by Erin Marsh
He lowered the windows and turned on the radio, contemplating the errands he needed to run after he grabbed a plate of biscuits and gravy at the diner. The thought made his mouth water. So did the thought of hopefully seeing a certain blond waitress who had been taking up way too many of his thoughts these last few months.
He slowed, his brow furrowing, as he recognized that same waitress’s car sitting empty on the side of the road. The car was an old nondescript blue sedan, but there was no mistaking the colorful bumper stickers stuck to the trunk. A bright blue one read “What if the hokey-pokey really is what it’s all about?” and the hot-pink one above the back taillight read “It was me. I let the dogs out.”
His heart rate quickened as his gaze went from the empty vehicle to a hundred yards up the road, where a woman walked along the side of the highway, her ponytail bouncing with each step and a light-colored dog keeping pace at her heels. Which was pretty impressive, in and of itself, since the dog had only three legs.
But then, everything about Bryn Callahan was kind of bouncy, and she was just as impressive as her dog. The woman was always upbeat and positive. Even now, with her car sitting busted on the side of the road, her steps still seemed to spring, and the bright sunlight glinted off her blond hair.
He drove past the abandoned car and onto the dirt shoulder as he slowed to a stop beside her. “Need a ride?”
She turned, her expression wary, then her face broke into a grin, and it was like the sun shining through the clouds after a rainstorm.
“Hey, Zane,” she said, the smile reaching all the way into her voice as she grasped the door handle. She looked steadily into his eyes, her gaze never wavering, never sliding sideways to stare at the three-inch, jagged scar starting at the corner of his eye and slicing down his cheek. Most people couldn’t keep their eyes off it, but Bryn acted as if it wasn’t there at all. “I sure do. I was supposed to start my shift at the diner ten minutes ago.”
She opened the door, and the dog bounded in, hitting the floorboards, then springing onto the seat to wiggle and sniff noses with the border collie. They could have powered a wind farm, the way their tails were wagging and their little butts were shaking.
“Hey, Lucky.” He leaned in as the dog leapt over the collie’s back and into Zane’s lap, where it proceeded to drench his face in fevered licks and puppy kisses. Lucky was like a hyper three-legged Tigger as he bounced from Zane’s lap back to the collie, over to Bryn, and back to Zane.
“Lucky, get off him,” Bryn scolded. She tried to push her way into the truck as she got her own slobbery reception from the collie.
Zane chuckled and grabbed her hand to help her into the cab. But his laugh stuck in his throat as heat shot down his spine and his mouth went dry. He swallowed and tried to focus on assisting her, instead of staring at the area of bare skin he glimpsed as the top of her dress buckled and gaped from her movement. It was just the side of her neck, but it was the exact spot he’d spent too much time thinking about kissing.
“Silly mutts.” She laughed as she tossed her backpack on the floor and plopped into the seat. Her hand was soft, but her grip was solid, and for a moment, he wondered what would happen if he didn’t let go. “Wow, what a greeting,” she said, as she released his hand to buckle herself in.
Zane’s eyes were drawn to her legs like bees to honey. The woman had great legs, already tan, and muscular and shapely from her work at the diner. Her white cross-trainers were scuffed with the red dirt from the road, and she had a smudge of dust across one ankle that Zane was severely tempted to reach down and brush away so he could let his fingers linger on her skin.
Bryn wore a pink waitress dress, the kind that zips up the front, with a white collar and a little breast pocket, and the fabric hugged her curvy figure in all the right spots. For just a moment, Zane imagined pulling down that zipper—with his teeth. His back started to sweat just thinking about it.
Simmer down, man. He took a deep breath, utilizing the stress-reducing exercise he’d learned in the military, and tried to think of something witty to say. He didn’t usually let himself get carried away with those kinds of fantasies. But he didn’t usually have Bryn in his truck, filling his cab with the sound of her easy laughter and the scent of her skin—traces of honeysuckle and vanilla and the smell of fresh sheets off the line on a warm summer day.
