by Judy Duarte
“Does Margie still work there?”
Matt chuckled. “I’m sure she does—unless she landed a job as the gossip columnist at the Brighton Valley Gazette. And even then, she’d probably hang out at the diner to pick up the latest news.”
“I remember her being a bit nosy and talkative,” Miranda said. “But she was very sweet.”
“You have her pegged just right. Some people never change.” Matt glanced across the seat at his former high school sweetheart. And of course, some did.
Two days ago, he never would have thought he’d see Miranda again, let alone learn that she’d given birth to his daughter. And now look. Here they were, riding together to Caroline’s Diner, kicking up dust along the long driveway to the county road and stirring old memories he’d thought that he’d forgotten.
* * *
After parking along Brighton Valley’s quaint tree-lined Main Street, they climbed out of Matt’s pickup and headed to the diner. In spite of the addition of a fancy steak house and the Italian restaurant that opened a couple of years ago, Caroline’s was still popular with the locals.
The last time Miranda and Matt had come to Caroline’s for a burger and fries, they’d sat in a corner booth, hidden from view, and she’d prayed her father or one of his friends or associates wouldn’t spot her. Little had she known that he’d hired a PI to find her, a man who’d followed them inside, then told her father what she’d been up to.
The bell over the diner’s door jingled, announcing their entry, but other than two old men seated at the lunch counter, the place was surprisingly empty. Miranda scanned the interior of the familiar eatery, with its pale yellow walls and white café-style curtains on the front windows.
“Look!” Emily pointed to the refrigerator display case that sat next to the old-fashioned register. “Are we going to have dessert tonight? I love chocolate cake.”
“You bet,” Matt said. “I like chocolate, too. I’ll also pick up a lemon meringue pie. That’s Uncle George’s favorite.”
Emily turned away from the desserts long enough to notice the chalkboard where Caroline posted her daily specials.
As usual, she’d written it in yellow chalk: What the Sheriff Ate—Pork Chops, Mashed Potatoes and Gravy, Buttered Green Beans, Biscuits and Peach Cobbler.
“What’s that mean?” Emily asked, pointing to the board.
“Caroline’s husband used to be the sheriff,” Miranda explained. “He’s retired now, but everyone still refers to him with that title.”
“And so he ate pork chops for lunch?” Emily scrunched her brow. “Why do people need to know that?”
Margie, who was still in the kitchen, must have heard the bell at the door jingle-jangle because she called out, “Y’all don’t need to wait to be seated. Take any table you like.”
“It’s going to take a while for them to get our dinner orders ready,” Matt said. “And there’s hardly anyone here now, anyway. Let’s go ahead and sit down.”
When he pointed to a table near the window, Miranda placed her hand on Emily’s shoulder, then steered her to the spot he’d selected. She would’ve preferred that they sit in the corner booth, even though it might provoke memories neither of them ought to poke at. A few of her dad’s friends still lived in town, although he probably hadn’t kept in touch with them after moving to San Antonio. He ran in a different social circle these days.
Besides, she had every intention of being the one to tell him where she was staying. And she’d do that soon. Very soon.
“This place is funny,” Emily said, as she took a seat. “They have bells on their doors, and they tell each other what they eat.”
“You’re right,” Matt said, as he leaned his cane against the wall, then pulled out his chair.
They’d no more than taken their seats when Margie stopped by the table with two adult menus and one for a child, as well as a plastic cup filled with crayons. The instant she recognized Matt, she offered him a bright-eyed grin and winked. “Well, if it isn’t our local bull riding champ! Welcome home, cowboy. We’re all looking forward to seeing you compete in the Rocking Chair Rodeo.”
Matt didn’t respond.
When Margie glanced at Miranda, her jaw dropped. “Well, now. Isn’t this a nice surprise. I haven’t seen you in years.”
“It’s been a while,” Miranda said. “How are you?”
