by Carol Grace
No. All future communication could be, would be and should be done by mail.
By Friday Chloe was tired, but satisfied. She'd scrubbed, she hauled, she'd lifted and cleared and pulled. Maybe no one else would see the difference in the place, but she did. She was looking forward to going to town tonight. Hearing the music. Eating something she hadn't cooked on a camp stove—like a steak from the Bar Z Ranch. Meeting some new people. Seeing some she already knew.
All right, so she was looking forward to seeing Zeb. She'd missed him these past few days. He was amusing and entertaining. She never knew what he'd do or say next. But she couldn't expect him to come by every evening and entertain her. That's why she was looking forward to tonight After a hot soak and a change of clothes, she hiked out by the same trail she'd come in by. Was it only five days ago? It seemed like eons. The trail was a little shorter, maybe because it was all downhill. She didn't want to think about climbing back up to the springs later that night. Even with her flashlight it wouldn't be a picnic. Still, she had to go out. She had cabin fever.
She never had understood what Zeb meant about the people in Powderkeg. If anything, they were friendlier than ever. Wilma waved to her from the window of the dry-goods store.
“Looks like you could use a good pair of hiking boots,” she said when Chloe stopped to say hello.
“That's right,” Chloe said, feeling a new blister on her heel. “It's a long walk out of the property to my car.”
“Thought you'd be hitching a ride from Zeb,” Wilma said pulling some boxes down from a shelf.
“Me? Oh, no. I...I hardly know him. Haven't seen him for days, have you?” Now why did she have to ask that? As if she cared.
“Saw his truck go by just a few minutes ago. In the direction of the bar. Getting ready for tonight I expect. You're staying for the food and the music, aren't you? Everybody who's anybody will be there. That includes you,” Wilma said kindly, holding out a lightweight hiking boot for Chloe's inspection.
Chloe flushed with pleasure. After Zeb's warnings, she was doubly pleased to be included in the category of everybody-who's-anybody. Wilma made her feel almost like she belonged. She bought two pairs of boots, some new stonewashed jeans, T-shirts, a hat and a pair of khaki shorts. All the while, she pictured the new business she'd bring to Wilma when she got her spa going. She'd bring her guests here and they'd go wild with the leather belts, cotton scarves and checkered shirts. After she stashed her purchases in the trunk of her car, she ambled down Main Street, looking in windows at tractors, tools and other heavy equipment
It was way too soon to go to the bar, but she was happy to stroll along in her new boots, her blister covered with new moleskin.
To her surprise, she came across a diner two blocks down the street. Where had that come from? Hadn't she asked about a place like this ? She was beginning to wonder if anything Zeb Bowie said was true—including the story of his broken engagement. It could have been a line to gain her sympathy, though why he'd want that she didn't know.
Like the bar, the place was right out of a Western movie, with a long Formica counter, checkered tablecloths, flowered curtains at the windows and the smell of coffee in the air. Chloe took a stool at the counter and looked around at the other late-afternoon customers—a solitary cowboy at the end of the counter and a couple at a table in the back—until the waitress approached with a green order pad in her hand.
“What'll you have, hon?” she asked.
“Coffee and a piece of that pie. Have you been here long?”
“Who, me?”
“I mean the diner.”
“Only about thirty years.”
“I see,” Chloe said, seething inwardly. But there was no coffee shop in town, according to Zeb Bowie.
When the waitress brought her order, Chloe swallowed her anger and allowed herself to admire the towering meringue on the lemon pie. So much so she almost didn't notice the two men outside the window until the waitress waved to them. Her heart lurched. Even though she knew he was in town, she wasn't prepared to see Zeb Bowie yet. How did one prepare to see him? By straightening the shoulders. By taking a deep cleansing breath. By digging the toes of the boots into the floor. And clearing the throat so one could speak clearly without stumbling. Then curving the lips into a bland smile.
