the town was named.
Another lovely September day. She wished she had time to get out and enjoy the sunshine, but, as usual, she was being run off her feet.
When Winnie told her, ten months ago, that she’d fallen in love with a cowboy and was going to move to Coffee Creek to open her café, Laurel had thought how quaint.
Now she knew better. The café was charming to look at, the food was devilishly delicious, but the work? It was damned hard. The first month she’d had so much to learn, she’d been running all day long. Then, when she’d finally found her rhythm, she’d caught some sort of bug that she still hadn’t managed to shake.
What she needed was rest, but she wouldn’t complain. How could she, in the face of what Winnie was going through? Thank heavens for Eugenia, Vince and Dawn, Winnie’s regular staff. Without their help, and willingness to work extra hours, she could never have kept Winnie’s café afloat while her friend struggled to deal with the double whammy of losing her fiancé and dealing with what had turned out to be a difficult pregnancy.
Laurel still couldn’t believe what had happened.
Imagine losing your fiancé on the day of your wedding. Actually being in the church, in your gown, waiting... Laurel felt sick every time she thought back to that day.
In the awful hours following the grim news, she’d canceled her flight back to New York, and she’d promised Winnie she would stay in Coffee Creek as long as she was needed, never guessing she’d still be here two months later.
But with Winnie laid up in bed on doctor’s orders, what choice had she had? She couldn’t let Winnie lose her business as well as the man she’d been planning to share her life with.
With a long sigh, Laurel replaced the coffee carafe in the machine. Maddie, finished with her paper and her coffee, waved as she made her way out of the café and into the ancient Ford truck angle-parked out in front. Laurel was clearing her table when Vince Butterfield, Winnie’s baker, came out from the kitchen.
She couldn’t believe it was eleven o’clock already. “Time to call it a day?”
He nodded, never one to use a word when a gesture would do.
“See you tomorrow, Vince.”
He tipped his head in her direction, just half of a nod this time, then made his way out the back door.
Laurel still found it amazing that this man—a weathered and scarred ex-bronc rider who looked about ten years older than his real age of sixty-two—was responsible for the bakery’s rich cinnamon buns, mouthwatering bumbleberry pies and buttery dinner rolls. He came in every morning, except Sunday, at four in the morning and worked his magic for seven hours before getting on his bike and riding out to his trailer ten miles from town.
Winnie had confided some details of his past to Laurel—a former rodeo cowboy with a drinking problem, he liked the early hours at the bakery since they left him too exhausted to stay up much past eight in the evening. Early to bed meant no late nights at the bar, which meant no more drinking.
“He figures this job saved his life,” Winnie told her. Laurel wondered how Winnie knew so much about him. The man had never said more than three words in a row to her, and those had been, “nice meetin’ ya.”
The door chimed and Laurel glanced up to welcome her next customer. The smile forming on her face froze the minute she saw him.
Corb Lambert.
She’d heard he’d been out of the hospital for several weeks now. And had wondered when she was going to see him.
It seemed now was the moment.
He looked good, though his hair had been cropped and she could see a long scar on the side of his head. His dimple flashed when he gave her a smile, though not as deeply as before. Laurel figured he’d lost about fifteen pounds.
He came up to the counter hesitantly, holding his hat politely in hand.
Through the grapevine, Laurel had kept posted on Corb’s recovery from the accident. He’d been in a coma for forty-eight hours, and in critical condition for several days beyond that. All in all he’d been in hospital for almost three weeks, with visits strictly restricted to family members only.
Or so Laurel had been told when she’d called the hospital to ask about him.
She’d wondered if maybe he would phone her when he was finally released, and when he hadn’t, she’d told herself she shouldn’t be surprised. He’d been through a lot physically, and had lost a brother besides. He wouldn’t have time or inclination to think about the woman he’d flirted with, and charmed, during the week before his accident.
But now he was here, and clearly his smile and the sparkle in his eyes hadn’t been damaged one bit by his accident. She took a cloth to the clean counter, willing her heart to return to its regular standing rate of sixty-five beats per minute.
“Hello, sugar. Looks like Coffee Creek got a whole lot sweeter since the last time I was in town.”
She smiled, thinking he was feeding her the same line on purpose. But when she glanced up at him, she saw no recognition in his eyes. “Corb?”
He looked puzzled. Then he frowned. “Have we met before?”
Oh, Lord. She’d heard he had some memory problems after the accident. But she hadn’t been prepared for this. “I’m Winnie’s friend from New York City. Laurel Sheridan. I’m so glad you’re feeling better. I was meaning to—” She stopped, wanting to say so much, yet not knowing how to begin.
He didn’t remember her. How was that possible? He’d touched and kissed the most intimate parts of her. They’d stayed up talking until the wee hours of the morning, sharing their deepest secrets.
She’d told him her entire life story. She hadn’t intended to—normally she was quite reserved—but he’d seemed so genuinely interested in everything about her.
The bells over the door chimed again, a fact Laurel barely registered until Jackson joined them at the counter and tapped Corb on the shoulder.
“You here to flirt? Or order coffee?” He nodded at Laurel. “Hey, Laurel. Any word on how Winnie is doing?”
“She’s okay.” Winnie had made her promise not to say a word about the baby. She wanted to wait until she was well enough to return to Coffee Creek and deliver the news to the Lambert family in person.
“Will she be coming back soon?”
“I doubt it. She’s had some health issues, and for now it’s good for her to be around her mom and dad.” She glanced at Corb who was listening to the exchange intently, lines marring his high forehead and obscuring his charming grin.
“So you’re Winnie’s friend from New York? The one who was traveling down to be her maid of honor?”
“He doesn’t remember much about that week,” Jackson said by way of explanation.
Corb nodded. “Scared me at first. I guess I’m kind of glad I don’t remember the crash.” He swallowed. “But there’s lots of other stuff that’s gone, too. The specialist told me
