Rachel Lee - Stalked In Conard County

“Doesn’t everyone?” he asked wryly. “Founding family.”

“Exactly. The McKinseys weren’t far behind.”

“Another reason to stay,” he remarked lightly. Then he climbed out and came around to open her door for her. “Eat well,” he said as he helped her down. “Food is good and plentiful and, with any luck, you’ll be lights out by sunset so you can catch up on your sleep.”

“That’d be nice.” Fatigue hadn’t reached her yet, but she figured her nursing schedule had made her reasonably immune to the occasional long stint. She could handle it for a while. Tonight she would probably crash into a dead sleep, disturbed by nothing short of an emergency.

Inside, the diner was reasonably quiet, just a few of the tables busy. Either they were ahead of the lunch rush or behind it, but they had no trouble getting a table in the back. Haley had little desire at the moment to sit in front of a window. Sheesh, she thought, that needed to stop before the fear dug in.

Maude, who looked as if she hadn’t changed a bit in twenty years, slapped menus in front of them and filled coffee cups without asking. “Got fancier stuff now, if you want one of them lattes.” Then she peered at Haley. “Well, well, well. Heard you was in town. Wondered when you’d show up.”

“It’s been a while, hasn’t it? How are you doing, Maude?”

“Same as usual. Mavis is helping me out these days, but she’s got a lot to learn.”

Haley figured Mavis would never learn enough to suit her mother. Maude was born to be a dragon.

“Sorry about Flora,” Maude added, surprising her. “A good woman.” Then, “Order up. The grill’s still hot.”

Amusement caused Haley to look down at the menu. Some things never changed, like the menu here and Maude’s crusty attitude. Of course the grill was still hot. It’d be hot until close of business tonight. Although that seemed a gentler than usual way for Maude to hurry them along.

“Is the steak sandwich still as big as I remember?” she asked Roger.

“Big enough for two meals, you mean? Easily. And as tasty as ever.”

She settled on that, thinking it would save her having to worry about making a meal this evening, assuming she was still awake.

“I’m hardly settled,” she remarked to Roger as they waited for their orders to arrive. “I’m twixt and tween, mainly because I can’t make up my mind. Am I cleaning Grandma’s house to ready it for sale? Or getting it ready to move into? I think that’s a question I need to answer.”

“It might help with what you’re doing.”

Of course it would. Then it struck her that she’d dumped all over him about the Peeping Tom, she’d shared her family’s history, had let him work in her basement without making any arrangement to pay him…and she hadn’t even been polite enough to ask about him or his family.

“I was thinking earlier,” she began cautiously and then paused as their lunch platters were slammed in front of them and the coffee cups refilled. The banging platters was a Maude-ism she’d never forgotten. It would be easy to think the woman was always angry.

“You were thinking what?” Roger asked as he lifted half the huge sandwich in hands that were big enough to handle it easily.

“About you. We hardly know each other after all this time, but you were one of the bright spots in the summers when I visited Grandma. Awfully patient with a young girl.”

One corner of his mouth crooked upward and his green eyes crinkled at the corners. “First of all, I was only a few years older. That probably seemed bigger back then than it really was. And second, you were someone new, which was nice, and you were good at board games, which I used to love. Why wouldn’t I hang with you when I could find time?”

“You must have been working awfully hard with your dad, though. And how’s he?”

“Retired. He’s living in Oregon now with his brother Tim’s family, working a small horse-rescue facility.”

She laughed. “He calls that retired ?”

“It’s different,” Roger pointed out, returning her laugh with a chuckle. “Now eat.”

She was only too happy to take a bite of the sandwich. It was every bit as good as she remembered, with impossibly tender steak. She had to grab a napkin as juice ran down her chin. “You must be awfully busy running the business by yourself now.”

“Not as busy as I could be, I guess. I get orders from all over for custom saddles these days. It depends on how much I want to travel and how long I want to be away. And that’s good because there are other things I like to do.”

“Like fishing?” she asked, and they both shared a laugh.

“Like fishing. Like hiking in the mountains. Sometimes I even want to go cross-country skiing. I can work those things in if I’m careful about the jobs I take.”

“So I take it there’s no one else you have to report to?” That was the most indirect way she could ask if he had his own family. A question that suddenly seemed of burning interest to her.

“Just myself. Only child. My mother died long ago in a riding accident. I don’t think you ever met her.”

Haley racked her brains while eating another mouthful of the heavenly sandwich. “If I did, I don’t remember.”

“She wasn’t easy to meet,” he offered. “She used to help Gideon Ironheart with training horses. That man’s a genius with it. Unfortunately, my mother decided to saddle-break a mustang, and the horse wanted no part of it. Or her.”

“I’m sorry.”

He tilted his head a little, a mild shrug. “It’s been a while.”

“I think I’m living proof that some things don’t stay in the distant past.” She looked down, wondering why she was casting a shadow over this meal.

“No,” he agreed, “they don’t.”

Change the subject , she advised herself. She could get gloomy later on her own time. “How’d you guys get into making saddles? It’s not the first occupation that would spring to the top of my mind. Of course, my dad was a wildcatter before he settled into contracting with larger oil companies, an independent who drilled exploratory wells, and I don’t suppose that would be at the forefront of anyone’s mind, either.”

He laughed. “Maybe in this part of the country it might. But as for saddles? Well, we get back to grandparents and even greats again. My family were shoemakers back East. My great-grandfather was a very young guy, maybe eighteen, when he decided he was bored with making shoes. He was working for his uncle, who reminded him that people always needed new shoes or shoe repairs, and thus there was always plenty of work. My great-grandad didn’t care. He wanted something different, maybe with a dash of adventure. So he apprenticed to a saddle maker, where his leather skills were useful. When he struck out on his own, he settled here, repairing saddles back in the days when ranches were thriving and there were plenty of cowboys. Eventually he found plenty of work making custom saddles and here we are. I repair them, I build them from the very bottom up, and make tack, as well. Keeps me busy enough.”

“I can’t imagine what goes into that.”

“Layers and layers,” he said jokingly. “If you have time one day, stop by. I’ve got three in the works right now.”

“Three?” The idea surprised her. She guessed she had imagined him working one from start to finish.

“All at different points in the process. More efficient if I can swing it. It helps to take my time, too. The most important thing is the horse’s comfort, so every fit is custom. If I hurry anything, I might blow it.”

“And when you finish one?”

“Me and the saddle pay a visit to the horse to make any adjustments necessary. Usually there aren’t many because I start off taking care with my measurements.”