A Cowboy State of Mind

by Jennie Marts

  Zane chuckled as he got out and followed Bryn toward the diner. She had a pretty saucy swing to her step as well, and his lips twitched in a grin as he enjoyed the view. Lucky bounced along next to her, his head upturned as if waiting for direction. Zane had rolled down the windows and left the collie in the truck. In this town, nobody locked their doors, and the dog hadn’t jumped out of the truck yet, despite him giving her plenty of opportunities.

  The air smelled of smoked meat mixed with the scent of pine from the trees rising up the side of the mountain behind the diner. The Creedence Country Café sat on the edge of town. A cracked sidewalk ran alongside the road leading into the town square. Colorful purple and pink trumpet flowers spilled from the whiskey barrels in front of the door, the result of a recent renovation Creedence had undertaken in order to spruce up the town.

  A dirty black pickup with out-of-state plates and a rusty horse trailer hooked to its bumper sat parked in front of the diner. The horse inside stamped and whinnied as Zane and Bryn approached the door. It butted its head against the side of the trailer and peered out at them with a frightened brown eye that was crusted and leaky with infected goop.

  “Whoa there, it’s all right,” Zane assured it, his voice steady and calm as they drew closer.

  “Oh no, do you see its eye?” Bryn asked. “Poor thing.”

  “No wonder it’s infected. This trailer is disgusting,” he said, peering in at the mess of manure and sparse bits of hay. It looked like the horse had been trampling in its own waste for days.

  “It doesn’t look like they’ve cleaned this trailer out ever.” Bryn pulled her head back to avoid the foul smell. “And it’s got to be baking hot in there.” The horse’s back was streaked with sweat and dust.

  Bile rose in his throat, and Zane clamped his teeth together as his hands tightened into fists. He hated to see animals being abused. Especially when they didn’t get the chance to turn old enough and strong enough to fight back. “I’d like to see the owner of this truck spend a day cooped up in there.” Zane was tempted to loosen the latch as he walked by and let the horse free.

  “I agree.” Bryn lifted her hand toward the latch. “What if we just opened the back end of the trailer and the horse accidentally escaped?”

  His lips curved in a wry grin. He liked the way this woman’s brain worked. “I was thinking the same thing. But the horse is tied up, and even if we released the lead rope, where is it going to go?”

  “I don’t know. But I feel like we have to do something.”

  “Not our circus. Not our monkeys.” Zane shook his head and stole a glance at the three-legged dog sitting devotedly at the waitress’s feet. He put a hand on Bryn’s back to guide her toward the diner entrance and softened his tone. “You can’t save everybody, Bryn.”

  Her feet didn’t move. She turned to stare at him, holding his gaze for just long enough to have sweat heating his back. “I’m still gonna try to save as many as I can.”

  Damn, but this woman had a habit of hitting him right in the heart. He gave a slight nod of his head, not trusting his voice to speak, as she tore her eyes from his and entered the restaurant.

  “You’re late,” the fry cook yelled from the kitchen. Another staple of the café, Gil had been frying eggs and slinging hash at the roadside diner for as long as Zane could remember. He’d learned to cook in the Navy, and as gruff as Gil sounded, Zane knew the old sailor had a soft spot for Bryn. Who didn’t?

  “I know,” Bryn answered, the dog trotting at her heels as she raced into the back. Lucky must have taken his customary spot in the back office because Bryn emerged from the kitchen alone a few seconds later, hastily tying a white apron around her waist. She reached for the coffeepot as she apologized to Gil, Vi, and the few customers that filled the diner. “Sorry, y’all. My stupid car broke down.”

  “Again?” Ida Mae Phillips, an elderly woman, and a regular, who had taught Sunday school down at the Methodist church for over thirty years, asked from her customary table by the window. “You have got to do something about that dad-blamed vehicle.”

