“Nothing,” I said, putting a waffle on a plate for her. “I thought you might want some breakfast before you start your new job. Waffles and bacon.”
“That’s really nice of you.” Her eyes traveled over the table. “But I don’t have time. I’ve got to get to work. I need to learn the menu and?—”
“Take five minutes to eat,” I insisted. I looked at the clock over the stove and knew she had plenty of time. “You’re going to be on your feet all day. You’ve got to have something in your stomach.”
“I don’t need you to take care of me.” Her voice was firm.
“It’s only breakfast, Caitlin. It’s something I do every morning. The only difference this time was I made twice as much,” I said but she looked unconvinced. I resisted the urge to push. Whatever was going on with her, my making breakfast seemed to feed into it.
“Just some coffee. No time for anything more, but thanks again.” She put her phone down on the table and picked up a mug I’d just poured, drinking quickly and hissing as the coffee scalded her tongue.
I was about to lecture her on her nutrition choices, but I stopped myself. She didn’t want my interference in her life. And hadn’t I insisted the evening before that we live separate lives? In less than twelve hours, I’d already broken that declaration.
“See you,” she said and slipped past me and out the front door. I caught a glimpse of her walking briskly toward Main Street from the window.
I rubbed a hand across the back of my neck before plunging the waffle batter bowl into the sink. “Guess I’m eating breakfast alone,” I said to no one. I sat at the table and was about to pour syrup on my waffle when I noticed her phone light up with an incoming message. She’d set it down and forgotten to take it with her. I glanced at the message that appeared on her lock screen.
It was an alert from a credit card company reminding her that her monthly payment was overdue. I grimaced before reminding myself that it was none of my business. Another message came in while I was still staring at the screen. This one from someone named Melody. I couldn’t help reading it.
Sorry, Cait, but I can’t be the one you vent to about living with your hottie ex. I’m still so pissed about Seamus stealing OUR money from you. Can’t deal with your guy drama.
Stealing? I put the syrup down. How bad a spot was Caitlin in? She’d said the day before that she was putting her life back together after a bad breakup, but the guy had stolen from her, too? What kind of jackass did that? And what role did this Melody play in it? There was no mistaking the anger in her message. This Seamus had stolen fromherin some way, too? Were the police involved?
The door opened and Caitlin rushed back into my kitchen. Her mouth was open as if to speak, but it clamped shut when she saw me looking down at her phone.
“Caitlin, if you’re in some kind of trouble…” I wanted to help her, wanted to solve whatever the problem was. That was why I’d become sheriff: so I could help people. And after all Caitlin had been through with her parents—and now, apparently, with her ex—she deserved to know that someone was in her corner.
“Not your problem, Brian,” she said and held out her hand. I placed her phone in it, and she went back out the door, snagging a piece of bacon on her way.
She had plenty of spine, I’d give her that, but I was worried about her. Still, I knew there was not much I could do for her without the details, and I didn’t think she’d be forthcoming with those. Sure, I had resources she didn’t, but it was also against the law to use the databases I had access to for personal reasons.
Which meant the only thing I could do was respect the boundaries we’d established yesterday. I did grin when I realized that the hottie ex Melody had referred to had to be me. Maybeshe wasn’t as impervious to me as she was trying to appear. Nevertheless, I had to respect her clear desire for distance on that point, too.
The walls she put up didn’t leave me a lot of options to help her. I ate the last of my waffle, considering what I could do. She had money troubles, so she’d be trying to earn as much as she could while in Poplar Springs.
I suddenly smiled when an idea formed in my head. She might not let me give her cash, but she couldn’t refuse the big, fat tips I planned to leave for her in the diner.
Yeah, I’d do what I could for her. The tough part was going to be trying to forget what she’d once meant to me—especially since a part of me didn’t want to.
SEVEN
CAITLIN
Ibalanced the tray of dirty dishes on my shoulder and headed through the swinging door into the kitchen.
“Here you go,” I said to Alex, the dishwasher and backup busser. “More coming. We’re slammed out there.”
“Do you need me to bus your tables?” Alex asked and I shook my head.
“Not yet, but don’t be surprised if that changes.”
The morning had been a trial by fire for me. By seven the breakfast crowd had filled all the tables, which turned over continuously until ten. After the first hour, I’d found my rhythm again as a waitress. It had been several years, but it seemed to be like riding a bicycle. You never forgot the skills.
“It’s a mix of those rodeo people setting everything up and those tourists who come in for the Caffertys’ trail riding program. It’s been busy with all those folks wanting to ride horses and stare at the blooming flowers,” Alex said, looking up from his work.
“Guess so,” I responded before heading back to the front. I’d heard about the trail riding program from Aurora. Some of those groups would stay overnight, and the diner always made money when Marc would set up a chef’s menu for dinner. Her husband was a proponent of serving local, when possible, and the chef’s menu was a great way to showcase what farmers grew in a fifty-mile radius of Poplar Springs.
I could see the allure. I’d eaten at a few local restaurants in Austin that did the same thing.
