Her Right-Hand Cowboy. Marie Ferrarella
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Название: Her Right-Hand Cowboy
Автор: Marie Ferrarella
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Современная зарубежная литература
isbn: 9780008903145
isbn:
Although she doubted that was necessary. Miss Joan had a way of knowing things before anyone told her. She just intuited them. Some hinted it had something to do with a Cajun ancestor in her family tree, but Ena doubted it. There was just something about the woman that couldn’t really be pinpointed. She was just uniquely Miss Joan.
Getting out of her vehicle, Ena slowly approached the diner. She climbed up the three steps leading to the diner’s door even more slowly.
Staring at the door, Ena decided that this wasn’t one of her better ideas, at least not now. With that, she turned away from the door.
She had made it down all three steps when she heard the diner door behind her opening.
“You waiting for trumpets to herald your entrance to my diner? Or maybe I should be dropping handfuls of rose petals in your path?”
Ena would have known that voice anywhere. Stiffening her shoulders, she turned around and looked up at the small compact woman with deep hazel eyes and hair the color of not quite muted flame. Miss Joan had caught her in the act of escaping. She should have seen this coming.
“I thought you might be too busy for a visit right now,” Ena told her.
Miss Joan continued to stand there, one hand fisted on either side of her small, trim waist as she looked down at the girl she viewed as the newly returned prodigal daughter.
She shook her head. “Ten years and you still haven’t learned how to come up with a decent excuse. Not that that’s a bad thing,” Miss Joan said. “At least they didn’t teach you how to lie in Dallas. Well?” she asked expectantly when Ena continued to stand where she was. “Are you posing for a statue? Because if you’re not, stop blocking the stairs to my diner. Use them and come in, girl.”
Miss Joan didn’t raise her voice, but the command was clearly there.
Moving like a queen, Miss Joan turned around and walked back into the diner. Everything about the way she moved clearly said that she expected Ena to follow her inside.
Ena’s internal debate was very short-lived. She decided that coming into the diner was far easier than walking away from what was clearly a mandate from Miss Joan.
Ena quickly hurried up the three steps. With each step she took, she told herself that she wasn’t going to regret this. After all, she had spoken to Miss Joan hundreds of times before. This would just be another one of those times. Lightning was not going to streak across the sky and strike her the moment she entered. She was just paying her respects to an old friend.
A rather scary old friend, she thought as she pushed the diner door open with fingertips that were positively icy.
“Take a seat at the counter, girl,” Miss Joan instructed without sparing Ena so much as a glance over her shoulder.
Miss Joan waved a very thin hand toward an empty stool that just happened to be right in the middle of the counter. It was also directly in front of where the woman usually stood when she was observing the various activities that were going on within her diner.
When Ena complied, Miss Joan got behind the counter and asked, “You still take your coffee black?”
“I do,” Ena answered.
Nodding, Miss Joan filled up a cup straight from the urn. The coffee in the cup was hot enough to generate its own cloud directly above the shimmering black liquid. Years of practice had the woman placing the cup and its saucer in front of Ena without spilling so much as a single drop.
“Are you hungry?” Miss Joan asked.
Ena shook her head. “No, ma’am, I’m fine,” she answered.
Miss Joan’s eyes narrowed as they pinned hers with a penetrating look. “When did you eat last?” she asked.
She should have known that she couldn’t get away with such a vague answer. She would have no peace until she gave Miss Joan something a little more specific. “I had something at a drive-through early this morning,” she told the woman.
“You’re hungry,” Miss Joan declared in her no-nonsense voice. “Angel,” she called out to the chef she had come to rely on so heavily. “I need an order of two eggs, sunny-side up, two strips of bacon, crisp, and one slice of white toast, buttered.” Her eyes met Ena’s. “Did I forget anything?”
Ena moved her head from side to side. “No. You never do.” It was as much of an observation as it was a compliment.
Other than the fact that Miss Joan’s hair looked a little redder than it had when she’d left Forever, the woman hadn’t changed a bit, nor had she missed so much as a beat, Ena thought. There was something to be said for that.
Waiting on the order, Miss Joan crossed back to Ena. “You back for good?” the woman asked bluntly, not wasting any time beating around the bush.
She wanted to yell out “No,” but instead, she proceeded with caution. “I’m taking it one day at a time.”
Miss Joan surprised her by letting the response stand. “That’s as good a plan as any,” the woman allowed. One of her old-timers seated at the end of the counter called out her name and Miss Joan glared in the man’s direction. “Can’t you see I’m busy talking to Bruce O’Rourke’s prodigal daughter?” Shaking her head, she looked back at Ena. “Some people act as if they were raised by she-wolves and have no idea what it means to have manners.”
Just then, Angel placed the order on the counter between the kitchen and the main room. “Your order’s ready, Miss Joan,” Angel told her.
“I see it, I see it. Keep your shirt on,” Miss Joan replied testily. Picking the plate up, she brought it over to Ena and put the meal in front of her beside the half-empty coffee cup. Moving seamlessly, she automatically filled the cup up. “Let me know if there’s anything else that you need.”
Ena had been debating whether or not to say something from the moment she had finally walked into the diner. She decided that she had nothing to lose. “There is something.”
Miss Joan retraced her steps and returned to the center of the counter. She looked at the young woman expectantly. “Okay, go on.” But before Ena said a word, Miss Joan held her hand up to temporarily stop her. The man at the end of the counter had apparently leaned in to listen to what was about to be said. “This doesn’t concern you, Ed,” Miss Joan said sharply. “Drink your coffee.” It was an order.
“Yes, ma’am,” the old-timer murmured, picking up his cup.
Miss Joan’s eyes shifted back to Ena. “All right, go ahead.”
Ena pulled her courage to her. “Why didn’t you try to find a way to get word to me?” she asked, the question emerging without any preamble.
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