The Lost Sister (Sister Series, #8) Page 4

  Maybe she could buy some decent shoes? Glancing down at her hand-me-downs, the white canvas shoes had no tread left on the soles. They were so broken in from someone else’s footprint that her feet ached within only an hour of working today. Waiting on tables was definitely non-sedentary and she decided to save up for a decent pair of tennis shoes. She slipped her feet free from them and wiggled her toes before running hot water in the small bathtub in which she prepared to soak. Sighing at the heavenly sensation of hot water on her aching feet, she smiled blissfully.

  This was pure heaven.

  Chapter Three

  THE NEXT DAY, TARA arrived ten minutes before her shift started, which began at eleven, and went right through dinner. She smiled when she entered the back kitchen and found Chloe working the griddle herself. The woman was everywhere. Like an octopus, she seemed to have a hand in everything that went on there: helping, teaching, smiling at and greeting people when they came in. She helped her staff, greeted her customers, and kept things moving with the necessary speed and efficiency, all while smiling happily and sounding carefree.

  “So you made it back, huh?” Chloe tossed the burger she was frying before turning to hand the spatula off to the cook, who had lumbered back from her break. Without a pause, she slid in next to Tara and tied her apron around her waist. Tara’s long, blonde hair was straight and shaggy, so she drew it into a tight ponytail. The ends were ragged, obviously from lacking regular conditioning treatments, which left her hair looking like a heap of straw.

  “Yes. Of course. I loved it—” Tara exclaimed with way too much pleasure over a simple serving job. Realizing that, she shook her head, dropping her gaze down and a small, embarrassed smile appeared on her face. “I mean, I am very grateful for having this chance and I look forward to repaying you for it.”

  Chloe and she walked through the swinging doors, leaving the neat, immaculate kitchen and heading towards the couples and group seating. There was a long bar that provided single seating. All the desserts, including fresh pies and cakes, were displayed at the end of it. The carousel twirled around, providing an appetizing advertisement of all the sweets Chloe’s café offered. Seats lined the windows that overlooked the far-off vistas of the dam and offered glimpses of water between the buildings in town and the lush, rolling landscape. It was a lovely spot for a café and the inside was every bit as pleasant as the external views. The colors were a calming blue with splashes of sunny yellow. Chloe ran a tight ship and it showed. Everything was neat and clean while also very appealing and appetizing. The tablecloths were checkered blue and white and the tables were adorned with little bud vases, complete with fake daisies and votive candles beside them. Reservations for big parties took up the tables between the window seating and the bar.

  Tara and the other server working divided the place in half. Her heart dropped when she glanced towards her first table.

  The cop. Right now. Right there. First patron of her day.

  She could not see his face yet, just the back of his wavy, chestnut hair and the top of his khaki uniform shirt. She restrained a sigh. Grabbing her tablet and pen, she tucked them into her apron pocket. It was a perfect fit. She had a feeling those kinds of details were important to Chloe, who insisted on them. This time, however, the cop had no water. Tara snagged the water pitcher and an empty glass. Setting the glass down, she kept her gaze riveted on it as she carefully poured the water. Her hand shook a little at its weight, but it was really because of him. His presence. She didn’t like it. He stared at her. The intensity of his gaze weighed on her as she accomplished the simple task which, to Tara, was almost as difficult as trying to climb up one of the dam spillways.

  “You’re early,” she said without thinking. It just popped out.

  “Different shift today. Grabbing breakfast before I start.”

  Shift. Copping. Guarding. Harassing people. Who knew? Her experience with cops probably wasn’t the same as most people’s. She set the water pitcher down and took out her tablet, shaking her head. His presence seemed to turn her brain off. She tucked the tablet away as quickly as she took it out. “The usual, right? Which everyone already knows?” Biting down on her lower lip, she wondered if that came out way too snappish.

  He chuckled, however. “Do you know who I am?”

  “Um... Chloe’s brother-in-law.”

  “Yeah, so I dine for free.”

