Книга - Almost a Hometown Bride

Almost a Hometown Bride
Helen R. Myers


Recipe for Romance:Take one mystery man…add the best baker in town…and a dash of red-hot chemistry! Cain Paxton’s return to town caused quite a stir. And no wonder: his brutal temper had landed him in jail! Merritt Miller vowed to stay far away from Cain and his bad reputation…even though she couldn’t ignore the sparks they shared.But just as Cain had shuttered his heart when he was punished for a crime he didn’t commit, Merritt’s emotions were imprisoned by her secret past. The straight-as-an-arrow girl and the rebel made an improbable couple – with an intense attraction!










“Do you know who I am?”

“Yes.”

What else was she supposed to do?

“I need to make sure there’s not more bleeding.” She gingerly slid her fingers through his hair, searching for any injury that would make moving him dangerous. “You have a funny look on your face. Please tell me you can see okay?”

With the light off him, he had been watching her. His expression suggested that he thought her a figment of his imagination.

“Cain. Stop trying to scare me. Speak.”

Just as she was about to hold up two fingers and ask him how many he saw, he framed her face within his hands and drew her down for a kiss …


Dear Reader,

Welcome to Almost, Montana, population … not many. Prospects … challenging. It was the home of Cain Paxton, before he was sent to prison for a crime he didn’t commit, and it was the latest stopping point—the longest to date—for Merritt Miller, a young woman with a past that she was trying to forget.

The future looked uncertain for these two drifter-misfits who didn’t seem to belong anywhere, or to anyone. Creating a family of two, and filling their lives with people they chose and weren’t linked to by birth or law wasn’t something they did consciously, but the evolution of it proved a lifesaver for both of them.

I suppose I was drawn to the idea of Merritt and Cain due to having been a lifelong observer and supporter of survivors, people who take life’s blows, and refuse to be defeated. Showing that love waits, even for the loner and the lonely, was an especially satisfying experience.

I hope you enjoy Merritt’s and Cain’s journey. And, as always, thank you for being a reader.

With warmest wishes,

Helen R. Myers




About the Author


HELEN R. MYER is a collector of two- and four-legged strays, and lives deep in the Piney Woods of East Texas. She cites cello music and bonsai gardening as favorite relaxation pastimes, and still edits in her sleep—an accident, learned while writing her first book. A bestselling author of diverse themes and focus, she is a three-time RITA


Award nominee, winning for Navarrone in 1993.


Almost A Hometown Bride

Helen R. Myers




















www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)




Chapter One


“Lock up your women and check your ammunition supply, men. Cain Paxton is back in town!”

The sun had yet to crest the trees interspersed throughout Almost, Montana, but Merritt Miller had already heard variations of that warning at least four times since the first customer had shuffled into Alvie’s café shortly after 6:00 a.m. After the second alert, Merritt had gone to ask Alvie Crisp herself about the matter, as the sturdy woman worked.

“Who’s Cain Paxton?” Martha had asked.

Barely glancing up from her work, single-handedly preparing breakfast for a near capacity crowd, Alvie had replied, “Someone you better not give two seconds of thought to, Miller Moth.” Pausing, the salt-and-pepper-haired woman wiped perspiration from her broad forehead with the back of her left hand. Outside, it might be struggling to stay above twenty-eight, but it was always somewhere between toasty and roasting in the kitchen. “Just another mother’s heartbreak,” Alvie continued, “another father’s shame.”

Merritt had ignored the nickname Alvie had given her on the first day she’d begun working here, now over two years ago. It was milder than some she’d been called in her twenty-seven years. She knew she was a drab specimen of womanhood compared to the pampered daughters and wives who sometimes dined here when reluctantly staying in town to shop if weather or time didn’t allow them to get to Montana’s larger cities like Bozeman or Billings on either side of them, or the state capital, Helena, to their north. Her petite, thin frame had never turned heads, nor had her pale face earned studied admiration. Her one good feature—her dark brown hair—had to be constantly tied back by an elastic band because there was plenty of it. In these last three years of her “emancipation,” as she secretly dubbed it, she’d come to the conclusion that she was meant to sit alone on the grocery shelf of life. If her unspectacular looks weren’t reason enough, her semi-lameness made it official.

“I was just wondering what the fuss was all about,” Merritt said softly as she returned again to pick up the twin plates brimming with ham, eggs over easy, hash browns and biscuits with gravy for table three. The only Paxton she knew owned one of the biggest ranches in the area, and as far as she knew he was an aging widower and childless. “Usually all anyone wants to talk about is the price of beef, feed, cranky machinery or how your cooking has ‘hit the spot.’”

Alvie grunted as she turned another batch of thick-sliced bacon. “Helps to be the only joint in town. After you deliver those plates and refresh everyone’s coffee mugs, come on back here. I want to talk to you about the latest weather report I heard on the radio.”

“Is the storm coming in early? From the looks of the skies, it sure seems like it will be a strong one.” Merritt didn’t know how the woman discerned anything with the thing turned so low. All she was hearing over the conversations flowing in from the dining room was static.

“That it is, and it’s going to be worse than they thought. Now move, child.”

Merritt went with a slight smile rather than hurt feelings. She was well used to Alvie’s frank, no-nonsense approach to things and that was also reflected in her appearance. Her employer’s clean-scrubbed face was as bare of makeup as her own. Alvie’s hair was shorter, but still pulled back into a tight bun. As always in cold weather, she wore a white chef’s apron over overalls and a man’s plaid flannel shirt. Today’s was mud-brown, like her hiking boots. No frills for the woman who had buried two husbands and a daughter; she said what she meant and meant what she said. But her heart was gold. Merritt could vouch for that. Alvie had been the one to give her a job and a place to stay when she’d first arrived here with barely enough money left in her wallet to pay for a night’s stay in a cheap motel—if there’d been such a thing in Almost.

On the way up front, Merritt grabbed a full pot of the aromatic coffee from the machine’s secondary hot plate, then delivered the two platters to ranchers who never paused in their intense conversation. They were regulars and knew that unlike the other waitress, feisty and flirty Nikki Franks, she didn’t crave small talk with them, let alone anyone to flirt with. She topped off their mugs, then continued around her half of the café to see who else needed another dose of caffeine before braving the day’s weather.

After returning to the kitchen, Merritt watched Alvie remove the bacon and add a slab of sirloin for one of Nikki’s hungrier customers. Then she started on two orders of scrambled eggs. As she often did, Merritt picked up the ladle in the nearby bowl and stirred the pancake batter to keep it from settling.

“So how much snow do they expect?”

“Maybe a foot before you head home tonight. Twice that before we open in the morning.”

