Chapter 20: Ruth

The day Mike and the guys left town, they assured me the danger had passed. There was nothing for me—or my town—to worry about. They hung around the cabin until early afternoon that day, for no apparent reason. And then, after Mike received a brief phone call, he declared it was time for them to hit the road.

I had to wonder if it was Jack who made that call.

There are tears in my eyes when we all hug and say our goodbyes. Although I haven't known these guys for long, they did put their lives on the line partly for me. And, they're my last link to Jack. As I watch them drive away in their SUVs, I feel oddly bereft.

It's over.

I should feel relieved. Glad even. But all I can think is, he's gone. They're all gone.

After deciding to keep the bar closed for one more day, I spend the next few hours trying to keep busy around the cabin, doing mundane chores like laundry and chopping more wood. I even take a walk in the woods in an attempt to clear my head. It doesn't really help.

Early that evening, Hannah McIntyre calls to invite me to have dinner with her and her partner, Killian Devereaux, at The Lodge. I jump at the chance to see some of my friends. It's a much-needed distraction.

When I arrive at The Lodge, I head straight to the restaurant. The hostess greets me and shows me to Hannah's table.

Hannah jumps to her feet when she spots me. "Are you okay?" she asks as we hug. She releases me and steps back so she can look me over. "And what about Micah? I heard he was there, too."

"I'm fine," I say as we take our seats. "We both are."

There's already an open bottle of red wine on the table. Hannah pours us each a glass. "Is it true Jack's gone? They're all gone?"

I nod as I take a sip. "Jack left in the wee hours this morning, and the rest of them left earlier this afternoon."

She peppers me with questions about the big showdown. About Jack and his friends. I fill her in as best I can, leaving out the gruesome details of the ten dead bodies lying in my front yard.

I tell her about the note Jack left me.

"Seriously?" Hannah asks. "He just up and left without even speaking to you?"

"Yep." I sound matter-of-fact, but my heart is aching. "I should be grateful. I told him I wasn't looking for a relationship. It was supposed to be a one-night thing, but then the shit hit the fan the next morning, and he couldn't leave as he'd planned. He saved me the trouble of asking him to leave."

Hannah reaches for my hand and squeezes it. "I'm so sorry, Ruth."

Killian joins us then. "Sorry," he says, a bit breathless as he sits. "I was on the phone with Chris. He gave me a run down on what happened last night at your cabin, Ruth. The coroner's office is slammed with making arrangements to return the bodies to New York." He shakes his head. "I can't believe this happened in our own backyard." And then he gives me a look. "You didn't even call us for help."

"Jack told me not to involve anyone else, not even Chris," I say. "He said it was too dangerous. And based on what I witnessed, I'd say he was right. There was a lot of crossfire. It was chaotic, and one of you could have gotten hurt. I could never live with that."

Our server comes to take our orders and fill our coffee cups.

"It's a miracle you weren't hurt," Hannah says.

"I can thank Jack for that," I admit. "He planted himself between me and Yuri, the mob boss. He could have easily died."

I change the subject at that point because talking about Jack, even thinking about him, hurts too much.

"When are you going to reopen the bar?" Hannah asks.

"I guess tomorrow," I say. "There's no reason not to. And I could do with some normalcy right now."

* * *

It's amazing how quickly everything gets back to normal. I show up at the bar the next day around two o'clock in the afternoon to make sure everything's ready. Tom shows up shortly after, followed by the kitchen staff, and lastly the servers and Casey.

I'm in my office getting a cash deposit ready to take to the bank when our lead cook, Jerome, knocks on my open office door. "We've got a problem, Ruth."

"What kind of problem?" After what I've been through the past twenty-four hours, I doubt Jerome's problem is that serious in comparison.

"Steve just texted me to tell me he's quitting. No notice, no warning. We'll need to hire another dishwasher ASAP. Do you want me to post a job opening?"

In the scheme of things, being short a dishwasher for a day or two isn't the end of the world. Tom and I can take turns filling in. Or maybe Casey, if he has time. "Yes, please post a job opening. The sooner the better."

A few moments later, Tom walks into my office. "I just heard about Steve quitting. What are we going to do about the dishes until we hire someone new?"

And just that like, it's back to business as usual, as if nothing ever happened. As if ten mobsters weren't killed on my property. As if my brother didn't risk his life to help us. As if Jack didn't position himself directly between me and a mob boss, willing to take a bullet to protect me. I shudder at the image of Yuri shooting Jack.

"You and I will have to take turns," I say.

Tom shakes his head. "I'll handle the dishes until we get someone in here. You worry about the bar."

"All right. But I hate for you to—"

"Hey, it's honest work," he says. "And it needs to be done, or the kitchen will come crashing to a halt, and we'll have some hangry customers on our hands."

I smile for the first time in nearly two days. "You're a good man, Tom."

At the top of the hour, I'm standing behind the bar when Tom turns on the OPEN sign and unlocks the front door. There's already a line outside our door, visible halfway down the block. I think folks are mostly curious and looking for gossip after the local paper ran a story about organized crime showing up in our small town. Business is booming all afternoon, and orders are keeping me on my toes.

Tom bounces back and forth from the kitchen to the bar, trying to be in two places at once. "I wish people wouldn't eat so much," he grouses. "The dirty dishes just keep coming."

I chuckle. "Hey, those food orders pay our bills. Don't knock it."

All afternoon, I keep catching Tom watching me with a worried look on his face.