“I’m doing just fine. Thanks for asking.” Margie zeroed in on Emily, who was busy checking out the puzzles on her menu and removing a red crayon from the little cup.
“And who is this sweet little thing?” Margie asked.
Emily looked up from her work long enough to offer the waitress a smile, then went back to a word search.
“This is Emily,” Miranda said, “my daughter.”
“Our daughter,” Matt corrected.
Margie gasped, and Miranda wanted to slip under the table, although she wasn’t sure why. Shouldn’t she be glad that Matt had claimed Emily as his child?
“Well, now.” Margie studied Emily for a beat, then her eyes twinkled. “Isn’t that nice?”
Isn’t it? Miranda’s life story was about to be blasted on the front page of the Brighton Valley Gazette. Thank goodness, she didn’t need to use the bathroom—yet. The last thing she needed was for Margie to see her baby bump and jump to conclusions. She shot a glance at Matt, but he didn’t seem to be concerned.
“I had no idea you two got married,” Margie said. “The last I heard, your daddy didn’t approve of Matt.”
He probably still didn’t, although Miranda knew, with time, her father would come around. He always did. It’s just that he was prone to having knee-jerk reactions at first.
“Miranda and I didn’t get married,” Matt said, as he placed his hand on Emily’s shoulder, a move that appeared awkward until the child looked up at him and smiled. “But we couldn’t be happier to share this little girl.”
“I can sure see why,” Margie said. “She’s a real cutie.”
“Not only that,” Matt added, “she’s smart, too. And she has a big heart.”
The door swung open, and the bell jingled, announcing that a new customer had just entered. Margie turned toward the front of the diner, offered the entrant a bright-eyed grin and waved. “Come on in, Doc. Take a seat anywhere.” Then she returned her attention to Matt. “While you look over the menu, I’ll get y’all started with some water.”
“Actually,” Matt said, “we’re going to order four meals to go. And while we’re trying to decide what we want to take home, we’ll have three slices of that chocolate cake.”
“You’ve got it,” Margie said, as she headed for the refrigerator display case at the front of the diner.
“Hey, Rick.” Matt waved over the dark-haired man Margie had referred to as Doc. In a flannel shirt, jeans and boots, he didn’t look like a doctor. Then again, Matt and his high school buddies all had nicknames, but she’d never met this guy.
“Well, I’ll be darned,” Rick said, extending a hand for Matt to shake. “I heard you had a hard ride. How are you doing?”
Matt nodded toward his cane. “All right, I guess. But I’m not getting better as quickly as I’d hoped.”
“It takes time to mend, but I’m sure you’ll be back to fighting weight in no time.”
Matt turned to Miranda, introduced her as an old friend and Emily as his daughter. “This is Doctor Rick Martinez. About five or six years ago, when Doctor Grimes retired, Rick bought his practice.”
Miranda had met Dr. Grimes once, when he came out to the Double G to treat Bandit, Matt’s prized gelding. He and George were cousins, if she remembered correctly.
“So now Rick is the town veterinarian,” Matt added. “And he’s a darn good one at that.”
Emily set down her crayon and gave the man her full attention. “I’m going to be a veterinarian when I gr
ow up.”
“That’s awesome,” Rick said. “You must be an animal lover like me.”
She nodded proudly. “I have a dog, a pony, a lamb and chickens.”
“You don’t actually have those animals,” Miranda corrected. “They belong to Uncle George.”
Emily clicked her tongue. “Sweetie Pie is mine because I found her, and he said I could have her. And when we move to a new house with a big yard, I get to take them all with us. So they’re practically mine already.”
Miranda could hardly argue that. And no matter where she decided to live, she’d never end up back at her condo in San Antonio. They allowed pets, but the landlord would never agree to chickens, a lamb or a pony.
As Emily chattered away, Miranda glanced at Matt, who was smiling as he watched the conversation unfold between Dr. Martinez and their daughter. If Emily decided not to major in veterinary medicine, she should consider a career as an investigative reporter. She certainly appeared to have an aptitude for it.