  “I know. I know.” Bryn forced a smile at the two men sitting at the counter. The taller one wore a threadbare flannel shirt that was hard to tell if it was dirty or just faded. A chewed-up toothpick clung to his chapped lips. The other, a shorter guy whose body was muscled, yet his rounded belly gave away a habit of either too much beer or too many chicken wings, had on a T-shirt so wrinkled it looked like he’d slept in it. A green hat covered his unwashed hair, a greasy stain soiling the bill. “It looks like you’re all set for coffee, so what can I get you fellas to eat?”

  Zane slid onto a stool at the counter, leaving an empty spot between him and the two guys drinking coffee. He didn’t recognize either one, but that didn’t surprise him. The diner was next to the highway, so in addition to the regular locals, plenty of truckers and road-trippers stopped in for “the county’s best chicken-fried steak,” as the sign above the diner boasted.

  But these guys didn’t fit one of those categories. They had a different air about them, with their grimy hair and dirty jeans, and the oily way one of them raked his eyes over Bryn’s figure before giving her his breakfast order.

  Zane was sure these were the guys driving the trailer, and just the sound of their voices nettled his nerves like rocks against a cheese grater.

  Bryn kept her cool as she passed their order to Gil. She poured Zane a cup of coffee as she took his order next, then worked her way around the room, checking in with the other customers, exchanging comments about her car and the nice weather while she cleared plates and filled water glasses.

  A freckle-faced boy of about five or six and his younger sister clambered onto the barstools next to Zane.

  The curly-haired blond toddler looked up at him, her tiny pink lips pursed in a perfect bow as her brow furrowed. She pointed a small chubby finger at the scar on his cheek. “Ow-ie.”

  “It doesn’t hurt anymore,” he assured her in a soft voice accompanied by a quick wink, earning him an adorable giggle.

  “Geez. What happened to your face, mister?” her brother asked, cringing as he drew his head back.

  Zane lifted his shoulder in a slight shrug. “Got in a fight with a dragon.”

  The boy’s eyes widened.

  Zane’s lips pulled into a smirk. “You should see the dragon’s face.”

  “I’m sorry if they’re bothering you,” the kids’ mother said as she started to sit on the stool next to the boy. She paused mid-squat, a wince crinkling her eyes, as she caught sight of his face. She straightened again as she wrapped a protective arm around the angelic toddler. “Come on, kids. I think we’re going to sit in a booth today.”

  “But, Mom, you said we could sit at the counter,” the boy whined.

  “We will next time,” she said, already lifting the toddler to her hip and pulling at the boy’s hand. “I want to look out the window today.”

  Likely excuse. Zane ignored the hard ball of shame that tightened under his ribs as he turned away from the family and concentrated on his coffee. Wasn’t the first time—and wouldn’t be the last—that someone judged his character by the scar on his face and moved away from him.

  “You shouldn’t tease him like that,” Bryn said.

  His mouth pulled into a hard grimace. He hadn’t heard her come back around the counter. Had she seen the whole embarrassing exchange? Not that he could do anything about it. He pointed to the marred tissue on his cheek. “I considered telling him I got this because I didn’t listen to my parents. But I didn’t want to scare him.” And because that answer was a little too close to the truth. The ragged skin had been torn with the broken end of a beer bottle Birch had hit him with when Zane had finally chosen to stop listening to his dad and stand up to him instead.

  “Yeah, imagining a fight with a dragon won’t scare him at all. The kid’s gonna think Creede
nce has a monster in its midst,” she joked as she grabbed another order and hustled to deliver it.

  It does. It’s just in the form of a scar-faced man. Zane took another sip of coffee and turned his focus to watching Bryn work.

  Her movements were quick and efficient, like every action she took had a purpose. He noted, and appreciated, the way her curvy hips swayed as she maneuvered between tables and around chairs. She wasn’t tall exactly, probably only five seven or so—he knew this by how she had fit against his over-six-foot frame the one time he’d danced with her—but she carried herself that way: her spine straight, her shoulders pulled back. Maybe because of his time in the military, he admired a woman with good posture.

