Most hunters, fishermen, backpackers, and skiers stuck closer to Missoula or Whitefish. With Canada as Hazard’s north border and the Blackfeet Reservation as the east, there was little reason to come to Hazard unless someone worked in the mine. Which was exactly the way Lyle Bishop liked it.
“Seen Mr. Baulder?” he asked without taking his eyes off the menu.
“Not yet.” The mine’s general manager was a daily regular, but Savannah was pretty sure his hands were full with the changes brought about by Mason’s death. She pulled out her order pad and a pen. “Are you the replacement committee?”
“Replacement committee?”
She lifted her gaze to his and found his eyes deliberate and focused on hers. They were hazel, a little more brown than green. A burn zinged across her ribs. She spent the next few seconds trying to figure out if that sensation had been fear, excitement, or simply shock. One second, she was thinking, How refreshing. In the next, He won’t last here long.
“Did you miss the news?” she said. “Everyone’s been talking about it.”
“News?”
“Mason…” Just saying his name scored her ribs with angst. “A miner was found dead in one of the tunnels.”
“Oh, that. Yeah, I heard.” The spark in his eyes went flat. “Too bad.”
Too bad?
A man’s death was too bad?
His reaction hit Savannah wrong. Everything about this place was wrong—the land, the people, her situation.
“I’m usually good with names,” she said, “but I can’t remember yours.”
“I didn’t give it.”
“Maybe I saw it on your credit card.”
“Always pay cash.”
He wasn’t warming up. And Savannah was getting really sick of the cold shoulder. “Have you ever heard of a thing called small-town hospitality?”
His gaze lifted again. “Heard of it.”
“If you’re going to be staying around, you might think about using some.”
His eyes sparkled with a hint of humor. One Savannah didn’t share. It was way too little, way too late for her. “What can I get you, Mr. Anonymous?”
He seemed to find her irritation amusing. When he looked at the menu again but didn’t answer, Savannah’s mind wandered back to her concern over Audrey and ratcheted her tension higher.
“Never mind.” She plucked the menu from his hands. Her patience for life was shot. And what in the hell was he going to do—find another place to eat? Not around here. “Don’t strain yourself with a big decision like that. I’ll just get you what you had yesterday.”
He sat back, his gaze speculative. “I don’t even remember what I had yesterday.”
The simplicity of his open and focused gaze gave her gooseflesh. It could also be the almost-grin crinkling the corners of his eyes. The way his golden-tipped brown hair fell wherever it wanted. The three days of stubble dirtying his jaw.
Didn’t matter. Another day or two and he wouldn’t be looking at her anymore. Certainly wouldn’t be talking to her.
“Three eggs, over easy,” she told him as she wrote it down. “Hash browns, crispy. Sourdough, buttered. Bacon, chewy. Orange juice, large.”
“Good memory.”
“It’s the most you’ve ever said. Guess that makes it memorable.”
One dark brow lifted. “Your attitude, on the other hand—”
“Sign at the door.” She waved her pen that direction. “No unsolicited opinions. I’ve definitely had enough of those for one day.” She slid his breakfast order under a metal clip and rolled the wheel toward the kitchen. “Order up.”