“What’s good here?” he asked the young waitress.
“Darlin’, it’s all good here. Del’s recipes are the best this side of the Rio Grande. Not to mention, Sal back there on the grille is a genius with a spatula.”
“All right then. If you were me, what would you order?”
“Well, what I would order is probably the fresh vegetables and egg white omelet. But, I’m also trying to get off this baby weight that my pride and joy added to my hips and won’t seem to go away.”
“I see.” Bradley nodded sympathetically. “Well, if someone wasn’t watching their figure, what would they get?”
She reached down and pointed her red fingernails on the menu at the French Toast Grandpa’s Feast Platter. “This right here is the only thing that filled me up when I was pregnant. I may have gained weight and had a heck of a time getting it off since, but I tell ya, I was one happy pregnant woman. That French toast is like cotton candy dipped in maple syrup. So sweet and rich and…oh my gosh it’s to die for.”
Bradley shut his menu. “Very well then. Looks like the French Toast Grandpa’s Feast Platter it is then.”
She gave him a smile and wink. “Good choice. I’ll be back in a jiffy.”
“A jiffy, huh? Do people still say that?”
She rolled her eyes with a smirk and replied, “Around here they do.”
Bradley grabbed one of the mini cream cartons and added it to his freshly topped-off steaming coffee. Next he added a half packet of artificial sweetener and stirred it with his spoon. He wasn’t even aware of it until he saw his reflection in the silver napkin holder, but he had a goofy grin on his face. It was a smile he didn’t think he’d seen spread across his face in years, if he ever had at all.
The bell that chimed above the diner doors every time someone entered went off again, but this time it was met with a concerto of greetings from just about everyone in the small restaurant.
The patron whom everyone seemed to both know and love was apparently named Trace. The older redheaded lady they called Del all but ran over to him and offered him a giant bear hug along with a kiss on the cheek.
The affectionate way they were with one another lent to two possibilities. Either they were a family, or a couple. There was at least twenty plus years between the two, and while the thought of an older female, aptly referred to as a cougar, wasn’t unheard of in this day and age, he somehow doubted that such behavior would be acceptable in such a small town.
His theory was proven to be correct just moments later when she sat him down at one of the counter seats and told the cook, Sal, to cook up her baby boy’s favorite dish. The whole scenario made Bradley smile even wider. Whoever this family was, they were loved and adored by everyone who knew them. That much was obvious.
He’d be lying if he didn’t admit that the man sitting at the counter didn’t catch his eye for more reasons other than him being highly thought of by so many. He was an incredibly attractive guy. Not in the usual way that he would think.
Most men he knew from back home were clean-cut and dressed in the best and at times most expensive clothes available. This guy couldn’t be more opposite. His brown hair was a bit scraggly. It was probably an inch or two past needing a trim, but it wasn’t quite grown out enough to be considered long.
His skin was tanned, and probably from years of being an outdoorsy type, not because he’d spend hundreds or thousands of dollars going to a tanning salon or buying high-priced bronzing crèmes. This was just more proof he was the complete opposite of those he knew back home. More than just being different than his regular crowd of phony hangers-on, he was a polar opposite to Paulo, at least in looks anyway.
Damn it.
The memory of Paulo every so often would sneak into his subconscious and chip away at the healing he’d done in the past year. He wasn’t even sure that he was hurt anymore. The vehemence had even subsided and he no longer felt consumed by the gnawing anger that he obsessed over for so many months.
He pushed the negative thoughts away and far out of his mind. He refused to give Paulo, or the bad memories even a second more of his time. He’d suffered enough for his blind faith in the man he was ignorant enough to trust in.
“Here ya go, sugar.”
Bradley looked up and saw Bonnie. She had the same kind smile on her face as she slid the plate in front of him. Her advice to get French Toast Grandpa’s Feast Platter had been exactly what he needed for his growling stomach. The food itself looked fantastic, and the smell was to die for.
“Wow. This looks great.”
“It tastes even better,” she added.
Bradley didn’t wait. He grabbed his fork and dug into the thick slices of French toast with as much zeal as a young boy on Sunday morning.
“Oh…my…God,” he mumbled through a mouthful of the best food he thought he’d ever eaten.
“I told you. Why do you think I ordered it so much when I was pregnant? Back then I had an excuse to pig out like that. Now, I can only live vicariously through my customers.”
“Well, my stomach thanks you very very much!” he said.
“No problem. Like I said, all our food here is good. I’d say it’s the best restaurant in town, but that might seem a little misleading.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because it’s the only restaurant in town.” She laughed.
“Ahh…gotcha. Well, even if there was another, I’d garner a wager that you’d be right anyway.”
“Thanks. Mama always told me to never tell a lie. Mama of course was a busybody and would probably ask you what someone like you was doing here in a small town like Purgatoire Valley.”
“Someone like me?”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it. It’s just that I’ve lived here my whole life and I’ve never seen you around here. Not to mention the plates of your truck out there are from New York State. So, you strike me as someone passing through, maybe even someone trying to get far away from where they came from.”
