Milky Way

He finally commanded her attention with a loud but courteous “Ham-and-cheese omelet, please. Hash browns. Sourdough toast. And coffee with cream.”

She glared at him and he added with a pointed look, “When you get around to it. Thank you.”

She came to stand in front of him, the coffeepot held aloft. He got the distinct impression she intended to pour its contents on him if he made one wrong move.

“Fresh out of ham and cheese,” she said aggressively.

He put down the paper. He pointed to the officer’s plate, where half of a ham-and-cheese omelet lay fluffy and plump beside a wedge of wheat toast.

“What’s that?” he asked.

Brown eyes looked back at him evenly. “That’s his ham-and-cheese omelet. He protects the people around here. He doesn’t take food out of children’s mouths and make life miserable for young widows who are barely—”

“Marge,” the officer said quietly, his expression mildly amused. “That’s harassment. Get him his omelet or I’ll have to take you in.”

Marge put down the pot and offered both wrists across the counter. “Here. Do it now. Put me in solitary, but don’t expect me to do anything for this monster who—”

“What is going on?” a familiar voice demanded near Jake’s shoulder.

He turned to find the widow Hansen standing in the small space between his shoulder and the police officer’s. She wore jeans and another baggy sweater, this one a soft blue that was the color of her eyes. She had a wide, flat plastic container balanced on one hand and a big purse hung over her shoulder.

“Hey, babe.” The officer snaked an arm around her and pulled her to him, kissing her temple. He rubbed her shoulder. “Buy you breakfast?”

She smiled at him affectionately, and Jake felt the irritation that had been building in him since he walked into the place develop into anger. “Thanks, Brick. Had it two hours ago.” She placed the container on the counter, then frowned from him to Jake to Marge, whose hands were still held out sacrificially. “You’re arresting Marge?”

Brick grinned. “She refused to serve this gentleman his ham-and-cheese omelet. That’s unconstitutional.”

Britt blinked at Marge. “Why?”

“Because he—”

Jake folded his paper and put it aside. “Forget the omelet. I was just leaving.” He tried to stand, but a soft but surprisingly firm hand on his shoulder held him in place.

Britt’s blue, blue eyes flashed at him. “You stay right there.” She turned to Marge. “Why won’t you order his omelet?”

Everyone in the restaurant was absolutely still, waiting for her answer.

“Because I know he’s from Winnebago Dairy, and that he cut you off yesterday because you couldn’t pay. Nobody does that to my friends and gets away with it.” Marge’s eyes filled briefly, then she sniffed and swiped at something on the counter that wasn’t there. “Not after what you’ve been through. So Officer Bauer here—” she glanced in his direction “—threatened to take me in.”

Britt drew a breath and sat Jake down a second time when he tried again to get up. “Margie, he was just doing his job,” she said reasonably, almost surprised to hear the words come out of her own mouth. It was one thing to feel personal resentment at the bind his actions had left her in. But to see him unfairly treated by her friends in a public place for having done nothing more than what was required of him made her furious.

“I ordered the stuff,” she said, “and I couldn’t pay. His company has waited eight months already, while still supplying me. Do you think I’d keep making Danishes for you,” she asked, tapping the plastic container, “if you didn’t pay me?”

Marge folded her arms and raised an eyebrow. “Yes.”

Britt wedged herself in between Jake and Brick so that she could lean over the counter toward Marge and give her the full effect of her stare. Brick grinned at Jake behind her back.

“You get this man his ham-and-cheese omelet,” she said firmly, placing a hand on top of the container, “or I won’t give you these extra Danishes you ordered for the Kiwanis breakfast. Whoever told you I’d been cut off apparently neglected to mention that when Mr. Marshack arrived at my place I was hanging by my fingernails from the roof. He saved me from falling, at considerable risk to himself.”

That was somewhat overstated, Jake thought, but Marge’s spine seemed to relax a fraction. She looked suspiciously from him to Britt.

“That’s true,” Brick confirmed, taking a bite of toast. “She told me yesterday afternoon. Even blushed when she said it. I don’t think she’s half as mad at him as you are.”

Britt turned on Brick and whomped him in the stomach with the back of her hand. He choked on the toast and had to reach for his coffee.

She turned back to Marge. “Get the omelet now.”

With one last, distrustful look at Jake, Marge made notes on her order pad, tore off the check and, scooping up the plastic container, went toward the kitchen.

“Spoilsport,” Brick said, finally recovered. “That would’ve been my first collar in a the week.”

Britt rolled her eyes at him. “You’re a nut, Bauer.”

“Runs in the family,” he returned. “Faulty chromosomes or something.”

Britt gave Jake an uncertain smile. “You okay?”

He was having palpitations over the nearness of her eyes, but he suspected she wouldn’t want to know that. “Fine,” he said. “Thank you.”

“Jake Marshack—” she swept a hand toward the officer “—my cousin, Donald Bauer, known among family and friends as Brick because his head bears a remarkable resem—” Her fingers traced a square in the air as Brick reached around with one hand to cover her mouth. He thrust the other toward Jake.

“Actually, it’s a name from my football days. Pleased to meet you. And thanks for saving her neck. I offered to do that roofing job for her, but she finds it impossible to wait for anything.”

Britt pulled Brick’s hand from her mouth. “He’s been promising for weeks. I’d hoped to enjoy the porch before snow sets in again.”

Listening to their affectionate banter, Jake felt a wave of loneliness he usually kept at bay with long hours in the office and at his desk at home. But here in Tyler the pace was slower, and after calling on her yesterday, he hadn’t been able to turn off his mind.

He wasn’t even sure why he was still here. Though he’d made another call after visiting her yesterday, he’d easily have gotten back to Chicago in time for a late dinner. But it had started raining, and he’d told himself rush hour would be slick and ugly and he might as well stay the night.

He’d watched cable television in the small motel room he’d found on the outskirts of town and had wondered how in hell the widow Hansen could be expected to make it with no feed, four kids, and everybody from bank to grocer breathing down her neck.

Then he remembered Brick saying a moment ago that Britt had told him about being saved from the roof, and that she’d blushed while telling him. Every time he thought about grabbing her thigh in his hand and scooping her bottom toward him as she’d dangled there, he felt a catch in his chest, a hitch in his pulse. Something subtle had happened to him yesterday. And it was possible something had happened to her.

“I’ve got to go,” Britt announced, her purse bumping him as she slipped out from between them. She turned to give him a quick smile, one that on the surface held only courtesy. But her eyes were so close to his that he saw deep inside a vague little longing that flashed when their eyes met, then was gone. “Safe trip home,” she said. Then she leaned over to kiss Brick on the cheek. “Have a good day, cuz.”

“Where you off to?” he asked.

“Worthington House to see Grandma and Inger.”

When she was out the door, Jake couldn’t resist asking Brick, “What happened to her husband?”

“He was plowing near a ditch,” Brick said grimly. “Got too close. Tractor turned over on him.”

Jake closed his eyes. That ugly accident happened all too often in farm country, but it was hard for him to think it had happened to someone Britt had loved.

“She’d gone to Milwaukee with a friend for a weekend of shopping,” Brick went on. “The first time she’d ever left Jimmy and the kids alone. She carries a lot of guilt over it.”

“God,” Jake said quietly, feelingly.