Charlotte Carter - Home to Montana

“He’s eating on the porch with his dog. Just like he wanted.”

“He’s a good man. I can tell.”

“Why? Because he fixed a switch on our dishwasher?” If she’d known what was wrong, she could have fixed it herself.

“No, it’s in his eyes. They’re honest eyes.”

Alisa thought they were intense eyes. Penetrating. Almost mesmerizing. She didn’t know about honest. And wasn’t about to volunteer to test Mama’s intuition.

“You think he’s looking for a job?” Mama asked.

“I doubt he’ll stay around that long.”

Mama slid the two plated dinners under the heat lamp where the waitress could pick them up. “What’s his name?”

“Nick. Carboni? Caloni? Something like that.”

Cocking her head, Mama frowned. “There used to be a family here. Carbini, I think it was. The mother was sickly all the time. The father worked summers at the mill and got drunk all winter. There was a cute little boy—”

Alisa gasped. “Nick Carbini! I remember him from third grade. He had a neat smile and told knock knock jokes and dumb riddles until we were all sick of them. But he couldn’t be the same—” This Nick rarely smiled. She doubted he was into telling jokes. There was too much sadness about him. Still, as she remembered her classmate’s eyes...

“When the mother died, the old man took the boy off with him,” Mama related. “I wondered sometimes if the youngster would be all right with his father. He wasn’t a good example for the boy.” She tossed two New York strip steaks on the grill, and they sizzled.

“Maybe,” Mama mused, “your young man has come home to stay.”

“He’s not my young anything.”

Mama pulled off her disposable gloves and tossed them in a nearby trash container. “You watch the steaks, sweetie. I’m going see if young Mr. Carbini would like a job.”

“Mama! What kind of a job? You don’t know anything about the man. He could be a criminal for all you know. Just because you knew him as a boy and felt sorry for him, doesn’t mean you can trust him as a man. It doesn’t sound like he came from a very good family.”

“Not everyone is as lucky as you were to have a nice mama and papa. From what I’ve seen, Nick Carbini knows enough to fill in for Jake for a couple of weeks.”

Mama grabbed her sweater from the coatrack, tossed it around her shoulders and stepped out onto the porch.

Alisa rolled her eyes. Nick might have had a rough life, but he was still a drifter. She didn’t want him or his dog around, not when Greg was so obviously drawn to the pair. Not when she knew her own weakness.

If Nick decided he’d take the job, she’d have to make sure to keep her distance.

How she’d manage to do that with him working around the diner was beyond her.

* * *

Nick looked up as Mama stepped out onto the porch. At the same time, Rags lifted his head and his tail began to swipe through the air. Greedy as he was, he was probably hoping for another plate of scraps.

“This chicken is great. Wonderful flavor,” Nick said. “I’ve never had dumplings like these either.”

Mama beamed. “My mama taught me. It’s a Czechoslovakian dish. Some people use water for the dumplings, but milk is better.”

“Gives it more flavor and body.”

“Yes, absolutely.” She sat down on the step beside Nick. “So, young man, are you looking for a job?”

Petting Rags, he frowned. “I don’t plan to hang around long.” He had no idea where he might go next. But he would leave as soon as his flashbacks returned. The nightmares that woke him in a cold sweat. Then he’d move on. Trying to outrun them.

So far that hadn’t worked.

“How ’bout for two weeks? Our handyman’s gone,” Mama said. “Jake’s daughter was hurt real bad in an accident in Spokane. He plans to come back when she’s able to manage on her own.”

Two weeks. Could he hang on for that long? He wasn’t sure. He was about to say “no thanks” when the image of Alisa popped into his head. The thought that she might give him an honest smile, more than her overly practiced, the-customer-is-right smile, gave him a jolt. He had no business thinking about that. Or wanting it.

“The job comes with a rent-free room at the motel next door. We own it like we own the diner,” Mama added. “You get Sunday and Monday off, unless there’s a crisis. And all you can eat here at the diner plus an hourly wage.” She named a figure that made sense to Nick.

A tempting offer. “I’ve got my dog.”

“I can’t let him in the diner, and I wouldn’t want him running loose around the grounds. But you can have him in the room with you as long as he behaves himself. On a leash otherwise.”

Considering the job, he scratched his beard. He was definitely tired of being on the road. A clean room with a shower and free meals had a certain appeal.

Foolishly, he knew the real appeal was Alisa. He doubted she’d feel the same about him. Not if she knew the truth about how he’d spent the past three years in prison for a barroom brawl. One of the many fights he’d gotten into, part of his battle with PTSD.

“I sometimes get restless and need to move on. I wouldn’t want to leave you in the lurch.”

Shrugging, Mama grabbed the porch railing and pulled herself up. “If you don’t steal me blind in the meantime, and I don’t think you will or I wouldn’t have offered you the job, I won’t be any worse off than I am now with Jake gone.”

That was true. He didn’t have to feel pressured to stay.

Slowly, he stood. “Okay, I’ll take your job.”

She smiled, and he had the feeling she wanted to pat his cheek again or hug him. It had been a long time since anyone had wanted to do that, which made him feel strange and oddly vulnerable.

“I’ve got a retired couple managing the motel. Frank and Helen Scotto. You’ll be doing some work for them—changing lightbulbs, maybe a few repairs, nothing heavy. And if I have anything break down here at the diner, I’ll let you know.”

“Sounds good.”

“Tell Frank or Helen to fix you up with a room. You can start work in the morning after breakfast.”

He scratched his beard again. “Could I start a little late tomorrow? I’d like to get some of this fur off me.”

“Good idea. Guess we’d all like to see what you look like under that mop you’re wearing.” Her eyes, the same deep blue shade as Alisa’s, twinkled, and she laughed. “Ned Turner’s the barber. He’s a block up the road on the left hand side. He’s got one of those red-and-white poles out front. Opens at eight.”

“I’ll find him.”

She stooped to pick up his plate and the dog’s. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Machak. I appreciate the job. And supper.”

Her brows rose. “Mama, remember?”

He chuckled low in his chest. “Yes, Mama.”

As Mama vanished into the kitchen, his laughter evaporated and a knot of fear twisted in his stomach. He knew he didn’t dare get too comfortable here in Bear Lake. He’d be moving on soon, a residual problem left over from his abbreviated tour in Afghanistan along with the irrational fear that drove him.

Chapter Three

Nick pulled open the drapes on the sliding glass door in the motel room. On the second floor at the back of the building, it had a small balcony and an angled look at the diner and a clear view to the west. A perfect place to watch the sun go down, and with the drapes open he wouldn’t feel like the walls were closing in on him.

He turned back to scan the room. A queen-size bed covered with a forest-green quilt. Two pinewood end tables and a matching low chest of drawers. A small flat-screen TV. Pretty standard motel fare but he’d stayed in worse. Like an eight-foot by eight-foot prison cell.