“That dog is serious about kissing. I haven’t had that much action in months.” He winked, then laughed with her, pulling his hand back to ruffle Lucky’s ears as the dog settled into the seat next to the collie. He tried to play it off like a joke, to settle his pounding heart, when what he really wanted to do was pull her into his lap and kiss her face and throat the way Lucky had done to him. Well, not exactly the same way.
Bryn snorted and scratched the ears of the collie, who was softly whining as she pressed into Bryn’s shoulder. “He’s just happy to see you. It’s been a while, ya know?”
“Yeah, I know.” It had, in fact, been months since he’d seen her.
“Well, Lucky has noticed you haven’t been around much.” She dropped her gaze and her voice as she focused on petting the dog. “We both have.”
Both?
“Are you saying you missed me?”
“I didn’t say missed. I said noticed.”
His shoulders slumped. Of course she hadn’t missed him.
She playfully nudged his elbow, and he felt the heat of her skin against his arm.
“Of course I missed you. You all but disappeared after the great Christmas pie bake-off in December.”
He chuckled as he shook his head. “I still can’t believe we made fifteen pies in four hours.”
“I still can’t believe you wore a frilly apron with a glittery cupcake on the front.”
He raised an eyebrow. “What other kind of cupcake is there? And I liked that glittery color. I’m thinking of having it added to the paint job on my truck.”
A laugh burst from her. “I dare you to.”
He let his voice drop and offered her what he hoped was a flirtatious grin. “I do enjoy a good dare.”
She chuckled, then lowered her gaze to the dog’s shoulder, where she scratched its fur. “So, why didn’t I hear from you? Was it something I said or did?”
Yeah, it was everything you did—everything that made me want and hope and wish for something more. “Nah. I was going to call you, but we got real busy at the ranch. Then I heard you started dating some rough-stock cowboy, and I didn’t want to overstep.”
“Is it overstepping to be my friend?”
He cocked his head, eyeing her. “Is that what you want me to be? Your friend?”
“Of course. I didn’t give you my number for you to not call me.”
Wrong question, dumbass. Should have asked her if all she wanted was to be his friend. He offered her a shrug. “I’m not much of a talker.”
“That’s perfect. Because I can talk up a blue streak, and I’m always on the lookout for a good listener.”
He chuckled. “I can do that. I can probably even throw in an occasional grunt of agreement just so you know I’m paying attention.”
She giggled softly, and the sound swirled in his chest, melting into him like molasses on a warm pancake. “That sounds great.”
“I’m happy to lend an ear, but shouldn’t your new boyfriend be the one listening?”
She huffed, then muttered, “Not hardly.”
“Uh-oh. Trouble in paradise?” He hoped.
She shook her head. “No trouble. Not anymore. It’s safe to say we broke up.”
“Sorry to hear that.” Not really.
“Don’t be.” Her expression hardened, but she didn’t say anything more.
No problem. He didn’t want to continue any conversation that had her shoulders slumping and pulled her lips into a tight frown. “What happened to your car?” Zane ask
ed, drawing his gaze back to the road as he eased the truck onto the highway. Not that her broken-down car was a great topic, but at least it took the focus off her broken-down relationship.
“Who knows? This is the third time it’s conked out since Christmas.”
“Have you called someone about it?” Like me. Yeah right. Why would she call him? Hadn’t they just established that he’d been avoiding her for the past several months?
“No. What good would it do to call someone when I don’t have any money to pay them anyway? Last I checked, my bank account was holding steady at six dollars and eighty cents.”
“I could take a look at it for you. And I wouldn’t charge you more than a smile.” Ugh. Did that really just come out of his mouth? It hadn’t sounded half as dopey in his head.
“That would be very neighborly of you,” she said, ignoring his dorky comment and flashing him a brilliant grin. “That’s a price I can afford. But you don’t have to. I know Logan’s keeping you pretty busy out at Rivers Gulch.”
Neighborly? He didn’t want to seem neighborly. He’d been trying for flirty, but his efforts had apparently fallen flat. Wait. How did she know Logan had been keeping him busy at the ranch? Had she asked about him? “I’ve got time,” he assured her. “I’ll take a look at it when I’m done in town. See if I can spot the problem at least.”
