The Ranger's Passionate Love (7 page)

That night, the dream returned again.

Once again, she was braiding Keisha's hair, her fingers wound through with expert precision.

"I'll bring this to the police for you, Darrell. They can get you out. For now, we're just a young

man talking to his preacher. It'll be fine," said Kyara's father, equal parts kind and stern, just as she always remembered him.

Kyara tugged a little harder on Keisha's hair, trying to keep her attention and stop her from listening in on their father's conversation.

Why, Papa? Why do you need to help those gangbangers? Even the ones who are trying to get out are no good.

It made no difference, though. He'd been doing it, quietly and always carefully, since she was fourteen. Even though it had been over ten years, it still terrified her every time he did it. The less Keisha heard, the better.

"What do you want to do after this?" Kyara asked the child.

No, don't ask that. Don't ask. There is no after this.

Keisha tried to turn her head to look at the woman braiding her hair, but Kyara kept her facing firmly forward.

"I want to go buy a shirt like yours," said Keisha, her voice full of admiration.

Kyara glanced down. The shirt was nothing special – a simple, clinging purple cotton. Kyara did have to admit, though, the rich color set off the rich chocolate of her skin quite nicely. And Devante seemed to appreciate the way it clung to her curves.

No not him. Never him. I never want to think about him again.

"Do you like purple?" Kyara asked Keisha, glancing up at the street again.

Who cares about a stupid shirt? Run! Run away!
But the dream Kyara sat, just as she had in real life.

A black sedan came around the corner. It would have been like a hundred other cars – solid, boring, and anonymous – if Kyara hadn't noticed the bright yellow chicken hanging from the rear-view mirror. She'd seen it a hundred times, and never failed to ask him to take it down.

That stupid, terrible toy chicken. If not for it, I would never have known.

The thought cut off abruptly as the windows facing her father and Keisha's rolled down and the muzzle of guns appeared.

* * * * *

Kyara sat straight up in the dark, her heart racing.

The clock glared at her from the nightstand, bathing her in harsh, red light.

I'll have to be up in an hour anyway
, Kyara told herself,
and I don't think I'm getting back to sleep any time soon.

Kyara got out of bed and went to stare at herself in the mirror.

The time working outside has made me even darker
, she realized.
I thought I'd hate it, but it actually looks pretty good.
It did, too. The light gleamed off the dark sheen of her skin, making her eyes seem whiter and larger. Her straightened hair encircled her face like an ebony halo, drawing attention to the red in her lips and cheeks.
Damn. I wish I could tell thirteen-year-old me about this. I wasted a lot of sunlight trying to stay light skinned.

Kyara sobered, looking at herself again in the mirror.

Is that when it started? All this chasing after men, trying to be what they want? Never thinking too closely about who they really are?

Kyara studied herself, eyes dark and reflective.

What am I doing? After Devante, I swore I wouldn't do this again. I need to stand on my own, not get tangled up with some guy. Especially, s
he scolded herself,
some guy I've barely spent any time with. I mean, what do I even know about him?

Well, I know that he volunteers, both on the trail and at Crystal's school. I know that he stood up for me. I know he brought people here to eat. I know that he looks great in jeans. And... that's it. I don't even know his last name.

That's not enough. That's not even what I knew about Devante.

I'm making the same mistakes all over again.

I have to cancel.

Kyara nodded to herself, her jaw firming, and turned away to shower.

That morning, Kyara rehearsed what she would say. She couldn't call right away, given how early she was up. That gave her hours to obsess. She almost changed her mind again and again. Each time she reconsidered, she ran her litany of failed boyfriends through her mind, always ending with the worst.

This is my penance
, she found herself thinking.
I can't ever make up for it, but that doesn't mean I can't try.

Given the early start, Kyara started some extra food, just for herself. While she tried to serve food in the restaurant which seemed like New England food, Kyara always prepared soul food for herself. It was a small part of home she allowed herself to keep. It was a small piece of happiness she was still allowed to have.

