She left him to his meal, making a quick circuit to check on the other two customers before retu
rning to her decorating. He’d dug into his soup with gusto by then. As she continued tying silverware to the pre-lit tree, she wondered what his story was. He definitely had Don’t Pry blinking in neon above his head. Was he passing through? Wishful wasn’t exactly on the way to anywhere.
She made a fresh pass to top off his coffee, pleased to note the bowl of soup had all but been licked clean.
The stranger pinned her with serious, dark eyes. “Is there a garage around here?”
Caught by…something in his gaze, Hannah took a moment to process the question. She didn’t drive, so she wasn’t as familiar with those details as she otherwise would be. “We have two that I know of.” Which one would be more likely hiring? “Lou Perkins is over on Grantham Street, about three blocks that way.” She pointed toward the north end of the town green. “His nephew just got his second DUI and was shipped off to rehab a couple weeks ago, so he’s a little short-handed. And then there’s Benny Wills’s place on the west side of town.” She offered up some quick directions there as well. “There’s a gorgeous restored Chevelle sitting out front. You can’t miss it.”
He watched her for another long moment with that inscrutable gaze before finally muttering, “Thanks.”
She gestured to the empty bowl. “Can I get that out of your way?”
The stranger nodded, so she scooped up the dishes with her free hand.
“Sure I can’t talk you into some pie?”
“Not right now. Thanks.”
She flashed another smile. “Endless refills on coffee. You stay as long as you like.”
Though he really needed to get moving, Sergeant Ryan Malone lingered over his coffee and surreptitiously watched the waitress as she continued to decorate the diner’s Christmas tree, both because he was wondering how the hell it would turn out, all loaded with forks and spoons, and because he kept expecting to catch a glimpse of elf ears through that fall of dark hair. She’d make a good elf with that fine-boned face and fair skin. She hummed while she worked, the edge of a smile just waiting to bow up those full lips. How could anybody over the age of ten be that unrelentingly cheerful and innocent? She made him feel ancient at twenty-seven, though she was probably close to his age.
He strained to hear the tune and finally recognized “It’s Beginning To Look A Lot Like Christmas.” Certainly the rest of what he’d seen of Wishful fit the bill. As he’d come into the downtown area, he’d noted the holiday decorations mounted on all the light poles and the twinkle lights wrapped around the denuded trees lining Main Street. People bustled along the sidewalk, toting shopping bags and pretty, wrapped packages. It was about as far as he could get from the war zone he’d been walking in mere days ago, and the switch had him feeling more off balance than the jet lag.
Across the room, Elf Girl plugged in the lights and the tree lit up.
Well, I’ll be damned.
The glow of the white twinkle lights bounced off the silverware and gave the tree a warm, inviting glow. He’d never imagined utensils would make good ornaments for a Christmas tree.
Elf Girl stepped back, crossing her arms and beaming in satisfaction. That smile did something to a man. Certainly it had done something to him. He’d had no intention of stopping in the diner. None at all. Then she’d flashed those dimples at him, and he’d been pulled inside as if she were a kerosene heater that could thaw his frozen hands and feet.
She’d thought he was homeless. After traveling for three days straight to get from Bumfuck, Afghanistan to here, he sure as hell looked it. God knew when he’d last shaved. They had relaxed grooming standards where he’d landed this deployment. Exhaustion had carved lines around his eyes. He’d been awake way too damned long even before he boarded the MAC flight back to Fort Polk, where he’d picked up the rust bucket of a truck he’d borrowed from a friend still overseas. Smitty had sworn the thing was ugly but sound and would get him the six hours to Wishful. Ryan had believed him—until the ancient Chevy began to sputter and wheeze when he was nearly to his destination. The truck had crapped out eight miles from town.
Ryan had left in such a hurry, he had little with him other than his duffle. Not even a coat to face the frigid December weather. And since when was it this freaking cold in Mississippi in December? He’d found an ancient and smelly jacket shoved behind the seat. It had all kinds of questionable stains, but it was another layer against the chill, so he’d put it on and started walking to town. No doubt that hadn’t helped with the impression of homelessness.
Too many people would’ve looked through him, pretending he wasn’t there, or gotten nervy, like the other waitress that’d been hiding in the kitchen since he walked in. But not the elf. Her instinct had been to bring him in out of the cold, warm him up, and feed him. She’d met his gaze head-on and hadn’t even balked at the stench of the jacket. Wasn’t that interesting? Nice to know there were people like her out there in the world, even if he himself wasn’t in need of her kindness.
Well, he was thawed out now, and he was losing daylight. If he was gonna get by one of the garages to see about getting a tow, he needed to get moving. Waiting until Elf Girl slipped through the door to the kitchen, Ryan pulled out a wad of cash and left a ridiculous tip—more than enough to cover the soup and coffee—then headed out into the cold.
As it had sounded closer, he took a chance on Lou Perkins’s place, trudging north along the town green until he located Grantham Street. The garage wasn’t hard to find, and the tow truck he desperately needed was parked right out front. The bay doors were closed, but the single door to the office part of the building was unlocked, so he ducked inside. The office was empty. Some kind of hard rock Christmas music blared from the garage. Following the music, he tugged open another door and stepped into the workspace. A pair of legs was visible beneath an older model Ford Escort. The work boots tapped in time with the music as their owner sang along with more enthusiasm than skill.
“Hello?” Ryan called.
The feet stopped twitching and the creeper shot out from beneath the car. A skinny, balding man with a graying goatee peered up at him. “What can I do ya for?”
“Was hoping you could hook me up with a tow and some repairs. My truck broke down about eight miles from here.”
The older man’s dark eyes skimmed him from head to toe as he sat up. “You walk all the way here?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Reckon you could use some coffee. Pot’s on in the office. I gotta finish up here in the next little bit, ’fore Betsy Maynard swings by to pick this puppy up.” He tapped the bumper of the Escort. “Then we’ll see what there is to see.”
Ryan considered calling his uncle Percy. But that’d blow the element of surprise, and given the family’s reports of his behavior lately, Ryan wasn’t quite ready to give up that advantage. Resigned to waiting, he just nodded. It’d take less time to do this than to hunt up the other garage. And he was really damned tired. Retreating back to the office, he set down his bag and took one of the thinly padded chairs.
“Hey fella.”