  He found he admired a lot of things about Bryn Callahan: the way she put people at ease, her good heart. Just in the past few minutes, he’d seen her good-naturedly wipe up one child’s spill and offer a high five and a sticker to another. She filled waters and stopped to give Ida Mae a hug before the former Sunday school teacher left the diner.

  “How’s our puzzle comin’?” Bryn asked, pausing on her way by to lean over the shoulder of old Doc Hunter.

  The elderly widower held the newspaper up and pointed to a spot on the page. “What’s a five-letter word for someone who likes to spend their time alone?”

  “Happy,” Zane muttered.

  “I thought it was ‘hermit’ but it doesn’t fit,” Doc continued, either ignoring Zane, or more than likely not hearing him.

  “Didn’t we have this one last week?” Bryn asked, resting her hand on Doc’s arm as she studied the puzzle. “What about ‘loner’?”

  “That fits,” Doc said triumphantly, filling in the letters. “You’ve got such an eye for those letters. You’re smart, just like my Madge was.”

  “You’re the smart one. You always get the hard words. I just fill in the easy ones.” She squeezed his shoulder, then checked to make sure his coffee was full before heading back toward the counter.

  “You are smart,” Zane told her as she refilled his cup.

  “Smart aleck-y,” she quipped with a grin as she grabbed a plate of pancakes and a bowl of oatmeal and headed back into the dining area.

  He couldn’t help but smile back. “That too.”

  She set the food in front of a man about her age wearing a set of mechanic’s overalls.

  He looked at the bowl of oatmeal, then back at Bryn. “What’s this? I ordered hash browns.”

  “I know you did, Justin. But your wife called and said your cholesterol was up at your last checkup and to substitute oatmeal if you tried to order fried potatoes.”

  His shoulders slumped. “But I’m the one paying for the food.”

  She grinned. “Yeah, but I’ve known her longer.”

  His lips tugged up in a grin. “That old excuse. We were all three in the same third grade class.”

  “Yeah, but I met her first,” Bryn teased. “Just eat the oatmeal.”

  “Fine,” he grumbled as he picked up a spoon.

  Zane had grown up in Creedence as well. He and Bryn had been a few years apart in school, but he hadn’t paid much attention to her back then.

  But she sure had his attention now. Watching her tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear and listening to the sound of her laughter carrying through the diner had his gut doing the funny kind of flips he hadn’t let himself feel in a long time.

  And I have no business letting myself feel them now either, he thought as he dug into the warm plate of biscuits and gravy Bryn set in front of him. Not after what happened with Sarah. He’d loved her, but look how that turned out. Tragedy and pain. Even now, the sound of an ambulance siren still made his chest tighten and his stomach roil. He wasn’t a bet any woman should take.

  Bryn topped off the coffees of the two trailer guys as they ate, then leaned her hip against the counter. Her manner suggested cool nonchalance, but Zane knew different as he heard her ask casually, “Is that your horse out there?”

  “Not ours,” Flannel Shirt said, his tone boastful and derisive. “But she’s in our trailer.”

  Bryn eyed them, the first hint of suspicion showing on her face. “Why do you have someone else’s horse in your trailer? Who does she belong to?”

  “No one. Not anymore.”

  Her brow furrowed in confusion. “I don’t get it, but I noticed she didn’t seem very happy.”

  “I’m sure she isn’t,” he answered, shrugging his shoulders. “But it doesn’t matter. That nag is on her way to ‘a farm in the country,’ if you know what I mean.” He used his fingers to make air quotes.

  Bryn’s eyes widened as a gasp escaped her lips. “You mean you’re taking her to…” She obviously couldn’t say the words, and her skin took on a greenish pallor.

  Green Hat nodded, and his lips curved into a sly grin. “Yep. We’re what you might call a ‘waste disposal’ company.”

  The color drained from Bryn’s face. “You can’t be serious.”

  “As a horse’s heart attack.” He talked around the bite of hash browns in his mouth as he elbowed the other man in the ribs and laughed at his own poor joke.

  “But why?” she asked.

