He grabbed the old western hat that hadbelonged to his step-father from the hook on the wall beside thedoor. Clamping it on his head, he opened the door. Tonight was likeany other chore. It had to be done and it had to startsomewhere.
CHAPTER ONE
Cynthia Turley was in the middle of cleaninghis favorite table when he walked through the diner door. Somethingabout the lean rancher urged her to reach out to him. Maybe it wasthe fact that he never smiled, or the loneliness in those greeneyes. Whatever the case, she always made sure his table was readywhen he arrived. She could set her clock by his arrival - eighto’clock every Friday night - in a blue plaid western shirt andbattered black cowboy hat.
His tall frame swayed across the room withfeline grace. Removing his hat, he glided into the booth. Heglanced up at her; the sun darkened face with its thin lipscompletely devoid of emotion.
“The usual,” he said.
She nodded. He wasn’t much for conversation.Other than occasional attempts to draw him out, she respected hisprivacy. She moved to the counter without writing anythingdown.
“Steak and Potatoes,” she announced to thecook, ignoring the stifled snickers of the other two waitresses.Why they found it so amusing that Mr. Cade was a recluse evaded hercomprehension. Right now he was simply a customer.
She poured a cup of coffee and delivered itto him - along with a cheerful smile. “Cold out there, isn’tit?”
He shrugged. He never wore a coat and shewondered if he even felt the cold west Texas wind.
She started to walk away, but his adverseresponse lured her to pause.
“Spring is around the corner.”
She smiled again. “It’s still two monthsaway, though. I can hardly wait.”
He nodded again and turned away, staring outthe window while he sipped the coffee. The conversation was over -or so she thought.
When she delivered his meal, he glanced up ather.
“What time do you get off?”
She stared at him. “Nine.”
He nodded. “I’d like to talk to you. May Iwait here until then?”
She nodded, still regarding him withdisbelief. “Of course.”
What would he have to talk to her about? Ifall their conversations in the three months he had been coming tothe diner were put together, it was doubtful that they would make arespectable paragraph. On the positive side, at that rate theirconversation should be over by five minutes after nine. Then shecould walk home in peace. The clattering of dishes, the hecticscramble at lunch, and the incessant gossiping of her coworkersleft her at the edge of her patience at the end of the day. Thatquiet walk home was her chance to relax - that and a good book.
Promptly at nine, she removed her apron andcrossed to the table where Cade sat nursing his fifth cup ofcoffee. She slid into the opposite bench and let her gaze dropsignificantly to the cup in his hand. “You’re not going to sleep awink tonight.”
He stared down at the cup absently. “Neverhas any effect on me.”
Somehow that was no surprise. She waited forhim to open the conversation, idly wondering if it would be tenbefore he spoke. Finally she cleared her throat. “The diner closesat ten.”
He glanced up and nodded. “How long have youbeen working here?”
“Six months - since Dad died. I took care ofhim for three years - ever since I graduated from high school.”
He nodded and fell silent again.
She crossed and uncrossed her legs, studiedher fingernails and finally decided to prompt him again. “Iunderstand you have a big ranch west of here.”
He gave the usual nod. “Forty miles.”
She pursed her lips and whistled softly.“That’s a long way to drive for steak and potatoes.”
For a second she thought he was going tosmile. His eyes flashed with humor, but it was gone before it couldreach his lips.
“Do you like working here?” He finallyasked.
She shrugged. “The work isn’t so bad.” Whenhe continued to watch her, she gave him a wry smile. “I’m not muchof a social person I guess.”
“I see.” He was watching her with an intentexpression. “You’d be happier taking care of a rambling old housein the middle of nowhere?”
She laughed. “That’s not as far out as youmight think.” She sobered and stared at her hands. “I guess Ishould go to college and make something of myself. When I wastaking care of Dad there wasn’t time to take classes and he diedowing a lot of money, so I had to sell the house.”
Why was she revealing her private affairs tothis stranger? She shrugged, her face growing warm. “I guess thoseare all excuses. I suppose I’m simply not very ambitious.”
His brows lifted slightly and his gaze wasdirect. “What is ambition?”
She stared at him. Surely his vocabularyincluded such a simple word. “It’s ...” She paused, realizing hewas looking for a deeper meaning. She shrugged again. “I suppose itis different things for different people - dreams or goals.”
He was still watching her intently. “Solooking after a rambling old house could be an ambition?”
She squirmed under his penetrating stare.What was this thing he had about an old rambling house? She finallyshrugged once more. “I suppose so.”
He shifted his attention to the lightedstreet. Apparently he was merely looking for companionship - hiskind. She was beginning to relax when he launched the question.
“Would you be interested in minding myplace?”
She gaped at him. “Your place?”
He nodded. “It’s an heirloom of sorts; a bigold house - too much for me to take care of and work the ranch aswell.” He paused, watching her expectantly. “I don’t know what kindof wages you draw here, but I’d be willing to pay you a hundred aweek plus room and board.”
Slowly the facts were beginning to seepthrough the layer of shock. He was offering her a job as a live-inmaid. The wages weren’t all that great, but deducting rent,utilities and groceries from her present salary, it wound up beinga good deal more. Basically she would be saving $400 a monthinstead of $10. Was it merely coincidence that her lease would beup next Friday and
