Rescued Page 2

  “Nope. Been hangin’ around here for more than a week. I told folks not to feed him, but you know how kids are.”

  Getting to her feet, she brushed debris from her clothes. “I can’t get the other litter tonight. The mom came back and she’s not too friendly. I’m going to take this fella back to the shelter and return with a trap. I may be here for a while, even overnight. Once I capture the mother, I’ll have to get to the pups fast or something else will.”

  Jimbo shook his head. “Seems to me it might be a good circle of life moment, you know. Coyote gets the puppies, something else gets the coyote, and so forth. But, hey, it’s your call.” He grinned, obviously thinking himself quite the philosopher.

  She grimaced at the image he conjured. Clearly, Jimbo is not an animal lover. Disgust at his lack of concern for these tiny, innocent and helpless creatures made her stomach roil. “I’ll be back. Thanks for everything.”

  She opened one of the rear doors and the dog climbed inside, dropping onto the seat with a low groan.

  “You’ve done this before, haven’t you? Poor old guy. No collar, no tags. Probably not microchipped, I’d bet. How’d you end up out here on your own like this?”

  The dog glanced up at her before closing his eyes.

  She ran a palm over his sleek black head. “You’re safe now.”

  Her eyes always teared when she rescued an older animal that, by appearances and behavior, had once been someone’s pet. She knew how abandonment felt and it broke her heart. She would get this one settled into a kennel at the shelter and return for the other puppies.

  It promised to be a very long night.

  Chapter Two

  Evan Whiting forced the last piece of luggage into the back of his Buick Enclave and closed the hatch. He eased into traffic and, four blocks later, pulled over to stare at the sign: Available – Excellent restaurant space. He sighed. Everything he’d worked for the past six years—gone. À la Vôtre had quickly risen to the top of the list of elite bar-slash-restaurants in New York. Evan had won award after award for his culinary skills. In an instant, it all fell apart. Twenty-six people from a private party all sickened by the crab meat stuffing.

  Evan had been in shock. He was nothing if not meticulous about cleanliness and safety in his kitchen. Unfortunately, one of his assistants was not and had left the crab meat sitting on a shelf outside the freezer for several hours before returning it to the fridge. As the lawsuits poured in and customers poured out, Tiffany decided it was a good time to jump ship, too. They’d been married just shy of two years. In a matter of three months, Evan lost his marriage, his home, most of his savings, his restaurant and his credibility. He owned two things now—the Buick SUV and his great-aunt’s antebellum home in Cade’s Point, Mississippi. Wherever the hell that was.

  At least it was doubtful the residents of Cade’s Point had heard about his fall in the culinary world. Hell, he could probably serve anything as long it had barbecue in the title and they’d eat it up. His plan was to open a one-of-a-kind restaurant in the Delta. How hard could starting over be?

  *

  Late the following afternoon, Evan climbed out of the SUV and stared at his new home. The six-columned Greek revival style mansion stood stately, like a refined Southern lady. One column appeared to be in need of minor repair. Thick green vegetation climbed the surrounding tree trunks and created what must be spooky-looking shapes in the full moonlight. The same greenery had begun to overtake a small shed that sat a few hundred feet away. The front yard was over-grown and something rustled the tall weeds to his right. Didn’t they have a large variety of snakes in Mississippi? He shuddered and examined the narrow path to the front steps before proceeding at a rapid pace.

  As he set his foot on the top step, a flurry of wings and feathers overhead startled him. He’d disturbed a family of birds living over the front door. “Holy hell,” he muttered, swiping an arm across his forehead to mop up the sweat that poured down his face. Hell, he thought, was the operative term in Mississippi in mid-July. He removed the key Aunt Amelia’s attorney had sent to him and forged ahead. After a few tries and a tug on the doorknob, the door creaked open.

  Despite the bare windows and bright sunlight, the inside was dark and smelled musty. He felt around the wall for a switch, but nothing happened when he flipped it up. Of course the power wouldn’t be turned on. The place had sat vacant for over a year. The house was huge and he didn’t know which way to turn first. This was a lot more house than he required. He could only hope it didn’t need much work to make it livable because most of his money would be tied up in the new restaurant. Maybe he should cut his losses, rent an apartment and find a job. He’d passed those casinos not too far back on the highway. Perhaps one of them needed a chef.