Since Merritt had spent her whole life where snow was common, and this wasn’t her first winter in Montana, she wasn’t immediately intimidated. Besides, Thanksgiving was just around the corner. It might not say “winter” on the calendar, but frigid weather had definitely dipped below the forty-ninth parallel from Canada. “Okay. Guess I better arrange to come in earlier tomorrow.” As a rule, she arrived minutes before the doors opened at six o’clock.

That earned her a critical look from Alvie. “I want you to be kind to your body and spend the night upstairs on my couch.”

Alvie had many good qualities, but coddling didn’t seem to be in her DNA any more than hugging was. Nevertheless, Merritt had been the recipient and witness of enough kindnesses by the two-time widow to know she had a soft side that appeared when she wanted it to. Apparently, this was one of those moments.

“You know I have to see to matters at the house. The barn cats will be craving some warm milk, especially tonight, and the stove needs tending to keep the pipes and Wanda and Willy’s tank from freezing.”

Wanda and Willy were her goldfish, the only pets she allowed herself to have, except for the stray cats that had been homesteading the barn on and off since it was built decades ago for Alvie’s grandmother, who’d been a bride at the time. The house still belonged to Alvie, a one-bedroom wood-frame dwelling on several acres of land. It had stood empty for some time because it was more convenient at Alvie’s age to live upstairs in the apartment over the café. Alvie had let Merritt stay there as part of her salary the minute she learned Merritt could bake.

“And what if Leroy can’t get the truck started in the morning and come get you?”

It wouldn’t be the first or last time, Merritt thought wryly. Alvie’s live-in boyfriend handled the counter traffic at the café and seemed genuinely sweet on Alvie, but he was pretty useless as a mechanic or with most handyman chores. “Don’t worry. I’ll walk as I usually do.”

With a sigh of exasperation, Alvie pointed at her with her stainless spatula. “You fighting blizzard-strength winds when there’s not so much as a truck tread to follow to ease your way is an invitation for trouble, especially at that hour. Besides, you already spend more hours on your feet than any doctor would say is sensible. If you went to a doctor, which you won’t.”

Merritt prepared two more baskets of biscuits and bran muffins rather than wasting her breath. The walk was barely a mile, and doctors cost more money than she could afford. She already knew what she needed for her damaged hip from the one time she did need to get medical input, and she definitely couldn’t afford that. Why go again?

“Walking has helped me build up my strength,” she said when Alvie finally finished. “And when have I ever not pulled my weight around here?”

“You work harder than Nikki or Leroy combined,” Alvie acknowledged. “That’s another reason I need you to be reasonable.”

She had dough rising at the cottage for this afternoon’s baking, too. Merritt’s mind was made up. She was going home. Thankfully, the cowbell on the café’s door sounded and saved her having to further explain. After taking one of the baskets and accepting the omelet she’d been waiting on, Merritt headed up front again.

She grew aware of the changed atmosphere even before she rounded the lunch counter. Silence loomed throughout the large room. Then she noticed that almost everyone was staring at the newcomer standing just inside the entryway. He was an imposing figure as he fought the wind to pull the door closed behind his frame, big-boned with plenty of muscle to reinforce that. He succeeded with that wrestling match, then scanned the room with a combination of wariness and the same resentment some were radiating toward him. One look at his Native American coloring and stern features immediately had a number of diners shifting around to return to their meals. The rest took their time, but conversation remained a whisper of what it had been.

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.”

As he headed for the door, Merritt recovered enough to protest, “Your change, sir.”

“Keep it,” he said without looking back.

Merritt stared, stuck between the embarrassment of knowing that he’d overtipped her out of pity and confusion over why someone fresh out of prison would be so generous when he could ill afford to be?

Leroy plucked the ticket and twenty from her and made change. Of medium height and sinewy build, his steel-gray hair matched his full mustache and beard and framed a sardonic face with shrewd eyes and a down-turned mouth. Unlike her, he had an opinion on everything and didn’t wait to be asked for it.

“You be careful, honey,” he said, handing her the tip money.

“Me? What did I do?”

“You got his attention. That’s enough.”

That was the silliest thing he’d said in a good while. “He’s blaming himself for my limp when I clumsily tripped over his leg. I tried to explain.”

“Didn’t see that. But what I do know is that you’re female, and he tipped you nice. Cain’s always been a magnet to women. Just one of nature’s mysteries. Maybe Alvie told you that he’s been locked up for a good while, too?”

“But he’s hardly blind,” Nikki said, bringing her own ticket and cash for him to handle. She cast Merritt a saccharine, deal-with-it smile.

Ignoring her, Merritt untied her apron and went in back, thinking about Cain’s parentage. For a small town like Almost with a population of barely five thousand, that was a good deal of scandal and intrigue. The outcome seemed unjust, too.

Alvie was beginning to prep for the lunch crowd. The restaurant business remained a fascination to Merritt, but there was no denying that it was a physically demanding way to make a living.

“If you don’t mind, I’m heading to the house to get things ready for the weather,” she told her boss.

“Take the truck. I heard most of what you said to Leroy just now.”

“I tripped—I didn’t fall. I’m fine.” Merritt appreciated Alvie’s concern, but there was such a thing as overkill. “And remember that I don’t have a license.” She’d never bothered transferring her New Jersey license because she hadn’t known how long she would be staying. She continued to resist because she could walk to wherever she needed to go, or catch a ride with Alvie or Leroy, which let her save money, and now her old New Jersey license had expired.

“No one is going to stop you—unless you run over the chief of police himself. They’re sure not going to bother you in deteriorated weather conditions—or give you a ticket for coming to work. They know where you belong.” Alvie shook her head. “I don’t see why after all this time you won’t get a driver’s license.”

Having a license meant she could be traced. But Merritt wasn’t going to share that bit of information unless she was forced to hit the road again. With a negligent shrug, she said, “I’ll see you by four-thirty, okay?”

“Might be a slow night if things get bad really fast. If you had a phone, I could tell you to save yourself the trip and stay home.”

People living sparely could do without such luxuries as a phone, especially someone not anticipating a call from anyone any more than she desired one. Giving up on arguing with the woman she owed her job and home to, Merritt waved and detoured to the back room where she changed from sneakers into boots, slipped on her jacket and retrieved her big insulated tote that she’d carried her baked goods in.

Two other waitresses with school-age children handled the lunch crowd. Leroy took over the grill, while Alvie went upstairs to rest her feet or run errands. Then Alvie returned while Leroy took off, since the dinner crowd usually left the counter empty enough for Merritt and Nikki to manage on their own.