But there was no need to hurry. Because the two of them stood on the sidewalk waving their arms and talking in an animated manner to each other. As if she didn't exist. For all she knew they hadn't seen her; they were so engrossed in their conversation. She strained to hear their words or to read their lips, but finally gave up and turned to her pie and coffee.
“The Bowie brothers,” the waitress said with a nod in their direction, as if that explained everything.
“Oh, yes. I've heard about them,” Chloe said casually.
“Who hasn't?” the waitress asked. “Actually they're not as wild as they used to be. You know, the detergent in the fountain on the square that foamed all over the streets. And riding their horses backwards down Main Street in the May Day Parade.”
Chloe shook her head in mock despair. “I suppose they come in to the diner from time to time,” she said casually.
“All the time. Whenever they're in town. Everyone does. It may be Margie's pie or it may be the coffee. But sooner or later, everybody comes to the diner.”
Chloe glanced out the window and caught Zeb's eye. The liar. The unprincipled, unscrupulous liar. He waved, but he didn't come in.
“That's her?” Sam asked Zeb as he looked through the glass. “You never said she was young.”
“You didn't ask,” Zeb said.
“Or that she was pretty,” Sam said pressing his forehead against the window for a better look.
“It doesn't matter if she's Miss U.S.A. We have to have that land. Horatio would want us to have it,” Zeb said.
“Then why didn't he leave it to us?” Sam asked.
“Probably thought we didn't need it or want it. Which was true at the time. Before the anthrax epidemic and the flood. Now there's the dam,” Zeb said. “It's a whole new ball game. A new opportunity to save our hides. And those of our herd.”
“So what's the plan?” Sam asked.
“We stick to her like glue. Don't let anybody get close enough to spill the beans. Once she finds out, we're sunk. We haven't got a chance. Not only will she refuse to sell the land...”
“She'll have a bad opinion of us,” Sam suggested.
“To say the least” Zeb said grimly.
“Do you care?” his brother asked with a curious glance.
“I don't particularly like being despised,” Zeb said dryly.
“Yeah, I can see that. I can also see that waitress talking to her.”
“What?” Zeb said. “Get in there.”
“Me? What about you?” his brother asked.
“Both of us. One on each side of her.”
Zeb pushed the door open. Chloe swiveled on her stool.
“Why, hello,” he said, feigning surprise. “If it isn't my next-door neighbor.” He slid smoothly onto the stool next to her. “Chloe, meet my brother Sam.”
Sam shook her hand and sat on the other side of her. She turned her head from side to side, carefully studying both men. “Yes, I see the family resemblance,” she said at last “The same grizzled chin. The same bowed legs.”
“Now, wait just a darn minute,” Sam protested. “I'm a lot better looking than he is. And my legs aren't bowed.”
“Relax, Sam. It's just a joke. Ms. Hudson here is just getting back at me for something I might have said.”
After a glance at Chloe's plate, both he and Sam ordered coffee and pie, too.
“The waitress and I were just talking about you,” she said, picking up her coffee cup.
Zeb shot Sam a worried look over Chloe's head. “What about?” he asked.
“About the pranks you two used to play. And about the fact that this coffee shop has been here for thirty years and yet when you k
new I was dying for a cup of coffee the other day, you didn't seem to know it existed.”
“Of course I knew it existed. But you asked for a coffee shop. This is a diner,” he said smugly. “Isn't it, Mary Lou?” he asked the waitress, who was standing with her hands on her hips shaking her head at them. But she couldn't deny it.
“So what brings you to town this evening?” Zeb asked Chloe, admiring her profile while she ate her pie. The curve of her cheek, the straight nose, the stubborn chin. It was the stubborn chin that worried him.
“Same thing that brings you to town,” she answered.
“Buying farm equipment?” Zeb asked, noticing a stray curl brush her smooth cheek. He squeezed his fork tightly in his hand to keep from reaching out to tuck that silky tendril behind her ear.
