Almost a Hometown Bride

The stranger wasn’t basketball-player statuesque, but he had to be at least six feet, which was intimidating to a woman who had to stretch to make five-three. There was something about the man’s bearing that made Merritt think of the mountains she liked to look at from her kitchen window at the cottage as she washed dishes. His denim jacket was too light for this weather, and it and his jeans were a half size too small. No wonder Nikki was staring open-mouthed from the far corner of the room. Usually, the flame-haired Energizer Bunny pounced on any and every male who walked through the front door if they weren’t regulars with an established preferred seating choice. She even dressed to entice; today she was wearing a skintight green sweater and jeans that left little to the imagination. But this man was no one to trifle with. Although she hadn’t yet heard his name spoken, Merritt realized she had to be looking at Cain Paxton.

When his gaze fell on an open seat at the counter, the man sitting beside it shifted his hat onto it. Ashamed at one of Leroy’s regulars, Merritt quickly set her customer’s plate before him and went to correct the situation.

“Sit anywhere.”

The breathless quality of her voice told her that she was as rattled as everyone else. When his dark gaze zeroed in on her, she wondered if that was what being hit with a Taser was like.

“It appears some of your customers object to that,” he said.

Swallowing, she tore her gaze from his and glanced around in desperation, ultimately focusing on the table beyond the far end of the counter in the corner of the café. It rarely got used and would probably be a tight fit for him, yet she still found herself saying, “Will that do, sir?” She maneuvered to pluck a menu from the counter, then awkwardly shifted between tables to lead him to the corner.

“Perfect,” he told her.

Not surprisingly, he chose the chair against the wall that would allow him to face the door, but he could only manage to get one leg under the table. The other he stretched beside it and half out into the aisle. His thigh was larger than both of hers combined—and she supposed so was his boot size.

Her throat dry, Merritt all but rasped, “Coffee? Juice?”

“Just coffee. Black.”

“I’ll be right back.”

What happened next was ridiculous, since Merritt knew perfectly well where that long leg was; nevertheless, as she turned away, like a bird fooled by its reflection in glass, she managed to walk right into it and trip. With no chance to protect herself, she fully expected to hit the floor face-first. Then, to her amazement, a strong hand slowed her fall. A heartbeat later, another completely averted catastrophe.

“Sorry, sorry,” she mumbled. Wholly mortified, as soon as he eased his grip she hobbled away without daring a look back at him.

The semisecluded location of the table had protected her from most diners’ view; however, Merritt felt the concerned inspection of those who had witnessed it, and her cheeks burned with embarrassment. She thought some were thinking, Serves you right, for not refusing him service. But Alvie hadn’t given any such order. Second-in-command Leroy had kept his back to the room the whole time—although she could see him watching in the mirrored backsplash. So what choice had she had but to do her job? She had no reason to treat him the way everyone else was.

Willing herself to calm down, she put the mug and coffeepot on a tray, along with a napkin, silverware and a basket of the muffins and biscuits, and carried it back, accepting that she couldn’t get a filled mug to his table without sloshing half of it onto the floor. Upon reaching his table, she set the potbellied ceramic before him and poured with an inane amount of care.

“You hurt yourself,” Cain said, observing her and not the painstaking service.

“No, I’m fine,” she said reluctantly as he made the observation.

“You’re limping.”

“That’s old news,” she said, frowning as she set the pot on the tray and dug her pad out of her apron pocket. “Do you need another minute to decide on what you’d like?” It didn’t look like he’d touched the menu.

“Steak … bacon … hash browns … three eggs, sunny-side up, biscuits and gravy … and a side order of pancakes.”

It would take her most of a week to eat all that, but Merritt wrote it all down, then set the basket in the middle of the table. “These are warm muffins and biscuits. I’ll bring you a bowl of gravy right away so you can nibble while you wait on the rest.”

She did her best to walk quickly and normally, fully aware that he would be watching her, but that was a joke. She’d been struggling even when she’d stepped off that Greyhound bus for the last time in three years.

