hard not to feel hurt that he didn’t recall her at all. “Is it possible your memory will come back?”
He shrugged. “They say it could happen—but no guarantees.” He stiffened his spine, and managed another smile as he offered her his hand. “Hard to believe I could forget a woman as beautiful as you. Must have been some knock to the head, huh?”
It was so weird to shake his hand, as if they were strangers making their first acquaintance. Playing along though, she kept her tone light. “Nice to meet you—for the second time. I take it you’re here for coffee. Like to add a couple of cinnamon buns to your order?”
“I’ll take one, sugar. How about you, Jack—” He turned to confer with his foster brother, but Jackson was already on his way out the door.
“I’ll skip the coffee for now and go put in that order at the feed store.”
“I’ll meet you there,” Corb said. Then, leaning over the counter, he added, “Say, Laurel, I was wondering if you could give me Winnie’s number at her folks’ place. I’ve been meaning to call her and see how she’s doing. My family’s been treating me like an invalid. Mother put me in the guest room at the main house, and until today, wouldn’t let me even touch the keys to my truck. So I haven’t had much chance to check in on her.”
“Sure.” Laurel wrote the number on an order slip, then tore it off the pad and handed it to him. According to Winnie, none of the other Lamberts had been in touch since the funeral and Olive hadn’t even returned the calls Winnie made to Coffee Creek Ranch. So Laurel was glad to see at least one member of the family willing to reach out to her friend.
“Maybe I should ask for your number, too.” Corb’s eyes glinted with charm as he folded the paper and slipped it into the pocket of his jeans.
Gosh, this was weird. He was flirting with her as if he’d never met her before.
“You’ll find me here most of the time,” she answered lightly. “How’s your mother doing?”
The flirting light left Corb’s face. “Not so well. She’s been spending too much time alone in her room. Now that I’m stronger, I’m trying to coax her out, get her working with the horses again. That’s the only thing that’ll cure her, I figure.”
“I can’t imagine your mother on a horse. She looks so fragile.”
Corb laughed. “Looks are deceptive where my mother is concerned. But losing Brock has taken a toll. When Dad died, she didn’t have the luxury of isolating herself with her grief. Us kids were a lot younger then and she had to run the ranch. Now she knows she can leave all that to me and Jackson—though to be honest, it’s been mostly Jackson up until now.”
When Corb fell silent, Laurel passed him his coffee and bun, and Corb put a ten-dollar bill on the counter, refusing change.
He lifted the lid off his coffee and was about to add sugar, when Laurel stopped him.
“I already did that. Two packages.”
He gave her a puzzled smile, then headed out the door.
* * *
AS SOON AS he was out on the street, Corb let his smile drop. The effort of being himself these days was almost more than he could bear. All his life he’d been the easygoing Lambert, the charming one, the peacemaker. Never had his family needed him to fill that role more than they did right now. And never had he felt less like doing it.
Corb looked at the coffee and the bun he was holding. He ought to gobble it down and head over to Ed’s Feed Supply, where he knew Jackson was picking up that alfalfa mix for the new palomino his mother had bought three months ago.
She’d actually bought the horse for Cassidy, though she’d never admit it. As if a new horse—even a great horse—would lure his sister back to Coffee Creek.
No, like B.J., Cassidy had decided to make her own way in the world, which meant there were only two of them—himself and Jackson—to carry on. Work was piled up so high at the ranch, he felt like they’d never catch up. He had no right to be taking a break and yet he found himself settling on one of the pine benches that flanked the café entrance.
He took out the cinnamon bun, and with his first bite, he could hear Brock saying that he was marrying Winnie for her buns. He’d always give a wink when he said this, and Winnie would groan.
Corb followed the roll with a long swig of the sweetened black coffee. It had caught him off guard that Laurel knew how he liked his coffee. Why didn’t he remember Winnie’s maid of honor?
Leaning back, he allowed his eyes to close for a second. Though he wouldn’t admit it, not to his doctors or his family, he was suffering from some terrible headaches these days. He figured they’d ease off with time. But in a way he didn’t want them to. Brock had died and he felt that he needed to pay a price, since he’d been the one to live.
Well, there was Jackson, too, but he’d joined the family when Corb was already fifteen, so it wasn’t like they’d grown up together the way he and Brock had. God, he couldn’t believe his baby brother was really gone. That damned moose coming out of the brush at just the wrong moment had stolen so much from so many people.
He felt especially bad for Winnie. It was too bad she’d taken off and left the county. He wished his mother would call her, but at the best of times Olive had not been fond of the woman Brock had chosen for his bride and these were definitely not the best of times.
Thankfully Winnie’s friend from New York had stuck around to help her out. That had been real good of her.
But even from this one meeting, he could tell that Laurel Sheridan was that sort of person. You could see the kindness in her eyes, a warmth that gave her pretty face a special glow.
He admired her hair, too. Thick, red and long, all piled up in a luxurious mess. He wondered what she looked like with it down. The fact that he’d probably already seen her that way but couldn’t remember, made his head throb.
Stop it!
What the hell was he doing, anyway, fantasizing about Winnie’s friend at a time like this? His family was in mourning, damn it. Besides, it was weird that he couldn’t recall meeting her when she obviously remembered him.
Had they spent much time together in that week before the wedding?
He wished like hell that he could remember.
* * *
RIGHT AFTER CORB left the café, Dawn Dolan showed up to start her shift, her long, fine blond hair already pulled back in a ponytail. She came in the back way, grabbing an apron from one of the pegs on the wall by the freezer as she passed by.
“Busy day?” she asked. “I hope so. I could use some good tips. I saw this top that would look perfect with that new skirt I bought last week.”
Online shopping was twenty-year-old Dawn’s main form of recreation. Laurel wished she would spend as much time on her college correspondence courses as she did surfing the net, but that was Dawn’s choice to make.
“Lunch hour rush is sure to start soon,” Laurel said. “So that’ll be your big chance to wow the customers and earn big bucks.”
They