  But the thought of that made his stomach flip. He’d had a taste of the freedom that came from running his own restaurant, being the head chef. If he was going to throw in the towel and work for someone else, he could have stayed in New York. Well, maybe not New York where his more recent reputation would precede him. He sighed and turned back to the SUV to search for a flashlight.

  After a brief tour of the first floor, and with dusk turning the sky a soft grey slashed by vivid orange, Evan decided to call it a night and find a motel. From what he’d been able to see, the first floor only needed a good cleaning. He’d come back in the morning and conduct a more thorough investigation before making any decisions. He needed food and a clean, comfortable bed. A good stiff drink wouldn’t hurt, either. Following the narrow road back to the highway, he stopped at the Citgo station, filled the SUV, then went inside for directions.

  “Help you?” the teenager behind the counter asked.

  “Yes, please. Can you direct me to a restaurant and a motel?”

  “Only place to eat is Out Back, ’bout a mile down the highway on the left. There’s a Motel 6 down there, too.”

  The Outback? Well, that wasn’t so bad. “Are there any other hotels?”

  “Nope. Unless you drive up to the casinos.”

  The thoughts of backtracking for twenty miles made his bones ache. “Thank you.”

  Ten minutes later he pulled into the parking lot in front of a bar and grill—a barn-sided building with bright red trim and a flashing sign that read Out Back—two words. Then he saw the logo—a hog wearing a chef’s hat and chewing on a barbecued rib? He stared, trying to understand the logic. The place looked tidy, if not fancy. Surely they had something simple. A burger at least. It was hard to screw up a hamburger.

  He expected dark, dingy, and sparse as he opened the door. What he found inside was actually quite charming. Wood floors finished to a bright shine, a beamed ceiling, and framed photographs of cotton fields and river scenes, interspersed with sketches of dogs and cats. He looked closer. The animal drawings had 3x5 cards beneath them bearing the animal’s stats—name, age, breed, and availability. What were they serving at this place?

  “You can sit wherever you like. I’ll be with you in one minute.”

  The woman breezed by wearing black slacks and a snug vee neck t-shirt bearing the logo. The place seemed busy for a Tuesday night. He glanced around and found a two-top beneath one of the front windows. He swiped a hand across the red and white checkered plastic covering.

  “Is there a problem with the table?”

  He turned to find the same waitress staring at him. “Uh, no. It’s fine.” He sat.

  “You want a menu or the specials?”

  “What’s special here?”

  She grinned. “Everything. But tonight we’re serving a fried catfish platter, a rib platter, or a pork chop platter.”

  He stared at the dimples that appeared with her grin. “I’ll look at the menu, if you don’t mind.”

  “Sure.” She set a plastic-covered menu in front of him. “What can I getcha to drink?”

  “I…uh… Do you have alcohol?”

  “It’s a bar.”

  “What kind of wine?”

 
“Red or white.”

  “Yes, but what kinds?”

  “Like I said—red or white.”

  He grimaced. He’d never acquired a taste for beer and he was skeptical about the wine. “I’ll have iced tea.”

  “Sweet or unsweet?”

  “I…uh…sweet, I guess.”

  “Be right back.”

  He watched as she crossed the room, sliding gracefully around tables and chairs, and he noticed the sway of her hips and backside. Remembering the hell he’d recently endured because of a woman, he gave himself a mental head slap.

  The menu was organized into sections—salads, soups, sandwiches, and—on the back—dinners. It was too late to eat barbecue. He’d taste it all night. Everything else seemed to be deep fried—catfish, chicken fingers. Pickles?

  The waitress returned and set a large glass of iced tea and a straw in front of him. “You know what you want?” she asked.

  Without looking up, he said, “Do you have something that won’t kill me?”

  She hesitated. “Sure do.”

