Carla Cassidy - Her Colton Lawman

“Sounds like one of our fugitives is getting desperate,” Flint replied thoughtfully. “This makes three break-ins in homes around the perimeter of those woods. It was a gun and food that was taken last week. I’d like to know if it’s Bittard or Johnson who now has a gun and a knife.”

“Let’s hope it’s Jimmy. He might be able to charm a young woman right out of her life savings and break her heart, but I don’t think he has it in him to shoot or stab anyone,” Patrick replied.

“Let’s hope,” Flint said. “I’m going to head over to the diner for some lunch. You want to join me?”

“Nah, I grabbed a burger earlier. I’ll stick around here and hold down the fort.”

“If you need me just give me a call, and let me know if Mike and Larry discover anything useful at Walt’s place,” Flint said and with Patrick’s nod of assent, Flint left the building.

The diner was two blocks from the sheriff’s station, and he decided to walk it. The November sun was warm on his back although there was a definite bite to the air that portended winter’s imminent appearance.

Winter in Wyoming could be rough, but this winter would be particularly tough on the town if they had to spend Christmas still under quarantine, if a desperate killer was still trapped in the town and not in custody and if more people got sick and died.

The Dead River Diner was like diners and cafés in hundreds of small towns across the country, with red booths lining the walls, square tables in the center and a long counter where Flint usually sat whenever he came into the place. There was even an old working jukebox that played ancient country songs for a quarter, and it was played a lot.

As he walked the sidewalk, he passed the post office, a dress boutique and the grocery store. Across the street was the Blue Bear Restaurant, popular for special-occasion dining. There was also the Dead River Café and a hardware store.

He waved at the old man who sat on a bench in front of the hardware store. Eighty-five-year-old Harvey Watters had lost his wife three years ago.

Since Harvey’s wife’s death, the old man ate breakfast each day at the café and then sat on the bench until lunchtime. He’d return to the café for lunch and then resume his seat on the bench until just before dark, when he finally headed home. The only days Harvey wasn’t on the bench was when it rained.

Harvey lived two houses down from Flint’s house in the center of town. The two men had struck up an unlikely friendship, and it wasn’t unusual for Flint to stop in at Harvey’s house for a quick game of chess or a couple of beers on an occasional evening. Unfortunately, over the past month there had been little time for that kind of pleasant socializing.

He took off his hat and shoved open the door to the diner and was greeted by the scents of burgers frying and sauces simmering, an olfactory assault that was pure pleasure.

Even more pleasurable was the sight of Nina Owens, the diner’s owner, behind the counter. He’d been attracted to Nina since the moment he’d moved back to town, but with his brother Theo’s health issues and the fact that he’d suddenly found himself chief of police, there had been little time to pursue anything resembling a romance.

And now, with the additional pressures of a murderer loose and the virus that had people afraid of their own shadows, this definitely wasn’t the time for him to think about a relationship.

In any case, he was fairly certain Nina wasn’t particularly attracted to him. Although she was always friendly when she served him, she rarely stuck around to chitchat, and he’d always felt a distance, a wall rising up whenever she interacted with him.

She stood at the far end of the counter, her pretty face lit with a warm smile as she poured more coffee into a cup for Jeff Cambridge, a muscular, dark-haired man who worked as a teller at the bank.

Her thick and wavy auburn hair was captured with a red tie at the nape of her neck, but he knew that when it was loose, it was a glorious mane of burnished reds and gold that fell to just below her shoulders.

The black slacks that were part of the diner uniform fit perfectly on her slender legs, and the white blouse showcased a slender waist and full breasts.

She finished pouring the coffee, put the pot back on the burner and then turned and saw him. He wasn’t sure if he imagined the slight narrowing of her hazel eyes, but by the time she reached him, she smiled at him in friendliness.

“Good afternoon, Flint,” she said. “What can I get for you?”

“A burger and fries and a cup of coffee,” he replied. Before she turned to place the order, he quickly spoke again. “How’s business these days?”

“Not great, but I suppose I can’t complain. At least we still have customers coming in.” She looked around the diner, which on a Saturday afternoon would usually be packed but now only held a handful of people. “I almost feel as if I’m on vacation since we’re opening at 9:00 a.m. now instead of five-thirty, but business has dropped off enough that I couldn’t justify the early hours anymore. I’m planning a big Thanksgiving feast for everyone in town, a free traditional turkey dinner. I’m hoping to have a big crowd that day. I think we could all use a day of community and mutual support.”

“That sounds great. It’s a generous gesture.” He knew through the grapevine that Nina was known as a positive force in town. She was a Search and Rescue volunteer and had a reputation for being cheerful and optimistic no matter what the circumstances.

He frowned thoughtfully. “Aren’t you afraid of getting sick? You work here with the public every day, and if you’re inviting the whole town to a feast, there’s really no way to know who might be sick with the virus and who isn’t.”

Her eyes sparkled, and her lips curved into a smile that fired a hint of heat in the pit of his stomach. “If I was going to get the Dead River virus, it probably would have already happened by now. Besides, I refuse to live my life being afraid of friends and neighbors.”

She didn’t wait for him to reply, but instead twirled on her feet, placed his order with the kitchen and then wandered back down to the opposite side of the counter.

Flint drew a weary sigh. It was obvious she didn’t feel any spark of interest in him. It was probably a good thing because with a killer to catch and his own grandmother suffering from the mysterious illness that had the town quarantined, the last thing he needed to entertain was any idea of a romance with the hot owner of the local diner.

* * *

Nina Owens was acutely aware of Chief of Police Flint Colton at the opposite end of the counter. As she’d served him his meal, she’d tried not to notice the richness of his dark brown hair or the almost electric green of his eyes. She tried to ignore his handsome, chiseled features and the commanding aura that radiated from him.

His shoulders were broad, his legs long and his waist slender. She’d been physically drawn to him since the very first time he’d walked into her diner around a year ago, but at the same time she’d been faintly repelled by the uniform he wore and the job that he did.

She knew her distaste for any officer of the law was irrational and that she should have grown out of her belief that all police were bad, but it was a vague uneasiness that she’d never been able to overcome when encountering any law-enforcement person.

She knew Flint was a highly respected man, known for his sharp intelligence, his sense of fairness and the seriousness with which he took his job.

She remained overly conscious of his presence at the counter until he’d eaten his lunch and left. Only then did she fully relax. She’d been in Dead River for the past three years, and it was a cruel fate that had made the first man she felt any attraction toward a law-enforcement official.