“Going to the bar for the steak dinner and the music,” she said.
“Oh, that,” he said. “I wouldn't bother if I were you. Besides, it might rain tonight and you wouldn't want to be caught on the trail in a downpour.”
“Wait,” Sam interrupted. “We can give her a ride home.”
Zeb shot him a murderous glance.
“Can't we?” his brother asked innocently.
“If we're going home,” Zeb said between clenched teeth. “Our plans are up in the air. If we go home at all, it might be very late. Or we might not be alone.”
Chloe looked startled for just a moment, but she recovered with a quick smile. “I understand. After all, you've got your reputation to consider. What would people say if the Bowie brothers went home alone or too early? I wouldn't want to cramp your style. Or impose on you. I'm sure it's not going to rain, but if it does...” She held out one foot “I've got new boots. Waterproof.”
Zeb's spirits fell. Boots. She had waterproof boots. He should never have let her out of his sight. He should have been there every moment to discourage her, to warn her and to hinder her efforts. Now she'd gone and bought these boots. Expensive boots, too, from the look of them.
“Well, we'd better be getting over to the bar, fire up those barbecue pits,” Zeb said, draining his coffee cup and laying some bills on the counter.
Chloe did the same. “I'll walk over with you. Maybe I can be of some help.”
“Oh, no,” Sam said. “You're a customer.”
Zeb shook his head at his brother as they walked three abreast along the narrow sidewalk.
“I mean, not unless you want to,” Sam amended.
“She wants to,” Zeb said, thinking she'd be better off in the kitchen where no random customer would strike up a conversation with her. “She's a great cook.”
Chloe glanced up at Zeb, her gaze dubious, as if she doubted his sincerity. He met her gaze without wavering. It was one of the few truthful things he'd said to her or about her. She must have sensed it because an energy flowed between them. And sparks flew. Right there on the sidewalk of the town of Powderkeg. He couldn't look away. Neither could she.
Sam was talking about something, but Zeb wasn't listening. He was listening to the voice in his head. The one that said, This woman has your number. Don't lie to her, don't try to fool her. She's on to you. And sooner or later she'll make you pay for those lies. He jerked his eyes from hers, told the voice in his head to shut up, and focused on the hills in the distance.
“Will any of your girlfriends be there tonight?” she asked.
“What girlfriends?” he asked. Lord, she could be annoying. What business was it of hers?
“You said you went out with women. They didn't get serious. Neither did you. Worked out fine. I thought they might be there tonight.”
Exasperated, he exhaled loudly. “You have a memory like an elephant,” he said. “I don't know who will be there. And I don't really care as long as they buy a steak and eat it. And recommend Bar Z meat to their friends. Here we are.” He turned abruptly into the swinging front doors to the bar with his brother and Chloe close behind.
Barney was in the kitchen on a stepladder, taking plates off the top shelf of the cabinet when they trooped in.
“Sam, Zeb, thank God you're here. I've got reservations up the kazoo. I hope to heaven you brought a lot of meat. I just wonder... Oh, hello, Ms. Hudson. Sorry about the mess.” He looked around the small room at mesh bags of baking potatoes, slabs of butter and tubs of sour cream and shook his head. “Well, don't just stand there,” he said to Zeb. “Do something. We've got about a hundred people coming here in an hour.”
Stunned, Zeb looked at Sam and Sam looked at Barney.
“That's good,” Zeb said at last. “I'll unload the meat from my truck.”
“I'll light the charcoal,” Sam said, heading out the door to the grill made from a fifty-gallon steel drum.
At the door Zeb stopped and turned to Barney. “Chloe wants to help. Give her an assignment.”
But Barney was paralyzed. Incapable of giving anyone an assignment. “I should never have done this,” he told Chloe as he climbed down from the stepladder when the brothers had left. “I became a bartender in a small town so I could take it easy. I don't need this kind of stress in my life. And I don't need more than twenty people in the bar at once. This was all Zeb's crazy idea. To sell his meat. To provide entertainment while people ate his meat.” He pressed his hands to his temples.
