in the driver’s seat. Keep the door closed and crack the window just slightly so you can hear me.” He motioned her back to the sedan before she’d taken half-a-dozen steps. “The wind will bite off your nose, and it won’t do either of us any good for you to freeze.”

  So, Hope returned to the car and settled into the seat while he opened the sedan’s hood and fiddled beneath it. Her breath curled around the car’s cab and her toes numbed. She gnawed a fingernail and grew more and more anxious with each passing minute. She should call Mama Cantori and inform her of the delay, but one glance at the cell phone told Hope its battery was dead again, too. She could always head back into the diner and use the phone, but was it wise—or polite—to just leave this stranger alone in the storm while he was trying to get her car breathing again?

  “Crank the engine,” he called, poking his head from beneath the hood to wave to her. “Give it a whirl.”

  Hope turned the key once more, heard the dreaded click, click, click and groaned. “It’s still dead.”

  “I can try one more thing.”

  “Don’t hurt yourself.”

  “No worries. I’ve done this a dozen times.” He slipped into the driver’s seat of his SUV and revved the engine once, twice, three times. “How about now?”

  Hope gnawed her lip and clutched the key with all her might, turning it as if a little added elbow grease would do the trick.

  Click, click. Click, click, click.

  “I don’t think it’s going to start.” Tears blurred Hope’s vision once more. She was oh, so tired. “I’m afraid you’re right. It’s not gonna budge.”

  The guy came back around to her window. “That battery’s not just dead…it’s, well, really, really DOA.”

  “Great. Sydney’s waiting…” Hope’s voice trembled. She clamped her mouth shut quickly. No point in burdening him with personal details. “Thanks for trying, but I guess I’d better head back inside and see if I can find a ride home.”

  “I’ll take you.”

  “Oh, that’s kind of you, but no.” She shook her head. “I don’t take rides from strangers.”

  “I see.” He scratched his snow-dampened hair, and then wiped his palm on the thigh of his jeans before offering his hand through the open window. “I’m Noah Armstrong. Sam can vouch for me, if you want to go do a cursory background check.”

  “Um…I guess that’s not necessary.” She hesitated only a moment, sniffling. After all, he had gone out of his way to try to help her. “I’m Hope.”

  “Hello, Hope.” He took her hand and gave it a slight shake. His fingers were chilled, and Hope felt a slight stab of contrition for doubting him. “Nice weather we’re having, huh? It’s a bit unusual for late November in East Tennessee.”

  “Oh, yes.” Hope swiped tears of frustration from her face as she burst into a shaky stream of laughter at his attempt to make small talk, easing her distress. “You can say that again.”

  “Like I said, this is crazy weather, Hope.” He winked and squeezed her hand. “There, now we’re not strangers anymore.”

  Noah helped Hope gather what she needed from the car—her purse, a small backpack, and a few to-go containers filled with food from the diner—before they settled into the SUV together. As he eased the vehicle into gear, silence filled the cab. Outside, a gust of wind-swept snowflakes across the windshield while they pulled onto the highway.

  “Okay, you’re gonna have to give me a hint.” Noah cranked up the heater. “Act like a GPS.”

  “A GPS?” Hope scooted her feet beneath the welcome heat at the floorboard and wiggled her numb toes. She wished for a tissue, because her chilled nose was beginning to run. She sniffled. “Why?”

  “Because I need directions. Which way to your house?”

  “Oh, that. Of course you do. Sorry.” She glanced out the window and frowned at the drifting snow. “Turn left at the corner.”

  “You’re new around here, aren’t you?” Noah tapped the brake and gripped the steering wheel. As they merged into traffic, he switched on the radio. Soft music chased away the silence.

  “How did you know?”

  “Summer’s three months into the rearview mirror and you still have the hint of a tan.”

  “Maybe I frequent one of those indoor bronzing places.”

  “Nah.” Noah shook his head. “You don’t seem the type to throw money away on that sort of thing.”

  “Really?” Hope tugged off her mittens and positioned her hands in front of the air blasting from the heater. She rubbed her palms together. “And, just what type am I?”

  “I’m not sure. But, definitely not the fake-tan type.”

  “Left!” Hope lurched forward in the seat and tapped the windshield. “Turn left right here.”

  “Left, right?” Noah teased as he jerked the wheel. The SUV skidded a bit before the tires caught again. Noah gained control and they started down the sideroad. “That was close.”

  “Sorry.” Hope released her death-grip on the door handle. “That wasn’t much notice. Just a couple miles or so down now, on the right.”

  “Baneberry subdivision?”

  “How did you know?”

  “It’
s the only subdivision out this way.” He turned on the windshield wipers, and they swished across wet glass, tossing snow back into the wind. “I live there, too.”

  “No way.”

  “Yes, way.”

  “Well, that’s…” Hope shook her head, speechless. “Odd?”

  “It’s probably a blessing that your battery died.”

  “A blessing? How so?”

  “Those bald tires on your car would have never got you home in one piece.”

  “Oh…I guess you’re right.”

  “You need a new set.” Noah nodded. “I’d get them along with the new battery.”

  “So would I, if I had the money.” As soon as the words escaped, Hope wished she could take them back. He didn’t need to know about her financial struggles. She frowned. “Sorry. Ignore that comment.”

  “I will if I can ask you a question.”

  “Fire away.”

  He turned the music down a notch. “You’re not really a waitress, are you?”

  “What does it matter?” Hope unwrapped her scarf from her neck. The heat was working its magic. “I am now.”

  “But you used to be…?”

  “An art teacher at Marine Point Community College.” She shook her head. “But that seems like a lifetime ago.”

  Budget cuts had eliminated her position, and Mama Cantori’s not-so-gentle prodding coaxed her home. “

  I knew it—the angel you sketched on my bill, back at the diner—the detail was captivating.”

  “I do a little drawing for all my customers.”

  “Always an angel?”

  “No, but it just seemed fitting.” She clutched her mittens in one hand as she turned to face him. “Why did you leave me such a generous tip, Noah?”

  “That seemed fitting, too.” He delved into his pocket and drew out a familiar slip of green, lined paper—the check from his lunch. “You were more than kind.”

  “You kept the bill. Why?”