“Do you operate on animals, too?” Emily asked.
“Whenever I have to. I have a small surgical suite in my clinic, but if my patient is a large animal, like a horse, I refer patients to the equine hospital in Wexler.”
Emily scrunched her brow and bit down on her bottom lip, then looked up at Dr. Martinez. “Do you ever operate on chickens?”
A smile tugged at the vet’s lips. “Not usually. Why do you ask?”
“Because I have a chicken named Nugget, and she has a crooked toe. I don’t know how it happened, but it’s been like that ever since we got her. And I think we should fix it for her.”
Dr. Martinez stroked his chin, as if giving the medical dilemma some thought. “Can Nugget walk?”
“Yes.”
“Does she limp or act like it hurts?”
“No.”
“Then I wouldn’t recommend surgery. She’s adapted just fine.”
Miranda liked the doctor already. He seemed to have an amazing bedside—or rather diner-side—manner, and he was great with kids. Rather than tell Emily that an injured chicken was more likely to end up in a roasting pan than an operating table, he took her questions seriously.
“The other chickens peck at her sometimes,” Emily added, “and I think it’s because of her toe.”
“Chickens have what we call a pecking order. They rank each other, and those on the low end get pecked more often. So whatever their reason for pecking on Nugget, I don’t think it has anything to do with her toe.”
Emily seemed to think about that for a while.
When the bell attached to the diner door jingled again, Dr. Martinez glanced over his shoulder and waved. “I’ll be right with you, boys.”
“Is that Lucas?” Matt asked.
“Yep. He’s in high school now. I’m meeting him and one of his classmates here to discuss colleges that offer degrees in veterinary medicine.”
“Already?” Matt furrowed his brow. “I can’t believe Lucas is already thinking about college.”
“He’s sixteen,” Rick said. “And the twins are four.”
“They were practically newborns when I saw them last.” Matt laughed. “Time flies, huh?”
“You’ve got that right.” Rick nodded toward the teens who were studying the desserts in the refrigerated display case. “I’d better go before they eat up all the good stuff.”
“Give Mallory my best,” Matt said.
“I’ll do that. And if we don’t get together before the rodeo, we’ll see you there. I’ve already purchased our tickets.”
As the vet turned away from the table, Matt said, “Hey, Rick. One of these days, I’d like to bring Emily to your clinic for a tour. I’m sure she’d like to see your pet rescue, too.”
“Absolutely. You can bring her by anytime. Just give me a call to make sure I’m there and not visiting one of the ranches.”
“You got it.”
Rick had barely taken two steps when Miranda caught Matt’s attention and mouthed, “Thank you.”
Matt shrugged a single shoulder, as if he hadn’t done anything worthy of her appreciation.
As his gaze fixed on their daughter, a slow smile curved his lips and dimpled his cheeks.
Miranda’s heart fluttered to life and beat in a way it hadn’t in years. And for a moment, she feared she was falling in love with Matt all over again.
Slow down, she told herself. And be careful.
If she let down her guard, she might fall hard. And if that happened, she didn’t see things ending any better than they had nine years ago.
Chapter Six
Two days later, Matt sat on the edge of his bed and rubbed his aching knee. He had to admit it felt better, but he was a far cry from being at one hundred percent. And if he wasn’t completely healed, that meant he couldn’t compete in the Rocking Chair Rodeo, an event where everyone in town expected to see him.
Even if he could pull off climbing on the back of a bull, one more hard fall and bad landing could create a more lasting and permanent injury. And then where would he be?
He got to his feet and limped to the closet, holding the cane rather than using it. Then he slid open the door and placed the cane inside. Maybe, if he wasn’t using it anymore, he’d convince himself that he’d be fully recovered soon.
As he stood in the center of the small but comfortable room that had once been his great-grandmother’s, he scanned the interior, which hadn’t changed in years.
