Violet smirks, already moving. “I’ll make sure it’s strong enough to wake the dead. You’ve got that kind of face today.”
“Thanks. You’re the best,” I reply with a wink.
While I wait, I notice a few familiar faces scattered around the café. Tommy Jones, the grocery store owner, is hunched overa cup of coffee, chatting with Riley McCarter, who bartends at the Silver Bit Tavern.
They’re talking about the rodeo coming up in July, speculating about who’s going to win this year’s bronc riding competition.
I overhear snippets of their conversation as they laugh and joke, the friendly ease of small-town life settling in around me. There’s something comforting about this place. Everything and everyone has their role in the rhythm of the day.
The door swings open, and a chill breeze sweeps through the cafe. Violet pauses, giving me an apologetic smile before she heads to greet the new customer. I glance over and spot Hank Miller, the sheriff.
He’s looking a little rough around the edges, as if he hasn’t had much sleep recently. Not surprising. He loves this town more than anyone I know, and runs on adrenaline most of the time.
Hank’s eyes catch mine, and he raises a hand in greeting.
“Reid,” he says. “How’s the ranch? Still holding on?”
I nod, giving him a quick smile. “Just trying to keep the wheels from falling off. You know how it is.”
Hank huffs out a small laugh, leaning against the counter. “I do. Hell, I’ve been trying to keep the whole town from falling apart lately. You ever get that feeling like you’re just fighting fires that never go out?”
I laugh, shaking my head. “Every damn day.”
“Lucky us.”
Violet comes back with my food and coffee, placing them down in front of me with a teasing smile. “So, what’s been going on then? What have I missed??”
Hank raises an eyebrow at her. “Violet, I don’t know how you manage to keep this place running with all the gossip you hear. You’re the best therapist in town.”
Violet’s grin widens. “That’s because I’m cheap and offer free refills. What’s your excuse for keeping me around?”
Hank laughs, tipping his hat. “Guess it’s the cinnamon rolls. They’re a real game changer.”
The bell above the café door rings again, and the cool rushes in, a reminder of the storm. I glance up, and my stomach does a little flip.
In walk a woman and a child.
My mind stalls as I take them in. The woman is striking.
Dark auburn hair, long and flowing, a few damp strands sticking to her freckled face. She’s got this quiet beauty about her, but it’s the way she moves, graceful, composed, that catches my attention.
I’m sure I’ve seen her before. I think she went to high school here. But seeing her in this way, walking into the café with a child at her side, something about her sticks with me, nagging at the back of my mind, as if I’m supposed to remember something important.
The kid beside her, a little boy, maybe five or six, pulls at her hand, his tiny boots clicking on the floor, on a mission. His eyes are bright, mischievous, and I can’t help but wonder what trouble he’s planning to get into.
Violet’s face lights up instantly. She practically skips over to them, all but vibrating with excitement. It’s as if she’s seen a ghost, or maybe a long-lost friend, because she’s beaming so hard it’s impossible to miss.
“Dakota!” she exclaims, giving the woman a big hug. “Thank goodness you’re finally here.”
Dakota.
Yeah, I remember her a little.
She turns her head just enough that our eyes meet, and for a brief moment, I feel I’ve been punched in the chest. She’slooking at me as if she knows me too, but there’s a quiet hesitation in her gaze.
And suddenly, it feels like I’m seeing her. Really seeing her.
Her smile is polite, restrained; she’s not sure how much to give away. Something shifts in me. The way she stands, the way she holds herself—she’s got this quiet strength, but there’s more beneath the surface.
