"How did you —"
"Mama Lou knows everything before it happens." Kane's voice from across the table. "Don't ask her how. She won't tell you."
Her eyes are kind. "Long drive, honey."
"It was."
"I bet it was. I hope you're hungry."
I smile. "I am."
"Eat first," she tells me. "Everything else after."
She walks away. Kane turns back to me, slow.
"What does she mean by 'everything else'?"
"I have no idea, but she likes you. She'll look after you while you're in town."
I laugh once before I can stop myself. He almost smiles. It doesn't get to his mouth, but it reaches the corners of his eyes, and that small softness on a man this closed off is not what I was prepared for.
We eat a bowl of beef stew that warms me from the throat down, with a piece of bread Kane tears in half and hands me without asking. He drinks black coffee, eats little, and answers what I ask without asking much back. By the time Mama Lou clears our plates the bar has half emptied and the hockey game has gone to commercials.
Mama Lou drops the check by Kane's elbow and turns to me. "How was the stew, sweetheart?"
"Best I've had in months."
"Then you've earned yourself a slice of my apple pie. It's on the house, darling, and don't even think about saying no to me."
I smile. "Thank you."
She leans down and lowers her voice. "Don't mind the quiet, sweet pea. He's a good one. Just thrown by you. He's not used to having a pretty girl sitting across his table."
She winks at me and I have no idea what to do with my face.
She straightens, gives Kane a brief look across the booth, and goes back behind the counter.
A slice of warm apple pie arrives a minute later with two forks. I eat half, and Kane takes two bites before pushing the rest to me. He doesn't say anything, just pays, stands, and waits for me at the door. He's not the most talkative man I've ever met, but his quiet isn't cold. It's reassuring.
Outside the light is starting to soften over the mountains. Kane unlocks my side first, then crosses around to his own. We climb in. He puts the key in the ignition but doesn't turn it.
"I have a guest room," he tells me. "It's yours for as long as this takes."
I look across the cab at him. The light catches half his face through the windshield.
"Thanks, but I didn't ask."
"You don't have to ask. Iron Vault rule."
I want to argue but I don't, because he's right. I came here knowing I would need somewhere to stay, and after the day I've had I'm too tired to be proud about it.
"Okay," I tell him, and he starts the truck without another word.
Eight years I have carried his name folded in my bag, and tonight I am going to sleep under his roof. Whatever this turns into, I am not going to pretend I am sorry to be here.
Chapter 3: Kane
The house I bought when I came out of the service is twelve miles north of Blackwood Falls, on a road that turns to dirt for the last part. Single story, board-and-batten siding, dark green roof, a porch with two chairs, one of them I've never sat in. Inside there's the kitchen, the living room, my bedroom, and the guest room down the hall. Nothing about it was decorated by a woman, because no woman has ever spent a night here.