So while she readied the ingredients for salads and turkey sandwiches for the lunch crowd on one side of the kitchen, on the other she filled the air with the smell of ham hocks and prepared the makings for fried green tomatoes.

Lunchtime came, but no customers. With the restaurant empty, she couldn't put it off any longer. She took his number from her pocket, walked to the restaurant phone, and dialed.

The ringing of the phone waiting for him to pick up seemed to go on forever. Finally, it clicked over to voicemail.

"If you called me, you know who it is. Leave a message, and I'll get back to you" his voice said into her ear, sounding vaguely fake.

See? I hate stupid messages like that. What if I just had a wrong number? Clearly we weren't meant to be.

"Hey, Jason, it's Kyara. I don't think I can make it tomorrow after all. Sorry to cancel on you, I just ... don't think it's a good idea. I'll ... I'll see you next Tuesday, probably."

The front door opened.

"OK, I have a customer. I have to go. Bye." Kyara hung up the phone abruptly, glad to have had an excuse to cut the message short. She quickly pinned his number to the small bulletin board by the phone, then rushed out to greet her guest.

It was Mrs. Waite. She ordered a bowl of soup and nattered to Kyara about how she wanted fresh bread, but it was too hard to make it herself any more. Kyara listened to her absentmindedly. It didn't take long for Jan to notice the lack of attention.

"What's the matter with you today?" she asked Kyara, peering up from her soup.

Kyara shook her head. "Nothing I want to talk about," she said.

"Those are exactly the times when you should talk," declared Jan. "So tell me, I'll use my hard-won wisdom to fix it, and then you'll pack up the rest of this soup for me so I can eat it tomorrow."

Kyara sighed.

"It's nothing. I just had to give up something I wanted, was all."

Jan eyes her sharply.

"Sacrifice is hard. I should know, I was raised in The Depression. We ate the same thing every day for months, sometimes. I had to give up finishing high school so I could take a job and help."

"I didn't know that," said Kyara, intrigued in spite of herself.

"Now you do. And you know that, while sacrifices hurt, they also make you stronger," said Jan, flapping her bony little arms around to demonstrate her power. Kyara smiled in spite of herself.

"I suppose I really shouldn't complain," allowed Kyara, a hint of a smile finding its way onto her face.

"Oh, I didn't say that," said Jan. "Complaining the best part. Reminds people that you're here and have needs."

"I think I'm whiny enough," said Kyara carefully.
Probably too whiny,
she admitted to herself.
Especially lately.

"A good whine can clear your head so you can get stuff done," declared Jan. "Take my word, have a good wallow tonight and then make sure you're productive tomorrow. Fixes most things."

I was kind of planning on it anyway,
thought Kyara.
But it's nice to think it's not just being self-indulgent for its own sake.
Kyara nodded to her friend, actually feeling a little bit better.

"Only, wallow after you pack up my soup," said Jan, her eyes turning back to her bowl. "I need to get home."

Kyara stood back up, took the bowl, and went to pack up her friend's food, topping it off from the extra in the kitchen.

Once Jan left, though, all Kyara had were her thoughts again.

Sacrifice to earn something is fine
she thought,
but what if it's penance for something you've already done?

Kyara mulled it over, filling the time by preparing fried chicken just the way her Mama used to make. She never used the fryer for anything but the French fries, but this was a special occasion.

The sad little lunchtime service at a close, Kyara retreated to the kitchen. Her early morning rise hadn't left her much prep to do for that evening. She scrubbed at a few dishes before loading them into the washer, but she knew she was just going through the motions.

Hours to go before dinner service, she gave up and flipped the open sign to closed. They she picked a table in the corner and sat down, carrying her ham hocks and fried green tomatoes with her.

I'm sulking
, she admitted to herself,
and I'm just too sulky to care.

She settled in to her table, fully prepared to eat her feelings. The smell of familiar spices filled the restaurant. She'd always imagined that someday her children would grow up thinking of those spices as the smell of home.

