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The Stranger In Room 205 (Hot off the Press! 1)

Page 19

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Acutely aware of Dan’s too-observant eyes on him, Sam drew as deep a breath as his cracked ribs would allow and blew out the candles quickly.

“Oh, we were supposed to sing ‘Happy Birthday’ before you blew out the candles,” Marjorie fussed.

Sam shook his head with a bit more force than necessary, making it start to ache again. “That isn’t necessary. Really.”

Serena took pity on him. “C’mon, Mother, are you trying to embarrass him right back into the hospital? Let’s just serve the cake.”

Dan very conspicuously remained silent, accepting his cake without commenting on the occasion it was intended to celebrate.

Though he didn’t want to be impolite, Sam excused himself after dessert, explaining quite honestly that he had a headache. Marjorie wanted to hover a bit, but he was able to convince her that a couple more pain pills and a few hours rest would work wonders.

“Chief,” he said to Meadows on his way out, “it’s been a pleasure.”

Dan looked ready to growl, but a quick glance at Marjorie had him responding somewhat more civilly. “Yeah, well…take care of that head. And if there’s anything I can do for you, Serena and Marjorie know how to get in touch with me. At all times,” he added pointedly. “One call from them, and I’m here. Immediately.”

Sam almost chuckled at the unveiled warning, but his head hurt so badly. Instead, he merely nodded, thanked Marjorie again for the meal and made his departure. He was certain Dan would start spouting dire warnings about him again, but he didn’t feel like hanging around to defend himself. The only way he could prove his trustworthiness was by living quietly in the guest house, pulling his weight at the diner and making no waves in town.

As he entered the guest house, he found himself wondering how long he could go on living that way. Days? Weeks? Months? How long could he keep pretending that nothing was wrong, that this was normal routine for him?

Three weeks, he decided as he wandered into the bedroom. That seemed plenty long enough to recover from whatever head injury was causing his memory loss. If it hadn’t come back at the end of those three weeks, he was definitely going to do something about it. He refused to take advantage of these unbelievably kind people for any longer than that.

But for now, he thought as he eased his aching body onto the bed, all he needed was a little rest. And maybe another pain pill.

As usual, the small parking lot of the Rainbow Café was full at noon on Monday. Serena circled twice before a vehicle pulled out, freeing a space. She was five minutes late for her luncheon appointment with Marvin Frieze, the managing editor of the newspaper. She would have chosen another venue for this conversation, but Marvin hadn’t given her much choice, simply leaving a message with her secretary that he would be at the Rainbow Café if she wanted to join him.

As she’d predicted from the crowded parking lot, the café was bustling with the loyal lunch crowd, nearly every table filled. Serena recognized most of the patrons, but she didn’t spot Marvin’s snowy white head. Hoping he hadn’t stood her up yet again, she spoke to the lanky, gum-chewing, sixty-something hostess. “I’m supposed to meet Marvin here. Have you seen him, Justine?”

“No. Did you check over at Gaylord’s?”

Serena grimaced in response to the ironic reference to Marvin’s worsening drinking habits. It seemed everyone in town was talking about it. “Just show him to my table when he arrives, will you?”

Justine snapped her gum, then grinned. “Sure thing.”

Exchanging greetings with acquaintances along the way, Serena claimed one of the few empty tables, setting her purse beside her chair. She spotted her mother busily working the cash register at the exit door. They waved, but Marjorie was too busy to stop and visit just then. Ever since two of her employees had left on short notice, things had been hectic in the diner. It was no wonder Marjorie was getting desperate enough to offer jobs to just about anyone.

Almost as if that thought had conjured him up, Sam Wallace appeared at her table, looking more like a battered prizefighter than a waiter. His unarguably handsome face was still bruised and slightly swollen. The small white bandage at his right temple hid the stitches there, and his injured left wrist was supported by a Velcro-fastened brace. He gave her a smile. “What would you like to drink, Ms. Schaffer?”

It took her a moment to respond. His sudden appearance had caught her off guard. She really hadn’t expected to see him here barely twenty-four hours after his release from the hospital. She hadn’t seen any sign of activity from the guest house when she’d left for her office earlier that morning. He must have ridden to the café with Marjorie an hour or so after Serena’s departure. She would bet that he was in considerable discomfort with this physical activity, if not outright pain.

Maybe he really was sincere about working to pay back the debts he incurred. Certainly no one would have blamed him for taking a few days off to recuperate. The guy still looked like he’d fall over in a strong wind, for Pete’s sake. “What are you doing here?”

He lifted his eyebrows, shifting the bandage at his temple. “I work here.”

“I meant, why are you here today? Surely Dr. Frank hasn’t cleared you to go to work so soon.”

Sam shrugged. “I didn’t ask him. I know what I’m capable of doing—and your mother obviously accepts that, since she put me straight to work when I asked to get started.”

Marjorie was desperate enough to put a trained monkey to work, Serena thought, glancing wryly around the almost frantically busy diner. It was all Justine and Shameka, the other server, could do to keep up. “Just be careful not to overdo it. You had a head injury. Not to mention all the—”

“Thanks for the concern, but I’ll be fine. Now, can I get you something to drink? Or are you ready to order your food? Some of the other customers are looking restless.”

She noticed that his hands were empty. “Don’t you need an order pad?”

“No.” His expression was suddenly ironic—as if he were enjoying a private joke. “It turns out I have a very good memory for keeping track of orders.”

“Oh. Well, that’s…good, I guess.”

“Hey, Sam. Could I have some more coffee here?” someone called from a table nearby.



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