entire trip seemed futile, Linc crested a hill and emerged out of the fog, which made a tremendous difference in visibility. Instantly he breathed easier.
“There!” Ned shouted, pointing down the roadway.
Linc squinted and, sure enough, he saw the business his brothers had been yapping about. Maybe there was some hope, after all.
Linc had no idea how his sister had ended up in the boondocks. He wished she’d stayed in town, but, oh, no, not Mary Jo.
As they neared the building, Linc noticed a sign that said King’s. Linc could see his brother’s point; it was hard to tell exactly what type of business this was. The sign certainly didn’t give any indication. True, there were beat-up old cars out front, so one might assume it was some sort of junk or salvage yard. The building itself was in ill repair; at the very least, it needed a fresh coat of paint. There wasn’t a single Christmas decoration in sight.
However, the Open sign in the window was lit.
Linc walked up to the door, peered in and saw a small restaurant, basically a counter with a few stools, and a convenience store. He went inside and strolled up to the counter, taking a seat. Mel and Ned joined him.
Alarge over weight man wearing a stained white T-shirt and a white apron waddled over to their end of the counter as if he’d been sitting there all day, waiting for them.
“Merry Christmas,” Linc murmured, reaching for the menu.
“Yeah, whatever.”
This guy was in a charming mood.
“Whaddaya want?” the cook asked.
“Coffee for me,” Linc said.
“What’s the special?” Mel asked, looking at a sign on the wall that said,
“Meat loaf, mashed potatoes, corn.”
“If you want to order food, it’s gotta be takeout,” Linc told his brothers, although now that the subject had come up, Linc realized he was hungry, too. Famished, in fact.
“We do takeout,” the cook said, filling Linc’s mug with coffee that had obviously been in the pot far too long. It was black and thick and resembled liquid tar more than coffee.
“Is that fresh?” Linc risked asking.
“Sure is. Made it yesterday.”
Linc pushed the mug away. “We’ll take three meat loaf sandwiches to go,” he said, making a snap decision.
“You want the mashed potatoes with that?”
“Can I have potato chips instead?” Ned inquired.
“I guess.”
“Say,” Linc said, leaning back on the stool. “Do you happen to know where the Harding ranch is?”
The cook scowled at him. “Who’s askin’?”
Linc didn’t want to get into long explanations. “A friend.”
Cook nodded. “Cliff’s a…neighbor.”
“He is?” Maybe they were closer than Linc had thought.
“Raises the best horses around these parts.” The cook sounded somewhat grudging as he said this.
Linc knew car engines inside out but didn’t have a clue about horses, and he had no idea how to respond.
Fortunately he didn’t have to. “You fellows interested in buying one of Cliff’s horses?” the old curmudgeon asked.
“Not really.” Linc hoped that wasn’t disappointing news. “We’re, uh, supposed to be meeting our sister, who’s staying at the Harding place.”
“We
“But we sort of got turned around.”
“In other words, we’re lost,” Linc said.
“Lemme make you those sandwiches.”
“What about giving us directions?”
King, or whatever his name was, sighed as if this was asking too much. “I could—for a price.”
Linc slapped a ten-dollar bill on the counter.
The grouch eyed the money and shrugged. “That might get you there. Then again, it might not.”
Linc threw in another ten. “This is all you’re getting.”
“Fine.” He pocketed the money and slouched off toward the kitchen. “I’ll be back with your order.”
Ten minutes later, he returned with a large white bag packed with sandwiches, potato chips and canned sodas.