Once she got to the kitchen, she clipped the ticket on the carousel before the older woman’s face. “He’s here.”

Alvie looked at the ticket and her unpainted, wrinkled mouth twisted into something closer to acceptance than pleasure or amusement. “Yeah, he is. Cain always did like his breakfasts.”

“Has he been away long?”

“Served most of a three-year sentence.”

“He’s been in prison?”

“Could have been worse. Some say he intended to kill the guy who was beaten.”

Merritt had noted his hands just as she had the rest of him. She had to fight a shudder at the idea of being on the receiving end of their wrath. “But if he didn’t actually do that, why did he get convicted?”

“Because the victim filed charges. Listen, Miller Moth, there was a hit-and-run. The guy killed was Cain’s uncle. Someone figured, who would worry about one less drunk Indian? Cain got enough information to conclude who did it and he went after him. The problem was the driver was also the foreman at the Paxton Ranch.”

“How terrible.” But Merritt was confused. “Wait a minute—Cain’s Native American and his name is Paxton, too?”

“Yeah,” Alvie said with a heavy dose of sarcasm. “Small world, isn’t it? Cain’s father was Sanford Paxton’s only son. Cain’s mother was full-blooded Sioux. But as far as Sanford was concerned, that salad dressing never got concocted, understood? Now go take care of the rest of your customers before they change their minds about tipping you.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

First, though, she brought Cain the promised gravy and a saucer to pour it on the biscuits. Then she refilled coffee cups again, ending with his.

“Need another basket?” she asked when she realized he’d devoured everything.

“That’s tempting, but I’ll wait for the rest of my meal. Alvie’s stuff is better than I remembered.”

“I appreciate that. I do the baking now.”

At the end of the counter, she signaled Leroy to hand over a plastic tub to save her having to walk around. Once he did that, she pocketed her tips and cleared off two emptied tables. She and Nikki bussed their own tables and helped load the washer if Leroy was backed up at the counter. The only good thing about the extra work was that they didn’t have to split their tips with busboys.

By the time she finished, Alvie was calling, “Order, Merritt!”

She balanced the basin on her good hip and tried to ignore the ache in her right one. Her injury provided its own weather report. She would need an extra-strength pain reliever to get any sleep tonight.

After setting the basin on the long stainless steel counter, Merritt picked up the long platter that they usually used for dinners, now heaping with what Cain Paxton had ordered, plus the cake plate stacked with three pancakes. Once again picking up the coffeepot, she delivered Cain Paxton’s breakfast and refilled his mug.

“If there’s nothing else, I’ll be back to top off your coffee in a few minutes.”

“That’ll be fine.”

Since he didn’t bother looking up from the meal that he was already in the process of devouring, she placed his ticket on the corner of the table and returned to her other customers. She didn’t mind his reticence. She had to force herself to make polite conversation. Half the people who came in treated her as though she was part of the fixtures. Nikki was the one who got—and frankly invited—attention. She can have it, Merritt mused, thinking of some of their less palatable clientele.

The crowd started thinning out shortly after that. Almost everyone cast speculative looks toward Cain on their way out. Merritt wondered how many of them knew about his past. Probably everyone. Revenge was never right or wise, but it sounded like Cain had been pushed to an impossible limit, given his added parentage dilemma. Merritt supposed people were thinking a convict was a convict and the taint was eternal.

Before Merritt could bring the coffeepot back to the corner table, Cain rose and carried his plates and mug to the end of the lunch counter. Startled, Merritt rushed forward to take them from him.

“That’s my job,” she told him.

“You look like you could use the break.”

He spoke matter-of-factly and his gaze barely brushed over her, making her feel less significant than she already did in her discount-store, beige pullover and jeans. “I’m fine,” she said with a touch too much pride. “I work the dinner shift, too. I can do my job.”

“Excuse me for trying to help.” He slid a twenty-dollar bill across the counter. “Tell Alvie she hasn’t lost her touch.”