Her hypothesis both intrigued and slightly annoyed him. It wasn’t that she was being rude. It was more that he was so transparent. He didn’t want to stand out like a sore thumb. He wanted to blend in, meet new people and see what, if anything, might be out there for him.
“Why would you say something like that?”
“Look, hon. Like I said, I don’t mean anything by it. And I’m certainly not passing judgment on you. My granddaddy was a county sheriff for years and he taught me to pay attention to the details.”
“All right.” Bradley set down his fork and wiped his mouth. “I’ll bite. What details about me have you noticed?”
“Okay, well for starters Purgatoire Valley isn’t just off the beaten path. It’s almost a world away. We get very few visitors through here and usually they will come through here only because they’re lost or looking for a shortcut of some kind. Plus your car is old, almost too old. Even folks in these parts have vehicles which are kept up better than that. Your tires look brand new and expensive, despite the dilapidated look of the rest of it. Then there’s your clothes—”
“What’s wrong with my clothes?” Bradley wasn’t mad, he was even amused. Everyone who knew him in Manhattan always thought of him as one of upper-crust society’s best dressed. Even his penthouse was lauded as one of the better decorated ones in the city.
“They’re not bad. They’re clean, slightly worn and average. That’s the problem. They’re exceedingly average. From your T-shirt down to your shoes, it almost seems like you’re going out of your way to appear innocuous.”
Bradley couldn’t help but laugh. This sweet, young, and petite waitress might appear timid, but he had a sneaking suspicion she’d learned a lot more from her granddaddy than just the power of observation.
“Sorry, like I said, I notice things.”
“Indeed. That you do. So tell me, if this is the only restaurant in town, is there a place someone can rent a room for awhile?”
“Not really.
We used to have an old hotel just on the other side of the diner here, but it was shut down years ago. Del’s family owned it, but it was too expensive to keep going when no one ever stayed.”
“Is it still there though?”
“Well yeah, but it’s probably dirty and hasn’t had any work done to it in years.”
“But, there are beds there, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Any chance you could ask Del if she’d be willing to let someone rent a room for a couple days or so?”
“Are you serious? Did you not hear what I just said? It’s probably been taken over by a family of spiders and snakes by now.”
“I just need a bed, four walls, and a roof. I can handle a little dirt.”
The last part of his statement might have been a stretch or an optimistic attempt at convincing himself, but he couldn’t help but want to stay in this quaint little town. It was like sitting and watching the beginning of a play, just as he was getting to know the characters, he wanted to know more of their story.
“All right. I’ll ask her. Hang on.”
Bradley thanked her before she walked away and dug back into his breakfast. He purposely tried to not look at Del or Bonnie as they discussed him. The corner of his eye caught the image of them turning to look in his direction. He could feel their eyes burning a hole right through him as he nervously awaited her answer. He had no idea why, but for some reason now more than ever he wanted to stay in this town.
He had been chewing a large bite of his breakfast when Del came over to the table with Bonnie. “Bonnie here says you need a place to stay.”
“Yes, ma’am, I do. I was hoping you wouldn’t mind opening one of your old rooms up for me. I don’t need anything special, just somewhere to rest my eyes at night.”
“It’s a mess. I’d need a couple hours to make it presentable for you.”
“I wouldn’t want you to go to any trouble. It doesn’t need to be perfect, and I have money I can pay.”
Del offered him a skeptical glare. “You’re not running from the law or anything like that are you? We have police here in town, you know. I don’t want any trouble.”
“I assure you, I’m not guilty of anything and I’m certainly not running from the law.”
“You into drugs? Anything at all illegal? Because don’t think just because we’re a small town that we allow that type of thing. Money can’t buy my integrity.”
Bradley forced himself to not smile. He didn’t want to offend her when she was offering him such a stern warning. He couldn’t help but think she was an adorable fireball for the way she was laying down the law with him. He had a feeling that she could hold her own in just about any situation that she was placed in.
“I give you my word. I’m just looking for a place to sleep. I don’t want any trouble either.”
“What’s your name?”
“Bradley Harrington, but you can just call me Brad.”
His answer had surprised him. He’d been known as Bradley his whole life. Even when he was a young boy and he’d gone through a phase in middle school, trying desperately to become a “Brad” rather than the formal Bradley, his parents had absolutely forbid him to use his name in such a common way. Not that he should have been that surprised. They’d always cared more about what others thought than their own happiness anyway. Now that he introduced himself to Del as merely Brad, he realized he rather liked the sound of it.
Del raised her right brow and chewed at the inside of her mouth. She appeared to be considering his story and request. What his chances were of her agreeing he had no idea though.
For seconds, that seemed to pass by slower than normal, he waited. Then finally she raised a finger to him.
“All right. I’ll let you stay. It’s been closed for awhile so let’s say fifty dollars a night? I think that’s fair. But, I won’t be able to get the room ready until after the breakfast rush. So, if you give me until noon I should be able to have it ready for you.”
“That would be wonderful. Thank you so much. I really appreciate it.”
“Just don’t make me regret it. Come back here at twelve and I’ll take you back to your room. By the way, I’m Delores, but you can just call me Del.”
“Yes, ma’am. And thank you.”