Almost—its name origins in dispute forever—began perhaps by survivors of an Indian attack, almost making it through the Rockies on their way to Idaho, then Washington. Another claim was that a wagon train had almost been wiped out by a deadly winter and disease. However it was christened, the town had remained the same size building-wise as it was at its peak prior to World War II. It was a two-traffic-light community, six blocks in all, which included one bank, two pharmacies, five churches and a school that still housed kindergarten through grade twelve. The only difference was that half the stores on back streets were vacant now. A few were collapsing from neglect, having been tied up in estate disagreements. There was a good deal of talk about what to do to sustain what economic stability there was and encourage tourism from the interstate only two miles south. Merritt felt she had no right to get involved with any of that, but hoped things worked out for the residents, particularly the business-people.

Living in Alvie’s house was a rent-free agreement since she provided all of the baked goods for the eatery. Merritt paid half of the electric bill, which remained in Alvie’s name, so funds were just taken out of her pay. She was thinking about that bill which she expected to arrive today or tomorrow, as she started around the bend that hid the cabin from downtown’s view. That compromised view made it susceptible to vandalism, which was another reason why Alvie was eager to have it lived in.

The wood-frame cottage with the peeling gray paint consisted of a combination kitchen-dining area and a living room with just enough room for the sofa and chair in it, as well as the wood-burning stove. The kitchen stove was propane, but Merritt had gotten the hang of it quickly enough. The bathroom was off the back door, by the washroom, and the bedroom was on the other side of the dining area. The full-size bed was perfect for someone of her size, but she couldn’t imagine a couple even Alvie and Leroy’s size trying to sleep comfortably on there for long.

With no central air or heat, the wood-burning stove required careful tending in cold weather. While Alvie kept the place in a good supply of wood, it had taken Merritt most of her first winter in Montana to learn how to finesse its operation.

Merritt lifted her face to the sky and felt the first flurries sting her nose and cheeks. Not only did the damp cold seep through her bark-brown, thrift-shop jacket and thin frame, every step cost her extra energy due to the pain now spreading across her back because of the strain on her muscles. She would need to lie down for a few minutes with a hot compress once she reached the cabin, and that would only make her busier the rest of the day if she was to get her baking done in time. Thank goodness she’d already completed her weekly washing and cleaning. She definitely wouldn’t have to worry about anyone coming to visit her and taking up her time because, while she was polite to anyone who spoke to her, she had no friends to spend her off-hours with. That was the price she paid to ensure she could continue to live here safely. From her perspective it was an acceptable cost.

But as she rounded the curve that gave her the first view of the cottage, she immediately saw something that triggered concern. There was a black truck parked on the street in front of the property. Had someone experienced engine trouble or a flat? No one had passed her as she’d walked, and she didn’t recognized the old, paint-worn pickup. Yet the vehicle was facing away from her, suggesting that’s what must have happened.

What if someone was casing the place? If they had a good reason to be there, they would have pulled into the driveway, wouldn’t they? And yet she didn’t see anyone, just the truck. Could they already have broken in?

Running wasn’t an option unless she wanted to end up flat on her face for sure this time, but Merritt increased her pace, which had her breathless and her face strained with pain by the time she got to the driveway. There she saw a man climb the far steps of the porch and return to the front window where, with his hands framing his eyes, he tried to look inside the front window.

“Hey! What do you think you’re doing?” she shouted.

He turned immediately and Merritt’s breath caught in her throat. It was Cain Paxton! In a heartbeat, her indignation vanished, only to be replaced by anxiety. She self-consciously limped up the short drive, and was panting when she reached the base of the porch stairs.

“How did you know where I live?” she demanded as wind whipped at her jacket and hair.

He shoved his hands deep into the denim jacket pockets and tucked his neck into his shoulders. His black hair, though not overly long, whipped wildly around his face. “I didn’t. I stopped thinking the cabin might still be empty. Thought I’d ask Alvie how much she wanted for rent.”

“It’s taken—by me.”

He gave her a slower head-to-toe inspection than he had before, and then looked over her shoulder. “Heckuva day to be without your car.”

“I don’t have one.”

That earned her a frown that made him appear tougher and angrier. Add that to the wind and cold’s effect on his hair and square-jawed face, and she thought it gave him an otherworldly air—an unholy one. How on earth could Leroy think she could be taken by such a force of nature, even without knowing her past?

“You walked the whole way?” he asked, his tone as scornful as his expression. “What kind of glutton for punishment are you?”

That was just what she needed at this point, a warrior god with a vegetable for a brain. “A poor one,” she snapped back.

Cain fell silent again, but he continued to study her. Merritt wanted badly to get inside and out of the wind, but she wasn’t budging while he was blocking her way.

“How long have you been in Almost?” he finally asked. “Not long enough to learn that it’s dangerous to walk outside town by yourself.”

“Sorry to disappoint you, but I’ve been doing just fine. From what I’ve been told, I guess I arrived not long after you left.”

The right corner of his hard mouth twitched and a timeless sensuality lit in his black eyes. “So you’ve been asking about me?”

“What I asked was why some of our regulars are so uptight over your return. Alvie gave me a quick recap.’”

Cain snorted. “No wonder you looked like a lamb ready to bolt when you saw me walk in. Relax. Having just arrived, I’m not about to get myself a one-way ticket back into prison. Besides,” he added with another cursory glance over her shivering body, “there’s not enough to you to make an appetizer for someone with my tastes.”

“Rape isn’t about desire,” she said without thinking. “It’s about anger and control.”

“Is that so?”

Merritt all but lost the rest of her courage under his narrow-eyed stare. She felt as though he was doing more than stripping her; he was peeling the layers of her skin. Seeking what, she didn’t know. But she had to lower her gaze in self-defense, afraid that her cold shivers would turn into an outright shudder. Belatedly, she thought about how to casually dig for the pepper spray buried in the large tote beside her wallet.

When she didn’t come back at him with any cheeky answer, he asked almost kindly, “What’s your name? It’s only fair,” he added when she shot him a doubtful glance. “You know mine.”

“Merritt Miller.”

“And I thought I got stuck with a whopper. Was your daddy hoping for a son?”

“No, I was named after my paternal grandmother. I’m told she was very pretty and had a sunny disposition, and they called her Merri. Me, they called Merritt.” The wind was bringing tears to her eyes and she blinked them away, hoping he didn’t see them and misunderstand. “Now that we have that out of the way, would you mind going on about your business? I have to get the stove ashes emptied and a new fire going. You may not have heard that there’s a storm coming, and I’m working the dinner shift. It’ll take half the night to warm that cabin if I don’t keep a good bed of coals in that thing.” As soon as she spoke, she wanted to clap her hand over her mouth. Why tell him the house would be empty later?

However, Cain didn’t focus on that. He asked instead, “You mean you’re walking back to town? What the hell is wrong with those people? Why doesn’t Leroy or someone pick you up?”

