Rodeo Baby. Mary Sullivan

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      “Like what?”

      “She’s funny. She makes me laugh.”

      “At my expense. I’m not about to compliment her on her sense of humor when I’m the butt of her jokes.” He liked her legs, especially her calves.

      “So should I have said, ‘Great calves, lady’? Yeah, that would have gone over real well.”

      Chelsea peered around the edge of the booth to look at Violet’s legs as she stood chatting with customers at another table. The girl turned back to him with wide eyes. “Her calves are kind of big. You think they’re great?”

      “Sure. They’re shapely.”

      The thoughtful frown on Chelsea’s forehead intrigued him.

      “There’s nothing wrong with a woman being shapely.”

      She nodded, still thoughtful.

      “I wasn’t kidding, Chelsea. You are perfect the way you are. Your mom stressed too much about being thin.”

      “So, like, didn’t you like her that thin?”

      “I wouldn’t have minded if she worried about it less. It was always on her mind. She ate like a bird.”

      “Not really, Dad. Lots of birds eat half their body weight every day.”

      He smiled slowly because Chelsea was smiling, too. When she was small, they seemed to have this ability to read each other’s minds and get each other’s jokes before they’d even been delivered. “Can you imagine your mom eating half her body weight?”

      She laughed then sobered. “She used to binge and purge.”

      Sam’s lips thinned. “Purge. You mean...”

      Chelsea sighed. “Yeah. Didn’t you know? Mom used to get rid of her food after dinner all the time.”

      He’d known, of course—she was painfully thin—but had hoped Chelsea had remained ignorant. It seemed she’d been aware all along.

      Kids always did seem to know everything you tried to hide from them.

      He wanted his daughter to have healthy behavior.

      “Chelsea, promise me something?”

      She made a noncommittal sound, which he took as permission to continue. “Never do that. Okay? Never. Enjoy your food and your life. Nothing is worth that kind of behavior. It didn’t buy your mother more love or more respect. Okay?”

      “Yeah.” She stared at the fry in her hand. “Okay.”

      “Eat up.” He picked up his burger.

      On her way along to another customer, Violet slapped a bowl of ketchup onto their table.

      What was her problem?

      He was a paying customer like everyone else in the diner and deserved as much respect, but she’d taken an instant dislike to him.

      Or maybe it was you trying to get her into trouble with her manager, Sam, who just happened to be her.

      Starving, he bit into his burger and instantly sat up straight.

      “This is good.” He wiped juice from his chin. “Excellent.”

      “Yeah. It’s the best burger I’ve had since we left home.”

      “No fooling.” It was the best he’d had in years.

      “The fries are good, too,” Chelsea said.

      He bit into one, twice fried so they were crispy. Vinegar and pepper sharpened the side dish of coleslaw.

      Maybe eating here wouldn’t be so bad, after all, if the rest of the meals lived up to their corny names.

      For the first time since leaving home, he felt in harmony with his daughter. He’d missed that amazing feeling.

      A craving arose in him to relax with her and have fun like he used to do, to tease her and hug her and call her goofy pet names.

      He didn’t want to be this uptight guy he’d become since Tiffany’s betrayal.

      On impulse, he blurted, “Let’s share dessert?”

      She brightened a little. “Okay.”

      They argued for a good five minutes about what they would share.

      “I’m too full to eat a whole dessert,” he said.

      “Me, too.”

      “So we have to come to an agreement. We do that by negotiation.”

      “Dad, I hate when you teach me. Why can’t we just talk?”

      “I thought we were just talking.”

      “No, you’re lecturing and I’m—”

      They were interrupted by Violet plopping a plate in the middle of the table with small portions of four desserts and two forks.

      “Knock yourselves out,” she said. She slapped their bill onto the table and walked away. He checked the total. Too reasonable. She needed to raise the price points on her meals.

      “She heard us arguing.” Chelsea stared at the plate before picking up a fork and tasting the cherry cheesecake. “Oh, that’s sooo good. She’s smart. She has good solutions to problems.”

      “She does.” Sam had to agree. Why hadn’t he just asked her if she could sell them portions? So would she have a solution to his biggest problem?

      He motioned her over.

      She watched him with what could only be described as neutrality. Apparently, it was too much to expect friendliness.

      “We’re going to be in the area for a while. Can you recommend a place to stay?”

      “Hotel? Bed-and-breakfast? A rental room for a longer stay?”

      “Dad needs a job.”

      Sam choked on a bite of cheesecake and coughed. After a gulp of coffee, he glared at his daughter. No, no, no. This wasn’t what he’d wanted. He’d planned to glide in under the radar, to get the lay of the land and to see if he could get answers before having to commit to the last, desperate level of subterfuge.

      But now it was out in the open. Damn.

      “Not really. I—”

      “A job? As a ranch hand? Sure,” the owner responded almost gleefully. “That can be arranged. There’s always room for a hardworking cowboy on any ranch in the county. Especially for an experienced one, which you must be at your age.”

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