The Ranger's Passionate Love Read Free

from behind her. Kyara stopped working long enough to turn around and check her young helper. Crystal’s face was even paler than usual, her blue eyes wide. Kyara turned fully to face her, waiting.
     
    “You don’t know yet, do you?” said Crystal slowly.
     
    Kyara stared at the teen.
     
    “Know what?”
     
    Crystal bent down, carefully pulling a newspaper from her bag, and handed it to Kyara. It was the local paper. Even covering Bradford and all the surrounding towns and counties, it was barely big enough to stay open. Most of the news came straight from the AP. The page it was folded back to, though, didn’t. It was local, and it was a review of her restaurant.
     
                 
    Patrons Don't Care for New Cafe
    By Jay Hardison
     
    When Alice Tylden passed away six months ago, the whole county went into mourning. Not only were we losing a remarkable woman who had been a pillar of the community for over thirty years, but we were losing the best cook in the state.
     
    Naturally, when someone new moved in and took over, the town was bound to be a little skeptical. I resolved to give it a chance, however, and went to its opening night. Sadly, this new cafe lived down to my expectations.
     
    My meal was fine, but no more. The menu felt generic and the meat, though clearly fresh, managed not to be truly succulent or spectacular. Don’t get me wrong – it was acceptable. The chef can clearly cook. What this new restaurant lacks, however, is personality.
     
    We, who were so used to Mrs. Tylden’s age-old family recipes and personal touches, can’t help but feel like the entire experience, from the food to the decoration, is as bland as the new place’s name itself – “The Cafe.”
     
    At best, this is a place for leaf-peepers who want to think about Madison Avenue for a bit. Maybe somewhere else this would be fine. Way out here, though, where people have to go out of their way to eat out, it just isn’t going to cut it. My advice: stay home and make your own sandwiches. You’ll get more out of it.
     
    Kyara read the review. Then she read it again, her eyes watering.
     
    “I ... Uh ...” she tried to rally in front of her young helper. Crystal moved over, giving her a quick hug.
     
    “Um...” said Kyara, still trying to get over the shock. She’d never been judged to be so ... boring. “Thanks.”  She shook herself, forcing her eyes back to the counter in front of her. “We should get back to work. This place isn’t going to prepare itself.”
     
    Crystal looked at her questioningly, then backed off a step. “Good idea, Ms. B.”
     
    They worked in silence after that, the teenager quietly pretending she couldn’t see the tears gathering in Kyara’s eyes.

 

     
    Kyara walked among the stands of fruits and vegetables, just trying to breathe them in. There was something about fresh food. The smells, complex and tantalizing, helped calm her down. The colors, a hundred shades of green at this time of year, were reassuring. She could almost stand at the fresh herb stand and take it all in, the thyme, the garlic, the new grown basil, four hours.
     
    Almost.
     
    The greens weren’t quite right. Where were the collards? The Okra? What was the local obsession with corn?
     
    Just like that, she was pulled out of the fantasy world the food had helped her find, and back into reality. He farmer’s market might have been charming, the day lovely, but she didn’t belong here. It wasn’t home, and it never would be. She was in a strange place, all on her own.
     
    At least she had a few things for dinner tonight. Not food for the restaurant. That had been faltering along for a few weeks now, but at least she hadn’t gotten to the point where she could supply it out of the local farmer’s market.
     
    A few people were still drifting in each day, usually for lunch. Crystal’s peers came by in the afternoon, hanging out, sharing plates of fries, sneaking kisses with one