That dream seemed far away, now.

A knock came at the door. Kyara stared at it for a moment, not sure what was going on.

"We're closed right now," Kyara called out. "Please come back for the dinner hours."

A long moment of silence followed her announcement. Then she heard Jason's voice.

"It's me."

No. No, I don't want to deal with this right now,
thought Kyara.

"Do you mind if I come in?" Jason asked through the door.

Kyara sighed.
Better to get this over with now, and in private, I guess.

Kyara stood, crossed to the door, and opened it.

She'd never seen him in anything other than clothes for the trail or the farmers' market. This afternoon he was wearing a button down shirt, pale purple, and black slacks. He looked different – more professional – but still gorgeous. The pale purple made his skin seem almost to glow as he stepped into the cafe.

"Hey," he said, stepping around her, careful not to touch. "I got your message. I thought we should talk."

He stopped in the middle of the dining room floor, turning to face her directly. Kyara closed the door, but stayed next to it, her hand resting lightly on the door knob.

"OK," she said.

Silence stretched, each waiting for the other. Kyara spoke first.

"I don't think dating is such a good idea for me right now."

Jason stared at her, and she continued.

"It's just, the restaurant is really struggling, and it needs my full attention."

Jason gave a single, slow nod of his head as he spoke.

"Right. That's why I invited you out on restaurant-related dates. I thought it might help."

"So, I'm just another charity case, then?" Kyara shot back.

"That's not what I meant," Jason replied quickly.

"But it's what you believe," said Kyara.

"No," said Jason, "What I believe is that you won't go out with me unless I can also relate it to your work, so that's what I did." He paused then, as if something was just occurring to him. "Why are you picking a fight like this, anyway?" he asked.  "This isn't like you."

"Well," Kyara answered. "Maybe you don't know me as well as you think you do."

Jason cocked his head to the side, considering her. Then he replied, his voice low and soft.

"What I know is that you're brave enough to start over in a new town, you're smart enough to run your own business, you're nice enough to let the kids in town hang out here, you're generous enough to give away what little you have, even when you're struggling, and you're beautiful enough to keep me up at night thinking about you." As he named them, he ticked off the virtues on his fingers, his eyes never leaving her.

Kyara felt a little warmer with each finger, wishing she could be the woman he was describing. When he reached the end of the hand, though, she knew she had to get him to stop. She wasn't the person he was describing.

"Look, that's very flattering, but it's kind of a whitewashed view," she said. "I'm also a workaholic orphan with a soon-to-be failed business and a history with men that would, quite frankly, make people run screaming from the room."

Jason stepped toward her, just a single step.

"I'm not talking about history, Kyara. I'm talking about the future. And from what I can see, you're going to be just fine." With that, he spun and crossed to the corner where she'd been eating. "This, for instance, smells amazing. If this is what you're serving, I'm pretty sure your business is going to be fine."

Kyara slumped, reluctantly crossing to join him at the plate.

"That's not cafe food. That's my lunch."

Jason looked at her with astonishment, then back at her plate.

"Why wouldn't you serve the food you like to eat?" he asked, sitting down where she had been eating. She sat across from him.

"Jason, this is soul food. It's pretty much poor Black people food. I don't know if you noticed, but there ain't a lot of that around here. I serve my customers, not me."

Jason shrugged, staring at the plate. "I don't know history, but I know what I like. And I like the way this smells. Can I ... can I try a bite?"

Kyara stared at him for a moment.
This is insane. I'm breaking up with him and he wants to eat my lunch?

"It just smells way too good," he explained.

Oh, Hell. I never could say no to someone who liked my food, never mind when they look at me with those eyes.

Kyara stood, walking towards the kitchen.

It's nice to have someone actually appreciate my food,
she justified to herself.
And the sooner he gets over this, the sooner I can get him out of here.

"I'll get you a plate," she said, "if you agree to leave right after."

