Chapter 1

      Man up, Dusty Crawford commanded himself as he stared at the front door of the Bitterroot Café. It was almost nine o’clock on Friday night and the summer sun just barely skimmed the horizon in its downward descent.

      As darkness slowly fell, the interior of the brightly lit café became more visible. He’d waited to arrive until late enough in the day that the dinner hour would be over and the popular eatery would be less crowded.

      He’d wrestled stubborn cattle and faced more than one marauding cougar over the years, and yet the thought of the beautiful blonde waitress inside the café had him nearly shaking in his boots.

      He turned his head at the sound of several doors slamming nearby. He narrowed his gaze as he watched three cowboys amble from the parking lot toward the café’s front door.

      Zeke Osmond, Greg Albertson and Shep Harmon all worked on the ranch next to the Holiday spread where Dusty had worked and lived since he was fourteen years old. For the most part all of the men who were part of the Humes ranch were mean and liked nothing more than to stir up trouble wherever they went.

      The Humes men were suspected of all kinds of mischief on the Holiday land, including tearing down fencing, setting nuisance fires and the occasional cattle disappearance.

      As they went inside the building, Dusty shoved thoughts of them out of his head. He needed to focus on the reason he was here. After a little over six months of small talk whenever he ate at the café, tonight he was here to ask Trisha Cahill out on an official date.

      He took off his black cowboy hat and set it on the passenger seat and then raked his hand through his hair. Drawing a deep breath for courage, he finally left his pickup truck and headed for the café door.

      When he stepped inside, his nose was immediately assailed by the scents of fried potatoes and onions, a variety of simmering meats and a faint whiff of apples and cinnamon.

      Even though it was late for dinner there was still a crowd at the tables and booths. This wasn’t just a place to eat in the small town of Bitterroot, Oklahoma; it was also a place where folks came to visit with neighbors and catch up with the local gossip.

      His gaze instantly found Trisha, who was taking an order from Steve Kaufman, a widower who lived alone and spent most evenings in the café sipping coffee and reading a book.

      Dusty headed toward an empty booth that he knew was in Trisha’s area and sat. He grabbed one of the plastic menus propped up between squeeze bottles of mustard and ketchup. He opened it even though he’d long ago memorized everything that the café had to offer.

      Nerves jangled in the pit of his stomach. You’re being ridiculous, he told himself. The worst thing that could happen was that Trisha would tell him in no uncertain terms that she had no interest in going out with him. He could live with that. He’d certainly survived much worse in his twenty-nine years on earth.

      He closed the menu and returned it to its place and then looked up and smiled as Trisha approached his booth.