The New Hope Cafe Read online

  Welcome to New Hope, AZ

  New Hope? Not from where Cara Price is standing. Miles from her destination, a car that won’t run and a daughter she can protect only by moving, lingering in this town is not on Cara’s plan. And the harder she pushes to leave, the more things conspire to prevent that. There’s the slow mechanic…there’s the café in need of a waitress…there’s its owner in need of a friend….

  There’s also the very tempting Jonah Gold.

  Cara’s plan is all about survival with no room for romance. Yet, Jonah’s charm and the easy way they work together has her wanting to make space for him. The promise of what they share is so different from the life she’s escaping. Maybe this café, this town and Jonah are all the hope she needs!

  Their eyes met and held

  Cara held her breath, not sure she wanted to hear what made Jonah eager to never see her again.

  “You know.” His voice was low, his tone thick. Electricity arced between them, their attraction almost making the air crackle. “You throw me off. It’s all I can do not to…” The words seemed pulled from him and he tilted his head, shifting slightly forward. She knew he wanted to kiss her. He could hardly keep from kissing her.

  She opened her mouth, but couldn’t say the words that formed in her head: I want you to. Some part of her did, anyway. The silence grew heavy.

  Finally, Jonah pulled away. “But that can’t happen.”

  As soon as he said it, she knew he was right.

  Because one kiss would never be enough.

  Dear Reader,

  In this story, Cara is fleeing a man who claims to love her, but will kill her if he can’t have her. Her situation is one that strikes fear in every woman’s heart. Cara was young when she married and didn’t recognize the danger signs until it was too late. The newspapers are filled with stories of the tragic outcomes of the dark side of love.

  Cara’s journey is to find safety for herself and her daughter, to heal them both, and to find her own purpose. Beth Ann’s voice is here—her confusion about her troubled father, her yearning for friendship and love, her courage as she learns to forgive herself and accept the comfort of her mother’s love.

  When Cara and Beth Ann stumble into the Comfort Café, looking for a meal and a mechanic, they find a safe place where they can recover and people who love and support them. Jonah has suffered his own losses and betrayal. He must deal with his own guilt and regret, his belief that he is too broken to help those he loves.

  Working together in the café, Jonah and Cara find new strengths and rebuild old ones, serving as mirrors to each other’s growth and recovery. Cara conquers her fear and guilt, and finds her place in the world. Risking his life for Cara and Beth Ann, Jonah finally accepts that he is whole and worthy of the love he freely gives.

  If your heart is heavy, my hope is that you find your own safe place to heal and loved ones to help you get there. And if you can cook, there’s always room for more at the New Hope Café.

  All my best,

  Dawn Atkins

  PS—Please visit me at my website, www.dawnatkins.com.

  The New Hope Café

  Dawn Atkins

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Award-winning author Dawn Atkins has written twenty-five novels for Harlequin Books. Known for her funny, poignant romance stories, she’s won a Golden Quill Award and has been a several-times RT Book Reviews Reviewers’ Choice Award finalist. Dawn lives in Arizona with her husband and son.

  Books by Dawn Atkins

  HARLEQUIN SUPERROMANCE

  1671—A LOT LIKE CHRISTMAS

  1683—HOME TO HARMONY

  1729—THE BABY CONNECTION

  1753—HIS BROTHER’S KEEPER

  HARLEQUIN BLAZE

  253—DON’T TEMPT ME…

  294—WITH HIS TOUCH

  306—AT HER BECK AND CALL

  318—AT HIS FINGERTIPS

  348—SWEPT AWAY

  391—NO STOPPING NOW

  432—HER SEXIEST SURPRISE

  456—STILL IRRESISTIBLE

  Other titles by this author available in ebook format.

  Don’t miss any of our special offers. Write to us at the following address for information on our newest releases.

  Harlequin Reader Service

  U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269

  Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3

  To my sister Diana and her husband, Joey, who day by day build their own happily ever after

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Excerpt

  CHAPTER ONE

  DRIVE FASTER. Move. Go. Fly.

  No. Slow down. If you get a ticket, he can track you.

  Choosing the wiser impulse, Cara Price eased her foot off the accelerator. She glanced at her daughter, hoping she hadn’t picked up on Cara’s panic. Beth Ann stared ahead, clutching her stuffed rabbit close to her chest. At nine, she was too old to cling to a comfort object, but the therapist had warned Cara that abrupt changes might set Beth Ann back.

  Cara had been as upbeat about the move as possible, calling it an adventure, a chance to meet new people, see new places, take new names.

  They’d had to run. Her ex-husband would come for them the moment he was released from prison and he wouldn’t stop until he had them.

  Cara would not allow that.

  She’d counted on Barrett’s six-year sentence for the time she needed to get her teaching degree, buy new identities and safely start new lives.

