Cowboy Alibi

Chapter One

“Tall, dark and cowboy at table four, you lucky dog,” Angela Carlyle murmured to Jane as she passed by with the remains of table seven’s lunch.

Jane eyed the cowboy in question, taking in his rangy build, short, dark hair and the dun-colored Stetson on the booth next to him. As he glanced her way, she quickly looked back to the older couple perusing their menus. “Our special today is pan-seared trout,” she said. “Caught fresh. There’s nothing like Idaho trout.”

As the couple discussed between themselves the merits of fish for lunch, Jane stole another look at table four. She found the cowboy’s gaze fixed on her face, unflinching.

She looked away quickly, unnerved by his scrutiny. She wasn’t used to being the object of someone’s full attention. Most male customers focused on Angela, with her copper-penny hair, creamy complexion and body even the pale pink waitress uniform couldn’t conceal.

Nobody ever stared at Jane, with her face full of freckles, unruly brown hair and slim, not-so-curvy figure. Worse, she was as blank on the inside as she was dull on the outside, with only five months of experiences to call her own and a whole lot of questions she couldn’t answer.

“Miss? We’re ready.”

Jane dragged her gaze away from the cowboy with a soft apology and took their order. She ripped the order from her pad, tucked it in her pocket and crossed to table four.

The cowboy’s gray-eyed gaze followed her all the way in. Jane’s stomach knotted with vague anxiety. “What can I get you today, sir?” she asked.

“I’ll have coffee.”

“Sugar or cream?”

His gaze narrowed slightly, as if she’d asked a difficult question. “Just black,” he answered.

“We have a trout special, caught fresh this morning—”

“Just coffee,” he interrupted, not unkindly.

She nodded. “Coffee it is.”

She took his order and the order from the previous table to the kitchen. Angela was there already, cornered by Boyd Jameson, the restaurant manager.

“That’s the third order you got wrong,” Boyd growled.

“I gave them what they ordered,” Angela countered.

“Customer says otherwise and the customer’s always—”

“Right,” Angela finished for him. “I know. I got them what they wanted immediately and they all gave me big tips, so what’s the problem?”

Jane made eye contact with Angela, wondering if she should do something to intervene. Boyd was a piece of work, a real control freak with the waitstaff, and unfortunately, he was untouchable, having worked at the River Lodge longer than most of the staff had been alive.

Angela caught her eye and gave a tiny shake of her head. But it was enough for Boyd to take notice. Whipping his head around, he pinned Jane with his fierce gaze. She looked away, not in any position to cause trouble, and handed off the lunch order to the chef.

She returned to the lunch counter and found the cowboy sitting on a stool in front of her. His dark eyebrows arched slightly when she stumbled to a stop.

“Thought it’d be rude to take up a booth just for coffee.” He smiled, but his eyes were watchful.

Unease skittered through her as she poured him a cup of coffee. Placing it in front of him, she plastered on a smile. “Sure I can’t get you anything else?”

He eyed her name tag. “What’s your last name, Jane?”

She looked down at her hands. “Doe,” she answered flatly, wondering if he’d think she was joking.

He was silent a moment. She dared a peek and found him gazing at her through narrowed eyes, one eyebrow quirked. “Nice to meet you, Jane Doe. I’m Joe Garrison.” He paused, as if waiting for her reaction.

Was she supposed to react?

Of course she was supposed to react. What kind of guy wouldn’t comment on “Jane Doe”?

“Do I know you?” she asked.

His eyes narrowed farther. “Do you?”

She shook her head, her wariness growing. “No. Sorry.”

The bell over the front door rang, heralding new customers, a pair of college-age girls dressed for hiking. Grateful for the excuse to walk away, she grabbed a couple of menus and followed as they settled at the booth that Joe Garrison had recently vacated.

She took their drink orders and returned to the counter to fill them. Joe Garrison’s gaze followed her as she worked. He didn’t even pretend not to stare.

She was about to ask him if he’d like a refill on the coffee when Angela stalked out of the kitchen, her cheeks red with anger. She yanked the strings of her uniform apron and flung the garment onto the counter, stopping next to Jane. “I quit.”

Jane looked at her, alarmed. “You what?”

“Quit. Q. U. I. T. Boyd Jameson is a woman-hating jerk, and life is way too short for me to put up with his bull.” She started toward the employee break room, but Jane caught her arm.

“Angie, you can’t—”

Angela squeezed Jane’s arms. “Boyd always had it in for me anyway. There are other jobs. I’ll be fine.”

But I won’t, Jane thought, watching her go. Angela was one of the few real friends she’d made in Trinity, Idaho, since she’d turned up wandering through the Sawtooth Mountains a few months earlier, half-frozen and memory-free. She’d gotten used to having Angela around the restaurant as a buffer between herself and Boyd Jameson.

Jane finished the drink orders for table four and turned to Joe Garrison. “Refill?”

“No, thanks. I’m ready for my check.”

She didn’t know whether she felt relieved or disappointed. As unnerving as Joe’s attention might be, it was the first time anyone had ever made her the object of such single-minded focus. Well, that she could remember, anyway. It was flattering, if a bit disconcerting.

She handed him the check. “Hope you enjoy the rest of your day. And come back to see us again.”

She carried the drinks to table four. As she took their lunch orders, she caught sight of Joe crossing to the cashier’s desk by the door. One of the girls at table four made a low whistling sound. “Look at those jeans,” she murmured to her friend.

Jane dragged her gaze away from Joe Garrison’s departing backside and returned to the kitchen to hand in the order. When she came back out, Angela stood by the counter, now dressed in jeans and a T-shirt. She gave Jane a quick hug. “I’m heading to the apartment to start making some calls about another job. When do you get off?”

“In an hour. I’ll see you there. Maybe we can go for a walk in the park or something, get your mind off things.”

“You’re on. See you soon.”

Jane watched her friend go with a sigh. Behind her, the door from the kitchen swung open with a soft swish. “What’re you staring at, Jane? Don’t you have customers waiting?” Boyd asked.