All during the quiet twenty-minute ride to the nearest town, he tried to ignore that sensation, though he stayed vigilant. There wasn’t much traffic in the area, but he found himself studying each battered pickup and late-model sedan that passed them.
Shaking his head in self-disgust, he looked ahead. “Are you in the mood for something sweet?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“There’s a little diner near here that serves the best pies I’ve ever eaten. Want to try it out before we head for the grocery store?”
“Sure. It sounds good.”
Though he suspected she was agreeing more for his sake than her own, he nodded and turned right at the next light. The diner wasn’t crowded since it was mid-afternoon, too late for lunch and too early for dinner. There were only a couple of vehicles in the small gravel parking lot, which was heavily shaded by the building and several large trees. It was warmer now than it had been earlier, yet, as he pulled into a deeply shadowed parking space, he felt a chill go through him.
He wondered if he was losing it.
“Is your neck bothering you?” Chloe asked from across a small table a short while later.
Realizing he’d been squeezing the back of his neck as if he could make that nagging itch go away, Donovan lowered his hand. “Yes,” he said, but he saw no need to elaborate.
“I have ibuprofen in my purse, if that would help.”
“It wouldn’t. But thanks, anyway.”
A waitress with angelic blue eyes and a devilishly dimpled smile approached their table. “Well, hi, Mr. Chance. Haven’t seen you around in a while.”
He returned her smile with genuine warmth. “Hello, Judy. It’s nice to see you.”
“You, too. Mr. Falcon’s not with you this time?”
“He’s flying in later. I’m sure you’ll be seeing him in the next few days. He’ll be wanting his pie.”
Judy chuckled. “Mr. Falcon does love our chocolate-chip pecan pie.
I swear he could eat it every day if he had the chance.”
“I’m sure you’re right.” Donovan nodded toward Chloe. “Judy, this is Chloe Pennington.”
“I’ve seen your picture in the paper,” Judy said after studying Chloe a moment. “You’re Mr. Falcon’s fiancée, aren’t you?”
“Well, I…”
“I told Mama your hair was brown. That picture we saw wasn’t very good and she was sure it was red, but I told her I doubted Mr. Falcon would be getting involved with another redhead after that last one. Mama never could figure out what he saw in that—”
Donovan cleared his throat. He noted that Chloe looked a bit dazed, but he was accustomed to Judy’s chattering. It was her mother who made the pies he and Bryan were so fond of. They’d long since decided that the pies were worth the mostly harmless gossip. “I’ll have the coconut pie, Judy. Have you decided what you want, Chloe?”
She glanced at a hand-written list posted on a blackboard near the register. “The lemon meringue, please.”
“You want coffee with your pie?” Judy asked, switching easily from gossip to business.
They both accepted, and Judy bustled off.
“I guess I should have warned you that Judy knows everybody’s business.”
Chloe smiled weakly. “Apparently so.”
“Don’t let her rattle you. She means well.”
“She seems nice.”
“She is.”