Free Going Cowboy Crazy by Katie Lane Page B

vinyl bar stool. “Sit down here, darlin’, and I’ll be right back. Rachel Dean, will you fix Hope and me some pot roast and eggs? Plenty of gravy.”
    “Ain’t he sweet?” Rachel Dean moved up to the counter with a stained apron over her broad hips and her large hands holding a kitchen towel. “Sorry I missed you at Boot’s last night. We had a big crowd for dinner, and I was dead on my feet. But you sure look good, honey—well, except for that hair. I don’t know why a gal who can grow it would ever cut it off.” She plucked at her thin salt-and-pepper strands. “Twyla tried out a new perm on me and left another bald spot. You’d think I’d learn, but she sure gives a good shampoo. You don’t want pot roast and eggs, do you, honey? Why don’t you let me fix you up your usual.”
    Even though she didn’t have a clue what the usual was, Faith nodded.
    Rachel’s small, dark eyes narrowed. “I heard about your throat. Have you tried gargling with Epsom salt? Granddaddy Morris used to swear by it. Of course, Granddaddy always had a few screws loose.” She turned and picked up a pot from the commercial coffeemaker on the counter behind her and poured Faith a cup. “I’ll have your food right out to you, honey. After spending most of the night at Sutter Springs, you must be starving to death.” She winked before she walked back to the kitchen, filling coffee cups on her way.
    Faith stared at the dark liquid in the white cup and tried not to blush. Hope didn’t blush, and she drank coffee. Thick, black coffee. Faith didn’t like coffee, at least, not coffee that didn’t come from Starbucks with multiple flavors and a huge dollop of whipped cream on the top. She reached for the little metal pitcher of cream.
    “Why, Hope, I thought you drank your coffee black.” The man from the night before with the handlebar mustache took the stool next to her.
    She set down the pitcher and, to cover the blunder, grabbed up the cup and took a sip. She grimaced as the bitter hot liquid slipped down her throat.
    “So I take it your throat’s still sore.” He didn’t wait for a nod before he continued. “Bad stuff, laryngitis. You probably need to rest up from something like that. And there’s no better place to recover than your hometown.” He patted her hand with his large, calloused one. “It was all fine and dandy that you ran off to Hollywood to sow a few wild oats. But five years is long enough to be away from the people who love you.”
    He nodded at the kitchen door. “That there boy has missed you so much he’s barely been able to keep his mind on coaching. The Dawgs are due a state championship, Hope. And I’m sure you’d want to do everything in your power to make sure they get it.”
    Faith didn’t have a clue what the man was talking about. So she was relieved when Rachel Dean slipped back through the kitchen door with her food.
    “Now, Harley, don’t be bugging Hope.” Rachel gave him a stern look as she set down two plates. “A flower garden won’t bloom if it’s fussed over.”
    Harley seemed to get the analogy. He nodded and gaveFaith a quick peck on the cheek before moving back to his seat.
    “Josie made it just the way you like it.” Rachel Dean nodded down at what looked like some kind of red meat sauce with two over-easy eggs floating in it. “Go ahead, honey, tell me what you think.”
    Faith thought she was going to be sick. She hated over-easy eggs with their runny whites and yolk. But there wasn’t much she could do with the woman staring down at her. So, staying away from the eggs, she took a forkful of red sauce and slipped it between her lips.
    It wasn’t bad.
    She swallowed.
    Kind of sweet and spicy.
    Her eyes widened.
    And hot.
    Really, really hot.
    As her throat burned, she looked around for water but there was only the cup of bitter coffee.
    “Water.” She motioned at her throat. “I need water.” When Rachel Dean just stared at her, she yelled louder. “I need