  But prison overcrowding and legal maneuvers had gotten Barrett released three years early.

  Three years.

  He would be out any day now.

  Any. Day. Now. The thought made her catch her breath.

  “What’s wrong?” Beth Ann jerked her gaze to Cara.

  “Nothing. I’m just thinking.” She forced a smile. “You sure you want to go by Bunny? Won’t that be confusing?” Bunny was her rabbit’s name.

  “Not to me,” Beth Ann said.

  “Then Bunny it is. I’m CJ, remember? It’s my initials—Cara Juliette—so it’s easy. And our new last name starts with the same letter as Price—Peyton.”

  “CJ sounds like a man’s name. I hate it. I hate new names. I hate moving. I don’t want a new home or new people. I want Grandma Price and Serena and my teacher and my school. You made me miss Water Day and the class play and the awards. I was going to get the reading prize.” Her voice broke, but instead of crying, she stiffened, lifted her head and locked her jaw. Beth Ann refused to cry, refused to let Cara comfort her and it broke Cara’s heart every time.

  Beth Ann didn’t trus
t her. Not since Barrett had put Cara in the hospital.

  “I know it’s hard. I had to leave my teachers in the lurch,” Cara said.

  It was mid-May, two weeks shy of summer break, so Beth Ann wouldn’t lose any academic ground, but the end of the school year was hectic for the teachers at the middle school where Cara was an aide.

  She’d left a family-emergency note and fled. Her cheeks burned with shame. She’d always been a go-to person, someone people could count on. She was the one-woman sunshine committee—planning baby showers, potlucks and birthday celebrations. She’d let them all down. Her fingers tightened on the steering wheel.

  Cara had come so far these past three years, become more self-confident, more sure of what she wanted, of who she could become.

  But the moment she’d heard about Barrett, she felt lost again, timid and uncertain, the way she’d been when she’d married the man at eighteen.

  His words played in her head. The world will eat you up, Cara. You’ll never make it on your own. You need help.

  “What about Serena?” Beth Ann asked. “Can’t I at least call her to say goodbye?”

  “The lady said no calls, no email, not even a postcard.” The domestic violence counselor had been firm. The smallest slip could cost them their safety. The woman had seen it happen. “There will be girls at the center who’ve had troubles, too. Maybe the family we’ll share the apartment with will be like us.”

  Their counselor had made the arrangements through a network that found housing and no-questions-asked jobs for women escaping abusive men.

  “You’ll make new friends.”

  “I don’t want new friends. I want Serena.”

  Serena had been Beth Ann’s first real friend since they’d moved in with Cara’s mother three years before, so Cara felt sick about putting Beth Ann through this loss.

  “You’re sad now, but we’ll be okay, I promise.” Cara would keep her daughter safe, give her a good life, and heal her sad heart, no matter what it took. “Just a few hours and we’ll be in Phoenix.”

  Except they’d barely crossed the Arizona border when the car’s engine hesitated, gave an ominous clunk, then dropped into Neutral.

  Fighting panic, Cara tapped the accelerator, but the engine only roared.

  “What’s wrong?” Beth Ann cried.

  “I’m not sure.” Cara jiggled the gearshift. The thud told her the engine had dropped into Drive. Whew. She held her breath, watching the lane stripes fly by. So far, so good.

  Then there was a grinding sound, a high whine and the engine light flashed on. Damn. She didn’t dare drive farther without getting the car checked, so she aimed for the next exit.

  “Maybe it just needs oil,” Cara said. She’d taken her mother’s car instead of the BMW registered to Barrett to keep from being traced. To be doubly sure, she’d traded plates with a car on blocks in a farmer’s field a few miles out of town.

  Please let it be minor. Please, please. Her mother tended to neglect belongings. People, too, but that was another matter.

  Cara couldn’t afford a big repair. All she had was $500 after paying summer school tuition and her mother’s rent.

  Off the highway, the sign pointed to a town called New Hope. To her immediate right was a Quonset hut that might be an auto repair shop. On the same lot was a diner. The Comfort Café.

  Cara turned to her daughter. “I’m hungry. How about you?”

  Beth Ann shook her head. Since the attack she had no appetite. Not even for ice cream, her favorite treat, which she now hated.

  “Let’s give it a try anyway,” Cara said, forcing cheer into her voice.

  New Hope and Comfort. They could use a little of both, though Cara would settle for a bite to eat and a decent mechanic.

  * * *

  THE SECOND SIDE of the patty had barely sizzled when Jonah Gold scooped it off the grill and slapped it onto the bun he’d laid open on the plate. Carver Johnson was a cattleman and he liked his beef fresh off the hoof, just this side of raw. He was one of the locals who still ate at the café despite the two new fast-food places and the fancy bistro that had opened up in the past year.