“Because they’re busy. Besides, I need to walk whether I want to or not. It’s therapy.”

“Therapy.” Once again his gaze swept downward. “You’re healing from an operation?”

“No.”

“So you should have an operation, but you won’t, and to keep your hip from totally freezing up you have to keep moving?”

“Something like that.”

“Bet that feels like crap. What happened?”

For a seemingly quiet man, he’d suddenly turned into a blabbermouth. “I fell.”

“Uh-huh. Probably from clumsiness again, like this morning?”

Merritt knew what he was trying to do; however, the words stung anyway. “That’s right,” she replied, stiffly.

Cain glanced at the dwindling pile of firewood on the porch. “I’ll get the stove going for you, but you need more wood than what’s left on your rack.”

“There’s more in back. I just haven’t brought it up yet.”

“I’ll do that, too.”

Dear heavens, was he looking for work? “Mr. Paxton, I meant what I said about being poor. I get by with what I make at the café, but that’s about it.”

“Did I ask you for a job?”

“No.”

Maybe it was her honest reply and expression that made him relax and shrug. “You led me to the best table in the café for someone in my situation. You didn’t treat me like poison, or worse yet, dirt, as some have. Can’t that be reason enough?”

She’d only done her job, and she wasn’t one to buy into gossip. As far as she was concerned, he’d needed to be seated before he cost Alvie business. As a new, stronger blast of wind cut through her jacket, she couldn’t quite stifle a groan. She wanted a hot mug of tea—and a painkiller—more than she wanted to argue semantics or social prejudice with this man. Besides, if he was a threat to her, he could easily have already made his move.

With a curt nod, she climbed the stairs in the only way she could—left leg leading, right leg slower to follow. When she made it to the porch, she unlocked the door.

The cabin was cooling, but not yet uncomfortable. Merritt went immediately to the fish tank and tapped on the glass. “I’m back. It’ll be better in a few minutes.”

The door closed with a thud. “You’re talking to fish?”

Merritt didn’t bother looking over her shoulder; she could tell by the tone of Cain’s voice that he thought her ridiculous. “I work too many hours to have a dog or cat.” She wasn’t going to admit there were cats in the barn. They were wild—or at least independent—and she was a bit scared of them.

“How smart is it to torture yourself for a couple of overpriced goldfish?”

“They know their names—Wanda and Willy.” She finally made herself glance back at him and got a blank stare in return. “From the movies A Fish Called Wanda and Free Willy?”

With a brief shake of his head, Cain crossed to the stove and flipped open the damper in the flue. That’s when his expression changed. He’d undoubtedly noticed what she’d been fretting about since lighting her first fire this season.

“It feels like the damper is about shot. It’s hanging on one side. By chance do you have another?”

“Do you mean this?” Merritt went to the brick wall behind the stove and picked up the round piece of metal that had been on the ledge for as long as she’d been a resident. Early on, Alvie had told her it would need to be changed one day when the old one wore out. “I’d hoped it would last until spring when I could let the stove cool enough to work in there.”

“You thought you could do this yourself? First of all, your arms are too short to reach in and up that high. Second, how did you expect to hold it in place and still stand outside and slip in the rod to secure it?”

“I guess I didn’t think,” she admitted.

He grunted his agreement and opened the door on the stove to gauge what he was dealing with. A moment later, he slipped off his jacket and tugged his T-shirt over his head.

“What are you doing?” Merritt gasped.

“These are the only clothes I own at the moment. I’d like to avoid ruining them.”

The last man she’d seen in this state of undress had been her stepbrother, Dennis, whose skin was as pale as a corpse with a beer belly that hung so far over his jeans he resembled cupcake batter overflowing a pan. In comparison, there wasn’t an ounce of flesh on Cain Paxton’s bronze body that wasn’t hard muscle.

“But you’ll burn yourself.”

Testing the side of the stove with his hand, Cain shrugged. “It’s cooled down quite a bit. It shouldn’t be too bad. I’ll need you to help, though.” He pulled the stem from the outside of the flue and the subsequent rattle and thud was indication enough that the old damper fell into the remaining few coals. “See this?” He showed her the steel pin with its twisted end designed for control by hand of the level of airflow. “When I stick the new damper up into the stack, you watch through that hole. When these slots are aligned to the opening, you stick this pin back through. You have to slip it all the way and make it come out the other side of the stack. Understood?”

“Is that even possible?” The slots weren’t half the width of her pinky nail—and she’d heard too often than she had the hands of a preteen.

“It better be, or you’ll freeze tonight as all of the heat rushes up and out of here through the stack.” After opening the stove door, he nodded. “The buildup of ashes over the remaining coals will help suppress the heat,” he said, lowering himself to his knees. “I’ll leave them until I’m done.”

Merritt didn’t think he would get so much as his head and a shoulder into the opening, but he managed. Nevertheless, it took several tries to get the damper replaced, partly because Merritt’s hands were shaking from nervousness, partly because Cain had difficulty maintaining the correct position. But—after several muffled curses from him—suddenly the pin slid all the way through and out the opposite hole.

“Thank God,” she whispered, almost weak with relief.

“As soon as I clean up, I’ll get rid of those ashes and get you that wood,” Cain said, trying not to touch his jeans as he rose to his feet.

Merritt saw how filthy he had indeed gotten on her behalf. “Please, the bathroom is to the left just before you go out the back door.” She pointed through the kitchen. “Help yourself to soap and towels. Whatever you need. I really am grateful for your help, Mr. Paxton.”

“The name is Cain. The only Mr. Paxton in these parts wouldn’t take kindly to hearing you using his name in reference to me.” Cain grimaced at his hands and the soot smeared over his arms and chest. “Do you have a couple of old rags? I don’t want to ruin any frilly lady things. This creosote won’t wash out easily.”

As she wiped at a miniscule streak of soot on her hands, Merritt felt another blush threaten. “I don’t own any frilly things. You use what you need to, and I’ll put on a kettle for tea. You’ll welcome that after being out in the wind again.”




Chapter Two


As he headed for the bathroom, Cain’s mood soured anew. He didn’t want any tea, he wanted a beer … or better yet something stronger. But he doubted Miss Merritt Miller had ever tasted anything more potent than Communion grape juice, let alone allowed anything alcoholic in her house. That was yet another reason to get out of here, he thought, shutting the door behind himself.

It was ironic that he’d arrived in town early this morning with a deep-seated fire in his belly for justice; however, he’d barely begun digesting breakfast, and this scrawny, ghost-pale woman had succeeded in resurrecting the last two or three ounces of human compassion left in him and thrown him off his plan. He’d had no choice but to help her; there was no way she could have managed to repair the stove herself. Hell, he thought, gingerly checking the spots on his inner right arm and abdomen, he’d gotten burned himself a couple of times on the still-hot metal.

