Almost a Hometown Bride. Helen R. Myers

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СКАЧАТЬ medium height and sinewy build, his steel-gray hair matched his full mustache and beard and framed a sardonic face with shrewd eyes and a down-turned mouth. Unlike her, he had an opinion on everything and didn’t wait to be asked for it.

      “You be careful, honey,” he said, handing her the tip money.

      “Me? What did I do?”

      “You got his attention. That’s enough.”

      That was the silliest thing he’d said in a good while. “He’s blaming himself for my limp when I clumsily tripped over his leg. I tried to explain.”

      “Didn’t see that. But what I do know is that you’re female, and he tipped you nice. Cain’s always been a magnet to women. Just one of nature’s mysteries. Maybe Alvie told you that he’s been locked up for a good while, too?”

      “But he’s hardly blind,” Nikki said, bringing her own ticket and cash for him to handle. She cast Merritt a saccharine, deal-with-it smile.

      Ignoring her, Merritt untied her apron and went in back, thinking about Cain’s parentage. For a small town like Almost with a population of barely five thousand, that was a good deal of scandal and intrigue. The outcome seemed unjust, too.

      Alvie was beginning to prep for the lunch crowd. The restaurant business remained a fascination to Merritt, but there was no denying that it was a physically demanding way to make a living.

      “If you don’t mind, I’m heading to the house to get things ready for the weather,” she told her boss.

      “Take the truck. I heard most of what you said to Leroy just now.”

      “I tripped—I didn’t fall. I’m fine.” Merritt appreciated Alvie’s concern, but there was such a thing as overkill. “And remember that I don’t have a license.” She’d never bothered transferring her New Jersey license because she hadn’t known how long she would be staying. She continued to resist because she could walk to wherever she needed to go, or catch a ride with Alvie or Leroy, which let her save money, and now her old New Jersey license had expired.

      “No one is going to stop you—unless you run over the chief of police himself. They’re sure not going to bother you in deteriorated weather conditions—or give you a ticket for coming to work. They know where you belong.” Alvie shook her head. “I don’t see why after all this time you won’t get a driver’s license.”

      Having a license meant she could be traced. But Merritt wasn’t going to share that bit of information unless she was forced to hit the road again. With a negligent shrug, she said, “I’ll see you by four-thirty, okay?”

      “Might be a slow night if things get bad really fast. If you had a phone, I could tell you to save yourself the trip and stay home.”

      People living sparely could do without such luxuries as a phone, especially someone not anticipating a call from anyone any more than she desired one. Giving up on arguing with the woman she owed her job and home to, Merritt waved and detoured to the back room where she changed from sneakers into boots, slipped on her jacket and retrieved her big insulated tote that she’d carried her baked goods in.

      Two other waitresses with school-age children handled the lunch crowd. Leroy took over the grill, while Alvie went upstairs to rest her feet or run errands. Then Alvie returned while Leroy took off, since the dinner crowd usually left the counter empty enough for Merritt and Nikki to manage on their own.

      Almost—its name origins in dispute forever—began perhaps by survivors of an Indian attack, almost making it through the Rockies on their way to Idaho, then Washington. Another claim was that a wagon train had almost been wiped out by a deadly winter and disease. However it was christened, the town had remained the same size building-wise as it was at its peak prior to World War II. It was a two-traffic-light community, six blocks in all, which included one bank, two pharmacies, five churches and a school that still housed kindergarten through grade twelve. The only difference was that half the stores on back streets were vacant now. A few were collapsing from neglect, having been tied up in estate disagreements. There was a good deal of talk about what to do to sustain what economic stability there was and encourage tourism from the interstate only two miles south. Merritt felt she had no right to get involved with any of that, but hoped things worked out for the residents, particularly the business-people.

      Living in Alvie’s house was a rent-free agreement since she provided all of the baked goods for the eatery. Merritt paid half of the electric bill, which remained in Alvie’s name, so funds were just taken out of her pay. She was thinking about that bill which she expected to arrive today or tomorrow, as she started around the bend that hid the cabin from downtown’s view. That compromised view made it susceptible to vandalism, which was another reason why Alvie was eager to have it lived in.

      The wood-frame cottage with the peeling gray paint consisted of a combination kitchen-dining area and a living room with just enough room for the sofa and chair in it, as well as the wood-burning stove. The kitchen stove was propane, but Merritt had gotten the hang of it quickly enough. The bathroom was off the back door, by the washroom, and the bedroom was on the other side of the dining area. The full-size bed was perfect for someone of her size, but she couldn’t imagine a couple even Alvie and Leroy’s size trying to sleep comfortably on there for long.

      With no central air or heat, the wood-burning stove required careful tending in cold weather. While Alvie kept the place in a good supply of wood, it had taken Merritt most of her first winter in Montana to learn how to finesse its operation.

      Merritt lifted her face to the sky and felt the first flurries sting her nose and cheeks. Not only did the damp cold seep through her bark-brown, thrift-shop jacket and thin frame, every step cost her extra energy due to the pain now spreading across her back because of the strain on her muscles. She would need to lie down for a few minutes with a hot compress once she reached the cabin, and that would only make her busier the rest of the day if she was to get her baking done in time. Thank goodness she’d already completed her weekly washing and cleaning. She definitely wouldn’t have to worry about anyone coming to visit her and taking up her time because, while she was polite to anyone who spoke to her, she had no friends to spend her off-hours with. That was the price she paid to ensure she could continue to live here safely. From her perspective it was an acceptable cost.

      But as she rounded the curve that gave her the first view of the cottage, she immediately saw something that triggered concern. There was a black truck parked on the street in front of the property. Had someone experienced engine trouble or a flat? No one had passed her as she’d walked, and she didn’t recognized the old, paint-worn pickup. Yet the vehicle was facing away from her, suggesting that’s what must have happened.

      What if someone was casing the place? If they had a good reason to be there, they would have pulled into the driveway, wouldn’t they? And yet she didn’t see anyone, just the truck. Could they already have broken in?

      Running wasn’t an option unless she wanted to end up flat on her face for sure this time, but Merritt increased her pace, which had her breathless and her face strained with pain by the time she got to the driveway. There she saw a man climb the far steps of the porch and return to the front window where, with his hands framing his eyes, he tried to look inside the front window.

      “Hey! What do you think you’re doing?” she shouted.

      He turned immediately and Merritt’s breath caught in her throat. It was Cain Paxton! In a heartbeat, her indignation vanished, only to be replaced by anxiety. She self-consciously limped up the short drive, and was panting when she reached СКАЧАТЬ