a ride.
“How are the boys?” he asked Rita.
She set down his silverware and dish of ranch dressing. “They’re crazy about the toy trucks you gave them. Thanks, honey.”
“No problem.” He knew her ex rarely sent money, and his nephews had more toys than they could ever use. When he’d mentioned the waitress to Rory and Emily, his brothers’ wives, their youngest kids had gone through their toy chests.
“You bat those pretty eyes at the guys sitting at the other end of the bar, should double your tips,” he suggested to Rita.
The touch of her hand on his shoulder was fleeting, her voice soft in his ear. “Enjoy your salad.”
A few moments later, after she’d brought the rest of his meal and he’d devoured half the sandwich while he’d mulled over his workday, a burst of laughter distracted him. Rita had followed his suggestion and was talking to the construction workers.
She’d be okay. This was a respectable bar, and she knew how to take care of herself.
Charlie turned back to his food, but eating alone had lost its appeal. Everyone in town knew him, and he knew most of them. His older brothers were his closest friends. He liked their wives, adored their children and was welcome anytime. It was a welcome he was careful not to wear out.
The sound of Rita’s laughter reminded him of the woman he’d met earlier, Robin Marlowe, even though the two appeared to be polar opposites. If Dr. Marlowe had found him attractive, she’d hidden it well. If she hadn’t rushed off, he might have invited her to dinner just to see her reaction.
Maybe he’d have to buy himself a dog, one that would need vaccinations at the local clinic.
Robin was unpacking the last of her aunt’s dishes and putting them into the kitchen cupboard when a knock at the back door nearly caused her to drop a dinner plate adorned with fat pink roses. She set it carefully down on the counter and ran a hand through her short hair. She’d only met two people so far, her boss and the sheriff. This was a small town, not Chicago, so perhaps one of them had come by to check on her.
Nerves fluttered in her chest. She was almost relieved when she peeked through the window and saw an elderly couple standing on the side porch. They looked harmless.
Robin flipped the lock and opened the door. The woman, a little bird of a thing with fluffy white hair and wire-rimmed glasses, was holding a pie with a flaky, golden crust. The man behind her wore coveralls and a Broncos baseball cap. His scraggly gray hair needed trimming.
“I’m Mae Simms and this is my husband, Ed,” the woman said quickly. “We don’t mean to intrude, but we wanted to say hello and to give you this.” She thrust the pie into Robin’s hands. “Welcome to Waterloo.”
Her offering smelled fantastic. As Robin’s stomach growled softly, she realized that she hadn’t eaten in hours.
“Thank you,” she said. Would they think her unfriendly if she didn’t invite them in? She had so much to do, and she was tired. “I’m Robin. I was just unpacking.”
“Oh, we know who you are, honey,” the woman replied. “We live right next door in the blue house. You’re renting this place from us.”
“Ah.” Robin wasn’t sure what else to say. Their visit was the type of gesture her aunt would have made under similar circumstances. The thought warmed her. Balancing the pie, she nudged the door open wider with her elbow. “Would you like to come in? I’ve already unpacked my coffeemaker and some mugs. I’m sure I could find the coffee.”
“Oh, no, dear.” Mae was already backing away. She nudged Ed, who hadn’t said a word. “You have things to do, I’m sure, and we’re going for our walk.” Reaching into the pocket of the purple nylon jacket she wore with matching pants, she pulled out a folded paper.
“Here’s our phone number, just in case.” She set it lightly on top of the pie. “If there’s anything you need, give us a call.”
Robin raised up the pan she was holding. The bottom was still warm. “Thank you again. I can’t wait to sample this.”
“She’s won lots of ribbons at the fair.” Ed’s voice sounded rusty, as though he didn’t use it much. “They cover most of one wall in the dining room.”
“Never mind that,” Mae scolded as she herded him off the porch like a border collie with a not-too-bright sheep. “Bye, now,” she called back over her shoulder.
“Bye.” Robin glanced past them at the neat blue house next door, separated from hers by a freshly painted white picket fence. The lots on this street were big, so the older, mostly small houses weren’t jammed close together.
After her visitors had walked down the driveway, hand in hand, she set the pie on the table that had come with the rental and relocked the door. She’d have to see about a dead bolt. It would make her feel more secure.
Mouth watering, she rustled around until she found a fork. When she cut through the flaky crust, peach filling oozed up like liquid gold. She ate the first serving right from the pan.
With her hunger blunted, she fixed herself a cup of tea. While the water heated, she cut another generous slice of pie and set it on a plate. She’d be having it again for breakfast if she didn’t get to the grocery store tonight. She should have asked Mae where it was, but the town only had one main street, so she doubted she’d get lost.
While the tea brewed, Robin looked around her with a sigh of satisfaction. The house was small, the furniture as outdated as the walnut cabinets and dark green counter, but it was clean and cozy. She would add her own touches: candles, knickknacks, pictures for the walls and pretty kitchen towels to replace the faded ones she’d brought with her.
The teddy bear cookie jar sitting on the counter caught her eye, and she blinked back sudden tears. That, the dishes and a few other keepsakes were all she had from Aunt Dot. Robin’s cousin and his wife had kept everything else.
She lifted the mug of hot tea to her lips and was about to take a sip when she heard footsteps on the porch. The figure of a man appeared in the glass of the back door. Fear shot through Robin and then she recognized the sheriff. With a jerky movement that slopped hot tea onto her fingers, she set down the mug and got to her feet. She hoped he wasn’t going to make a habit of startling her.
Apparently, no one used the front porch. If she wanted any privacy, she’d have to cover the window in the side door. The sheriff peered through it as she crossed the kitchen.
“Is there a problem, Sheriff?” she asked as she opened the door, wondering belatedly whether her face was smudged with newsprint from unwrapping her dishes. Funny, she hadn’t thought of that when the older couple had come by.
In the confines of the covered porch, the sheriff seemed bigger and bulkier than he’d appeared on the open street. The brim of his hat shadowed his expression. “It’s only a problem if that’s your car parked in the driveway,” he replied with a serious expression.
“You know it is,” she snapped. “You saw it earlier. Sorry I haven’t had a chance to change the plates. How long do I have?”
He looked at the car and then back at her. “I’m not here about the plates. I was driving by, and I noticed that the tire is flat.”
“Oh, no!” She tried to push past him, but he was as solid as a mountain and nearly as immovable.
“Whoa, there.” Lightly he caught her shoulders. “Don’t panic. I can change it for you.”
She caught a whiff of masculine cologne before she twisted away from his touch. “That’s not necessary. I can take care of myself.” Realizing how shrill and ungrateful she must sound, she dragged in a steadying breath and met his puzzled gaze. “Thank you for your offer,” she said more quietly, “and for stopping to tell me about it, but I can manage on my own.”
Damn, but