No telling what all needed attention around the place, he mused as he turned on the hot water tap and started soaping his hands. He remembered the house being old when he was a kid. Alvie and her first, then second, husband were living there then. And a baby. To the best of his recollection, the child had died in infancy—some influenza that had wreaked havoc on the area.

The Miller girl was keeping things spotless, he would give her that. As he noted the neatly folded, dark blue towel on the rack, which would do nicely for drying off, he figured she would get all puffed if she knew he was thinking of her as a girl—she was probably in her mid-twenties. But she didn’t need him thinking of her as a woman. Having been deprived of female company for over three years—counting the months he’d gone crazy sitting in the county jail while his worthless public defender was bulldozed by Paxton money and influence—his fingers itched to bury themselves in Merritt Miller’s lush brown hair. She wore it in a loose braid down her back, and not once did it sweep saucily across her cute butt. She was that quiet and steady of a mover. Everything moderated and even, despite the hip—maybe because of it.

Her scent was here, which made sense—it was the soap. Simple, clean. On her body it became feminine and delicate. Surrounded by it again, he breathed in deeply and almost groaned with pleasure. To regain his equilibrium, he leaned into the sink and scrubbed his face and hair. The amount of work it took reminded him that he needed a haircut. Badly.

He ended up having to use the hand towel as a washrag to get the soot off. By the time he was done, the burn on his belly and arm were seeping, so he checked the medicine cabinet for antibiotic ointment. He found it and a gauze pad for the worst one on his abdomen. He also found a package of throwaway razors. He’d inherited the Native American sparseness of body hair, but there was enough to get his attention, so he reached for one of the razors, too.

While there wasn’t much room to maneuver in the small confines, Cain took a small pleasure in the privacy of the closed door. That’s the one thing he had been most offended and affected by in prison. He was tempted to strip and step into the tub under the hot shower spray, but the little waitress didn’t deserve to be thrown into another tailspin. He did, however, let himself imagine her behind that clear plastic shower curtain, naked and sleek from the water sluicing down her body. Her head would be tilted way back, her wet hair cupping her sweet bottom the way he wanted to.

What is her story? he wondered as he hung the soaked towels over the shower rod. While hardly beautiful by today’s commercial standards, she had a child’s flawless skin and pleasant enough, though not remarkable, features. Her serious eyes were a shade lighter than her mahogany hair. When she wasn’t studying him like a dubious owl, there had been a sadness in their depths, and secrets. Those eyes would probably make heads turn if she used a little makeup, as would her mouth. It was small, but formed like a bud. Hell, he thought, if she just licked them moist, she could make a man lose his train of thought. If she would lick him—

A spasm in his groin reminded him that he’d been successful in the weight room and needed to look into getting a size larger jeans. He hissed as he adjusted his clothing, then slid on his T-shirt.

Get the damned wood for her and get out of here.

Yes, he had to go. Word would spread quickly that he was back, and he needed to move on to the reservation and see his grandmother. With the storm about to make driving difficult, he hoped she would put him up for a night or two until he figured out if it would be possible to get a job in the area, or if old prejudices would force him to move on. No doubt his grandmother could use a hand around the place, too.

He raked his hands through his wet hair and wished he’d taken the time for a haircut. No wonder Merritt, the little ferret, was spooked by him, he thought as he checked his reflection one last time before emerging from the bathroom. Better, he thought, but with his chin-length hair, he looked like one of his wilder ancestors.

Merritt was taking the tea bags out of the mugs and adding honey and lemon as he reached her. “I appreciate the hospitality,” he said. “I didn’t know where you wanted the towels, so I spread everything on the shower curtain rod.”

“That’s fine. And you can call me by my name. It’s Merritt,” she said as though guessing he hadn’t paid attention before.

“I remember.”

“I’ll tell Alvie how kind you were.” She pushed the mug across the counter toward him.

Noting her hands were trembling slightly, he murmured his thanks. “You might want to rethink that idea. She’s always been decent to me, but she might not like the idea of me being anywhere near you—or being allowed into her house.”

Merritt glanced up at him from beneath fine but surprisingly long lashes. “She’s the one who told me about your uncle and the price you paid for trying to get justice for him. I’m sorry.”

“Me, too—since I didn’t succeed.”

“Excuse me?”

Certain that Alvie had shared the official Paxton spin on things, he was determined to at least get his side told to someone other than people who would see the truth was buried. “My uncle lived long enough to give me a description of the vehicle and a partial license plate number. That told me the truck belonged to my father’s ranch, and the driver turned out to be the ranch foreman, Dane Jones. I tracked him down determined to haul his worthless butt to the sheriff’s office, only to find out someone beat me to him. Someone had knocked him senseless. And when the deputies arrived right on my heels, Jones let me take the fall for what happened to him.”

“That’s terrible. Couldn’t your father intervene?”

“He died before I was born,” Cain replied grimly.

“What about his father, your grandfather?”

When Cain sent her a “we’re done talking” look, Merritt grew flustered. “Surely the authorities could see that your hands weren’t bruised and that you hadn’t been in a fight?”

“It’s a long story.” He shouldn’t have said as much as he did, but he’d wanted her to understand what it meant to sympathize with a half-breed who was considered an outcast even by his own flesh and blood. The more she kept her distance, the better off things would be for both of them. Ignoring the tea, Cain went into the living room where he slid into his jacket and reached for the galvanized steel bucket behind the stove, then the shovel on the implement stand.

“I take it that your mother has passed, too?” Merritt asked from the wide kitchen entryway.

“I came into the world and she went out.”

“Dear God. I’m sorry. Again.”

“Ancient history. Look,” he said, growing increasingly uncomfortable, “let me just get this stove cleaned out, and I’ll get your wood. There are things I need to do.”

“Of course. I can manage on my own now. Please don’t make yourself late for my sake.”

Embarrassment turned her cheeks the color of raspberries, which in turn made Cain feel like a creep. “I don’t mean to insult you,” he said with a patience he didn’t feel. Why was he treating this little pest with kid gloves? He didn’t care about anyone or anything anymore. At least that’s what he’d told himself six thousand times while behind bars. “I just— I know you feel uneasy around me. For the record, that goes both ways.”

Her expression made him think that he’d suddenly begun speaking in a different language.

“What am I doing that makes you uncomfortable?

There weren’t enough words to answer her question, but she made him feel decades older than his thirty-three years. Concluding that it was best to leave Merritt with her naive perspective on small town law and order intact, Cain set into the task of filling the bucket with ashes, which he carried out back beyond the barn. It took two more trips before he was ready to start adding kindling to the remaining coals and get another fire going.