  “Who knows? And who cares? Not our business to ask. We just collect the horse and the fee. Then it’s our job to drop them off at the glue factory.”

  Just as “casual” as Bryn had been, Zane kept an eye on the conversation, and he swore he saw the light blink in Bryn’s eyes as an idea occurred to her.

  “Soooo if you’ve already collected the fee for her, what happens if she never makes it to the…” She swallowed. “The final destination?”

  Flannel Shirt shrugged again. “Nothing, I guess. Except they have one less horse to slaughter.”

  Bryn winced but wasn’t swayed by their obvious attempt to rile her. “So what if you just let her go? Or what if I took her off your hands? I live on a farm, so from what you said earlier, you’d still be fulfilling your obligation.”

  Green Hat’s eyes went dark and predatory. “Where is this farm? Maybe we could stop by and visit before we leave town.”

  A low growl formed in Zane’s throat, and his knuckles went white around his fork as he considered jabbing the utensil into the dirt bag’s eye.

  Flannel Shirt put a hand on his partner’s arm as he eyed Bryn, working the toothpick from one side of his mouth to the other. “I can see you really want this horse”—he eyed her name tag—“Bryn. So we might be able to arrange something. I’m Raleigh, and this here’s my friend Gator. Why don’t you tell us what you have in mind?”

  “Not the same thing he does,” she answered, flashing Gator a disdainful look. She forced her lips back into a smile as she regarded Raleigh. “How about I cover your breakfast and pack you a lunch for the road as well? I’ll even throw in a couple of slices of pie.”

  He let out a scornful laugh. “How about you do all that and throw in a couple hundred bucks?”

  Bryn’s shoulders sank. “I don’t have a couple hundred bucks.” She pressed her lips together, then inhaled a deep breath before offering, “But I’d give you my car in exchange for letting me have the horse.”

  “The one you just told this whole place is broken down on the side of the road? No thanks.”

  “Yeah, what are we gonna do with a broken-down car?” Gator chimed in. As casual as she tried to act, they knew they had her. “Couple of guys like us, we work on a cash-only basis.”

  “I understand. I’m just a little low on cash right now.” She glanced around the diner as if mentally counting up her morning tips. “And there’s no way I can make that in tips today. But think about it: you giving me the horse only makes your job easier. That seems like a no-brainer for a couple of smart guys like you.”

  These two idiots are the “no-brainers.” Zane held back a smirk as he reached for his wallet to pay his bill. He nee
ded to get out of here before he did something foolish—like kick these guys out on their greasy butts and let the horse go. Or worse.

  Raleigh tapped his finger on the counter, a thin line of grease visible under his nail. “No one’s ever offered to buy our load before, but you have a point. If we don’t have to drop off that horse, we can get home a day early. So maybe I’m feeling generous and willing to make a deal.”

  “I’m listening,” Bryn said, crossing her arms protectively over her chest.

  “You cover our breakfast and pack us a lunch, and we’ll give you that horse for an even hundred.”

  “And don’t forget the pie,” Gator threw in.

  Bryn chewed her lip, her gaze skimming over the diner patrons once more. Her eyes landed on Zane’s, and he held them a moment, knowing already what she was going to say.

  “Deal,” she said. “Just give me a little time to drum up the cash. I’ll make some calls while I put together your lunch.”

  Raleigh’s lips curved as his eyes went to the clock above her head. He knew he had a live one—he just had to reel in the line. “You’ve got twenty minutes. Or we’re leaving. With the horse.”

  Zane rifled through the bills in his wallet. He’d just gotten paid. In fact, one of his errands that morning was stopping at the bank. Even as he fought it, knowing how stupid the idea was, he knew his deposit was going to end up being a little slim.

  He’d had the biscuits and gravy meal before and knew his bill normally totaled a little over ten dollars, so he usually left fifteen. He sighed as he took two bills from his wallet and slid them under the edge of his plate.

  “Thanks for breakfast, Bryn,” he told her as he slid off the stool. “I’ll check back in later to see if you need a ride home.”