by B. J Daniels
She’d refilled coffee cups, including the cowboy’s at the counter who’d given her a nod of thanks, before she’d moved to people she’d known all her life. Today had felt bittersweet. She’d closed her bakery at the edge of town for the season, likely for good, but few people knew that.
Normally she moved her baking down to the café for the winter months. But last winter had been brutal. She’d been thinking about following some of the other Buckhorn residents south for some time now. She’d never thought she’d be a snowbird, but lately she’d realized she would be on her own for the rest of her life. At her age, she could kid herself that she had all the time in the world. But in truth she was almost sixty and all alone.
Deep in these kinds of thoughts, she’d handed off the coffeepot to Cheri, the teenage waitress, after refilling Earl Ray’s cup and joining him this morning in his booth. The ex-military hero was the heart of Buckhorn. Her own age, he had dark blue eyes that she swore twinkled and this great smile. His great love had been his wife, Victoria “Tory” Crenshaw Caulfield.
But when Earl Ray smiled at Bessie, it made her as weak in the knees as if she were a schoolgirl. She’d been in love with this man for years. Looking at his open, honest face, she’d wondered if she could live without the sight of him for even a few months this winter—let alone the rest of her life.
Earl Ray had said he couldn’t live without her baking. Maybe it was time to find out if that were true. She would miss him horribly, but it could be the best thing for both of them, since she knew Earl Ray would never go south in the winter. Just as he would never leave his house that he’d shared with his late wife. Just as there would never be another love for him—no matter how much he adored Bessie and her baking.
“Did you hear on the news this morning?” Earl Ray had asked when she’d joined him in his booth only minutes before the three men had walked in. “Big snowstorm coming.” Montanans joked that there were only two seasons, winter for nine months, and spring, summer and fall for three...if they were lucky and winter didn’t hang on—or start early.
“I’m thinking I might go down to Arizona,” she’d blurted out, not looking at him.
Earl Ray had laughed. “You’d hate it.”
“I’m not so sure about that,” she’d argued, finally settling her gaze on him. There was such warmth and generosity and compassion in his eyes. Maybe even love.
“You’re serious?” He’d seemed more than a little surprised.
“I’ve looked into it. I can rent a place down there on the Colorado River near Parker, Arizona. Do some fishing. Or maybe just sit by the water and daydream if I feel like it.”
His gaze had been so intense that she’d had to fight not turning away. “Do I get a vote?”
The question had taken her by surprise. “Why would you? It isn’t like...” What was their relationship? She saw Earl Ray every morning, every noon, every evening. He never missed a day that the café or bakery was open. They’d often sit and visit for long periods of time. Then he would go home to the house he had shared with Tory, and she would go to her small house. Both would be alone.
“Like we’re best friends?” he’d asked. “Like seeing you is my reason for getting up every day? Not to mention how I feel about your baking.”
“How do you feel about me, though, Earl Ray?” she’d asked, her voice breaking as she’d lowered it and leaned toward him. She’d never asked. She’d always been too afraid. At that moment as she saw his expression, she’d wished she hadn’t.
Her face burning with shame, she’d shot to her feet, but Earl Ray had caught her arm. She’d seen the battle going on in his expression. “You and I...” He shook his head. There were unshed tears in his eyes. “You can’t leave. We’ve been friends for too long.”
Bessie had shaken her head and pulled free. On the way to the restroom, she’d dabbed at her tears with the corner of her apron before anyone saw them.
When the café door jangled, she hadn’t seen the three men who’d walked in. Men who were about to change her life forever.
* * *
CULHANE SAW BESSIE come out of the ladies’ room. He could tell that she’d been crying as she picked up the fresh pot of coffee the waitress had just made and started around the room, refilling cups.
“We have a problem here,” he said under his breath to Alexis.
Her snort was like an arrow to his heart. “You could say that.”
Culhane hated that he’d left out what he now realized was some crucial information about himself. He swore that if he ever got the chance to make things right... But he couldn’t let himself go down that particular winding trail of thought right now. Now wasn’t the time. He had to get Alexis out of here before all hell broke loose.
He could see that she was angry and with good reason. But seeing him had thrown her off her game because of the history between them. That and the way he’d left things last night. He suspected all of that was what had her so determined to take him to jail that she hadn’t picked up on the tension inside the café yet.
They’d met when they were both sheriff’s deputies in Gallatin County. Then Willy Garwood had taken over as sheriff, and six months later they were both out of a job. Alexis had opted to start her own business as a bounty hunter because she was still determined to bring in the bad guys. That’s why, come hell or high water, she would take him back to stand trial for murder. But had she not been so intent, she would have sensed the danger in the air.
There was a lot he needed to tell her, but first they needed to get out of here. As he watched the three men out of the corner of his eye, he debated how to make that happen without causing the kind of disturbance that would bring out the weapons the men were clearly carrying.
He heard the older of the three say, “Take a seat,” to his companions as he moved down the hallway toward the restrooms and the door into the kitchen.
