“I mean it,” I said. “I’m only here until my car’s fixed, and then I’m gone.” I hesitated, releasing a slow breath as I muttered, “Whenever that ends up being.”
Belle stayed quiet, letting the words hang between us.
“And even the motel…Belle, I can’t afford all of this,” I admitted, hating how defeated the words sounded as they left my mouth. “The tire, the room…I barely had enough to fill the tank this morning and pay for this meal.”
“Then we’ll find you some work, too,” she said with a reassuring nod. “I’m well acquainted with the owner of the bar on the other side of town. One of his waitresses just had a baby and needed to take some time off. If you’re willing, I can put in a good word for you.”
I stared at the woman across from me, my throat tightening with emotion. No one had offered to help me in a long time, and here she was, this stranger in an apron, offering me shelter, work…hope. I didn’t even know what to say. “Why are you doing this?”
Belle sighed softly. “Look, you seem like a very nice girl, and you obviously don’t have the help that you need. I’ve seen too many stories in the news about women who have gone throughwhat you’re going through. Their stories didn’t end well, and I can’t help but think it’s because they didn’t have someone to help them.”
My eyes burned. I blinked fast, refusing to let the tears fall. But I nodded. Just once. A small gesture that somehow felt bigger than anything I’d done in months—well, except for leaving Heath.
“What’s the bar called?” I asked, silently giving in.
Belle smiled, like she already knew I would. “The Rusty Spur.”
I nodded, picking up a fry and dipping it into some ketchup. “Who do I ask for?”
“Ask for Red,” Belle said. “I’ll call ahead so he knows to expect you.”
“That would be great. Thanks, Belle.”
“No problem, hon.” Belle wiped her hands on her apron. “Now, who should I tell him is coming?”
“Andi,” I said, and felt a swirl of satisfaction in my chest. My parents had called me Andi, and I’d gone by the nickname my entire life until Heath came into the picture and talked me out of it. HehatedAndi, which is why I chose her now. Never again would I be Alessandra, because that name belonged to the girl who let him take everything.
Belle tilted her head, still slightly skeptical. “A girl Andi, huh. Well, don’t that beat all.” She gave a small shake of her head and chuckled before heading over to the register to ring up another customer.
I finished the last bite of my food and reached for my wallet.
“Don’t even think about it,” Belle said, swooping in to take my plate. “It’s on the house.”
I looked up, touched. “Thank you. Really. I guess I better get a motel room and change before heading to the Rusty Spur.”
“I think that’s a good idea. No offense, hon, but you look like a streetwalker in those clothes,” Belle said, matter-of-fact.
I glanced down at my tight black outfit and smirked. “Thanks for the honesty.”
“I don’t sugarcoat. Never have. Probably why I never got married, because no man could handle this mouth.”
That made me laugh. Belle was blunt, but oddly comforting. My amusement faded as I thought of my overnight bag. “Unfortunately, this is pretty much the only kind of clothing I brought with me. I don’t suppose there’s a store nearby where I could get something different…and for cheap?”
Belle gave me a once-over. “You’re a size four, right?”
I blinked. “Uh, yeah.”
Belle nodded, already seeming to think ahead. “My niece left a bunch of clothes at my place for the church charity drive. She’s about your size. Swing by my house around five-thirty. I’ll give you the address. We’ll get you fixed up.”
I hesitated on what to say.
I was grateful, sure, but all of this “help” came out of nowhere so fast. It felt like emotional whiplash, going from fending for myself to suddenly having options and support. With Heath, generosity always came with strings. Expectations. Or worse, consequences.
But something in mereallywanted to believe her and…trust her.
I stared at her, feeling completely overwhelmed, and said, “That would be…amazing. Thank you.”
Things were certainly starting to look up. Two weeks ago, I’d walked away from a life that nearly broke me. A half hour ago, I was cursing this tiny town and everything in it—especially that cowboy. Now? I was borrowing clothes, applying for a job as a waitress at the local honkytonk, and accepting help from a forty-something waitress with a big heart and zero filter.
