Austin
“Did you hear the news?” Sissy Daley slides a plate of roast beef and vegetables in front of me before she tops up my glass with iced water.
“On the TV or in the paper?” I ask, lifting my brow as I take my cutlery out of the folded white napkin.
Sissy smiles and cocks her head to the side. It’s like I can see the cogs inside her head trying to figure out if I’m joking or serious. I’ve known Sissy all my life. We went to school together, and in all that time, I’ve never known her to get her news from anything other than the Cedarwood Valley rumor mill. “This isrealnews, Austin. I don’t have time to be readin’ no paper. You should know that.” And I do. Sissy works double shifts most days in this diner, then she goes home to two kids and a husband—the high school quarterback—who she married right out of high school. She’s twenty-five, but she has the same level of responsibility as a forty-year-old—not that I can talk.
“Tell me of this news, Sissy. I can see you’re dyin’ to get it off your chest.” I hook my arm over the back of the booth, turning my torso to face her.
Her eyes light up, and she takes an excited breath. “Awomancame to town today. She’s bought Midge’s old cottage on Elm, and you’ll never guess how she got here.”
I shrug, shaking my head as I take a stab in the dark. “Helicopter?”
“No.” Sissy laughs and slaps me playfully on the arm, pausing for a second to give my muscles a squeeze too. I find that action odd, but this isn’t the first time it’s happened. My size kind of invites it for some reason. “A Harley Davidson Motorcycle. Can you believe that? Awoman.”
“Are women not allowed to ride Harleys?” I ask, not getting the gossip-worthiness of this tidbit of information.
“Well, sure they are. But it isn’t really something you see around here, now is it?”
“I suppose you’re right about that.”
“She’ll never fit in. You know that, don’t you?”
“Well, I suppose that depends on how welcome y’all make her feel.”
She places her hand on her chest and gasps, Austin Cassidy! Are you implyin’ I wouldn’t be kind to a stranger just because I don’t agree with her lifestyle choice?”
My brow knits tight. “And what lifestyle choice is that?”
Sissy smirks and leans in close. “She rides aHarley,Austin. What kind of lifestyle do you think I’m talkin’ about?”
“I think I’m gonna enjoy my meal while it’s hot and leave the pondering to everyone else since I haven’t met the woman yet,” I say, lifting my fork.
“Well, you always were the quiet one, weren’t you? Never an opinion about anything.”
“Better to have no opinion than the wrong one,” I say, taking a mouthful of my food.
She presses her lips together. “Enjoy your meal,” she says before sashaying away to share her gossip elsewhere. I clear my throat and adjust myself in my seat, turning my attention to the street outside while I try to enjoy a moment of peace—something I don’t often get.
As the only son who stayed behind to work the family ranch, I have my hands full ninety-nine percent of the time. I only come into town once a week to pick up supplies and have a meal on my own. Outside of that, my life revolves around work, work, work. Sometimes I think that no matter how many times I shower, I'll always smell like cow shit—rancher cologne, my mother calls it.
The rumble of an engine draws my attention. As much as I dislike town gossip, I have to admit that a woman riding into a sleepy little town like Cedarwood Valley has definitely piqued my interest.
The way Sissy talks, you’d think folks around here had never seen a Harley before. There’s a big custom bike dealer in the town over, so we get the odd motorcycle-riding visitor from time to time, but a resident who owns one is a bit of a novelty. Harley’s are considered a luxury item in these parts. We’re a community of practical people, most of whom work the land for a crust. Dirt bikes, ATVs, pickup trucks, and ride-on mowers are the most luxurious vehicles we own.
I continue eating as my eyes follow the newcomer’s movements. She rides down Main St before circling around and coming to a stop outside the diner and cutting her engine. I’m not one to stare, so I do my best to watch her without gawking—unlike the rest of the diner’s patronage—but I have to admit that even I drop the pretense and openly watch her as she unfolds her body from the saddle and removes her helmet. She’s big. Taller than any woman I’ve seen before. And she’s solid too. I could see her giving most of the ranch hands a run for their money with shoulders like that.
She turns her back, stowing her helmet in one of the saddle packs either side of her hog. With each movement, her long braid swings down the center of her back, deep red like the last color of a sunset on a hot day. It’s mesmerizing, reflecting the light in red and gold hues.
There’s this slight moment of hesitation in her countenance as she looks up at the diner’s signage, biting her bottom lip. Then her shoulders lift along with a deep breath, and she walks inside, head held high as she passes through the door like she’s some sort of gladiator on a quest. Everyone quits talking.
“Hey there, sugar. What can I get you?” Sissy asks the woman once she’s taken a stool at the counter.
“I guess a burger? Fries and a strawberry shake.”
Sissy jots it down on her order pad. “Coming right up. I’m Sissy by the way.”
“Harper,” the woman says with a nod, and I wonder if she’s named after the great novelist, Harper Lee.
Sissy gives the kitchen her order, and I take a moment to look around the diner; at the way every single person in here has gone quiet and is watching Harper like she’s somehow insulted their day by coming here. Growing up, I used to think Cedarwood Valley was the most hospitable place in the world. Everywhere you went, you knew the people, and they made you feel like a part of one big Cedarwood family. But every time I see the way newcomers are treated, I’m reminded that they’re only hospitable to those who grew up here. All others are met with hostility and suspicion. Well, I was raised better than that.
