Tina set a cup and saucer on the counter, turned the cup upright and filled it from another pot of coffee that she pulled from the warmer on the giant machine behind the counter. With her free hand, she set a small pitcher containing real cream on the counter, then added a tall glass sugar dispenser with a metal cap. “Specials are on the board,” she said, reiterating what Nell’s counter mate had already pointed out. “We’re out of cherry pie, though.”
“Order up!” A grizzled man’s face briefly appeared in the pass-through window to the kitchen. A thick white plate full of food clattered slightly when he set it on the stainless steel ledge. Then his face disappeared from view again.
Tina turned away from Nell and grabbed the plate. “Thanks, Bubba,” she called through the pass-through before delivering it to a patron at the far end of the counter. On her way back, she scooped up a check and a wad of cash and coins.
There was music playing—presumably from the shining jukebox standing in one corner. It wasn’t loud enough to rise above the clatter of dishes and voices, though. Half the occupants of the diner were men; nearly all possessed hat marks in their hair from the cowboy hats and ball caps that sat on tables or the ledges on the backs of booths. Three women still wore their cowboy hats and one had a mass of dreads piled to a spectacular height atop her head.
The cash register pinged softly as Tina deposited the money, then she turned to Nell once again and pulled her pencil from her ponytail. “What can I get you?”
The slab of meat loaf between thick slices of bread on Squire’s plate did look appetizing, but the scent of grilling burgers reigned supreme for Nell. Even though she hadn’t really looked at the menu and it wasn’t listed on the chalkboard, Nell ordered a cheeseburger and fries.
“You bet.” Tina turned away again and stuck the order she’d written on the revolving rack in the pass-through. She turned back again with almost balletic grace and looked at the man next to Nell. “Squire, anything else I can get for you? Slice of chocolate pie?”
The man shook his head. “Think I’ll pass, darlin’. All these weeks o’ this fine food and my shirts are getting tight.” He patted the front of his faded blue chambray shirt.
Nell glanced at him. His stomach looked flatter than her own. Regardless of his age, he also looked fitter than her, too. “You eat here often, then?”
“Every day since I’ve worked here,” Tina answered before Squire could. She set a napkin and flatware in place for Nell. “Nearly four months now.” She winked at Squire. “My boyfriend’s completely jealous, too, of my lunchtime date.”
Squire chuckled, though the sound of it seemed a little forced to Nell.
Another waitress—this one older than Tina—stopped at the cash register and stuck a check on the spindle. She gave Squire a stern look that was belied by the smile on her face. “You promised you’d stop flirting with my servers, Squire. What am I going to do with you?”
“As much as I love you, Tabby girl, I’m too old to change my ways now. That grandson of mine you married should have told you that by now.”
Tabby’s eyes sparkled. When she rounded the counter again, she dropped a fond kiss on Squire’s tanned, weathered cheek, greeted another customer by name as he entered, and headed off.
Nell didn’t know if Tabby managed or owned the restaurant, but given the comment about her servers, she figured it was one or the other. It dawned on her, then, that the look in Squire’s eyes earlier had been pride.
Vivian wore a similar expression whenever she spoke of Archer.
Nell looked at her counter mate. “Something tells me you know a lot about this town.” She extended her hand. If this man actually was Vivian’s roadblock on the town council, she might as well get off on a good footing with him while she had a chance to. “I’m Nell Brewster. I’m moving here from Cheyenne.”
His eyes crinkled as he returned the handshake. “Squire Clay,” he offered, thus confirming Nell’s assumption. “And you’ve made a fine choice. I’ll take Weaver any day over Cheyenne.” He slanted a look toward her briefcase. “Not many folks carry one of those around these parts.”
She lifted her shoulder. “Professional habit, I’m afraid,” she admitted wryly. “Lawyer by trade.”
His eyes narrowed slightly as he studied her face. “You coming on with Tom Hook? Heard he was looking for someone.”
“No.” She didn’t even know who Tom Hook was. “Not planning to officially practice here.” Not yet, at any rate. She unfolded the large paper napkin over her lap as Tina set a basket heaped with glistening golden fries and a plate with her cheeseburger and fixings in front of her. “Thanks, Tina.”
“Ketchup and mustard?”
“Just the mustard.” She took the bottle when it quickly appeared and squirted out a dollop on her burger. She arranged the lettuce and sliced tomato on top of that, fit the bun in place and decided she was never going to be able to get her mouth around the thing. She picked up her knife. “I have the feeling that you know everything about this town, Mr. Clay,” she told Squire as she cut her burger in half. “Can you give me the skinny on where I should begin looking for a place to rent? I don’t have the luxury of a lot of time.”
“Make it Squire, child,” he said immediately. “Lot of apartments out by Shop-World. If that’s your cup of tea.”
“Whatever is affordable and safe is my cup of tea right now,” she admitted wryly. She took a bite of the hamburger and nearly groaned in pleasure.
“Ain’t a thing Bubba Bumble can’t cook,” Squire said with a knowing nod.
She dabbed her napkin at her chin and sent a chaser of French fry