“That would be so great.” She ruffled the neck of the black-and-white dog, who had settled down next to her. She seemed to draw stray animals like a magnet. “You picked a name for your dog yet?”
“She’s not my dog.”
Bryn rolled her eyes and let out a small chuckle. “You might not think so, but she does. Every time I see your truck, she’s ridin’ shotgun. Why do you think she does that if she doesn’t consider herself yours?”
He shrugged, his tone even and dry. “She must like my winning personality.”
A laugh escaped Bryn’s lips—a sound that filled the cab of the truck, and his heart, as if the door of a dark room had been cracked open to let in a shaft of light. “I’m sure that’s it,” Bryn said, still chuckling.
A grin tugged at the corners of his lips. This woman made him smile, even when she was giving him a hard time.
“How’s your dad doing?” she asked.
The smile fell from his lips. “Stubborn as ever.”
His dad’s heart attack had brought him back to town earlier that winter, only long enough to get the old bastard back on his feet. But then Logan lost his hired hand and had offered Zane a job helping at the ranch and with the horses, and a couple of weeks had turned into a couple of months.
He and his dad had reached an uneasy truce. As long as Birch took his meds and stayed off the sauce, Zane agreed to remain in town. They mostly stayed out of each other’s way, but occasionally found themselves watching a hockey game together, especially if the Colorado Summit were playing, and Creedence’s hometown hero, Rockford James, was on the ice.
But lately Zane had felt the familiar itch—the need to move on when he’d stayed in one place too long and gotten too comfortable with having people around him. An itch that was made worse by the desire to see the blond waitress who was taking up space in his mind and under his skin. And that was an itch he had no business trying to scratch.
“He seems to be doing better lately,” he told Bryn. “So I’ll probably take off pretty soon. My old boss is harping on me to come back to Montana. She took in a new herd of wild stallions and needs someone to break them.”
“Oh,” Bryn said, the word a soft breath on her lips. “I didn’t realize you were leaving. When are you going?”
He murmured something noncommittal about it not being today, then lifted his shoulders in a dismissive shrug as he pulled into the parking lot of the diner and parked in the shade of a giant elm tree.
“Then how about coming in and having some breakfast? On the house.” She laid her hand on his arm and gave it a gentle squeeze. “It’s the least I can do for giving me a ride into town.”
He shook his head, only slightly, not wanting to move too much for fear of dislodging her hand. The weight of it settled something inside him. “You don’t owe me a thing for the ride. I was happy to do it. But I will come in for a bite. I’ve been thinking about Gil’s biscuits and gravy, and there’s a pretty cute waitress I wouldn’t mind getting a cup of coffee from.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? You’re gonna have to stand in line. That vixen, Vi, has a long line of suitors interested in her pouring them a cup of joe,” she teased, letting go of his arm to gather her backpack and climb from the truck.
Viola Bell was as much a part of the diner as the black-and-white-checkered floor and the faded red vinyl seats of the booths lining the window. She was somewhere between forty-five and sixty-five—only her mama knew for sure, but Zane didn’t think the waitress had changed a lick since his dad had started bringing him into the diner for breakfast when he was a kid. The woman had a sassy mouth, a saucy swing to her ample hips, and a mass of strawberry-red hair piled on her head that usually had at least two pens sticking out of its curly depths. She was tough but sweet, and had a string of truckers from California to Montana who planned stops in Creedence just for a plate of pie and a dish of Vi’s sass.
Zane chuckled as he got out and followed Bryn toward the diner. She had a pretty saucy swing to her step as well, and his lips twitched in a grin as he enjoyed the view. Lucky bounced along next to her, his head upturned as if waiting for direction. Zane had rolled down the windows and left the collie in the truck. In this town, nobody locked their doors, and the dog hadn’t jumped out of the truck yet, despite him giving her plenty of opportunities.
