The Bridal Quest. Jennifer Mikels
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should have something more nutrichess for breakfast. Shouldn’t she, Daddy?” her older sister piped in. At six, Annie believed in her ability to mother her dolls, her younger sister and sometimes him.
At certain moments, she looked so much like his late wife that his heart twisted. Rail thin, she had shiny brown hair that she’d recently asked to have cut in some trendy bob style. He hadn’t resisted. The short cut meant no more mornings struggling with a hair clip or one of those doughnut-looking cloth things, or having to French braid her hair. Now there was a challenge. Give him a perp in an alley any day.
He smiled at the thought. He hadn’t encountered one in five years, since he and a pregnant Christina had left Las Vegas, when he’d chosen to be a small-town sheriff instead of another big-city cop.
“Daddy, I want them,” Casey insisted, her bottom lip thrusting out.
Back to the chocolate bears.
“There aren’t enough left for even one bowl,” Annie piped in. “Daddy didn’t go to the grocery store yesterday.”
Sam cringed at the accusing tone in her voice. She could make that transgression sound like the crime of the century.
Disbelief edged his youngest daughter’s voice. “Didn’t you, Daddy?” His urchin. With her silky blond hair brushing her shoulders, at four, Casey cared more about making mud pies and riding her new bike with the training wheels than her looks. While her sister had mastered a tone that one day would deliver a reprimand with a few choice words, Sam’s youngest needed to say nothing. With one look, she’d drill someone into the ground. He watched her blue eyes narrow. She was a second away from leveling that look at him.
“I bought some,” he told her.
Sunshine returned. “You did?” Her face broke into a smile.
Saved by a quick stop at a convenience store last night, Sam mused. “I did.”
Annie delivered a pleased grin. “That’s good. If there hadn’t been more, I would have given you my share,” she assured her sister.
Sam closed one eye in her direction. Who was that strange child sitting there? Was this some new phase she was embarking on? He sure had a hard time keeping up. He opened the box of cereal, poured it in two bowls, and set them on the table.
With the girls busy crunching away on the chocolate bears that were swimming in milk and turning it the color of cocoa, he finally poured himself a cup of coffee. He’d bought one of those two-cup coffee brewers for his survival. He never had time to wait for a full pot, and figured there was less waste this way.
“Mrs. Mulvane is here,” Casey said with the opening of the back door.
Sam gazed over the rim of the coffee cup at the girls’ nanny.
“Good morning.” Arlene Mulvane’s voice cracked with her bright, cheery greeting. The elderly woman, a grandmother of four, and great-grandmother of two, lumbered into the kitchen. Several months ago after his third nanny had quit, she’d arrived at the door, and said she would take the job. He’d wondered if Arlene and several of the other town do-gooders had drawn straws to see which of them would volunteer to help “the poor dear man alone with those two little girls.” Regardless, Arlene had blended in well, treated the girls like her own granddaughters. Though she didn’t live in, she would stay late when he couldn’t get home on time.
“And we’re going to the fire station on our next field trip,” Annie was informing Arlene.
Casey offered her opinion. “The lizard farm is better.”
“Yuk!” Annie screwed up her nose, but her bright blue eyes shifted to Sam. “Don’t forget our date.”
He assumed the day would come when some other male would receive that eager look. For now, he had exclusive rights to it. “I won’t forget.”
“Around twelve-thirty?” Arlene asked.
Sam nodded, then drained the coffee in his cup. On Saturday when they had no school, they met him for lunch. “I’ll be at the diner.”
The bell above the diner door jingled. Crowded, noisy, the diner, with its blue-and-white decor, held the aroma of perked coffee and freshly baked cinnamon buns. One of the waitresses poured coffee into two thick mugs and plunked them down in front of customers at the counter. Country music from a jukebox played in the background. Another waitress balanced plates along her arm and weaved her way to a booth near the floor-to-ceiling windows.
Jessica had arrived at the diner before dawn broke. Dew had clung to the ground. Now the sun lightened a sky lavish with clouds.
Hurrying toward a customer who’d asked for another glass of water, she was having a terrible morning. Twice, she’d messed up orders. She wondered why she hadn’t expected problems. After all, she’d bluffed her way into the waitress job this morning, but she’d truly believed she could handle it. How foolish, Jessica.
At the end of the counter, two construction workers from a nearby site waited for a bottle of Tabasco sauce to pour on their eggs, and the fellow in the last booth who she hadn’t gotten to yet scowled at the clock on the wall.
“Scott! Your order’s up,” Herb yelled.
It took a moment to remember to respond to the name. When she’d applied for the job, Herb had questioned why her identification said Walker. She’d claimed she hadn’t changed her name back, let him assume Walker was a married name. Briefly she’d held her breath, worried, but busy and distracted, he’d handed her a shirt and had registered no recognition to the Walker name.
Pivoting around, she picked up orders. She abandoned any notion of balancing the plates on her arm. With one in each hand, she started for the table. Better to make several trips than to dump the breakfast on the floor.
“This isn’t what I ordered,” the man growled when she’d set down his plate.
Sure it was. She was certain she’d gotten the order right. “I’ll take care of that, sir.”
She placed her reorder, then grabbed the coffee pot to fill cups. At the end of the counter, one customer, a petite woman in her mid-sixties with bright red hair and a broad smile, had been watching her ever since she’d entered the diner. Since all the servers and Herb had stopped to talk to her, Jessica assumed the woman was a regular customer.
“Name’s Trudy Holtrum,” the woman said. “I heard there was a new waitress.”
Jessica paused and filled the woman’s coffee cup. “I’m Jessica Scott.”
Trudy bobbed her head as if looking for a yes answer to a question not yet asked. “Have you met the sheriff yet?”
Jessica started to frown. Why would she ask such a question? “Yes, why?”
“I work for him,” Trudy explained. “Lots of women in town are willing to give him a run for his money. Are you?”
“Pardon?” Though stunned by her candor, Jessica laughed.
Hazel eyes met hers with heart-stopping directness. “Don’t you find him attractive?”
Jessica couldn’t mask her incredulity. “What? I don’t even know—”
Nothing fazed the woman. “Better than that, huh?” She peered over her wire-rimmed glasses at Jessica. “Handsome? Sexy?”
Politeness stretched only so far, Jessica decided. “Trudy, I don’t think—”
The charms on her bracelet clattered as she set down her coffee cup. “Oh, he’s sexy, all right.” Grinning, she placed her hands on the counter and heaved herself to a stand.
“See you,” Jessica said.
“Likely.” The woman’s eyes sparkled. “Since you and the sheriff might be an item.”
Jessica laughed as Trudy ambled toward the door.