The Bachelor's Brighton Valley Bride

“Today is Wednesday,” Clay repeated. “I’m in town now.”

The conversation had just made a complete circle, and Clay was no more informed about the happenings at Zorba’s than he’d been three hours ago.

“You’re right,” Don said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t get much sleep last night. But I’m afraid I have to hang up now. The doctor is coming with Cindy’s results. I’ll see you at the shop tomorrow, Mr. Johnson.”

Clay ended the call, then looked at the phone in his hand and blew out a sigh.

No wonder the shop was falling apart. Don was so caught up with his sick wife that he couldn’t focus on the store. In fact, he’d had to hire in help—and incompetent help at that.

Did Clay even dare leave Megan alone long enough to grab a bite to eat?

Chapter Three (#ulink_0b81d63b-5e6e-5160-bffa-2d8629eb8f8a)

Clay opened the glass door to Caroline’s Diner and scanned the interior of the small-town eatery, with its pale yellow walls and white café-style curtains on the front windows.

To the right of an old-fashioned cash register stood a refrigerated display case filled with desserts—each one clearly homemade. He studied the towering meringues and whipped-cream toppings on the pies, the four-layer chocolate cake, the deep-dish peach cobbler.

He glanced at a blackboard that advertised a full meal for only $7.99. In bright yellow chalk, Caroline had written, “What the Sheriff Ate,” followed by, “Chicken-Fried Steak, Buttered Green Beans, Mashed Potatoes, Country Gravy and Cherry Cobbler.”

The advertised special sounded delicious, but Clay had his heart set on a cheeseburger. Besides, he’d had a near run-in with Caroline’s husband, Sheriff Jennings, once. And the old man had been sixty pounds overweight back then.

Clay doubted if the law enforcement officer could even buckle his gun belt after eating daily meals like that for the past seven years. Of course, Sam Jennings had to be retired by now.

Sally, a salt-and-pepper-haired waitress who’d worked at the diner back when Clay had been in high school—and probably much longer than that—stopped by his table and smiled. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“Water will be fine.”

“Our iced tea is fresh brewed. How ’bout I get you a tall glass of that with your water?”

This was Texas. If he wanted to fit in, he should probably drink the nectar of his youth.

“Sure, but unsweetened, please.”

Sally clucked her tongue in obvious disapproval, but Clay knew that if he wasn’t careful, his belly would get just as large as old Sheriff Jennings’s.

“You new in town, sugar, or just passing through?” Sally was a nice lady, but curious and a real talker.

While he was glad she hadn’t recognized him, he wasn’t eager to answer too many questions about himself. But then again, he’d gone over his made-up background several times on his flight and his drive into Brighton Valley, so he was prepared. And he hadn’t had a chance to deliver it in full yet, especially since Megan kept running out of the store before they could really talk. So it wouldn’t hurt to test it out on someone, especially when that someone was also likely to know all the town gossip.

Clay kept it brief, though, giving his fake name, mentioning that he was from the Geekon corporate offices and helping out at the computer store down the street.

“What a blessing you must be to Don Carpenter. He’s had his hands full since poor Cindy’s diagnosis. I sure hope she’s feeling better now. That chemo can really take a lot out of a person. You know what I mean?”

No, Clay didn’t know. He’d never had to deal with cancer. His own mother’s bipolar disorder was the closest thing he’d come to dealing with someone’s chronic illness.

But that certainly explained why Don was so concerned about his wife and why Megan had her kids at the shop this afternoon. If this was supposed to be her day off, Clay ought to cut her a little slack. But he still couldn’t sit back and let the store go under.

“I met Megan Adams,” he said. “It’s nice that they have someone helping out at the store.” Clay wasn’t quite buying his comment, but he needed to fish for more information. And already the waitress who was dressed like Dolly Parton’s mousy-haired sister was proving to be a useful tool.