The air smelled of smoked meat mixed with the scent of pine from the trees rising up the side of the mountain behind the diner. The Creedence Country Café sat on the edge of town. A cracked sidewalk ran alongside the road leading into the town square. Colorful purple and pink trumpet flowers spilled from the whiskey barrels in front of the door, the result of a recent renovation Creedence had undertaken in order to spruce up the town.
A dirty black pickup with out-of-state plates and a rusty horse trailer hooked to its bumper sat parked in front of the diner. The horse inside stamped and whinnied as Zane and Bryn approached the door. It butted its head against the side of the trailer and peered out at them with a frightened brown eye that was crusted and leaky with infected goop.
“Whoa there, it’s all right,” Zane assured it, his voice steady and calm as they drew closer.
“Oh no, do you see its eye?” Bryn asked. “Poor thing.”
“No wonder it’s infected. This trailer is disgusting,” he said, peering in at the mess of manure and sparse bits of hay. It looked like the horse had been trampling in its own waste for days.
“It doesn’t look like they’ve cleaned this trailer out ever.” Bryn pulled her head back to avoid the foul smell. “And it’s got to be baking hot in there.” The horse’s back was streaked with sweat and dust.
Bile rose in his throat, and Zane clamped his teeth together as his hands tightened into fists. He hated to see animals being abused. Especially when they didn’t get the chance to turn old enough and strong enough to fight back. “I’d like to see the owner of this truck spend a day cooped up in there.” Zane was tempted to loosen the latch as he walked by and let the horse free.
“I agree.” Bryn lifted her hand toward the latch. “What if we just opened the back end of the trailer and the horse accidentally escaped?”
His lips curved in a wry grin. He liked the way this woman’s brain worked. “I was thinking the same thing. But the horse is tied up, and even if we released the lead rope, where is it going to go?”
“I don’t know. But I feel like we have to do something.”
“Not our circus. Not our monkeys.” Zane shook his head and stole a glance at the three-legged dog sitting devotedl
y at the waitress’s feet. He put a hand on Bryn’s back to guide her toward the diner entrance and softened his tone. “You can’t save everybody, Bryn.”
Her feet didn’t move. She turned to stare at him, holding his gaze for just long enough to have sweat heating his back. “I’m still gonna try to save as many as I can.”
Damn, but this woman had a habit of hitting him right in the heart. He gave a slight nod of his head, not trusting his voice to speak, as she tore her eyes from his and entered the restaurant.
“You’re late,” the fry cook yelled from the kitchen. Another staple of the café, Gil had been frying eggs and slinging hash at the roadside diner for as long as Zane could remember. He’d learned to cook in the Navy, and as gruff as Gil sounded, Zane knew the old sailor had a soft spot for Bryn. Who didn’t?
“I know,” Bryn answered, the dog trotting at her heels as she raced into the back. Lucky must have taken his customary spot in the back office because Bryn emerged from the kitchen alone a few seconds later, hastily tying a white apron around her waist. She reached for the coffeepot as she apologized to Gil, Vi, and the few customers that filled the diner. “Sorry, y’all. My stupid car broke down.”
“Again?” Ida Mae Phillips, an elderly woman, and a regular, who had taught Sunday school down at the Methodist church for over thirty years, asked from her customary table by the window. “You have got to do something about that dad-blamed vehicle.”
“I know. I know.” Bryn forced a smile at the two men sitting at the counter. The taller one wore a threadbare flannel shirt that was hard to tell if it was dirty or just faded. A chewed-up toothpick clung to his chapped lips. The other, a shorter guy whose body was muscled, yet his rounded belly gave away a habit of either too much beer or too many chicken wings, had on a T-shirt so wrinkled it looked like he’d slept in it. A green hat covered his unwashed hair, a greasy stain soiling the bill. “It looks like you’re all set for coffee, so what can I get you fellas to eat?”
Zane slid onto a stool at the counter, leaving an empty spot between him and the two guys drinking coffee. He didn’t recognize either one, but that didn’t surprise him. The diner was next to the highway, so in addition to the regular locals, plenty of truckers and road-trippers stopped in for “the county’s best chicken-fried steak,” as the sign above the diner boasted.