Her Right-Hand Cowboy. Marie Ferrarella
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as well, Cash said with genuine feeling, “My pleasure, Ms. O’Rourke. Here, I’ll walk you to the door.”
“That’s really not necessary,” Ena said, attempting to deflect the offer.
“I don’t know about that. Miss Joan would give me a tongue-lashing if she found out that I’d forgotten my manners. Besides, one of us needs to stretch their legs,” he added with a wink.
The “trip” to the law office’s front door was an exceedingly short one. She was standing before it in a matter of seconds. Cash managed to open it one moment earlier, holding it for her.
“And don’t forget to swing by Miss Joan’s—when you get the chance,” he added politely. “She really would love to see you.”
Ena nodded, although she sincerely doubted that Miss Joan would actually love to see anyone, especially someone who had walked away from Forever ten years ago. She knew for a fact that Miss Joan had little patience with people who felt that they needed to run away from Forever in order to either make something of themselves or, at the very least, find something more meaningful to do with their lives.
Feeling less than triumphant, Ena got into her sports car and drove the short distance to the diner.
She almost wound up driving past the diner. After listening to her father’s will being read, she really was not in the mood to politely listen to someone tell her what was best for her. Miss Joan was not exactly a shy, retiring flower. But she also knew that offending the woman was not exactly the best course of action. So, at the last minute, Ena backed up her vehicle and pulled into the small parking lot.
Because of the hour, the lot wasn’t packed.
Or maybe, Ena mused, business had slacked off. She knew that things like that did happen. She had seen it occur more than a few times during her years living in Dallas. One minute a business seemed to be thriving, even turning people away. The next, that same business was trying to figure out just what had gone wrong and why their patrons had forsaken them and were now frequenting another establishment.
But then those businesses, especially the restaurants, had a great many competitors. It was a toss-up as to which of them could come out on top and lure customers away from the others.
As far back as Ena could remember, Miss Joan had had no competition. There was only one other establishment in Forever. That was Murphy’s, owned and run by three brothers who proudly proclaimed the establishment to be a saloon. The Murphy brothers had a running agreement with Miss Joan. They didn’t serve any food—other than pretzels—in their saloon and Miss Joan didn’t serve any alcoholic beverages in her diner. That made Miss Joan’s diner the only “restaurant” in town.
So if the good citizens of Forever wanted to grab a meal during their workday, they would all need to head out to Miss Joan’s. Ena caught herself wishing that the diner were crowded now. That way, she could just pop in, officially tell Miss Joan that she was back in town, then slip quietly out. If there was any extra time, she might possibly tell the woman that she was debating temporarily sticking around in Forever, at least until such time as she met the conditions of her father’s will and could sell the ranch.
Although she doubted that was necessary. Miss Joan had a way of knowing things before anyone told her. She just intuited them. Some hinted it had something to do with a Cajun ancestor in her family tree, but Ena doubted it. There was just something about the woman that couldn’t really be pinpointed. She was just uniquely Miss Joan.
Getting out of her vehicle, Ena slowly approached the diner. She climbed up the three steps leading to the diner’s door even more slowly.
Staring at the door, Ena decided that this wasn’t one of her better ideas, at least not now. With that, she turned away from the door.
She had made it down all three steps when she heard the diner door behind her opening.
“You waiting for trumpets to herald your entrance to my diner? Or maybe I should be dropping handfuls of rose petals in your path?”
Ena would have known that voice anywhere. Stiffening her shoulders, she turned around and looked up at the small compact woman with deep hazel eyes and hair the color of not quite muted flame. Miss Joan had caught her in the act of escaping. She should have seen this coming.
“I thought you might be too busy for a visit right now,” Ena told her.
Miss Joan continued to stand there, one hand fisted on either side of her small, trim waist as she looked down at the girl she viewed as the newly returned prodigal daughter.
She shook her head. “Ten years and you still haven’t learned how to come up with a decent excuse. Not that that’s a bad thing,” Miss Joan said. “At least they didn’t teach you how to lie in Dallas. Well?” she asked expectantly when Ena continued to stand where she was. “Are you posing for a statue? Because if you’re not, stop blocking the stairs to my diner. Use them and come in, girl.”
Miss Joan didn’t raise her voice, but the command was clearly there.
Moving like a queen, Miss Joan turned around and walked back into the diner. Everything about the way she moved clearly said that she expected Ena to follow her inside.
Ena’s internal debate was very short-lived. She decided that coming into the diner was far easier than walking away from what was clearly a mandate from Miss Joan.
Ena quickly hurried up the three steps. With each step she took, she told herself that she wasn’t going to regret this. After all, she had spoken to Miss Joan hundreds of times before. This would just be another one of those times. Lightning was not going to streak across the sky and strike her the moment she entered. She was just paying her respects to an old friend.
A rather scary old friend, she thought as she pushed the diner door open with fingertips that were positively icy.
“Take a seat at the counter, girl,” Miss Joan instructed without sparing Ena so much as a glance over her shoulder.
Miss Joan waved a very thin hand toward an empty stool that just happened to be right in the middle of the counter. It was also directly in front of where the woman usually stood when she was observing the various activities that were going on within her diner.
When Ena complied, Miss Joan got behind the counter and asked, “You still take your coffee black?”
“I do,” Ena answered.
Nodding, Miss Joan filled up a cup straight from the urn. The coffee in the cup was hot enough to generate its own cloud directly above the shimmering black liquid. Years of practice had the woman placing the cup and its saucer in front of Ena without spilling so much as a single drop.
“Are you hungry?” Miss Joan asked.
Ena shook her head. “No, ma’am, I’m fine,” she answered.
Miss Joan’s eyes narrowed as they pinned hers with a penetrating look. “When did you eat last?” she asked.
She should have known that she couldn’t get away with such a vague answer. She would have no peace until she gave Miss Joan something a little more specific. “I had something at a drive-through early this morning,” she told the woman.
“You’re hungry,” Miss Joan declared in her no-nonsense voice. “Angel,” she called out to the chef she had come to rely on so heavily. “I need an order of two eggs, sunny-side up, two strips of bacon, crisp, and one slice of white toast, buttered.” Her eyes met Ena’s. “Did I forget anything?”
Ena moved her head from side to side. “No. You never do.” It was as much of an observation as it was a compliment.
Other than the fact that Miss Joan’s hair looked a little redder than it had when she’d left Forever, the woman hadn’t changed a bit, nor