  Jonah’s aunt Rosie, who owned the café, had seemed oddly resigned to the dwindling number of diners. He’d expected her to throw pans and bitch out the traitors, but she’d only sighed and shrugged.

  Not like her at all.

  She hadn’t been herself lately.

  The bell jangled. Damn. Jonah had hoped to close early, since the new waitress Rosie had promised him hadn’t showed.

  Behind him, Ernesto, his ever-steady busboy, was slamming dishes into the dishwasher, singing in off-key Spanish along with whatever came through his iPod buds. The kid was nineteen and smart as a whip, but too shy to wait tables.

  Jonah peered out the kitchen pass-through to see who’d decided to push his patience past its limit.

  A pretty blonde, midtwenties, with a little girl, took a back booth. She looked too harried to be one of the day-trippers headed for the galleries and antique shops of New Hope, which was something of an artist colony. So probably a highway traveler.

  “Menu’s on the table,” he called. “Yell out your order.”

  When he carried out the burger, he saw the woman and her daughter had moved to sit a few stools south of Carver.

  “We thought it would be easier here,” the woman said with a candle flicker of a smile. “Looks like you’ve got no waitress.”

  “You scare off Darlene?” Carver asked. He loved to needle people.

  “She quit all on her own.”

  Darlene had moved in with her boyfriend to play house. Bad idea, not that she’d asked Jonah. He wasn’t much for chitchat anyway, and he was no Dr. Phil.

  Meanwhile, the little girl stared right at him. He respected that about kids—how direct they were in looks, words and deeds. Adults hid too much and faked the rest. They made him tired.

  “Where’s my damn steak sauce?” Carver yelled.

  “Hold your water.” Jonah bent to check beneath the counter. Napkins, flatware, salt and pepper, menus… Where the hell was the—

  “Top shelf behind you.”

  He stood. The woman was pointing over his shoulder. He grabbed the bottle and slid it down the counter like a bartender in an Old West saloon.

  “Might not need it, after all,” Carver drawled. “You’ve got more respect for beef than your brother. He charred the life out of every bite.”

  Only when he was drunk. Eight months ago, Jonah had come to New Hope to get Evan clean and sober. He’d been straight for three months this time and swore he was set. Jonah was not so sure. He’d learned the hard way not to take what people said at face value.

  “How does a fish sandwich sound?” the woman asked her daughter in that bright voice nurses used when they were about to rip out a catheter.

  The girl shrugged. She clutched a grimy, one-eyed stuffed animal, which reminded him of Louis, the feral cat who pretended not to care about the nightly head rub Jonah gave him.

  “She’ll try that.” The woman shot him a fake smile. He got the feeling she faked a lot of smiles. “I’ll have the Caesar salad with chicken. Is the chicken fried or boiled?”

  “At the moment, frozen.”

  “Boiled then and two lemonades, please.” She slid the menu back in its slot. “Also, is there a good mechanic nearby? My car’s making a funny noise.”

  So that’s what had her frazzled. Sunlight
through the window made her blue eyes look almost silver.

  “Duvall Auto Works. On the right just as you hit the town. Rusty’ll talk your ear off, but he’s good and he’s honest.”

  “Thanks.” She had blond, flyaway hair, a pointed nose, sharp cheekbones and a heart-shaped mouth, reminding him of…who?

  After a second it came to him. The pixie in the fantasy video game Evan had loved as a kid. Esmeralda. All this woman needed were whirring wings and a sparkly wand and she’d be a dead ringer for the fairy warrior.

  She looked at him strangely and he realized he’d been staring a hair too long. “Got it. Right.”

  Jonah ducked into the kitchen, slapped the fish patty on the grill and started on her salad. At least she hadn’t ordered one of those everything-but-the-kitchen-sink numbers with crap like dried loganberries and coconut curls. Jesus, what a lot of fuss over a pile of roughage.

  When that attorney from Tucson asked about arugula, he’d suggested she try the bistro in town, only to find out Rosie had dragged her in to meet him. Rosie thought he was lonely.

  He was still raw from Suzanne—the ink on the divorce papers barely six months dry—though he wasn’t sure he would ever get over that.

  Jonah was looking for a carrot to shred—might as well make an effort—when the door clanged, followed by voices.

  Lots of ’em.

  He leaned down and looked out at the pack of senior citizens swarming the booths. Of all the days for a tour bus. Damn.

  The woman at the counter met his gaze through the pass-through. “I used to waitress,” she said. “I could pitch in if you’d like.”

  She looked too well-off for that kind of work. Her tailored blouse looked pricey and she wore a heavy filigreed locket and carried a hand-tooled bag.

  “You sure?” he asked.

  “I’m happy to help.”

  She seemed to mean it, so he grabbed an apron off the shelf and held it out. “Order pad’s by the register.”