When he was satisfied that the fire would keep burning, he headed outside without further comment and started loading the rack onto the porch. It was snowing steadily now, and the intensifying wind started to carry the flakes horizontally.

At some point the mug of hot tea mysteriously showed up on one of the half-moon slices of hardwood, and he paused to take a few swallows, grateful for the relief against the cold. This kind of work in this kind of weather required a hat and gloves, neither of which he possessed yet. She knew—and wouldn’t let him pretend it didn’t matter.

Several trips later, he had enough wood to last her a few days. As he looked for a spot to set the empty mug so that he could avoid going inside again, the door opened. She’d wrapped herself in a shawl over her apron and turned away as occasional snowflakes slapped at her.

“I’ll take that,” she said softly. Her gaze only grazed him.

“I appreciate the gesture.” He handed it over, careful not to make contact. Those damned hands were trembling again—or hadn’t stopped. “I’ll be on my way now.”

“Be safe.”

He didn’t know if that was possible. He did believe getting away from here would improve his chances greatly. Nevertheless, when she retreated back into the house and closed the door, he felt—guilty? Something he couldn’t describe, but he resented the feeling.

He turned up the collar of his jeans jacket, and his long-legged stride took him off the porch, skipping the stairs. Then he jogged to his truck, slipping several times, his cowboy boots slick on the wet snow.

Once in the truck, he glanced back at the cottage. If nothing had changed while he’d been gone, it was the only residence for another mile or so. In this weather the place looked more isolated than ever. But that wasn’t his problem, he reminded himself.

He turned the key and had to floor the gas pedal before the old truck coughed and the engine reluctantly started. “Man, are you going to be a money pit,” he muttered. Unfortunately, it was all that he could afford with the money he had.

As he drove toward the reservation, he forced himself to think forward and prepare for the reunion. He’d had no letters from home in the years that he’d been locked away. Except for his grandmother, there was no other immediate family, and Gran had never learned to write. Was she even alive? He tried to recall how old she would be, but couldn’t. His mother had had two sisters besides the brother who’d been run over. The last he knew of either of them, one had moved to Nevada and the other to Wyoming. He needed to prepare for the possibility that there was no reason to stay in Almost.

With the extra-strength pain pill taking effect, Merritt was able to push back the blanket she’d been lying under and ease off the bed. It still depressed her that she moved like someone twice her age when she first got up after a nap, and especially after a full night’s rest, but the house had warmed nicely. After one more mug of hot tea, she would be at full speed again—or as good as someone in her condition could be.

She hadn’t meant to lie down, but the upheaval with Cain Paxton’s arrival in town, added to the weather’s effect on her body, had left her with little choice. Not if she intended to last through the dinner shift. Once in the kitchen, she turned on the oven before inspecting the several loaves of dough she’d reworked a last time and covered with clean damp dish towels before lying down. They would produce beautiful honey-cracked wheat bread and finish baking just in time for her to carry back to town.

Once she got them in the oven, she started on the cheese sticks that Alvie liked to serve with soups and salads. The corn bread would be next. She supplemented her income by baking for Alvie, as well as taking special cake and pie orders for birthdays, anniversaries and holidays. She’d been doing that since school, having learned early in life that she had to rely on her own income if she wanted to survive. Whatever money her mother had earned—when she’d been in any condition to work—went to booze, or was mooched or taken by whatever man was in her life. What had begun out of necessity had evolved into an enjoyable creative process. The labor proved an excellent tension outlet and therapy for a shy, frightened child, who needed healthy ways to escape a basket case home life.

As she mixed the shortening and flour, her mind inevitably drifted to Cain. Had he reached his grandmother? His truck looked to be twice as old as Leroy’s, but at least it ran. For the moment.

She hoped he could make a new start. She had known her share of ex-cons in her twenty-seven years. Her mother had rarely hooked up with any other kind of man—until Stanley Wooten. Although Stanley was just lucky that he’d never been caught and locked away—like his son Dennis.

Shuddering, Merritt pushed them back into a dark hole in her mind and visually locked the door. No, she thought, Cain Paxton might look intimidating but, incredibly, he wasn’t corrupted or evil yet. He’d shown her kindness and concern, and she’d seen shame and regret in his dark eyes. He wasn’t lost. Yet.

The afternoon passed quickly and bit by bit product stacked on the counter, until Merritt knew she had to brave the intensifying storm outside and make the awful trek to town. As she packed her baked goods into the oversize thermal carrier, she hoped against hope that Leroy would show up at the road. But as she fed the wood-burning stove a last time, she knew the folly of such a wish. Leroy loved Alvie; however, that didn’t mean that he was going to compromise his comfort by coming after her, even if she was key to making Alvie’s business more successful. Especially not when he would first have to jump-start a battery that had needed replacing weeks ago.

Leaving on a kitchen light and a lamp near the aquarium for Wanda and Willy, she leaned down to the glass. “It should be an early night. Not to worry.”

Outside, the stairs were already treacherous and covered with snow. Merritt tugged the shawl over her head farther down to protect her face and vision and made the descent with care, hugging the carrier like a baby. The wind was trying to turn it into a sail and lift her off the ground. Although it wasn’t yet officially sunset, it was already growing dark. Locals and the errant vacationer would come to the café due to these awful conditions, which was the only reason she plodded on.

When she reached the road, she saw that her trail, even the truck’s tire treads, were covered by new snow. Yes, she would make it to town, but could she make it home later? She hoped the few snowplows in the area were at least keeping downtown in navigable condition.

No more than a few dozen yards up the road, she heard the sound of a vehicle behind her. As she turned, she tried to identify the vehicle, hoping to get a lift the rest of the way—or, if it was a stranger, to have time to jump aside and not be hit. Surely the driver would see her bright red shawl?

The same beaten-up, black pickup that had been parked in front of her house earlier today slowed and stopped beside her. Cain leaned over and shoved the passenger door open for her.

“Get in,” he yelled above the wind and motor.

Relieved beyond words, Merritt planted her thermal tote on the floorboard and then hoisted herself into the truck. It probably wasn’t a graceful maneuver, but she wasn’t auditioning for anything. “I’m grateful, Mr. Paxton—Cain. I didn’t think you’d be back this way again. At least not today.”

“Neither did I. I almost turned into your yard when I saw lights on, but then I spotted you up here. You are one stubborn woman.”

“I like to think of myself as a responsible employee.”

“Who takes foolish risks. You know you’d be less challenge to a wolf than a deer would be, even in this weather. I will admit you smell better than this lousy truck, though,” he added. “I take it the baking was successful?”

“If you’ll come inside for a few minutes when we reach the café, I’ll get you a cup of coffee and a couple of my fresh rolls with herb butter as a thank-you for coming to my aid.”

