Elaine Grant - An Ideal Father

Busy printing a lunch and dinner menu on the large chalkboard behind the counter, Sarah purposefully ignored Cimarron when he came into the café again. Without help and with only one side of her griddle working, she would be hardpressed to handle more than a few simple items today.

To her advantage, Saturdays in Little Lobo were usually slow. Working people took off to Livingston or Bozeman to shop and restock groceries. Ranchers and farmers had to catch up while they could. Usually, after breakfast no more than a dozen folks stopped by the café on a given Saturday. She planned to serve cold sandwiches and a big pot of soup. Even without Aaron, she could manage that.

Cimarron waited in silence for her to finish.

She laid her colored chalk in the tray at the bottom of the board and turned to face him. “What do you want?”

“Is your griddle working now?”

“No.”

“I could probably fix it for you.”

“Jack-of-all-trades,” she said with an edge of sarcasm that could have sliced beef. “I didn’t ask for your help.”

“I’m offering.”

“No, thanks.”

His jaw hardened and a fist clenched, but he maintained his stony composure. “I didn’t intend to mess up your plans when I came here.”

“You could have fooled me.”

“It’s not me you should be mad with. Your brother’s the one who misled us both.”

“Oh, trust me, I’m mad with him. I just can’t get my hands on him right this minute.”

“That doesn’t bode well for me.” He shot her a disarming grin that revealed beautiful white teeth and warmed his eyes.

His charm almost worked. Almost. Sarah wasn’t going to be sucked in by a handsome face. “No, it doesn’t. So why don’t you leave?”

“We’re never going to come to an agreement if we can’t even talk.”

“There won’t be an agreement. You and Bobby cheated me, and I’m going to rectify that.”

“I didn’t cheat you. Long story short, I can’t afford to lose my money and you can’t afford to pay me back, so we’re going to have to work something out. In the meantime, let me look at your griddle before you open for lunch.”

“I don’t need it for lunch, but…” Grudgingly she gave a curt nod.

She moved out of his way as he came around the counter. At least that would be one thing she wouldn’t have to worry about. He fiddled with the griddle controls, then inched the heavy unit away from the wall.

“Where’s your little boy?”

“Wyatt?” He glanced at his knee. “You mean he’s not attached to my leg?”

She looked around for the child, noticing a small foot sticking out of one of the booths. The child was lying on his stomach on the bench, his head resting on his arm.

“Do you want something to drink?” she asked him.

“He’ll be fine,” Cimarron said as Wyatt lifted his head to look at her. He put his head back down and said nothing.

Sarah frowned. “I don’t mind giving him—”

“Do you have any tools in here. If not, I’ve got mine in the truck.”

None of my business. She pulled a worn leather tool pouch from under the counter. Cimarron chose a screwdriver and took the back off the unit.

“Here’s the problem,” he said. “One of your burners is shot.”

“So you can’t fix it?”

“Not without a new part. Any appliance-repair places around here?”

“Bozeman,” she said glumly.

“Okay. I’ll drive into Bozeman and try to find a replacement.”

“That’s too much trouble.”

“Do you have any other options?”

Sarah gave that some serious thought. Seemed she was fresh out of options on all sides.

“Not at the moment. I called around and the local repairman is out of town for several days. Of course, nobody from Bozeman will come this far out without adding a surcharge—and never on a weekend.”

“Then I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“I…I’d rather you didn’t. I don’t want to owe you any favors.”

“The only thing I ask in return is that you quit skewering me for something your brother did. Let’s see how things look in the morning. Can you just do that?”

Still in shock, and with two more meals to serve before she could rest, Sarah was in no mood to capitulate. But if this stranger wanted to fix her griddle, let him.

“I’ll pay you to fix it, but your stealing my house still won’t look any different to me tomorrow.”

THE AIR WAS COOL and clear at the top of Bozeman Pass and the unrelenting wind whipped through Cimarron’s open truck windows as he enjoyed the panorama spread before him. This part of Montana called to his heart, even more than his native Idaho.

Why return to a place that triggered unhappy memories of the medicinal smells, sickbeds, and the depression and hopelessness of watching one parent die while the other spiraled into a void of alcohol and irresponsibility? Where roots no longer existed, except in the lonely country graveyard where his brother was now buried next to their mother. His only remaining family—that he was willing to claim, anyway—was firmly planted in the backseat of the pickup as they barreled along.

Cimarron hadn’t expected the determined challenge from Sarah James, but he stood a good chance of wearing her down—especially since he suspected she didn’t have the money to put up a convincing fight. He’d just have to hang around until everything was resolved.

That had a definite upside. Cimarron arched an eyebrow and smiled. Even at her maddest, she was cute as a freckled puppy, with her shining red hair, flaming cheeks and eyes the color of an endless sky.

Maybe everything would actually work out. Unless she managed to destroy the big house while he was gone. Not a good thought. He barely knew the woman, and judging by her brother’s character, anything was possible. He pushed the speedometer up a notch. She could burn his place to the ground by the time he made the round-trip to Bozeman.

“Unca Cimron, are we gonna live in that house?”

Cimarron glanced at Wyatt, then back at the highway. Buckled into a booster seat, Wyatt rotated his toy truck in his hands, pretending to study it.

“Maybe for a while. Why?”

A small shoulder shrugged. “Don’t look very nice.”

“Well, I plan to fix it up.”

“Oh. Do you have a house somewhere else for us to live?”

“No. I don’t have a house. I live in this truck. And sometimes I live in a trailer, when I’m working on a house.”

“Can we live in a trailer while you work on that house?”

“Might be fun to live in the house. We can pretend we’re camping out.”

“That lady said no.”

“That lady doesn’t know everything.”

“It’s kinda spooky. That old house…”

“You scared?” In the rearview mirror, Cimarron caught a glimpse of Wyatt’s lower lip trembling. “Come on, you’re a big boy. Besides, it’s just old. Nothing in there to be scared of. Anyway, we won’t be here that long.”

Wyatt brightened. “Okay.”

“Listen, Wyatt…” Cimarron licked his dry lips. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about.”

“Okay.”

“Do you think you’d be happier living with somebody besides me? I mean, I’m on the road all the time and…”

“My daddy,” Wyatt said softly. “That’s all.”

“Yeah, I understand. But you know how that is. I was just wondering…” Cimarron let the words trail off as his palms grew sweaty on the steering wheel. Sooner or later, he had to tell Wyatt about his plans, but somehow he chickened out every time he tried to explain. He had no business scoffing at Wyatt for being afraid of a spooky old house. He was completely frightened by a five-year-old. Not to mention his brother’s ghost.