"I'm fine, Tom," I tell him. "It's over. It's done. I'm fine."

I'm not sure he believes me.

Around seven, after the initial dinner rush is over, I sneak out and head next door to the diner. When she spots me coming in, Jenny motions me to a table for two along the outside wall.

She drops into the empty chair with a sigh. "How are you doing?" Before I can reply, she holds up a finger. "Wait. Hold that thought. Can I get you something to eat or drink?"

"Thanks, but I'm not hungry. I just needed a break. The bar has been swamped today. And Chrissy and Jess keep asking me about Jack—why he left so abruptly and where he went—and I just don't have any answers for them."

"So, he's really gone? Just like that?"

"Yep."

"He didn't even say goodbye?"

"He left me a note."

"What'd he say?"

"Basically, ‘have a nice life. Sorry for the inconvenience.'"

Jenny frowns. "Ouch. Seriously, that's it?"

I shrug. "He said something about making things right."

"What does that mean?"

"I have no idea."

The door that connects the diner to the grocery store opens, and Maggie walks through. "I saw you come in," she says when she reaches our table. She leans down to give me a hug. "I can't stay. I wanted to say hi and tell you I'm so sorry. I heard about what happened at your cabin the other night. You're all right, though? Micah, too?"

I nod. "We're fine."

"Did you hear that Jack up and left in the middle of the night, without a word to Ruth?" Jenny asks.

Maggie winces. "I did hear something along those lines."

I shake my head. "Word sure travels fast in this town."

Maggie gives me another hug and squeezes my shoulder. "Call if you need anything. I've got to run. Owen's working with me in the store this evening, but we've got Claire with us, and she's teething again, so she's not a happy camper."

Maggie walks back through the connecting door to her shop.

"Are you sure you don't want anything to eat?" Jenny says. "How about pot roast with warm rolls and fresh butter? Pure comfort food. Or we've got chicken pot pie served with mashed potatoes and gravy? Or how about some warm apple pie with vanilla ice cream on top?"

I smile at my friend. Food is love, and Jenny has lots of love to give. "The pot roast sounds great, thank you."

"And apple pie?"

I nod. "Yes, and apple pie."

It's eight-thirty by the time I return to the bar. Things have quieted down now, the crowd has thinned out. Most of the sightseers and gawkers have left. Tom's got the bar under control, and the servers are busy racing back and forth with customer orders. Casey is bussing tables, and Taylor Swift is belting out an oldie-but-goodie on the jukebox.

It definitely looks like everything's back to normal. I should be glad, relieved even, but instead I can't shake this feeling of emptiness. I feel like something's missing. Lost.

My gaze goes automatically to the end of the bar to see Jack's seat conspicuously empty.

He really is gone, and I have no one to blame but myself. I never really gave him a chance. I never gave him any reason to stay.

Chrissy taps my shoulder and nods to the front end of the bar. "I think there's someone here to see you."

I turn to look, and my heart slams into my ribs at the sight of Jack, with an amused grin on his face. He looks amazing. And happy.

He offers me his hand, and we shake, his grip firm. Just one touch from him sends shivers through me.

"Jack Merchant," he says. "Pleased to meet you."

"What are you doing here?" I ask.

He shrugs. "Let's start with looking for work. I was wondering if you could use another bartender."

I can't take my eyes off him. My pulse is thundering, and my head is spinning."Where were you?"

"I went to New York City. To the Bronx, actually."

"Why?"

"To find out if I still had a price on my head."

"And do you?"

He shakes his head. "Apparently not. The new boss and I have zero interest in each other. In fact, he bought me a drink as a thank-you."

"A thank-you for what?"

"For creating a power vacuum in The Big Apple that he could take advantage of. He absorbed the Yevgeny organization into his own, practically doubling its size and power. But we're good. We have an agreement. I'll leave them alone, and they'll leave me alone."

I realize that's good news, of course, and I admit to being thrilled to see him again, but underneath all the excitement is hurt. "You left without saying anything. Not even goodbye."I didn't mean to bring that up because it sounds so needy, but the words just came out, and yes, they are tinged with resentment.

"I'm sorry. I guess a note didn't cut it." His smile falls. "I had to be sure I was in the clear before I could see you again and try to make amends. I couldn't put you through something like what happened here. Not again. So, about the bartender job. Were you serious when you mentioned it before?"

My impulse is to say yes! I want him here. I want him to stay. But that's such a risky leap for me. I can't go from all-out to all-in practically overnight. I still have my misgivings about trying again. "I was joking about the bartending job," I say. I feel like shit when his smile fades. "But we do have an opening for a dishwasher. If you—"

"Fine, I'll take it," he says, sighing so dramatically I have to bite my lip not to smile. "I'll wash dishes. I'll take out the trash. I'll do whatever you want." His dark eyes lock onto mine. "I want us to start over, Ruth."

My throat tightens painfully at the sincerity I hear in his voice. I want so badly to say yes. To take the do-over. To try.

"The shift is from four to midnight," I say. "Minimum wage, paid every Friday. You can start tonight, now in fact, if you want to. Report to Jerome in the kitchen. He'll give you a quick orientation."

"All right." He sounds disappointed, yet resigned. "Dishwasher, it is." With a salute, he heads for the kitchen.

I remain frozen on the spot. Stunned.

Chrissy, who'd been loitering at the bar so she could listen in, is smiling. "Oh, he's got it bad for you." She shakes her head as she picks up a tray of beer bottles and walks away.