“Don’t you know it! I love that Megan to pieces. She’s a wonderful mom and she’s pure heaven in the kitchen. We sold out of her muffins this morning and only have a few more jars of her preserves left for the week. I know that girl needs the income from Zorba’s, but just between you and me, she’d make a much better living selling her baked goods, jams and jellies than working part-time for Don Carpenter.”

So Megan had a side job selling homemade goods to the diner? Well, he couldn’t fault her for being industrious. And if her muffins were as good as her cookies, he could understand why they’d sold out.

But was she in dire financial straits? Would she be tempted to pilfer funds from the store?

Once he had some time alone with the books, that’s what he intended to find out.

Two elderly women shuffled in and sat at one of the booths. Mindful not to take up too much of Sally’s time, Clay put in his order for the double-bacon cheeseburger with an extra side of French fries.

He might end up gaining ten pounds, but clearly, patronizing Caroline’s Diner was going to be one of the best ways for him to get information about his store—and the people running it.

Thirty minutes later, after he’d eaten his burger and finished every last fry on his plate, he let Sally talk him into taking a piece of peanut-butter pie to go.

It was still early and he planned to get his suitcase out of the SUV and into the upstairs apartment. Then he’d send Megan home so he could close up the shop and take a good look at the books. The pie would come in handy as a snack because he knew he’d be putting in some long hours tonight.

When he took his check up to the old-fashioned cash register, he glanced at the elderly women and saw them counting out the quarters from their coin purses. He pulled an extra twenty from his wallet. Then, using a pad and pen that rested on the counter, he scratched out a note to let Caroline know he intended to cover the ladies’ meals, too.

After paying his own tab, he handed the surprised waitress a ten dollar bill as a tip and left the diner. On his way back to Zorba’s, he set a slow pace, the memories bogging him down.

Maybe it was seeing the two women counting out their change and being reminded about how he’d once lived in a different world, how he’d once had to struggle to make ends meet, too. His mom might have brought home a paycheck, but he’d been the one to budget the money, pay the bills, buy the groceries and cook the meals. He’d also made sure she took her meds and got up each afternoon so she could go back to work at the lab and start the process all over again—that is, until she’d died.

Maybe seeing Megan with her son, acting like the protective and caring mom Clay had always wished for himself, had poked at some tender spot deep in his heart.

Either way, the past was playing havoc with him. But he did his best to shake it off and to put the memories behind him before returning to work.

As he reentered the shop, he spotted Lisa sitting at the front counter, doodling on what must have been her spelling homework.

“Hey, Mr. Johnson. Do you know anything about athletes who don’t have to read? I heard that gymnasts get to go to school at home, but only for a couple of hours every day because they’re too busy practicing at their gyms. Maybe I should switch from soccer to gymnastics.”

The girl was asking Clay for advice? Heck, he didn’t have any experience with children. He’d never had siblings. And he’d always avoided the kids who’d played sports in school. How was he supposed to know what she should play?

“Everyone needs to be able to read,” he said. “Even gymnasts.”

“What about softball? Mom signed me up for a sports camp this summer through the YMCA. I hope I get to try out all sorts of sports and can figure out which one will get me out of school the most.”

“Why don’t you like school?” Clay scanned the shop, looking around for Megan—or for anyone who could get him out of this awkward conversation.

And speaking of Megan, where was she?

He wanted to get started on the disaster of an office, and it should be nearly time to close up for the day.

“It’s okay,” Lisa said. “Our PE teacher, Mrs. Sanchez, is nice. And I like my friends and having recess. But I don’t like doing seatwork. I’m not good at it. All the letters jumble around, and so I’d rather be outside.”

No wonder the little girl felt more comfortable playing sports than doing her spelling. She was better at it. Clay had felt the same way when he’d been in school—only with sports instead of spelling. It had taken him years to figure out how to dribble a basketball, but once he got ahold of a computer and had his hands on a mouse and keyboard, his fingers had excelled for hours.

“Yes!” Tyler’s voice shouted out from the back, calling Clay from his musing.

He couldn’t allow himself to get soft. And where was Megan? Had she left again?