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The old man was staring at me now, his expression hard to read, probably wondering what the hell I was talking about. “He did,” he answered slowly, measured steps bring him back to us. “I wondered where his sudden obsession with coffee came from.”
“I wouldn’t call it an obsession,” I said defensively. “It’s just good. Reminds me of my mom’s coffee.”
“Your mom?” He repeated, his voice growing scratchy. “She makes it the same way?”
“She did,” I answered with a nod. “She made the best coffee. Yours is the closest I’ve come to tasting it in years.”
He held out his hand, “Leroy.”
“Cadence,” I responded, shaking his hand firmly.
“Made. You said made,” he said questioningly.
I swallowed, my gaze dropping. “She died a few years ago.”
“I guess I got time for one more pot,” Leroy replied, shuffling to the door as Crew stared in disbelief. “You coming?”
“If you’re brewing,” I answered, striving for cheerful. “Been a helluva day.”
He gave me a long stare. “Yeah, I’ll grant you that.”
We went inside as he flicked on the lights and I couldn’t help but notice the dust covering every surface. He caught my stare and a tinge of red colored his cheeks. “I ain’t had a chance to clean the place up. Short on help. Pot’s in the back,” he muttered as Crew stared incredulously.
“This place is cool,” I replied, trying to look everywhere at once. I chuckled to myself, “It feels like home.” Leroy glanced at me sharply. “Bet you haven’t changed a thing in forty years,” I murmured.
“Fifty,” he corrected, walking away and I scurried to keep up. “I’ll get a pot going and you can tell me what this is all about.”
“I don’t know,” Crew hedged and Leroy stopped, forcing me to stand on my toes or run into him.
“I wasn’t talking to you.” Leroy nodded to the door. “You can go.”
Crew’s mouth opened and closed without saying a word and he glanced at me in a desperate sort of way.
“I think he’s supposed to stay with me,” I interjected and Leroy gave a halfhearted shrug.
“He can stay then,” he agreed then pointed at Crew. “But I’d keep your mouth shut if you know what’s good for you.”
Crew pressed his lips together but nodded.
Leroy grabbed a black coffee pot off the shelf and placed it in the coffee machine.
“When was the last time you washed that thing?” I cried, reaching for the pot. I inspected it, not sure bleach could save the poor pot.
Leroy looked at me as he answered, “I don’t know.” His forehead wrinkled. “I’m not sure I’ve ever washed it.” He must have seen my eyes bugging from my head. “It wasn’t in the instructions,” he claimed defensively.
“Momma always said a clean pot was the first step to good cup of coffee,” I told him, waving the pot. “Where’s the sink?” He pointed to a door at the end of the counter and I marched to it with the blackened pot clutched in my hand. “It might be a minute.”
Chapter Seven
Noah
As soon as Cord slipped Cadence out the door, I put the safety back on my gun and holstered it. Uncle Cal spun around, fury turning him beet red, but it was what he said that surprised the shit out of me.
“Where did he take her? Where did he take Moira?”
“None of your business,” I answered bluntly, hiding my surprise at the name Moira. “Stay the hell away from her.” Uncle Cal glanced around wildly, his gaze almost unhinged.
“Give her to me,” he demanded, his ham sized hands reaching for me.
“Uh huh,” Creed chided, stepping up beside us. “You leave Noah alone.”
“Or what?” Uncle Cal snarled. “You’ll shoot me? In a room full of witnesses?”
“Gladly,” Creed replied, the answer seeming to startle some sense back into my uncle. Creed raised his voice, “Anybody seen anything?” There was silence and then a few murmurs denying seeing anything. “Hm, seems like nobody saw a thing,” Creed drawled. “Damn shame….for you.”
Uncle Cal’s gaze swung back to me, a familiar vindictiveness lighting his eyes. “I’ll take your badge and your gun.” He held out his hand like he expected me to hand them over.
“No,” I said briefly and stepped back. He appeared stunned. “I’ll be in the office tomorrow. Charges against Clutch Hayes will be dropped since I have proof Rob was in town before Ronnie’s death.” Uncle Cal sputtered. “And I’ll be filing a formal complaint against you for abuse and if the young woman you harassed wants, a harassment charge.”
“You wouldn’t dare,” he sneered. “You don’t have the balls.”
“You are directly responsible for Ronnie’s death,” I stated, startling him back into silence. “You’re done.”
“You don’t know what the hell you’re doing, boy,” Uncle Cal shouted, spit flying from his mouth as he lunged at me. I balled up a fist and slammed it into his gut as he slammed into me, hearing the air leave his lungs in a rush. I caught him, whispering in his ear, “Your days are numbered.”