“I’ll take you up on that offer.”

His acceptance and the odd, weary note in his voice drew her attention. “So why are you heading back to town? Didn’t you find your grandmother?”

“I did. She’s dead.”

Merritt didn’t gasp, but all of her major organs reacted as though she had. “Oh, I am—” She paused realizing she’d been saying “sorry” incessantly to him today. “Sincere condolences,” she managed, although the words sounded awkward to her ears. No telling how inane they must sound to him.

After several seconds he murmured, “Thanks.”

“Was there someone to fill you in on what happened and when?” She hoped that he hadn’t walked into an empty house and been forced to come to his own conclusions.

“Yeah, a cousin. It happened a year ago. Pneumonia. She wouldn’t go to the clinic, not that it would have done any good at her age.”

Merritt wasn’t one to run to a doctor herself. She could only imagine how difficult the choice would be for someone who had no reason to trust another culture’s medicine or didn’t have the funds. “What will you do now?”

“Get you to work. Have another warm meal.”

Sometimes it was a good thing to deal with only one detail at a time. She knew that from her own experience. But a million questions flooded her mind. Was there no one else to welcome him home? The cousin’s parents? Siblings? Considering the weather, did no one have room to put him up for the night?

“I’ll seat you in the same place if you like and make sure you get seconds of whatever you’d like.”

“Don’t get any ideas about turning me into your personal charity case.”

And he called her stubborn? “Believe me, I can’t afford to adopt you, and I have better things to do with my time than to beg you to accept my help so I can feel good about myself.”

“Good.”

As they rounded the curve, the lights of town came into view if not the buildings themselves. Merritt refused to speak again, having no desire to irritate what had to be a sore wound, or to be rebuked. She was curious as to where he would go after he ate—if he agreed to eat now. There was no motel in town, not even a bed-and-breakfast.

There were several cars already parked in front of the café. It would appear that a number of the shop owners had closed early, eager for a hot meal. None of them knew if there would be electricity at their homes so they could cook for themselves. A few were likely to spend the night in their own storage rooms on a cot.

With no parking place available, Cain simply stopped behind those parked to let her out. Merritt could tell he had changed his mind about coming in.

“Park in back,” she told him. “I can let you in from the rear and you can eat in the pantry-storage room. That’s where we take our breaks when it’s slow.”

Cain shook his head. He was focusing on a state police vehicle beside a sheriff’s car. “I guess I’ll pass. See you around.”

Knowing it was a waste of her time to argue, Merritt scooped the tote into her arms. “The offer stands,” she said before sliding gingerly to the ground. It took all of her body to slam the door shut; the wind was right in her face. She couldn’t blame him for being reluctant to take on the law on his first day back, whether or not the people inside were the officers who’d arrested him. He was probably thinking of Nikki being there and ratting on how she was getting him a free meal in back.

Merritt thought about going around back herself, but it was dark and the footing could be treacherous depending on what Leroy had temporarily stacked in the alley. So she paused at the front door to stomp the excess snow off her boots and try to brush what she could from her shawl and jacket. By then Mr. Forrester, the independent insurance agent, came to hold the door open for her.

“Have to help the girl with the goods,” he said, although he grimaced as his good deed earned him a face full of snow.

Others in the place turned and a few applauded. One pragmatic person hollered, “Shut the door! Draft!”

“I just served the last of your corn bread, sweetie,” Nikki told her while taking an order at the start of her usual section. “I hope you have more.”

Merritt responded with an enigmatic look. Nikki hoped she hadn’t remembered or had run out of time. The young woman, who had changed into a lower-cut blouse for the evening shift, was as transparent as she was shallow. When she wasn’t consumed with her own interests, she was undermining the other waitresses. The only time she noticed anyone else was if it was in her best interest to make a good impression in front of a customer, like now, or she was trying to figure out someone she saw as competition. While she was semi-living with Paxton ranch foreman Josh Bevans, Nikki made no bones about looking for a one-way ticket out of Almost. Preferably out of Montana. She honestly believed she was meant for bigger and better things.

“Any fried pies in there?” Sam Hughes asked. He owed the pharmacy at the other end of their block.

With an apologetic shake of her head, Merritt said, “Not tonight. I had some stove repair to deal with. Your favorite is chocolate, right? I’ll get some made by tomorrow afternoon, okay?”

“You’re a sweetheart, Merritt.”

“And a Goody Two-shoes,” Nikki murmured as she brushed past her on her way to take an order ticket to the kitchen.

In her clunky boots, shawl and too-large jacket, Merritt felt frumpy bringing up the rear as the other waitress advertised herself by swaying her hips all but shrink-wrapped in a leather skirt. How Nikki managed to work the night in those open-toed, four-inch heels was nothing short of miraculous, but she didn’t miss an opportunity to show off a pedicure any more than she did her other assets.

By the time Merritt set down her tote, and shed the shawl, jacket and boots, Nikki was back up front. Relieved, Merritt tied her sneakers, then went over to Alvie at the grill as she tied on her apron. “Looks like it will be busy despite the weather.”

“You okay? How are the roads?”

“Already bad. Someone kindly gave me a ride.”

“Good. Not a stranger?” Alvie asked, giving her a brief, stern look. “You watch for strangers even in these parts, Miller Moth. Especially in these parts.”

To hide her guilty expression, Merritt turned to the tote to unpack. “You’re going to love the cheese sticks. That new cheddar your supplier recommended works so well. I think I actually prefer them to the Parmesan.”

“Knowing how much you love them, that’s something. Bring me one when you finish—and tell Nikki to push the soup now that we have them. Did you have time to make the corn bread? Chili is moving tonight. No surprise there.”

“Yeah, I heard Nikki served the last of them. I have two dozen muffins, which should get us through tonight easily enough.”

“This weather makes people overindulge. If they keep inhaling the freebies the way they are, I’m going to have to go up on our prices. Everything okay at the house? You have enough wood? Did you leave the cabinet doors open under the sink before you left to try to keep the pipes from freezing?”

“Not to worry. It’s all set.”

“Child, you amaze me. I should have told Leroy to get his lazy backside over there earlier in the week to at least get the wood situation taken care of, but you know how he is. I’d be spending the rest of the week nursing his aches and pains instead of my own. And to add to the truck’s battery problems, this afternoon he found a tire’s gone flat.”

Merritt might not own a vehicle, but she knew they required regular attention. A tire could go flat if the machine wasn’t driven once in a while. Her bemusement turned to guilt as she realized that she’d let Alvie think she’d done everything herself. But as Cain had said, she’d only be making things difficult for both of them if she admitted he handled the difficult work and heavy lifting. So she finished unpacking and got out front as soon as she heard more diners arrive.