  Tara kept her gaze riveted downwards as he spoke. The gun at his waist was still in her field of vision. Without knowing why, she could not tear her eyes from it. She knew it wouldn’t suddenly jump out of the holster and start shooting at her. Not on its own. But… God. It seemed so big and black and… and… just there.

  “Tara, isn’t it?”

  Hearing her name on his lips in his deep, even tone drew her attention and she lifted her gaze to look at the cop-man… by accident. She really didn’t mean to. But she automatically responded to her name. In the past five years, not many people said it or knew it. Hearing her name during the last two days from Chloe and the other staff members rattled her senses. She felt she was really a part of something now.

  However, coming face to face with him, she swallowed hard. He spoke again. “Your name? It’s Tara, correct?”

  She nodded, silent and looking dumb. Her eyes grew big. She could not find her voice.

  He was… hot. But not like young hot. No, he was mature and… maybe even handsome. There was something about him that just reeked law and order. His hair was thick and shiny and luxurious. It had enough of a wave that it appeared careless and natural, tending toward being unruly if he let it grow any longer. He had warm, hazel eyes and a square, masculine jawline. Clean-shaven. She stared too long at him, and his lips tilted upwards in a blatantly encouraging smile before a dimple appeared. That shattered all the airs of law, order, and maturity and he appeared almost boyish. He was older than her too, probably in his late twenties or early thirties.

  “Tara, okay then. Tell me something, is it me or my gun that makes you so nervous?”

  Her eyes went from lazily perusing him to snapping back to his amused gaze. Now his lips tilted up higher at the corners. “Um—” She drew in a breath, worrying he might catch on there was some reason to look into her history now. Or at least tell Chloe to look into it. It was her own fault for acting so suspiciously and bringing him to that conclusion. Why couldn’t she have just smiled and said hello with a cheery wave? She exhaled her nervous breath and nodded. “It’s the gun. I don’t like them. Any of them. Even… even on cops.” Her shoulders dropped down. There! She spoke in real sentences even. He’d know she wasn’t a half-baked, strange mute and maybe not feel the need to investigate her for why the hell she was acting so suspiciously. “Well, I mean, I guess you’re a cop, right? Like some kind of fish cop?”

  She nearly wilted and fell forward. Why did she keep talking? She was only making it worse. Fish cop? She cringed internally and dropped her gaze back to the water. Yup, this was over and done.

  His chuckle was low and he seemed amused. “Fish cop is still a cop; and yes, I am.”

  Her cheeks flushed. “I’m sorry. I meant game warden. Right? I don’t know what those guys actually do.” She finally threw up her hands up in the universal sign of surrender. “I grew up in a small town, but never lived out in the country, not like this. And then I lived in downtown Seattle for the last several years… so, not much experience…”

  “With fish or wildlife?” he supplied. Her gaze darted up before it ping-ponged back down and a hot, flushed sensation pervaded her entire body, concentrating in her cheeks and turning them pink. His kindness made her stomach flutter. He just had such a—a warm laugh. An appealing laugh for a man.

  “No, not much.”

  He leaned forward, bending slightly at his waist, and stretched his hand out towards her. “I’m Ryder Kincaid. You might as well get used to me since I’m in here a lot; and then of course, there’s Wyatt.”

  Ryder Kincaid. She stared at
his hand. It was big. He had long, thick fingers and only a few sparse hairs on the backs of his hands. She put her hand in his and he grasped her fingers affectionately. It was a gentle grasp, nothing too authoritarian about it. At least he was not one of those guys who tried to dominate you with a simple handshake. His was loose and easy. His hands were dry and warm with calluses on his fingertips. He was definitely a man who worked with his hands, not someone who pushed a pen or pencil around. She quickly withdrew her hand the moment he let her go.

  Tara had to smile at the mention of Wyatt. “Oh, yes. He’s… well, I don’t usually hang out with kids too much, but I wouldn’t mind doing it with him.”

  There was a low chuckle again. She wanted to bite her tongue. Couldn’t she have just said He is adorable? Or cute? He truly was, so why didn’t she just go with that? Lord. Socializing seemed to have become a lost art in her consciousness. She shook her head finally. “I’m sorry, I meant, he’s very cute.” There, finally something normal. She sounded like she often discussed adorable children with their parents before.