He studied her for a moment, his eyes equally thoughtful and hurt.

"Deal," he said finally.

Kyara turned to push into the kitchen, then stopped.

"You're wrong, by the way," she said. "You may be all 'I'm talking about the future,' and 'I don't know history.' But we all have a history, Jason. And it does matter. It tells us who we are."

She turned before she could see his reaction, and disappeared into the kitchen. There she popped from bin to bin, even adding a piece of the fried chicken cooling by the window. She returned to the dining area carrying the plate gripped in front of her like a soldier marching into battle.

He sat quietly, just waiting for her.

She placed the plate of hot food before him, pulling her own plate to herself, and placed a roll of silverware down near his hand.

In almost maddening silence, he picked up his fork, and pulled away a piece of the ham. He looked it over, an art critic in a gallery, before placing it between his lips. Kyara watched him as he slowly chewed, letting his eyes drift half-shut. Then he silently moved his fork for a piece of the tomato. Like before, he studied it, then slowly brought it to his mouth. He ate slowly, letting the textures and flavors play across his tongue. Finally, he took a single, long strip from the chicken, chewing it just as slowly as before.

Finished with each of his single bites, but he put the fork down on the plate.

Silence stretched.

"Well?" Kyara asked at last.

"That," he said at last, "is amazing." He reached for his fork again.

Kyara let out a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding.

"You're a giant tease, you know that?" she accused.

Jason paused, fork half-way to his mouth.

"You have no idea," he said. Then he finished taking his bite.

Kyara smiled, and turned her attention to her own food.

They ate for a while, just sharing the experience in silence.

"You really should be selling this," he said. "It's far too good to hide away."

Kyara kept her eyes on her plate.

"It doesn't really fit the cafe thing."

"So change it," Jason responded immediately. "The cafe thing doesn't work out here. You need something that will bring people in from other towns. This," he gestured, a chunk of chicken speared on the end of his fork, "will do it. I would drive a pink tricycle naked through town if it got me to this."

Kyara flushed and tried not to smile.

"I might insist that you do," she said.

Jason chortled, but then grew quiet.

"Seriously," he asked, "Why not do this?"

Kyara contemplated the question for a moment.

"I considered it, of course. It's what I love to cook. But it's so ... Southern. And up here really, really isn't."

"That doesn't make it bad," Jason pointed out. "Just different. People might like a little different around here."

Kyara arched an eyebrow at him.

"Is that my appeal? Different?"

"You know it's more than that, though I'd certainly like to taste you, too."

Kyara fought back rush of heat and desire, struggling to return to the topic at hand.

Jason chuckled. "Though that may be a bit much to ask on a first date."

Kyara's eyes almost popped out of her head.

"We are not on a date," she said emphatically.

Jason looked down at the table between them, half-eaten food piled on their plates.

"Really? What do you call two people who like each other having a meal?"

Kyara swallowed, the taste of the food suddenly gone to ash in her mouth.

"This ... is a business meeting. Nothing more."

The confident smile that had been playing around his lips withered away.

"May I ask why that's all this is?" he asked at last.

Kyara took a deep breath.

"It just is, okay? I came up here to get away from all of that, not to fall right back into it," she said.
Plus, I don't deserve you. I don't deserve anyone.
Kyara kept her eyes firmly on her plate, not wanting to see his reaction. Even so, she could just see his chin as he nodded.

"Okay, then. This is business. But," he reached a hand across the table, lightly cupping it over her own, "when you're ready to be done with business, I'd like to be there for that, too."

With the tiniest of movement, Kyara nodded. Jason waited a moment more, then withdrew his arm. The back of Kyara's hand felt cold and exposed without his on top of it.

Kyara took a bite, really focusing on the taste of her food. Even with all the distractions, it still hit just the right note.
Maybe he's right. Maybe this could work,
Kyara realized. She heard the clink of his silverware as Jason resumed eating as well.