“Oh, who was that, then?”
“I’m not sure. He was just sort of rude and gave me a blanket, then Tommy drove me over here.”
“I’ll find out who it was. What’s your name? My old memory fails me.” She laughs.
“Caroline, or Callie, Pearce. Either one works.” She seems to know every bit of information I passed along to her husband or reached her by way of gossip before I even made it down this morning, but my name was apparently too much for her.
“What a lovely name. Have some breakfast; I’ll be just in the kitchen. Let me know if you need anything,” she tells me before bustling off to the kitchen, her flowery apron billowing slightly as she goes.
Sipping the best cup of coffee of my life, I moan—out loud. I hear a chuckle behind me and slowly turn to see a tall man standing in the doorway to the dining room. My eyes widen at the sight of him, which elicits another deep chuckle causing my cheeks to warm.
I scan him from a well-worn, brown cowboy hat with darkblond peeking out around the back to dirty, old, brown boots. He wears a navy blue, long-sleeve henley tight across his biceps and abdomen, outlining his abs, and form-fitting jeans, sporting a rather large silver belt buckle with a man on a bull on it. Realizing I’ve been appraising him longer than is strictly polite, I clear my throat and focus back on his face.
“Good morning, darlin’. Have you seen Mrs. Cox around here?” he asks with an accent that’s a little bit country and a little bit mid-western, a flirty smirk slightly lifting the side of his mouth.
“She’s, uh, she’s in the kitchen.” I try to regain my self-respect after just ogling him like he’s on the cover of a magazine.
“Aunt Lizzie!” he yells out unexpectedly, shattering the silence in the room, making me jump.
She comes rushing out of the kitchen, a beaming smile on her face and pulls his large frame into her arms, hugging him tight around his middle. Seeing him smile and wrap his arms around her too feels comfortable and loving but also like I’m interrupting. I move to stand.
“Oh no you don’t, you’re not done. Don’t let us interrupt,” she scolds me and I sit back down. “Callie, this is my nephew, Cash. He’s my sister’s boy. Of course, she’s down there in Bozeman for her treatments, and has left my sweet boy all alone.” She gently pats his cheek, eliciting an eyeroll from him.
“You don’t have to tell every stranger who passes through town all our business. And I’m thirty-four, Aunt Lizzie, I don’t need my mama to take care of me.” He lovingly teases her.
“Now look here, Cash Colter—” His laughter-scrunched bright blue eyes swing to me with a knowing look before he rolls them, again. “—until you have a woman of your own to lead you around, we have to take care of you.”
“Alright, into the kitchen with you, woman.” He herds hertoward the kitchen door, shooting me a wink over his shoulder. I stifle a laugh in response.
In the afternoon, having spent most of the day in the library curled up reading a cowboy romance, I wander into the reception area in search of Mrs. Cox. I can’t quite identify why I’m all restless today, but I suspect it might have to do with the cowboy bursting into my breakfast this morning.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Cox. I was hoping you could point me in the direction of somewhere I can buy sundries, like a pharmacy or something. And a place to have a meal.”
“Well, the snow has stopped so most stuff should be opening but Ralph’s, the pharmacy, you know, won’t open until tomorrow. I think the diner—oh wait. I talked to Tommy’s mom who told me that he told her about the accident last night. And I know who left the blanket.” She looks at me with excitement shining in her eyes.
“Oh, do you?” Small towns, news travels fast.
“Yes, it was the Williams boy. Duke’s his name. He owns the bar, right at the end of Pike Street. Waylon’s it’s called. He opens around four. Head out the door, down the street two blocks and you’ll see it. Not much else up that way. That was real sweet of him, worrying about you.”
“Yes, so nice. You were saying about the diner?” I need to end her speculating about the ‘sweetness’ of his gesture. I don’t want to talk about the grumpy cowboy. Are there anynotattractive men in this town?
“Right, right. Just down Mainstreet a-ways, green awning. Mable’s Diner. She has delicious tuna salad sandwiches.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Cox. I’m going to head out. I’ll be back later.”
Turning, I push through the door, in search of anything but tuna salad sandwiches. I find Mable’s a few blocks down and swing the door open, kicking the snow off my boots as the bell jingles over my head. Every face in the place turns in my direction, and blood floods my face under the scrutiny of the tiny diner’s customers.
“Hey, you want a table? How many?” a young woman in black pants and a white polo, wearing a red apron with Mable’s written across the front, asks me from behind the long counter.
It’s a small restaurant, exactly what I would expect from this miniscule town. There are only six small tables, a few booths, and a long bar. The floor is pale blue and white checkered, and the tables are dark wood. It’s warm and comfortable.
“Oh, it’s just me.”
“Want to sit at the bar or a table?” She holds up a menu.
“The bar is fine.”
“Sit anywhere, then,” she tells me, handing me a menu. Nothing crazy to be found in the selections, just expected diner food.