“What's on the menu besides steak?” Chloe asked.
“Menu? There is no menu,” Barney said, with a glazed look in his eyes.
“I mean what are you serving besides steak. Baked potatoes?”
“And salad,” Barney said, and went into the bar to answer the telephone, still holding his head in his hands.
Chloe hesitated only a moment then wrapped the potatoes in foil, neatly and efficiently, all one hundred of them, stacked them in the oven to bake at 350°. Then she opened the refrigerator and four huge bags of lettuce fell out. “There's the salad,” she murmured to herself. “But where's the dressing?” The answer was there was no dressing. There were, however, bottles of oil and vinegar, a jar of Dijon mustard and salt and pepper. She whisked, she blended, she tasted and she cleaned up the kitchen. Leaving the potatoes behind to do their baking, she went out the back door to find the Bowie brothers bending over the smoking charcoal.
“You should have used lighter fluid,” Zeb said, holding the can in his hand.
“What, and have the meat taste like chemicals?” Sam asked.
“Well, it's not going to taste like anything, because it's going to be raw.”
“Give it a chance. You're so damned impatient,” Sam said, pushing his brother away from the smoldering fire with a sooty hand.
Zeb's eyes glowed like angry, red-hot charcoal, and his polo shirt was covered with black soot “I'm impatient? You think I'm impatient? Wait till you see all those people who have paid twelve dollars waiting for their steaks while you're back here staring at those coals. You're going to have a riot on your hands. And I'm not going to be here to protect you.”
“Since when do I need you to protect me?” Sam asked indignantly, blowing on the coals.
“Since you were ten years old and Rick Russell stole your lunch on the school bus,” Zeb said, fanning the coals from the other side.
“I didn't need you. You butted in, as usual. I had everything under control then, and I have everything under control now. So butt out.”
Chloe watched horrified as Zeb menacingly raised his fist in the direction of Sam's chin.
“No!” she shouted. “Stop!”
Zeb dropped his arm and Sam looked up with a guilty start.
“See?” Sam said. “You've scared Chloe.”
Zeb snorted. “You don't know her. She doesn't scare that easily.”
“Do you two always fight like that?” she asked.
“Only when he does something stupid,” Zeb explained. “Which is fairly frequent.”
“Or when he thinks he knows everything, which is all the time,” Sam said.
“Don't you fight with your sister or brother?” Zeb asked.
&nbs
p; “No.”
“That's too bad,” Zeb said, watching his brother adjust the height of the grill. “Fighting with siblings helps you get along in the real world.”
“Yes, I can see what I've missed out on,” she said with a touch of sarcasm.
“Maybe we could adopt her,” Sam suggested. “Isn't she just the kind of little sister you've always wanted?” He put one arm around Chloe, leaving dark smudge marks on her shirt.
“Great That's all we need is another mouth to feed. You adopt her, I'm going out in front to set up tables.” And Zeb stomped through the kitchen and out into the bar.
“Don't mind him,” Sam said going back to the grill. “He's not a bad guy really. I wouldn't tell him this, but he's actually protected me on more than one occasion. We've been in some tough spots together. On the ranch. In town. He yells and shouts, but underneath he's calm. Never really loses his cool. Right now he's a tad worried. Got a lot on his mind.”
“One hundred steaks doesn't seem like that much to worry about,” Chloe said.
“Other things too,” Sam said. “Like money.”
“Money? He offered to buy my property from me. He must have money.”
“Oh, right. He'd, I mean we'd borrow the money from the bank.”
“But why do you want the property?” Finally a chance to get a straight answer. Zeb's brother might be more forthcoming than he was. But then anybody might be more forthcoming than Zeb Bowie.
“Why?” Sam frowned. “Well, that's obvious, isn't it?”