Glancing over his shoulder, Culhane saw the younger men take a booth sitting across from each other. When he turned back, the older man had stepped into the kitchen—just as he’d expected—and was now confronting the cook. Clearly, the two knew each other, and from what Culhane could see, it wasn’t congenial, as the older man grabbed Leo by the throat.
“Alexis, I can explain everything once we’re out of here,” Culhane whispered. Glancing over at her, he saw that she was watching the two men in the kitchen. They were keeping their voices down but were clearly arguing. He heard something about a vehicle and saw Leo shaking his head and talking fast as if trying to explain. On the grill, smoke was rising from Culhane’s breakfast.
“Gene, listen,” the cook kept saying, pleading in his voice as the man backed him up against the counter next to the grill. Pots and pans rattled as Gene slammed Leo against the counter hard, but no one in the café seemed to have noticed what was going on. Like most people, they had their own concerns. Unfortunately, Culhane feared their concerns were about to change.
He told himself that he and Alexis would be more help once they were outside and had called the cops. Unfortunately, the nearest law enforcement was an hour away in either direction. But at least outside they could decide how to handle this. Otherwise...
“Please just come with me without any gunplay, Alex,” Culhane whispered. He saw that she had assessed the trouble in the kitchen and, like him, expected it to escalate. But she didn’t know about the two in the booth behind them, both with weapons under their shirts. He lowered his voice to a whisper. “There are two armed men in the booth to your right as we leave.”
As he started to rise, the deafening report of a gunshot filled the air.
CHAPTER THREE
VIVIAN “VI” MULLEN had been sitting in the round café booth and simmering all morning, her breakfast now roiling in her stomach. “The nerve of Lars to bring that woman in here,” she said to her daughter.
“Mother.” Tina tucked the soft
baby blanket around her infant daughter sleeping in her carrier on the booth seat between them. “Please don’t make a scene. Lars and Shirley have every right to be in here as much as we—”
“I can’t believe you’ve put up with this for months,” Vi said, her voice rising. “You even invited her to your baby shower!”
“Mother, please,” Tina reproached her again as she glanced across the café to where Lars Olson was sitting with Shirley Langer. Even from here, she could see that the two were arguing. She didn’t have to guess about what. Lars had been spending more time with Tina and the baby. “You should see how good he is with Chloe.”
Vi harrumphed. “He won’t even acknowledge that she’s his child.” She’d been looking for a fight, and Lars and Shirley were a favorite trigger. Not that her head of steam hadn’t been building for months.
“We should go,” Tina said in that submissive voice that Vi hated.
“And let them think they ran us out of the only café in town?” she demanded. “Not a chance.” She’d been glaring across the room when the bell over the front door jangled and three men had come into the café, passing in front of her view. She’d paid them no mind, too angry to notice.
For months, her daughter’s live-in boyfriend and father of her child had been sneaking over to that sleazy motel to do God-knew-what with that twice-divorced woman. Everyone in town had known about it. Worse, Lars had been telling anyone who would listen that the baby wasn’t his.
Vi had wanted to fire him, since he worked for the Mullen family, but her husband, Axel, had insisted she stay out of it. She couldn’t understand her daughter putting up with this.
“Do you love Lars that much?” she’d demanded of Tina at one point.
“It’s my life, Mother. Let me live it.”
“You didn’t answer my question. You couldn’t possibly love this man after the way he’s treated you.”
“It’s between Lars and me. And yes, I love him. So please, leave it alone. He’s really good with the baby and—”
“What? While he tells everyone in town that you don’t want him to take a paternity test?” She’d seen her daughter look away and had felt her heart drop. “The baby is his, right?”
“Mother.” Tina had closed her eyes. “Stay. Out. Of. It. You’ll only make matters worse.”
“I can’t see how,” Vi had snapped.
Now Lars and Shirley were sitting over there flaunting their immoral behavior. Vi felt sick to her stomach. She’d been through so much recently and now this. Why didn’t Lars just leave town with Shirley so they never had to see him again?
She glanced at her daughter looking lovingly down at the sleeping Chloe. She couldn’t bear the thought of Lars breaking Tina’s heart. She went back to glaring at the two across the café.
Only when she heard the gunshot did she look up startled and wondered what she’d missed.
* * *
CULHANE SWORE AS the gunshot reverberated through the small café. He quickly put his hand on Alexis’s arm as he saw her start to reach for her weapon. In the kitchen, the cook was looking down at his chest, his white apron blossoming bright red with blood.
In the seating area, a cacophony of screams and curses exploded along with the shuffling of feet as people started to rise from their seats to see what was going on. The baby, startled awake, began to wail.
The other two gunmen had shot to their feet in surprise and drawn their guns.
“Everyone shut up and stay right where you are!” Gene yelled as he came out of the kitchen brandishing his weapon.
Culhane watched the cook slowly slide to the floor as he heard the commotion behind him. All three men now had their weapons out.
“What the hell, Gene?” the thinner of the two men with him demanded. “I thought we were just getting something to eat?”