  “Thank you, he is. You will be seeing him often though. He thinks he owns this place, so…”

  She shrugged. “So I guess I shouldn’t tell him differently.”

  This time, Ryder laughed out loud. “Well, thank you, Tara.”

  His laugh made her smile again. Not too loud or deep or high or awkward. It was pleasant and engaging and her lips tipped up into a smile. She didn’t want to commiserate, not even in a positive way, with a cop. Not even a fish cop.

  He leaned over and grabbed his coat, tucking it on the side of him. “Does that help?”

  She glanced down and saw he covered the gun up. She lifted her gaze, surprised at the simple, but also very kind, almost nice gesture. Decent of him. First, that he even noticed her discomfort and second, that he cared about the reason why she was so apprehensive about his gun.

  “It’s still there.” Her lips twitched. “I’m not your son; you can’t exactly fool me. If I don’t see it, I won’t believe it’s not there.”

  “No, but maybe you can avoid looking at me as if I’m going to pull it on you without provocation. Does it stem from a general dislike of guns or just a bad experience?”

  She sucked in her breath as his words evoked gory images of blood and body tissue being smattered, smeared and spilling all over the front of her. Death came in a matter of minutes. Alive one moment, and dead the next. Jerome. The only person in the world who cared and knew if she lived or died each day. One shot. Pop. Just a soft little pop and he leaned over, clenching his chest and then… dead. Still in her arms. She screamed—

  No. She shut her brain off. She could not do that right now. She could not go back. She shut it down. As always.

  She shook her head. “Just… a general dislike. I don’t see the point. They kill people.”

  He nodded. “Not from around here, huh?”

  “No.”

  “You have a general dislike of guns? Most do from Seattle.”

  She stiffened. “That’s rather a generality.”

  His lips again tipped upwards. “And yet, you just told me what you dislike and where you’re from, correct?”

  “A lot of people don’t like guns.”

  “Granted. A lot of people don’t. But most, or at least, I hope most want the cops to carry them. Unless…”

  She couldn’t stop her smile. “Unless I were a criminal. And I’m not.”

  He leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest. “Wow, she cracks a smile.”

  Startled, she looked up and he shrugged his shoulders. “You don’t smile much. And look at that; my interrogation worked. I now know that Tara, the new server, is from Seattle, doesn’t know anything about fish or wildlife, hates guns, likes my kid, and she isn’t a criminal. Anything else I should know?”

  He was way too easy to talk to. She never meant to talk at all. Ever. Let alone all these multiple sentences. “I’ll get your food now.”

  He nodded, still smiling when she turned and scurried back towards the kitchen. Sure enough, his same meal as yesterday was already up on the counter. She brought it right out. “Anything else?”

  People were starting to filter in and he shook his head to the negative.

  Lunchtime brought the people in droves. Most wore casual clothes, and many patrons were of the older variety. By the time Wyatt came running in with as much unbridled joy and excitement as yesterday, Tara’s feet were already burning. Her mind was also exhausted, but in a warm, satisfied way. A way she doubted she had ever experienced before. That Wyatt. He could make anyone feel reenergized. This time, he carried an entire folder of his work.

  “Look, Auntie!” he said. Chloe came out and took the folder from him, spreading his work over the countertop.

  “Well, our little genius is showing off once more. Look at this. Good work, Wyatt!” She high-fived him and he giggled as he reciprocated.

  Then he flipped around. “Hiya, Tara!”

  Tara smiled, totally intoxicated by his huge, toothy grin and the high squeak in his voice as he said the last part of her name. “Hi, Wyatt.”

  “See? Look what I did this week.” She never had a kid show off their accomplishments or schoolwork to her before. She perused his paintings of the alphabet letters, worksheets that included counting objects and removing them, as well as other sheets where he traced the letters and numbers.

  “Are you sure this is all for kindergarten? Looks like at least first grade, maybe even second to me.”

  He squeaked again in delight. “No! I’m only five!”

