Lone Calder Star (Calder Saga 9)

She nodded to the table he had occupied on his previous visit. “You can sit at your old table if you like,” she told him.

“Thanks.” His eyes smiled at her.

There was a warmth in their gray depths that Dallas didn’t recall noticing before. Considering some of the things her grandfather had told her about him, she had a feeling she might have been too quick to dismiss him as an ordinary cowboy.

After she finished distributing the food orders on her tray, Dallas collected a glass of ice water and a cup of hot coffee from the counter and carried them to his table.

“I didn’t expect to see you in here tonight.” She set the water and coffee before him.

His eyes gleamed with amusement. “You didn’t really think I’d leave town just because you told me I should.”

“It was good advice.” Dallas still believed that. “Or have you found that out? I heard you went to the Slash R.”

“News travels fast,” he replied, neither confirming nor denying.

Dallas realized that he had seldom given her a direct answer. “It’s a small town. And anything to do with the Rutledges spreads like crazy. And the news that you bought hay from them went through this town like a category-four tornado.”

“They were just doing the neighborly thing.” He reached for the menu and flipped it open.

Dallas liked the way he played down the purchase. “Maybe, but the Slash R has never been known for making neighborly gestures.”

“Maybe no one’s given them a chance,” he suggested, tongue-in-cheek.

Dallas reacted with a crooked smile that grooved a dimple in one cheek. “Yeah, right.”

His smile widened into something dazzling and warm that snatched at her breath. “For a minute there I thought you were going to accuse me of being a fool again.”

The remark was an instant reminder of the futility of one man attempting to stand against the Rutledges. It sobered her. “I don’t think you realize how big the odds are against you.”

An amused dryness entered his expression. “I imagine the odds were long that I’d get any hay, too.” Without giving her a chance to reply, he asked, “Is it safe to order a steak?”

“Yes. It’s just the meat loaf you need to avoid,” she told him.

“In that case, I’ll have a T-bone, medium rare, and a baked potato with all the trimmings.”

“What kind of dressing on your salad?” Dallas pulled the order tablet from her apron pocket and flipped to a new sheet.

“Blue cheese, if you have it.”

“Coming right up,” she promised and moved away.

When she left, that lonely feeling closed around Quint again. Looking at the empty chairs pushed up to his table, he realized that it was her company and conversation he wanted.

There was a glimmer of rare annoyance in the glance he flicked at the scattering of other customers. Their presence forced Quint to put aside any hope he might have entertained of persuading Dallas to join him at the table. The knowledge left him with an edgy, irritated feeling, something that was new to him.

The sensation didn’t fade until she returned to his table a few minutes later and placed a salad liberally drizzled with blue cheese dressing before him.

“I thought it would be busier than this on a Saturday night,” Quint said to prevent her from walking away.

Her easy smile gave him the impression that she didn’t mind being drawn into conversation, perhaps even welcomed it. “The supper crowd always comes early. By now the homebodies are back in front of their televisions and the rest are bending their elbows at Tillie’s.”

“Tillie’s. That must be the local bar,” Quint guessed. “Is it here in town? I don’t remember driving by one.”

“It’s a block off the main drag, so it isn’t a place that you would happen by,” she explained. “Tubby’s sister owns it. I keep telling him they should merge the two businesses. He’d have more customers if he sold beer and she’d have more if she sold food. But he just turns a deaf ear to the idea.”

“Sounds like a good one to me. We have a place like that back in Montana,” he said, thinking of the former roadhouse called Harry’s in Blue Moon that had always sold both food and liquor. “Come Saturday night, it’s packed to the rafters.”

She tipped her head to one side, curiosity entering her expression. “Is that where you’re from—Montana?”