“I’m sure he is,” Bo said. He took a sip of the strong black coffee. “He brews a good cup of coffee, too.”
Customers at other tables were clamoring for attention. The waitress gave Bo and Scratch a friendly nod, then went back to work.
Scratch sighed. “It’s downright amazin’ how far in my mouth I can shove this big ol’ foot of mine sometimes.”
“I wouldn’t worry about it,” Bo said. “Like the girl told you, you didn’t know about her pa.”
Scratch cast an interested look at the counter and the woman working behind it. “That means the lady’s a widow. Wonder exactly how long it’s been since her husband passed on.” There was nothing Scratch found more intriguing than a good-looking widow lady.
Bo laughed. “I get a feeling that if we wind up staying in Mankiller for very long, we’ll be eating here a lot.”
“We might be,” Scratch said. “We just might be.”
If they did, the quality of the food would justify it, Bo discovered as their meals arrived a few minutes later, delivered by the same waitress. The roast beef was tender, bursting with juices and flavor, and the rest of the food was almost as good. The biscuits were light and fluffy, a far cry from what a fella could cook on the trail. The apple pie topped off the meal perfectly, with its sweet filling and light, flaky crust. All of it was washed down with several cups of coffee, which the pretty brunette kept refilling.
The lunch rush died down a little while the Texans were eating. By the time they were finished, only about half the tables were occupied, and there were a few empty stools at the counter. The woman working there, the mother of the two waitresses, was able to pause and catch her breath. She pushed back a strand of brown hair that had come loose and fallen over her forehead. There were some threads of gray in that hair, but not many, Bo noted. He had to agree with what he knew Scratch was thinking…the woman had a mature beauty that made her very attractive.
In all their years of traveling together, the two of them had seldom if ever paid court to the same woman. One always deferred to the other out of the deep friendship they had developed. Since Scratch had expressed an interest in this lady first, Bo didn’t intend to interfere.
He didn’t expect anything lasting to come from it, anyway. Scratch had never been the sort to settle down. If such thoughts even began to crop up in his head, he tended to skedaddle as quickly as possible.
Now, however, Scratch stood up and, holding his hat in front of him, went over to the counter. He smiled at the woman and said, “Ma’am, I just wanted to tell you that was the best meal I’ve had in a month of Sundays.”
She returned the smile. “Why, thank you, Mister…?”
“Morton, ma’am. They call me Scratch.”
“Well, thank you again, Mr. Morton, but I can’t take credit for the food. My brother is the cook.”
“If you’d pass along my compliments to him, I’d sure appreciate it. And I can promise you, my partner and I will be back to eat here again.”
“I hope so. Are you planning to be in Mankiller for long?”
“Depends on how we do once we start prospectin’.”
The woman’s smile went away. “You came here looking for gold?”
“Yes, ma’am. We read all about the big strike.” Scratch saw something like disapproval lurking in her eyes. “You don’t like the gold strike, ma’am? Seems like it’d help your business a lot.”
“Of course it does,” she said, “and I don’t begrudge anyone who wants to seek their fortune. But I’d like to see more people come here who’d like to put down roots and help the town grow once this boom is over, as sooner or later it will be.”
Scratch nodded. “I reckon you’re right about that, ma’am. My partner and me, we ain’t really the putting- down-roots sort of hombres, though.”
“I see. Well, you’re welcome here while you’re in town, Mr. Morton, however long that may be.”
“Thank you most kindly, ma’am. I didn’t catch your name…?”
“It’s Mrs. Bonner.” For a second it seemed like that was all she was going to give him. Then she relented a little and added, “Lucinda Bonner.”
“That’s a mighty pretty name, Mrs. Bonner. It suits you.”
Bo figured he’d let Scratch flirt with the woman long enough. He came up to the counter as well and asked, “How much do we owe you for the coffee and two specials, ma’am?” The price wasn’t written on the chalkboard.
She turned to look at Bo. “That’ll be ten dollars.”
The eyes of both Texans widened in surprise. Scratch’s shock overcame his interest in Lucinda Bonner, and he blurted, “Ten bucks? Ain’t that kinda steep?”
“Of course it is,” she replied. “But in Mankiller, five dollars isn’t bad for a meal like that. You can go over to the hash house and get a bowl of greasy stew that isn’t nearly as good, and it will set you back four dollars.”
“Why are the prices so high?”
“Because the price of supplies is so high. I promise you, Mr. Morton, we’re not gouging our customers. Even charging what we do, the cafe is barely getting by, if you want to know.”
Bo said, “It’s a boomtown. Supply and demand. Demand is high, and supplies are limited. We’ve seen it before, Scratch.”
“Yeah, I reckon so.” Scratch shook his head. “Still, it’s mighty dear.”