It was almost eight o’clock when Nikki’s boyfriend drove his silver, diesel, three-quarter-ton pickup into a parking spot up front and tapped the horn lightly. Only three customers lingered over dessert at that point. Nikki waved to Josh and ran in back to tell Alvie she was headed off for the night.

“See you when I see you,” Alvie drawled. She already had her area cleaned up and had begun her prep work for the morning.

It was general knowledge that maybe Nikki would be in and maybe she wouldn’t. It depended on how deep the snowfall was by morning, and whether the female alley cat ever got to bed—or, rather, slept once she made it there.

In typical Nikki fashion, she stopped just outside the door and squealed at Josh, waving her hands in the air like a fictional maiden in distress. Merritt watched in quiet awe as Josh exited the warm cab to sweep her into his arms and carry her to the passenger side of the truck. No way was Nikki going to ruin her high heels, let alone plunge her bared toes in freezing snow. It would never cross Nikki’s mind to bring a change of footwear—like boots—to work. Merritt had heard her say on more than one occasion that a man had to be trained from the start. If he wanted a show pony, he had to deserve one, and that cost attention as well as money.

Poor, foolish Josh, Merritt thought as the truck backed out of the slot. She caught a customer’s signal and went to retrieve their ticket. By the time she brought them their change, Cain had entered.

He glanced around at the remaining diners, then took a counter seat at the far end of the kitchen. Merritt guessed he was still in no mood to be sociable and wanted to stay out of sight of the kitchen.

“I thought you’d given up on the idea of dinner,” she told him as she brought a glass of water, silverware and a menu.

He ignored the menu and the question and asked, “What’s the hottest thing Alvie has back there?”

“Chili or the soup. Today’s is chicken-vegetable. With noodles, not rice or potatoes,” she added. Sometimes customers had a preference.

“I’ll take the chili if you meant it about saving some bread for me?”

“You get corn bread with that, but I’ll fix you a basket with a little bit of everything. You want to stick with water or are you up to a little more coffee? We also have hot tea or chocolate.”

“Coffee.”

Since he’d chosen the seat he had, she didn’t prolong their conversation and resisted asking him where he’d been keeping himself for the last three hours. By now she’d convinced herself that he’d headed for the interstate and might be halfway to Helena, or maybe even en route to Idaho or Wyoming by now. Could he have parked in back and waited out the traffic in here? It was odd that he’d managed to miss Nikki and Josh.

Alvie wasn’t pleased when Merritt arrived with an order ticket. But she relaxed when she learned it was for chili, which Merritt scooped into a bowl herself.

As Merritt moved to the container of grated cheddar, Alvie inspected the chili pot. “There’s only a cup left in here.” She reached for a cup. “You didn’t eat two bites for dinner. Throw some cheese on this and swallow it quick before you head up front again.”

Merritt demurred. “I really don’t need beef in my system at this hour. Cain has a lumberjack’s appetite, I’ll give it to him.”

The shrewd woman did a double take. “That’s Cain out there? What’s he doing hanging around town? I thought he went back to the reservation this morning.”

Merritt prepared a basket of the breads for him and tucked in two portions of the herbal butter. “It doesn’t sound as though he’s staying. He learned that his grandmother is dead. Did you know that?” Her boss usually was up to speed on all the news in town.

Alvie winced. “I did not. Didn’t know her personally, either, but she seemed to be a steadying influence on him. What a rotten welcome home. Poor guy can’t get a break.”

Heartened by that generosity, Merritt saw the opportunity to come clean about today. “He stopped at the cottage when he left here. He was checking around when I got home. He said he was looking for a place to rent.”

“More than likely hunting for something to hock. Did you have a problem chasing him off?”

“I started to until I saw who it was. Then I didn’t see the need. I don’t think he’s a thief, Alvie. He just remembered the place as empty. It was an honest misunderstanding.” Merritt decided she needed to know everything. “Alvie … the stove problem? He fixed the damper for me. He also restocked the wood inside and the stand on the porch. On his way back from the reservation, he gave me a lift.”

Alvie’s plump face went through several transitions before she puffed up her cheeks like a blowfish. “What do you mean letting a stranger in the house, young lady?”

“He’s not a stranger,” she whispered back, hoping the older woman would take the hint. “You and Leroy know him.”

“But you don’t. And none of us have a clue as to what all has happened to him since he was put away. I declare, Merritt—”

“The stove is as good as new,” Merritt reiterated. “If he hadn’t been available, I’d be returning to a walk-in freezer this evening—and it’s likely your customers might not have bread tomorrow.”

Her calm tone and sound logic deflated her aggravated employer somewhat. “You have me there. Still, this isn’t like you to accept so easily. Usually, you’re as skittish as a filly around strangers, particularly men.” Seeing Merritt’s expression grow closed, she quickly added, “Okay, okay, so I reason through things out loud. I’m glad everything is back in order. Just be careful, will you? What you heard about him being something of a lady-killer isn’t all exaggeration. Back before he got into serious trouble, you could count the female tongues hanging to the ground when he went through town. Even a married lady or two made fools of themselves inviting his attention. All that testosterone has probably only compounded being locked away in prison.”

“He’s been perfectly decent. Good grief,” Merritt added, “you sound like you’re lecturing Nikki. I’m no flirt.”

“There’s a first time for everything when it comes to the mysteries of chemistry. Look at me and Leroy. Better yet, don’t. We aren’t a pretty sight.”

As Alvie laughed at her own humor, Merritt shook her head. “What you and Leroy share is uniquely yours. Don’t make fun of that.”

“I’m not, really,” the older woman replied with a sigh. “I was more upset that you felt as though I was treating you like ‘Miss Always In Season.’ For the record, I don’t waste my concern or breath on Nikki. I just live with the hope that she ups and takes off with some specimen before I have to fire her. She’s exactly the kind to file for unemployment, and I would greatly resent having to pay half of that.” Alvie nodded at the tray Merritt had prepared with the chili and breadbasket. “Dinner is on the house tonight. No doubt he’ll get his back up, but tell him it’s my appreciation for the help at the house.”

Great, Merritt thought, picking up the tray. Now he’d get bent out of shape because she’d told Alvie everything.

To her surprise, however, Cain accepted the gesture. And, after he finished everything, including all of the breads, he agreed to a hot slice of apple pie, too. That’s when Merritt understood that he was killing time in order to give her a lift home. Also to avoid the cold. That made her wonder where would he go afterward.

None of your business. Can’t you see that even though he wants to stay in the warmth, he’s trying to avoid eye contact so you won’t get tempted to make too much small talk?





Конец ознакомительного фрагмента. Получить полную версию книги.


Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/helen-myers-r/almost-a-hometown-bride/) на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.