Kiss Me, Katie! & Hug Me, Holly!

with the same ease she ignored her growing audience.

The woman waved at the sheriff as if they were long lost buddies.

He cheerfully waved back.

Finally, the woman returned her attention to Holly, whose patience had worn thin. “My daughter said her lovely, lovely bosses were sending me help so that my husband and I could move to Montana where my sister lives. Is that you, then? You’re the help?”

At that, everyone in the cafe stopped pretending to eat and listened with unabashed interest. Even the cat lifted his head and looked at her.

The sheriff, now leaning negligently against the counter, sipping at a mug the waitress had handed him, waited as well.

Holly’s composure faltered briefly. The help? Is that what her parents had blithely told everyone? She’d given up her life and job in California to come to the depths of the desert of all places, without a Chinese takeout or dry-cleaning place for hundreds of miles, hoping for once and all to finally gain her family’s respect, and they’d called her the help?

“They left a message for you, by the way,” the woman told her.

Okay, good. A message was good. Holly hadn’t seen her parents all year, partly because they were so busy saving lives, but mostly because she’d been avoiding them. It wasn’t something she was entirely comfortable thinking about, but she knew they never took her seriously and even though she pretended it didn’t matter, it did.

She was hoping things would change now. She was hoping other things would change, too. That maybe she would someday find her niche, her home, her place in life. And though she’d deny this, she secretly wished for things like love and a soul mate. Someone who would understand her through and through.

But there’d never been anyone like that in her life, and there probably never would be.

She needed to remember that.

She waited for her message, but Mrs. Mendoza seemed to relish hanging on to it. Luckily Holly was the most stubborn, determined woman on the face of the planet, well used to getting her way. Pinky here didn’t have a shot.

Sure enough, after a full moment of strained eye contact, the woman relented. She took off her apron and hung it on a hook on the wall with great ceremony. “They said, and I quote, ‘Tell her if she shows, thank you for handling everything, it should only be a month or so.’ You can stay upstairs until the place sells.”

So many questions flew through Holly’s head she got dizzy. “What do you mean thank you for handling everything?”

“Everything as in…everything.”

Holly tried to not panic. “There’s no one else…but me?”

“Nope.”

“For a month?” This was bad, very bad.

“Or so.”

And then the woman walked away! She went to the entrance of what Holly assumed was the kitchen and yelled, “Eddie! We’re done here. Let’s hit it! Montana here we come!”

A man came out of the kitchen and removed his white chef’s hat. He was grinning from ear to ear. Together they headed toward the door, stopping to give every customer a big hug and kiss.

“Wait!” Holly called, and when they looked at her, she couldn’t think which of her thousand questions to start with. She pointed to the big, fat orange cat laying in the aisle asleep. “Your cat! What about your cat?”

“Harry belongs to the cafe,” the man said, but both of them stopped to pet the cat, lavishing the sleepy, purring creature with affection, which he soaked up.

“He can’t stay.” Holly looked around her in horror. “He’ll get hair everywhere.”

“Don’t be silly,” the man said in baby talk, addressing the cat. “Everyone loves Harry, isn’t that right, big guy, everyone wuvs you.”

Great. Everyone “wuvved” Harry.

Everyone except for Holly, who’d never owned an animal in her life. “But I don’t know anything about cats,” she protested. Not that it mattered. When it came right down to it, she knew nothing about running a cafe by herself, either.

But the thought of caring for an animal somehow seemed a lot more terrifying than caring for a place.

“We can’t take him,” Eddie said firmly but sadly. “He’s yours now.”

“No-! Wait!”

The door shut behind them. Holly could only stare at it, the sinking feeling in her stomach growing to huge proportions.

She looked down at the cat, and would have sworn Harry smiled at her.

Chaos, panic and disorder, she could imagine him thinking. My work here is done.

And with that, he rolled over, stretched and yawned so wide she thought his head would turn inside out, then closed his eyes.

His purr seemed to echo throughout the entire dining area, mocking her with his happiness.

“Excuse me, miss?” One of the customers lifted his mug toward Holly. “I need a refill.”

“And I need my roast beef,” called another.

Holly stared at them.

“I think they’re talking to you,” the sheriff said helpfully. “And I could use some cream, if you don’t mind.”

Holly looked at the bright-pink apron hanging off the hook, imagined it against the creamy red silk of her skirt and blouse, and stood there, flabbergasted at the turn of events her life had taken.

“Better hurry.” The sheriff lifted an eyebrow at the growing murmurs from the customers. “This isn’t a patient sort of crowd.”

Good Lord. What had she done?

2

THOUGH HE WAS snowed under with paperwork, Riley took a seat on one of the stools at the counter because this was going to be too good to be missed.

City Woman had wasted no more than ten seconds staring after the Mendozas. Then she lifted her chin, chilled her dismay into a cool calm and looked around her regally, as if she had everything under control.

It was fascinating to watch. She was fascinating to watch.

Riley had no idea what made Holly Stone tick, but he figured she was a spoiled-rotten socialite with nothing else to do with her time. Bored, she’d decided to see how the other half lived by agreeing to work as a waitress.

But that didn’t really add up because a spoiled-rotten socialite out slumming wouldn’t pick a place so far out of the way as Little Paradise. She’d want to be closer to home in case she broke a fingernail.

He knew she wasn’t a dirt-poor relation of the city doctors with no choice but to work for a living. All that attitude and snootiness didn’t come from being poor.

Maybe it was none of the above; maybe she was running away from something or someone.

That didn’t fly, either. She seemed too ornery and too tough to let anyone boss or bully her around.

Slowly, she reached for the hot pink apron Marge had worn for decades. Holding it in her fingers as if it were a soiled diaper, she looked down at her own designer outfit, clearly attempting to decide which was worse-the hot pink or a stained blouse.

“What’s your plan here?” Riley asked her.

“Haven’t a clue,” she answered, staring down at herself. “And isn’t this just too lovely for words.”

“I’d go with the apron if I were you,” he said helpfully. “Cooking is a messy business.”

Her gaze whipped to his as if the thought of cooking had yet to occur to her.

He laughed. “You do know how to cook?”