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Hickory Ridge Welcomes YOU!
“Guess we’ll see about that,” Chace Dutton muttered to himself as he drove past the billboard-sized greeting and crossed into the place he’d once called home.
Probably still could if he wanted, since his stint in the military and his current position with Steele Security and Investigations prevented him from settling down permanently anywhere else in the world.
For the last fifteen years, Chace had lived out of a rucksack, duffel bag, footlocker, or, ifreallyfortunate, an actual suitcase. The efficiency apartment he kept between Langley and Dulles was little more than a place to crash between assignments. But given a choice, he would have preferred the twenty-minute drive to his hole in the wall than the hour to his sister’s multi-level home.
Same state. Totally different vibe.
Big city and a stone’s throw from the nation’s capital versus rural, small-town Americana, the latter the only place Chace had ever considered home.
As he drove down the main street that connected Beaumont and Sheridan, the twin towns comprising Hickory Ridge, Chace wasn’t surprised to see white lights outlining every building, twinkling garlands of holly circling each lamppost, and the huge, ornately decorated but unlit Douglas fir erected in the town square, which was more of a circle, at the exact spot where Beaumont joined with Sheridan.
From what his sister had told him, the two unincorporated towns had finally become the corporation of Hickory Ridge, with one mayor, council members from each town, united public utility companies, and county fire, police, and EMS departments. The unofficial town motto wasTeamwork Makes the Dream Work.
Not exactly original, but one hundred percent accurate and fitting for the twin towns nestled in the foothills of the majestic Blue Ridge Mountains.
His stomach growled as he rounded the circle. Luckily, The Greasy Spoon was still open, and what better way to face whatever awaited him at his sister’s than with a bowl of Culver Duncan’s homemade chili warming him up from the inside?
Even though no one was behind him, Chace signaled and pulled into a parking spot. After shutting off the engine, he grabbed his wallet off the passenger seat, tucking it into his pocket as he headed into the diner.
If he didn’t know any better, he would have thought he’d walked right into the 1950’s. Black and white checkered flooring. Formica and chrome tables and countertops. Red vinyl booth, chair, and stool seats. Even a three-shelf display case filled with slices of various types of pie and cake sat at the counter's far end, and an old-time jukebox played “I’ll Be Home for Christmas” in the corner.
Chace guessed he was.
“Well, look what the cat dragged in,” a pink uniform-clad waitress greeted him in a voice reminiscent of a three-pack-a-day smoker.
Thelma Duncan, Culver’s wife and co-owner of The Greasy Spoon,never changed in looks or personality. Or at least she hadn’t in the over thirty years Chace had known her. A tiny wisp of a woman with a short cap of excessively teased Lucille Ball red hair, heavily shaded and mascaraed blue eyes, and naturally plump candy-apple-red lips, Thel was a tell-it-like-it-is, don’t-blow-smoke-up-my-ass-if-you-know-what’s-good-for-you septuagenarian with her finger on the pulse of everything that went on in Hickory Ridge.
She also had a heart of pure gold but was quick to say that whoever was spreading that asinine rumor was full of shit. By unspoken agreement, few ever argued with her, mainly because they knew the truth about how exceptionally generous she and Cully were.
“Hello, Mrs. Duncan,” Chace returned her greeting with a smile.
Her painted-on right eyebrow arched. “How many times do I have to tell you that Mrs. Duncan was my mother-in-law?” She kissed the tips of her fingers and looked toward the ceiling. “God rest her soul.”
“Order up,” a rumbling deep voice boomed from the pass, followed by the peal of a call bell being hit with a metal spatula.
Thelma pointed to the counter. “Sit down. I’ll be right with you,” she instructed in her no-nonsense tone as she pulled the two platters from the window separating the front of the diner from the kitchen and carried them to the young couple seated in the third booth from the door.
“Okay. What can I get you?” she asked Chace.
“How about a bowl of Cully’s chili and a slab of cornbread?”
“I should have known.”
“Just like you, some things never change,” Chace countered.
Thelma rolled her eyes. “Sweet tea?”
“Of course.”
Nodding, she disappeared behind the swinging door into the kitchen, returning in about thirty seconds balancing a massive bowl of chili, half a pan of cornbread, and a tall glass of tea she set down in front of him. “Eat up. There’s plenty more where that came from.”
Chace eyed the overflowing bowl and enormous slice of cornbread, wondering how on earth he was supposed to eat all that, let alone ask for anything more. Like a piece of that pecan pie he knew Thelma made from scratch.
He was enjoying his first bite of the delicious hamburger, cheese, and bean mixture when one of his childhood friends, Holden Blackwood, walked out of the small banquet room of the diner with a dark-haired beauty by his side. They laughed as she wrapped her hands around his arm and leaned against his shoulder. Holden wrapped his arm around her and dropped a kiss on the top of her head, holding her against him as if he never planned to let her go.