“Shut up, Eric,” Gene snapped and glanced at the other man. “Bobby, lock the front door and turn the sign to Closed.” The café erupted in a roar again with crying, screaming and the baby bawling as Bobby, waving his gun around, rushed to the door. An older couple near the door had gotten up and had been trying to leave but were pushed back into their seats at a booth.
“Everyone shut up and sit down!” Gene bellowed. A second gunshot boomed in the small café. The bullet that lodged in the ceiling brought down dust and debris and resulted in more sobbing. The older couple who’d started to leave were holding each other and weeping openly.
Culhane saw how quickly this could go even further south. He looked at the others in the place. He’d only given the customers a passing glance earlier as he’d come in. But now he considered each of them, seeing the fear and trying to decide who was apt to overreact and get them killed before this ended.
Apparently the locals had gathered for a Sunday-morning breakfast before the holidays. When he’d walked in earlier he’d noticed most plates were empty and diners were just sitting around finishing their coffee and visiting.
He recalled that the young waitress had been admiring the baby. The baby’s mother had been sitting in the booth with an older woman with a rigid thin face and lips to match. She was the one who’d been staring daggers at the younger couple sitting on the opposite side of the room. The couple, in their mid-to-late thirties, had been facing each other in a booth, having what had looked like a lovers’ quarrel.
There was the older couple near the door in another booth and what appeared to be a man and his twentysomething either employee or son at the only other booth. Both were wearing blue overalls. Culhane couldn’t make out the logo but guessed it was the local garage and gas station he’d seen at the edge of town.
The younger of the two had a tough look about him and was now smirking as if enjoying this. He’s the one, Culhane decided. He’s the one who will do something stupid and get himself and others killed.
Then he spotted the teenage waitress frantically keying something into the cell phone she’d pulled from her pocket. Calling 9-1-1? Or her boyfriend? Or a parent?
Just as Culhane had feared, Gene saw her, too. The gunman took two quick, long strides, snatched the phone out of her hands and backhanded her. She let out a cry of surprise and pain and covered her face with her hands as he smashed her phone under his boot heel.
“Gather up all of their cell phones!” Gene ordered. Neither Eric nor Bobby moved for a moment. “Now!”
Bobby grabbed a wicker basket from the Christmas window display, dumped out the collection of carolers made out of plastic soda containers and began to fill the basket with phones as he worked his way around the room.
Culhane saw him stop at the table with the two men in garage overalls and felt his stomach knot.
* * *
FRED DURHAM SAW the young man coming to collect their phones and pulled out his own with trembling fingers. The man called Bobby didn’t look that much older than his own son, Tyrell. He was silently telling himself that he should have gone with the vanload of residents to the next town for church services like he normally did.
But he’d been having so much trouble with Tyrell lately that he thought maybe a nice Sunday breakfast and a talk was in order.
“Your cell phone,” Bobby demanded, sounding impatient and clearly upset.
Fred looked over at his son, saw the stubborn expression on his face and swore under his breath. “Give the man your phone, Tyrell.”
His son met his gaze and held it a few moments too long before he said, “I forgot it at home.” An obvious lie, since Tyrell had been on his phone at the table earlier. Fred had told him to put it away, and his son had been surly ever since.
The man considered Tyrell for a moment before he ordered, “Stand up!”
For a moment, Fred worried that his son was going to refuse. His heart was hammering. Why did Tyrell always have to cause a problem? He realized that he was past being tired of it. He was going to fire
him from the garage. It was time for his son to find another job. He’d carried him long enough. Tyrell needed to find out what it was like out in the world. The young man had a rude awakening ahead of him.
Not that Fred wanted to kick him out of his life. He’d thought the garage would one day be Durham and Son and at some point he could retire and let Tyrell take over the business.
He just hadn’t anticipated the problems. Tyrell often came to work late or didn’t show at all. He didn’t even try to be responsible. He pushed and pushed as if testing Fred, pushing him to his limit and beyond. Fred had come to see that he’d spent his life making excuses for his motherless child, but minutes ago, he’d realized that he was through. He’d decided to tell his son to pack up and leave as soon as breakfast was over. Now this incident with these gunmen had happened.
“I said stand up,” Bobby ordered and touched the gun tucked in the front of his jeans.
“Son, stand up.” Fred thought if Tyrell didn’t get up right now, he’d grab him and throw him out of the booth himself.
Tyrell rose with that insolent way of his, a smirk on his face as the gunman checked his pockets and then shoved him back down.
Satisfaction flashed in Tyrell’s eyes, and Fred held his breath, expecting him to do something that would get him killed. And over what? Nothing really. A stupid phone.
But Bobby moved on, bored with the impudent young man. Had it been the other man, the one he’d heard called Eric, Fred feared it would have gone much differently.
“Are you just trying to get yourself killed?” he whispered hoarsely across the table once Bobby was out of earshot.
Tyrell merely smirked and glanced toward the two armed men as if he thought he was so much smarter than them. Fred saw him reach between the seats and fish out his cell phone. He wanted to scream as his son touched the screen and then surreptitiously pointed it in the direction of the two men who were still busy collecting phones. He realized that Tyrell was recording all of this with that self-satisfied look on his face that Fred had come to hate—and fear.