  She walked away like someone a little pissed off, but maybe she was hurrying since they were so busy. He was stunned to silence when she hustled back to his table and placed an apple on a plate in front of him. “This won’t kill you. Unless you choke.” She had added a sprig of parsley for decoration.

  He sat for a moment, staring at the apple. Then he saw an older man glance his way and motion for the waitress. She stood with her hands on her hips while the older man spoke to her and pointed toward Evan. She slowly turned around and plodded back to him. “My uncle owns this place and believes I’ve been rude. If I’ve been rude, I’m sorry.” She lifted her order pad and poised her pen. “May I get you something to go with your apple?”

  “A cheeseburger, please. Medium. No onion. And I’ll have slaw with that instead of the fries.”

  “Got it. No onion. Slaw instead of fries. You want some chips on the side?”

  “Sure. Thanks.” He handed the menu back to her and caught her name tag—Alex. “You’re not going to do something to my burger, are you, Alex?”

  “How do you know…? Oh.” She glanced down at her own name tag. “No. And I’ll be happy to slice that apple for you, if you wish.”

  Evan picked up the apple, rubbed it with the napkin, and took a huge bite. The juice ran down his chin and he caught it with his free hand. “No, thanks. This is fine. Quite good, juicy.”

  She rolled her eyes and headed back toward the kitchen.

  Evan stuck the straw into his tea and took a sip. And almost gagged. He had no choice but to swallow. Damn, the stuff tasted like pure syrup. He started to wave for the waitress but thought better of it. Squeezing the wedge of lemon until nothing was left of it, he tried to modify the taste. Deep fried everything and syrupy sweet tea? He’d be dead in a month. He needed to get his restaurant up and running as soon as possible, save these people from themselves, give them a taste of real cuisine.

  Alex returned shortly with a plate holding a huge cheeseburger, a handful of what looked like homemade potato chips, a small bowl with a side of slaw, and a pickle wedge. “Here you go. Can I get you anything else?”

  “A glass of water?”

  She grinned again. The dimples that deepened near the corners of her mouth captured his attention, as did her mouth. A nice mouth. A kissable mouth.

  “Do you want another glass of tea, unsweet?”

  “Huh? Oh, uh, no. The water will be sufficient.”

  “Never had sweet tea before?”

  She seemed to be in better humor. That or the talk from the boss adjusted her attitude. “No. I’m not from around here.”

  Now she laughed out loud. “I would never have guessed. I’ll be right back with your water.”

  He picked up the burger and bit into it. As he chewed, flavor burst in his mouth. My God, this is good. Maybe it was because he was starving. No. This was an amazing burger. He swallowed and set the burger down, lifting the bun to see what all was under there.

  “Something wrong?” Alex set down a glass of water.

  “Wrong? Not at all. This is delicious.”

  “You sound surprised.”

  “I am. I mean, I didn’t expect this.”

  “See, that’s the difference between plain old beef and our special blend. Though I do miss Walter very much.” He followed her gaze as she looked up at the framed drawing on the wall above him. A sketch of a very large dog. “We tried possum, but it didn’t fool anybody.”

  “Yeah, right.” Evan pushed the plate away and pressed the napkin to his mouth. “You are kidding.”

  Alex’s laugh resonated off the wall. “If you could see your face. I’m sorry, I couldn’t resist.” She sobered abruptly. “I don’t know why you Yankees come down here and think we’re all a bunch of backwoods rednecks who wouldn’t know ground chuck from road kill.” She slapped the check on the table. “Don’t worry. I don’t expect a tip.”

  With that, she strode back across the room, ignored her uncle as he tried to stop her, and slammed through the swinging doors into the kitchen.

  A few minutes later, the older man came over, wiping his hands on a dish towel. “I apologize for my niece. I think she had a long night. She seems to be having a bad day.”

  “You think?”

  The man picked up the slip of paper from the table. “Dinner’s on us. I’m Jack Ramsey, the owner. Alex is my niece and the manager, unless Ludean calls off, then she’s the waitress, too. Ludean called off.”

  “My lucky day.”

  “How’s the burger?”