After Matt’s dad asked George to let Matt move in and live out his teen years on the Double G, George had purchased the blue-plaid bedspread that covered the bed, replacing the pink-and-beige quilt that his mother had made before she died.
The maple chest of drawers and matching nightstand, probably considered antiques, had once belonged to her, too. But other than that, there wasn’t much to remind Matt of the woman he’d never met.
He’d added his own touches to the room—rodeo posters that still adorned the walls, several framed photos that dotted the chest of drawers. He crossed the room and picked up one of him and his buddies; they were wearing their football uniforms—dirt-smudged faces, happy grins and drenched in ice water after winning the division title.
Matt studied the picture of himself, along with Clay “Bullet” Masters and Adam “Poncho” Santiago, and couldn’t help but smile. They’d been fun-loving, mischief-prone teenagers back then, and as a result, they were often in trouble at school.
The worst and probably last time any of them crossed a line was when a harmless prank went awry and injured a janitor. Charges were filed, and if Adam’s foster dad, a respected police officer, hadn’t gone to bat for them, they might have spent some time in juvenile hall. That was the first time Matt had someone defend him, and he’d never forgotten it.
Behind several other pictures, he spotted a photo of him and Miranda, standing next to Bandit, the horse he’d had to put down three months after Miranda left town. That second devastating loss had only made the first one worse.
Matt had been so hurt by Miranda’s rejection that he’d been tempted to throw that photo in the trash or burn it or tear it to pieces, just like she’d done to him. But it was the only picture he had of Bandit, so he’d stuck it upside down in the lower dresser drawer instead.
So who’d gone through his things and put that picture back on display? Not that they’d placed it front and center. Still, Matt certainly hadn’t done it.
It might’ve been his uncle, he supposed, but George had always respected Matt’s privacy in the past. It didn’t seem likely that he’d rummage through his drawers. He supposed it might have been the cleaning woman George hired to come in every couple weeks.
A knock sounded at his door—a loud rap, not one of the soft tentative knocks he’d come to expect from Miranda.
“Come in.” He turned away from the ph
otographs and watched George enter the room.
“I’ve got one of the new hands fixing the pump in the north forty,” George said. “He’s still a little wet behind the ears, so I need to go out there and supervise. Since you’re taking Emily to tour the veterinary clinic today, I wondered if you’d pick up something for me while you’re in town and save me a trip.”
“Sure. What is it?”
“A prescription at the drugstore. No big deal if you can’t. I’ll find time to get it later this afternoon.”
George rarely visited the doctor. “What’s it for?”
“An antibiotic for an infected toenail. Like I said, it’s no big deal.”
“I’ll get it after Emily’s tour.”
“By the way,” George said, “she’s waiting outside for you, next to your truck.”
“Already? If we go now, we’ll show up about twenty minutes early.”
George chuckled. “She was so excited, she hardly touched her lunch. I’d say she’s eager to get on the road.”
“Yeah, I know.” He’d figured that out when she darn near talked Rick’s ear off at Caroline’s Diner. “She’s going to like visiting the clinic.”
A slow smile slid across George’s face. “You’re going to be a good father.”
“I don’t know about that.” Matt shrugged a single shoulder. “But I’m going to try. You can’t expect more than that from a guy who’s never been close to his own dad.”
“It won’t be hard. Just try to be the kind of man you wished your father would’ve been.”
A man like George, he supposed. And maybe one like Adam’s foster dad. Neither of them had had kids of their own, but they’d both stepped up and provided damn good role models for a couple of angry and rebellious teenagers.
“Speaking of fathers,” George said, “have you talked to yours lately?”
“Not since I had that run-in with Grave Digger. He called me, but not because he was concerned about my injury. He asked if I could get a couple of VIP tickets for him and my brother to attend the Rocking Chair Rodeo.” Matt rolled his eyes. “I told him I couldn’t.”
