Mysterious Mountain Man. Annette Broadrick

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      One

      Betty Abbott paused in her efforts to polish the counter of the Dry Gulch Café. She leaned forward and narrowed her eyes, attempting to pierce the grime-coated window of the eating establishment. Something was moving out there, which was unusual in the desolate terrain that surrounded the small settlement. After concentrating for several moments, she made out a tiny swirl of dust at the foot of the Guadalupe Mountains.

      Dropping the rag, she moved from behind the counter to get a better look.

      “Whatcha lookin’ at?”

      She glanced toward the serving window of the kitchen at Mel, her husband of forty-two years, before peering back outside. “I’m not sure.” She paused just inside the sagging screen door. “Thought I saw something movin’ out there.”

      “You’re dreamin’, sweetheart. There’s nothin’ movin’ around this part of West Texas ‘cept maybe rattlesnakes and roadrunners.”

      Betty couldn’t argue with him there. They were lucky to have a half-dozen customers a day during the winter months, mostly truckers passing through. An occasional motorist would stop for gas and might decide to eat, too.

      The isolation never bothered her, because she was used to it. Both she and Mel had been born in the shadow of those mountains and most likely would die there, as well, which suited her just fine.

      The moving cloud continued to grow larger until she recognized the spiraling tail of dust to be a vehicle driven at a high rate of speed over one of the area’s dirt roads.

      Identifying the sight only whetted her curiosity. The only road in that direction led directly into the mountains. It was too early in the year for the ranger station to be opened. No one else was around those parts, except for—

      She chuckled.

      “Now what?”

      She turned away from the screen door and with quickened steps that belied both age and weight, moved behind the counter once more.

      “Looks like Jake’s decided to pay us a visit,” she said, tossing out the half pot of coffee that had been sitting for several hours on the burner. She began to make a new pot.

      “Can’t be Jake, honey. He was just here a few weeks ago.”

      “I don’t care if he was here yestiddy. There’s nobody around here that drives like a bat outta hell the way Jake does. You just wait ‘n’ see if that ain’t him.”

      Mel pushed open the swinging door between the kitchen and the eating area and walked through. “You really think it’s him, huh?” He squinted through the window made opaque by the never-ending West Texas dust storms.

      Betty didn’t look up from her task of pouring water into the coffeemaker. “Ya wanna bet?”

      Mel shook his head. “Hell, no, woman. If I paid off all the bets you’ve won from me over the years, you’d be a rich woman.”

      She paused long enough to flash him a saucy smile, holding the premeasured packet of coffee in one hand, a thin white filter in the other. “Keep your money, honey. I’m already rich with everything that really counts in life.”

      Mel slipped his arm around her ample waist and hugged her. “That makes two of us.”

      She finished the coffee preparations before turning in his arms and giving him a quick squeeze in return. “D’ya got any cinnamon rolls left? You know how Jake loves them things.”

      “If it is Jake, then I’m gonna have to compliment him on his sensitive nose. I made a fresh batch this morning that should be coming out of the oven anytime now.”

      Mel headed back to the kitchen, and Betty took up her vigil once more at the door of the café.

      The dust cloud steadily increased in size until she could see the vehicle causing it. A battered pickup truck of some undetermined color moved across the horizon, growing larger in her view.

      Yep, that’s Jake, she decided with an absent nod. I wonder what he’s doing back so soon? Who could ever figure out Jake Taggart? He was a law unto himself.

      Betty remembered the night he was born. How could she forget? His mother, Mary Whitefeather Taggart, would always live in Betty’s memories as a sweet, gentle woman who’d never deserved the hard licks life had given her. She’d been abandoned by that no-account Johnny Taggart six months after he’d sweet-talked her into marrying him, pretending he wanted to settle down.

      She’d believed him, fool that she was. He’d left her stranded in West Texas, pregnant and alone.

      Betty and Mel had insisted she stay there with them, while she had insisted on working for her room and board. A person couldn’t help loving the quiet woman with the desolate black eyes, who hadn’t wanted to be any trouble to anybody.

      She hadn’t told them she was in labor until too late to get her some medical attention. Betty’d had to help with the birthing. She and Mel had lost their only baby two years before, even though she’d gone to the hospital in El Paso. This time, Betty had vowed that she would help this new life into the world if God would show her what to do.

      She would never forget those long hours, or Mel’s supportive presence in the background—his calm assurance that his wife could do anything she set her mind to, including deliver a baby out in the middle of nowhere.

      Betty knew that God had kept His promise; otherwise, СКАЧАТЬ