  Tara laughed with him before Chloe and he did the whole healthy snack drill again. He tried to grab some trail mix that she kept on the counter for her customers, setting it in bowls arranged throughout the café. She slapped his hand away gently and obviously teasing as she pretended to scold him. “You get enough of that with your dad.”

  He snickered and sat down to chomp on the apple and pretzels that Chloe brought him. “Soooo.” He glanced at Tara. “What you doing here?”

  Intrigued, Tara leaned against the counter near him. “Here? As in?”

  “Not in California anymore. Why are you here?”

  “I need a job and your aunt needed a server.”

  He beamed. “Oh.”

  Wyatt was so funny. He asked questions that seemed so adult, and obviously must have listened to his father often, but he willingly accepted the simplest answers. Tara didn’t have to lie or elaborate or evade. That was a relief.

  Wyatt stayed there several hours later than yesterday. Tara’s heart skipped a beat when she glanced outside and saw the truck with the insignia of the fish cop. He was back. Ryder was here. Now. Ready to enter. Her entire body became aware of that fact. Annoyed with herself, she pried her gaze back to her tablet, scribbling down the order of the nice guy in a baseball hat who weighed a few hundred more pounds than he should have. His tush and upper legs seemed to melt over the seat, and he spoke in a subdued, soft voice that seemed at odds with his massive size and gruff looks. His smile, however, was shy and sweet. That was how Tara smiled and interacted with the world. She instantly felt a kinship with this customer and soon learned his name was Gary. She smiled often at him. Smiles were nothing she gave out easily either. She just didn’t see any reason to most of the time. But she smiled at this patron and he blushed clear up to his hat line.

  Flipping around, she turned the order in and breathed for a moment. Most of the dinner crowd were gone and only a few stragglers remained.

  Ryder walked in and slipped his hat off. Tara noticed that yesterday too, and assumed it must be an unconscious habit.

  “Daddy!” Wyatt jumped off the stool he had been previously occupying. For hours, he kept drawing pictures and giving them out like candy to all the different patrons. They must have been locals and familiar with his presence because they all stopped and smiled and everyone talked to him. The child was constantly engaged in something or with someone. And really, wh
at better environment for a growing child? Tara wondered. Then Wyatt ducked below the stool and played a game with his stool and the one next to it, saying he was a spy… Tara heard his little voice whispering and funny noises afterwards.

  Ryder leaned over and picked Wyatt up in a sweeping hug as Tara immediately set to wiping off the counter. She needed to busy her hands because her gaze kept slipping over to the pair. She could not imagine running towards her father and receiving such a greeting. Had she ever hugged her father before? She stopped, getting completely still for a long moment. Dear God. Had she ever hugged her father? She could not say for sure, having no memories of it. She could picture her father’s cool, handsome face. So much like Tristan’s, actually. But a smile, or any other display of joy or comfort being directed at her? No. JR was always unavailable. And off to where? Tara really had no idea what her dad was always off doing or where he did it.

  Her mom was there, always around, but not in any positive way. She pushed Tara for years, starting with dance, and became the stereotypical, horrible, freak-show of a stage mom. She went so far as to scold Tara and tell her not to eat in order to stay thin enough for ballet. Tara had talent, sure, but she was burnt out by the time she was only sixteen. Not quite tall enough, there wasn’t much of a chance for Tara to pursue ballet professionally. But her mom’s entire life had been centered on Tara’s dancing. It was all that she did for her mom, and it provided a successful means for living in the odd world of competitive dance in LA.

  At the time, they lived in Marsdale in Northern California. Having considerable wealth on her mom’s side and also from Tamasy Industries, which her grandfather owned and her older brother, Tristan, was most likely now running, there was little more for Tara to do. It made her heart dip whenever she pictured Tristan getting lost in the cold, faceless void of her family. The idea of him becoming an apathetic, icy, emotionless clone of her parents and leading a fake, false life like the one they led disturbed her. Her parents shared three kids together but never once ate a meal with them or each other, and neither one gave an hour of their precious time to their kids. The only thing they offered their children was criticism, which Tara had received in abundance.