Remember Me, Cowboy

* * *

RIGHT AFTER CORB left the café, Dawn Dolan showed up to start her shift, her long, fine blond hair already pulled back in a ponytail. She came in the back way, grabbing an apron from one of the pegs on the wall by the freezer as she passed by.

“Busy day?” she asked. “I hope so. I could use some good tips. I saw this top that would look perfect with that new skirt I bought last week.”

Online shopping was twenty-year-old Dawn’s main form of recreation. Laurel wished she would spend as much time on her college correspondence courses as she did surfing the net, but that was Dawn’s choice to make.

“Lunch hour rush is sure to start soon,” Laurel said. “So that’ll be your big chance to wow the customers and earn big bucks.”

They both smiled at this—the café did well for such a small town. But big bucks? Hardly.

“Mind if I take a little break?” Laurel checked her hair in the mirror, pursed her lips and added some peach gloss. “It’s been a long morning.”

“No problem.” Dawn glanced at the sandwich special Laurel had printed on the chalkboard. “Should I mix up the tuna salad?”

“That would be great.”

Laurel dried her hands on her apron, then slipped the strap over her head and slung it on the peg with Winnie’s name stenciled above it. She went out the back way and walked around to the front. As she’d hoped, she found Corb Lambert sitting on one of the benches.

Maybe slumped was a better word. His eyes were closed; he seemed to be soaking up a little of the noon sun, but his brow was furrowed. He looked like he was in pain. Physical or mental, she couldn’t tell. She supposed he had a right to be feeling both.

She sat next to him.

Though he must have sensed her presence, he said nothing, and for a minute or so, neither did she. Instead she focused on the sun’s glorious heat as it penetrated her tank top and jeans. It felt so good to rest. Why was she always so tired these days?

Across the street Laurel could see the post office and library. Though she’d only been in Coffee Creek for two months, Laurel knew the middle-aged people who worked inside each of those buildings. They were regulars at the café, too.

Tabitha, the librarian, always came to the Cinnamon Stick for her morning tea and muffin. Burt, from the post office, stopped in for his lunch. In fact, he’d be crossing the street for his sandwich and black coffee in about twenty minutes.

She turned to the man beside her. He’d opened his eyes and was now looking at her. “I’m sorry to disturb you,” she said. “I just wanted to say how sorry I am about your brother.”

There were many other things she’d wanted to say to Corb Lambert. But this was the most important.

“Thank you. And I’m sorry I don’t seem to recall meeting you before. You’re sure we did?”

“Oh, yeah.”

He put a hand to his head, to the spot where his scar was barely visible under the stubble of his newly grown hair. “It doesn’t seem real to me. The accident. Brock’s death.”

“Winnie’s still in shock, too, I think.”

“She and my brother were good together.”

“Winnie was crazy about Brock.”

“A lot of people were. Brock was a lot of fun, but a hard worker, too. My mother saw to that.”

“She sounds like quite the woman, your mother.”

He chuckled. “She comes across as delicate and soft-spoken. But once you get to know her you realize she has a way of controlling things from behind the scenes. Us kids used to knock ourselves out to please her. Some of us still do.”

“I guess she had her hands full running a place like Coffee Creek Ranch. Must be a lot of work for her. For all of you.”

“It is, but we love it. At least those of us who stayed on the ranch love it. My brother B.J. is more interested in the rodeo circuit. And Cassidy seems to be feeling the lure of the city. Mom is hoping she’ll move back home when she finishes school, but Cassidy is equally determined to go her own way. I figure the two of them are too headstrong to live in the same county let alone the same house.”

He put his hat back on and took the last sip of his coffee. Laurel thought he was about to leave, but then he started talking again.

“How about you, Laurel? How are you doing? I bet you never counted on spending this much time in Coffee Creek when you left the city.”

“I sure didn’t pack enough clothes for two months,” she agreed with a smile. “Fortunately a friend of mine from work, Anna, sent me a package by bus.”

“Are you missing the city? Coffee Creek is about as small as towns come, I guess.”

“I grew up in a rural community, so it hasn’t been hard to adapt.”

“You did? Where?”

“The Highwood area. Our farm was five miles from Winnie’s.”

“Well, that explains how you know one another.”

“We’ve been friends since our first day at school. Winnie helped me through some hard times back then. My mother died when I was eight. Then my father passed away the night of our high school graduation. Both times Winnie and her family were there for me.”

“And now you’re returning the favor.”

“I wish it wasn’t necessary. But yes. As long as Winnie needs me, I’ll stay.”

“I have to wonder. What drew you all the way to New York City in the first place?”

This was so surreal—she and Corb had had almost this exact same conversation during the drive from the Billings Airport to the ranch the first time they’d met. They’d had many follow-up discussions during the days that followed, to the point that she’d shared the most private details of her past.

And now here they were—back at square one.

“I was never all that happy living on a farm.” Her relationship with her father probably played a big role in that. She and Corb had had a long conversation about this, too, but now she glossed over that part of her past. “Teachers told me I had a talent with words, so I studied English and after I graduated, I moved to New York and applied for every job even remotely related to publishing. Eventually I was hired by On the Street Magazine as a lowly online sales rep—but I was sure it would be just a matter of time before I was promoted.”

“And were you?”

She smiled. “I was finally offered an editorial assistant job just a month before the wedding.”

“I hope they’re holding the job for you?”

Laurel hesitated. “They are. But to be honest, I’m getting some pressure to come back soon or give my notice.”

Across the street, the door to the post office opened. Burt waved, then started in their direction. And then a rusted pickup truck rumbled in from the west, pulling up next to Corb’s black Jeep Cherokee.

Laurel stood, and as she did so, felt the now-familiar queasiness in the pit of her stomach. “I’d better get back to work. Looks like the lunch rush is about to begin.”

“See you, Laurel. It was nice talking with you.”