propped the broom against the nearest shelf, walked to the door and held it open. “Cooper’s is not for sale.”
Val advanced slowly, trailing a polished fingernail along the length of the counter. When she reached the cash register, she gave it a pat. “That’s not what Ferrell said.”
Gil released the door and strode back inside. “When did you talk to him?”
“Last week. He said he’d reason with you. Help you understand it’s time to negotiate.”
Gil’s laugh was ugly, even to his own ears. “I haven’t had a conversation with my brother in six years and I don’t intend to start now. I suggest you break the habit yourself. He’s gotten all he’s going to get out of this place. Unless you plan to select something from one of these shelves and lay down money for it, you have, too.”
He marched back to the door and shoved it open again. He had to raise his voice above the clatter of the yardsticks he knocked over in the process. “Cooper’s is here to stay. Unlike you, Val.”
She plucked an apple from the basket on the counter and joined him at the door. “You’d better start practicing your social skills, Gilbert. You won’t be able to finance this hideout of yours forever.”
She tossed the apple up in the air, caught it and sidled out the door.
Her laugh drifted back down the sidewalk, and for the first time in a long time, Gil let himself wonder what the hell he’d do if he didn’t have Cooper’s Hardware in his life.
* * *
KERRY SAT IN the corner booth by the restroom, hands wrapped around her second cup of coffee. She should eat, but swallowing coffee presented enough of a challenge, thanks to the regret clogging her throat.
It had been two days since she’d met Parker and her daughter, but the girl’s shocked comment to Kerry’s father lingered like the smell of fish reheated in a microwave.
“You never said anything about a daughter.”
As much as the words stung, they made sense. Harris Briggs didn’t have a daughter. Not really. Not one he deserved. Not someone like Parker Macfarland, who ran a successful business and a loving household and never took advantage of anyone.
And had the respect of others.
Kerry hunched deeper into the roomy, navy knit of her favorite sweater. You have to earn it first, chickie.
Unfortunately, that was proving more difficult than she’d anticipated. She’d applied for admin work at the courthouse, the grocery store, the animal hospital and Castle Creek’s sole real estate office, each time bracing herself for the inevitable questions about her background. She’d never gotten that far. No one was hiring.
Not even here at Cal’s Diner, and the fact that she’d checked testified to the strength of her desperation. She’d sworn after waitressing and tending bar in college for infinitesimal tips that often ended up in the bottom of half-full plastic tumblers that she’d never be a server again.
Famous last words.
She’d have to spread her net wider. Chances were good she could find something in Erie. That would be counterproductive, though. Kerry wanted to stay close. Show her father she was in earnest. Let his friends see she was making amends.
At least, that had been her intention. Now it seemed that if she stayed in town her father would avoid her like...well, like he’d been doing since she’d borrowed money from his girlfriend two years ago.
Prickles of heat swept across her chest. Correction. His ex-girlfriend.
A metallic crash in the kitchen brought her head up. The diner wasn’t busy, probably because it was a weekday morning, and for that she was grateful. Kerry had fielded a few curious glances, though no one but the server had approached her. Once she’d learned there were no openings, she’d ordered a coffee and claimed a table. Now no one paid her any attention at all.
She relaxed her shoulders and let her gaze skim the gray Formica L-shaped counter, the alternating mustard-and ketchup-colored stools, the desserts under glass and the old-fashioned, stainless-steel milkshake machine that any other day would have been too much to resist. Same for the friendly smell of sausage, bacon and pancakes. It all seemed so...cozy. Welcoming.
Homey.
Why had she never visited? For years her father had made Castle Creek his home and not once had Kerry driven up to see him. Could she blame him for not making the trip to see her?
“Kerry?”
She blinked. A middle-aged woman with blond hair and kind eyes hovered near the table, a white takeout bag in one hand and a designer clutch in the other.
“Kerry Endicott, right?” Her smile was tentative, but at least it was a smile.
Here we go. Kerry entwined her fingers in her lap and squeezed. “I really want to say no.”
The other woman chuckled, though the sound held more strain than humor. “You look too much like your father for that to work. Before he lost all his hair, anyway.” She stretched out a hand. “I’m Eugenia Blue.”
Her father’s ex. Kerry nodded. “I recognized your voice.”
Her blush deepened. The one and only time she’d spoken to Eugenia, she’d begged her over the phone for a loan. Kerry released Eugenia’s hand. “Do you have some time? I’d appreciate the chance to talk.” She caught the other woman’s flinch and rushed to add, “About paying you back.”
Eugenia averted her gaze. “I’d like to talk with you, too.”
Kerry exhaled. Progress. She might not look thrilled about it, but at least Eugenia hadn’t followed Harris’s example and refused to speak with her.
Eugenia bit her lower lip as she glanced around the diner, then down at Kerry’s table, bare of all but condiments and a coffee cup. “Are you waiting for an order?” When Kerry shook her head, Eugenia motioned toward the door. “Then why don’t you come back with me to my shop?” She gave the bag a gentle shake. “I just happen to have two of Cal’s famous cinnamon rolls in here. I had every intention of eating them both, so please say you’ll come save me from myself. Besides, you need more than coffee for breakfast.”
WONDERING WHAT EXACTLY she was letting herself in for, Kerry followed Eugenia out of the diner and down State Street. Flowering cherry trees shaded the sidewalks and shed pale pink petals that clung like glitter to wrought iron benches, lampposts, trash cans. Old-fashioned storefronts competed for attention with boldly painted doors, brightly striped awnings and outdoor lights hung in half moons.
“I can see why my father likes it here.” Kerry scooted out of the way of a man setting up a sidewalk sign advertising tiger butter fudge.
“‘Dark chocolate, white chocolate, peanuts and peanut butter,’” Eugenia read. She smacked her lips and tugged Kerry away from the sign. “Sounds amazing but trust me, after eating one of Cal’s cinnamon
