Ride Rough - Tessa Layne Page 0,9

pie plate and handed it over, then reached into a tiny cabinet and brought out a bottle of booze. "Twelve-year Redbreast," she explained at Cecilia's raised eyebrow. "Jamey Sinclaire calls it the crisis bottle. I keep it in here for emergencies." She leaned forward, dropping her voice. "But don't tell my girls. They don't know."

Cecilia covered a laugh. "Your secret's safe with me." And she was certain Dottie's four daughters absolutely knew about the crisis bottle.

Dottie sat back and folded her arms across her ample chest. Her gaze narrowed to two sharp points. "Now, why don't you tell me why you're here at the crack of dawn on a weekday in June looking like something the cat drug in?"

Chapter Five

"So I hopped in the car and drove home," Cecilia concluded after detailing the whole tawdry tale to Dottie, who listened without interruption, offering no more than noncommittal grunts and harrumphs at important points. "I mean, I couldn't go to Mariah's. Not with her constant traveling and half living with Harrison. The last thing I need is to be Debbie Downer and a third wheel in my sister's happy life."

Dottie poured out a little more Redbreast and pushed the glass across the desk. "Hmm," she voiced with a small scowl.

"Right? My best option was to come home for a while. Regroup and all that?" She looked to Dottie for affirmation, but the woman remained circumspect, eyes darting between her face and the shot. Fine. She'd take a second. Lord knew she needed it after the twenty-four hours she'd had. Cecilia downed the whiskey, relishing the burn, and returned the glass to the table, concentrating on how the remaining drops slid down the inside of the crystal. "You think I should have stayed and fought it," she whispered, shame making her stomach drop.

Dottie cleared her throat. "I trust your judgment, sweetie pie. You always had a good head on your shoulders. Some battles can't be won. And as far as that man of yours goes, that's his loss. And better you know now that he can't handle a strong female. Hold out for someone who does."

"Ha." A bitter laugh escaped her. "And I'm going to find that here?"

"That's not for me to say, but I think you'd agree my girls are made of tough stuff, and I fully approve of their husbands," Dottie chastised. "But what you need to think about now is getting back on your feet. Do you have a plan?"

"I thought about going to the paper."

Dottie scowled again and shook her head. "Brian McCabe may do a decent job of reporting the local happenings, but he won't take kindly to a journalist honing in on his territory."

"But I need to write," Cecilia protested. "That's what I've been trained to do."

Dottie snorted. "Sweetie pie, I could write the stories Brian writes with one hand behind my back and the other making biscuits. There's a reason the paper is free. You'll have better luck freelancing."

Cecilia's mouth pulled down. She always appreciated that Dottie didn't pull her punches, but she wasn't exactly in the frame of mind to receive tough love. Even though she was right. "Yeah," she said with a small sigh. "Mariah said the same thing." She puffed her cheeks and blew out a long, frustrated breath. None of this was going to be easy. Or comfortable.

"Why don't you come work for me? Lord knows I could use an extra pair of hands. Capable hands," she added with a raised eyebrow. "Lexi's getting married in a few weeks, and this whole being Mayor business has upturned the apple cart, so to speak."

Emma Sinclaire had mentioned on one of their monthly wine night Skype chats that Dottie had been elected mayor via write in a few months back, and that the diner's business had exploded overnight. But still... working at Dottie's Diner? Cecilia had done that all through high school. "I think I'm a little overqualified," she said with a husky laugh.

Dottie speared her with a sharp look. "No harm in a hard day's work. You know I always pay well, and the morning tips are good. Ask any one of my girls who work here."

Cecilia waved a hand. "I know. I didn't mean to offend. It's... just an adjustment, that's all. I didn't expect to be here - unemployed and back housesitting at Mom and 'Buelita's at thirty."

Dottie clucked like a mother hen. "I know, sweetie pie. But who knows? Maybe this is the best thing that could have happened