“What did I just say?” she asked.
“Right. Sorry. Thank you, Del.”
Del nodded her head and walked away.
“Wow. I didn’t think she’d say yes,” Bonnie added.
“Thank you for asking her. I appreciate it.”
“Sure thing. Now, I better get back to work. Besides, if I smell that breakfast platter a second longer I’ll probably start inhaling the calories. Fat seems to just jump on my hips these days.”
Bradley chuckled and dug back into his breakfast. He liked her. He liked this town. He might end up sleeping in a dust-filled old room, but he had a feeling this was going to be a good thing for him, and maybe exactly what he had been needing.
Chapter Four
Trace leaned against the wood-paneled walls and crossed his arms. He wasn’t going to just let this happen. Not if he had anything to say about it.
“I don’t like it,” he pointed out for at least the tenth time in the past hour.
“Oh for Pete’s sake, Trace. We’ve been over this a dozen times now. Can you not just trust me? I’ve been on this planet a lot longer than you have you know. I’ve got twenty four years on you, young man.”
“I’m hardly a young man anymore. I’ve served our country. If the United States Army could trust me, why can’t you?”
Del sighed. “It’s not that I don’t trust you. But, if that’s the type of logic you’re going to try and use on me, then tell me, why can’t you trust me?”
“I do trust you, Mom. But, you’ve always been a bleeding heart. If someone is hurt you try to fix them. If someone is down on their luck, you try and take care of them. Whatever the situation, it doesn’t matter what it is, you’re always taking in strays of some sort.”
“That’s ridiculous. You’re using my love of animals as a basis for an argument? One thing has nothing to do with the other, Trace.”
“You’re my mother and I’ll use whatever logic I have to in order to get you to listen to me.”
“That’s enough. Seriously now, I’ve listened to your arguments and I understand your worry. But, the house is two hundred yards away and I will lock the dead bolt every night. Besides, I have a feeling about this guy. He seemed very genuine. Whatever his situation is, I think he’s looking for a change of scenery, or at least a temporary escape from whatever’s troubling him.”
He started to argue further, but his mother’s quick hand stopped him. She held it up in a successful effort to silence him.
“That’s enough, Trace. I love you, and I appreciate that you worry about your old mom, but I promise you it’s going to be okay. You’re just going to have to trust me on this one.”
Trace shook his head. He knew arguing with his mother was futile. She was as stubborn as he was once she set her mind to something. “Yeah, well trusting you isn’t the problem. It’s him that I’m worried about.”
Del fluffed the pillows on the freshly made bed and spread her hands over the comforter, smoothing the lumps. She then turned to him and walked toward where he stood against the far wall. With a sympathetic smile she placed her hands on his face and said, “My sweet boy. You always were my biggest protector even when you were barely tall enough to tug on my skirt. When your daddy would yell and throw things you would just yell louder.”
“Well Dad was an asshole. I knew that even as a baby.”
“Your father was a drinker and a man with a terrible temper, but he never laid a hand on me or you kids. I wish you’d believe that.”
Trace shrugged. “I’m not going to have that debate with you again. He was a violent son of a bitch and the best thing you ever did was divorce him.”
Del held his face still, looking him square in the
eyes. “You’re wrong, Trace. The best thing I ever did was have you and your sister. You two were my life’s greatest achievement. You were my blessings despite the misery I endured with your father. Still, no matter how bad it was living with a mean drunk, it wasn’t as bad as you seem to want to remember it. Your sister has told you, and so have I. He wasn’t a great man, I’ll give you that, but never, not once did he ever lay a hand on us. He hurt with words, not his fists.”
“Whatever.” Trace shook his head, not wanting to rehash the argument they’d been having for nearly fifteen years. It always ended with her trying to convince him that he should reach out to his father and try to repair their relationship.
No matter how hard he tried to make her realize it, he truly didn’t care if he ever spoke to his father again. The only memory he had of his father were those of drunken tirades. He loved to scream at his mother almost as much as he loved his bottle, maybe more.
She may claim that he never became violent with her, but he remembered the fury that would roll off of his father whenever he drank. That was the kind of volatile behavior that couldn’t be turned off or slowed down. It could only escalate and get worse. Not to mention, it never quite made sense to him that one day when Trace was seventeen she suddenly just kicked him out. After years of putting up with it and him, she had this spontaneous and remarkable epiphany that she could no longer take him, his drinking or his yelling.
He knew his mother. He knew her better than she probably knew herself. She was loyal to a fault and she didn’t just give up on people. Love had nothing to do with it. It was her word that mattered most.
No, Trace knew. He knew damn well that something happened that weekend he’d gone away to visit his sister at college. Whatever it was he could never get out of her, but he knew.
“I can almost see the stubbornness in your eyes, young man. You need to get over it. Sometimes your temperament is your biggest enemy.” She shook her head and kissed his cheek. “I don’t have any more time for this nonsense with you. I’m going to meet our new tenant. And you’re going to be a delightful son and take this cleaning cart back to the office.”
The Philanthropist and the Paratrooper (Siren Publishing Everlasting Classic ManLove) Page 3