  “This burger is the best I’ve ever tasted. She was kidding about the dog and possum, wasn’t she?”

  “Walter’s alive and well, I assure you. That burger is nothing but one hundred percent pure beef. It’s the seasonings that make it special.”

  Evan took another bite and chewed slowly. “I can’t put my finger on it.”

  “Rub.”

  “Rub what?”

  “That’s what I put in the burger. A little of the rub we use on our dry ribs.”

  “Huh. I would never have thought of that. Of course, I don’t know much about Southern cooking. I lean toward French and Italian, myself. So, what’s in the rub?”

  The older man smiled. “If I tell ya’ that, I have to kill ya’.”

  Evan laughed and his gaze drifted past Jack to watch Alex deliver a huge tray of platters to a six-person booth. “She’s good.”

  “Yeah, she is. If she only had a better attitude. But, hell, she’s family, so I can’t fire her.” Jack shrugged. “You passin’ through the area?”

  “I’m moving here. I inherited my great-aunt’s house.”

  Jack furrowed his brow. “Which house is that?”

  “Amelia Whiting’s place. Primrose.”

  Shaking his head, Jack said, “Sad loss for all of us when she passed. She was a great lady.”

  “That’s what I hear. I only met her on one occasion, when my grandfather died. He was her brother. But she left the place to me for some reason.” He extended his hand. “I’m Evan Whiting.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Evan. You’re not stayin’ out at Amy’s place now, surely. Can’t be fit for habitation after being empty for so long, what with Amy having been in the nursing home the last year before she passed.”

  “It needs a thorough cleaning. I’ll have to find a room for a few nights, I’m afraid. The kid at the Citgo told me there’s a Motel 6 out this way. I was going to ask you for directions.”

  “You really want to stay in that place?”

  “I don’t have much choice.”

  Jack grinned. “It is your lucky day. I have a room for rent upstairs. I can show you, if you like.”

  Evan considered the offer for about fifteen seconds. “I’d like to see it.”

  “Finish your dinner. You want dessert? We have homemade peach cobbler.”

  He started to turn down the dessert, but thought it would be better to ingratiate
himself to Jack by accepting. “Sounds delicious.”

  Delicious didn’t begin to describe the cobbler. Fresh peaches, not syrupy wedges from a can, baked beneath a flaky crust. He’d died and gone to heaven.

  As he finished the last bite, Alex came out of the kitchen, crossed the restaurant and walked out the front door. Evan glanced at his watch. Seven p.m. Must be the end of the dinner shift.

  A few minutes later, Jack came over with a set of keys. “You ready to see the room?”

  Evan stood. “Yes.” He glanced around. “Who’s going to keep an eye on things for you?”

  Jack waved to a man sitting at the bar. “Hey, Bobby, stand guard. I’ll be back in a few.” He turned to Evan. “Let’s go.”

  They walked around the side of the building and up a set of sturdy wooden steps. “I live up here, too, in the back rooms.” Jack opened the first door on his left. “This one’s a little bigger, bein’ a corner room. Used to be Alex’s room, but she moved out a long time ago. The shared bath is past the next room, but I got no other renters right now, so it’s all yours. Fresh towels are in the linen closet. My quarters are in the back at the end of the hall. There’s a small fridge, but no cooking facilities up here. We serve breakfast downstairs at seven. It’s not included. This ain’t the Hilton.”

  Evan looked around the neatly-appointed room. The furniture was far from new, but polished and dust-free. The full-sized bed was covered with a quilt in various shades of blue. He sat on the bed and discovered a firm mattress. A small TV sat atop a chest of drawers. “How much?”

  “Thirty dollars,” Jack said.

  “What, an hour?”

  “A day. Is that too much?”

  “You’re serious?”

  “Hey, it’s just a place to sleep.”

  Evan retrieved his wallet and removed a one hundred dollar bill. “This will cover three days, forget the change. Can I let you know if I need to stay longer?”

  “Sure.” Jack removed two keys from the ring and handed them to Evan. “These open the outside door and your door. Need help with your bags?”