Darlene Graham - Lone Star Rising

“Metrosexual?” the third firefighter scoffed.

“That’s urban talk for girly-man.” Zack grinned. The men chuckled again.

Mason waved a paw at Zack. “Ah. Right. I forget. The great Zack Trueblood doesn’t have to worry about competition, especially from some girly-man. Bet you’ve already turned down old Lynette every night of the week.”

“Mason—” Zack’s tone turned the name into a warning “—cool it.”

Robbie didn’t look at him, but she could sense Zack giving her an embarrassed glance.

“I dunno,” the third firefighter went on in a longsuffering tone. “Much as I want to see you get that award, Zack buddy, it’s always a pain to round up a woman to take to these formal dress-up things. How am I supposed to find a lady who knows how to wear anything besides jeans in a town like Five Points?”

“Hey.” Mason pointed at him like he’d just had a bright idea. “Maybe you could take the metrosexual.” They all guffawed at the joke as Robbie started pouring the last mug.

“You’ve got to take ’em out a time or two beforehand,” Mason advised. “Give ’em time to get all excited and shop for a dress. Or you could be like Zack here and find yourself a rich divorcée.” He turned to his friend. “So, you’re still taking her out tonight?”

Robbie’s eyes grew more alert and involuntarily cut to Zack. He was frowning up at her. And she was pouring coffee over the side of the mug and all over the table.

“Whoa!” Mason cried at the same time Robbie realized what she’d done.

“Sorry. Sorry,” Robbie said as the firefighters snatched wads of napkins out of the holder.

“It’s all right, sugar.” The third one pressed some napkins into the mess.

As she nervously sopped up the coffee, Robbie could feel Zack Trueblood’s hot black eyes examining her closely, but she refused to look directly at him. Her hands shook as the faces of all the single women in Five Points flipped through her mind like cards in a Rolodex.

“Hey, girl. You feeling okay?” Mason seemed to notice the depth of her distress for the first time. He took over with the napkins, bless him.

“I’m fine.” Robbie sighed. “It’s just this crazy weather. I was just thinking about my boys—hoping they don’t get soaked waiting on the school bus.” Oh, sure. Now she was thinking about her boys. Thinking how she had no business worrying about whether Zack Trueblood was dating some woman or not. She glanced at Zack’s face. He was still frowning at her.

Mason peered out the window as fresh sheets of rain beat the windows. “Personally, I just love it when it does this,” he said sarcastically.

“Yeah,” his friend, equally sarcastic, chimed in. “You know we’re gonna get called out to fish some yahoo out of a ditch.” And then the men were off and running again, complaining about the weather and the constant problem of flooding roads and bridges in the Hill Country.

Except Zack was still looking at Robbie with an expression that said he was worried about her. Lightning flashed and thunder boomed outside the window as he said quietly, “Everything okay, Robbie?”

Robbie nodded, swallowed. Don’t look at me like that, she wanted to say. It makes me weak in the knees and I have work to do here.

“You guys want the farmer breakfast?” Robbie said as she gathered up the last of the soggy napkins.

“Yep,” Mason answered for them all.

Nattie Rose’s round face popped under the pass-through space. “I’ve gotta help Parson back here, honey. Could you take care of those guys at table nine?” That’s where the Rotary-types were and Robbie was well aware that Nattie Rose was making sure Robbie got the generous tips today.

The men at that table kept up a jovial banter about the weather as Robbie poured coffee into upturned mugs for all four.

“The usual for you guys?” Robbie said with a falsely light tone.

When the men nodded she was glad to dash off to the kitchen.

Back in the safety of Parson’s domain, she nearly collapsed against the center island. She’d made a complete fool of herself, pouring tea for Zack in her slummy little kitchen yesterday, basking in the warmth of his attention, telling him how she’d love to cook spaghetti for him sometime, when all the time the man had a hot date lined up for tonight.

“What’s wrong?” Parson asked.

Lord, Robbie was sick of people asking her what was wrong.

Nattie Rose zipped around, already getting flushed with the challenges of the day. “Look sharp, my lovelies. The masses are hungry.”

Parson turned back to the grill.

Robbie took down three plates and started to fill them. Biscuit. Biscuit. Biscuit. She took up the ladle. Gravy. Gravy. Gravy.

Nattie Rose joined her at the island to work up some of the orders.

“Do you know who Zack Trueblood is dating these days?” Robbie asked casually, while her heart hammered with a fresh wave of humiliation.

“Some gal from over at Wildhorse. Divorced. I hear she’s got a big ranch.”

Robbie’s hands kept working but her heart felt like it had clutched to a standstill. A rich woman with a ranch. Isn’t that just what any man would want?

OUT OF THE CORNER of his eye, Zack noted Arlen Mestor’s plodding progress as he lumbered into the restaurant. The old man shook off the rain, then ambled up on his usual stool like a grumpy grizzly bear.

“Excuse me a minute, fellas.” Zack pushed up from the table and crossed the room.

He slid up on the stool next to Arlen at the counter. “Mestor.”

“Trueblood.” The two were acquainted, but had not been on friendly terms since the night some months prior when Zack had lectured the older man about the faulty wiring in a rental house that had burned to the ground. The family was not home at the time, but the sight of a baby doll with a melted face had set Zack’s blood to boiling. Zack had already pulled a business card out of his shirt pocket. He snapped it onto the Formica in front of Arlen.

Zack tapped the card, which Mestor hadn’t acknowledged. “I’ll give you a discount if you let me do the repairs on that house Robbie Tellchick just rented from you.”

“Nattie Rose!” Mestor bellowed toward the pass-through window as if Zack hadn’t spoken. “What does a man have to do to get a cup of coffee in this joint?”

Finally, Mestor sneered at the card. “What repairs would that be?” The way his nostrils flared when he spoke reminded Zack of a snuffling pig.

“A few things here and there. Safety issues, mostly.” Zack had said the word “safety” pointedly. He knew Mestor remembered well the fire that consumed one of his rental houses, if for no other reason than the financial ones.

Nattie Rose sashayed out of the kitchen brandishing a carafe of coffee. “You want a cup up here at the counter, too, Zack?” she said as she poured Mestor’s.

“I’m fine,” Zack said mildly.

“Sugar.” Mestor tapped the counter with a stubby finger, his tone was demanding.

Nattie Rose shoved the sugar jar, which was all of a foot away, toward Mestor, and then gave him a poisonous parting look before she disappeared through the swinging door to the kitchen.

“Well,” Zack pressed, “how about it? I’ll only charge you for the materials, throw in my labor for free. You won’t have to do a thing.”

Mestor dumped a hideous amount of sugar into his coffee before he answered. “Why are you so all-fired up to work on that old house?”

“Because it needs it,” Zack answered simply. “The place is an eyesore.”

“Always poking your nose in where it don’t belong, ain’t you, Trueblood?” Mestor stirred his coffee slowly, frowning as if considering something. “I ain’t sure I want you messin’ with my property. And I’d still like to know why you even want to. It’s that pretty little pregnant lady, ain’t it?” Mestor asked the question loudly, so as to be addressing the whole restaurant.