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Marlene Wittenmeyer, his line cook, had her back turned to the big flattop where a row of burger patties sizzled away. She shook her spatula at her teenaged son Austin, who worked as Brock’s dishwasher.
“—and then I told her, ‘Katie, you shouldn’t settle for someone who doesn’t put you first.’” Marlene sounded indignant.
She was a short, stout woman somewhere in her fifties, with wisps of bleached blonde hair escaping from her black cap. She was reliable and hard-working, but she also liked to talk. And when she talked, she got distracted from whatever else she was supposed to be doing. Like cooking.
Austin huffed and rolled his eyes. “Jeez, Ma, I know we both think Chris is a loser, but youknowhow Katie gets when someone tries to tell her to—”
“You two, get the fuck back to work!” Brock roared, finally free to unleash his anger at Ms. Fancy Pants Chef coming intohisdiner, and criticizinghisfood andhisplace with her big-city snobbery.
Startled, Marlene spun around to face Brock. Her mouth, outlined in bright red lipstick, opened into an indignant O.“Whatdid you just say to me, young man?”
He glanced pointedly at the big stainless steel ticket wheel, still filled with outstanding orders. “We’re running an hour behind.”
Marlene planted her hands on her generous, apron-clad hips. “Don’t youdaretalk to me like that! I don’t care how upset you are, but you keep a civil tongue in your head. Or I’ll be following Kenny out that door.” She pointed down the short hallway that led to the walk-in cooler, tiny office, and the diner’s back door.
Brock groaned. Like Kenny, she’d starting working at the diner when Brock’s mother was still running things. Unlike Kenny, Marlene did her job well and competently… if she wasn’t distracted.
In fact, she and Mama had been friends for years, which hadn’t made it easy to suddenly become Marlene’s boss. Especially when she insisted on calling him “young man” every time he did something she didn’t like.
But he had to admit that she was right. It wasn’t fair for him to take out his frustration on the people who worked for him, and especially not someone like Marlene.
“You’re right, and I’m sorry, Marlene,” he said. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you. But I just got an earful out there about how long people are waiting for their lunches.”
She nodded, mollified. “These burgers’ll be done in just a minute,” she promised, reaching for the bag of buns. “And that’ll close out six of those tickets.”
He looked at the tickets and began working on the next non-burger order.
∞∞∞
After the lunch service finally ended and the diner closed for the day, Brock, Marlene, and Austin cleaned the kitchen. Then Marlene and Austin clocked out and left, while Brock stayed to take inventory of his walk-in cooler and his shelves.
As he’d feared, Kenny had made a mess of things. And Brock knew he shared the blame for not being on the ball and just trusting in the old guy to handle things.
Thanks to the long June days in Montana, the sun was still high when Brock finally arrived home.
He lived in a small two-bedroom cottage that he’d inherited from Mama, set on a couple of acres just outside town, across the disused railroad tracks and down the road a ways.
Brock fetched a can of Coke from his fridge and drank half of it down in one thirsty gulp. Then he went out into his vegetable garden to do some thinking while he pulled weeds and harvested the first of the green beans and strawberries.
He needed to come up with a plan to keep Mrs. S off his back. Instead, as he worked, he found himself worrying that he was on the verge of losing everything he’d worked so hard for.
After Mama died, Brock had met with Mr. and Mrs. S on the day after the funeral. They’d promised him they’d let him take over Mama’s half of The Yummy Cowboy Diner, if he proved he could run the place.
What if Mrs. S fires me and replaces me with Ms. Fancy Pants Chef? Or someone like her, who went to culinary school and everything?
Nausea rolled through his gut at the thought.
He couldn’t let that happen. Not after everything he’d done and sacrificed for his place. He hadn’t even had a day off—or a date—in the past year. All he did right now was work at the diner, do his chores at home, and go to sleep.
It’s not fucking fair if I lose everything now!He ripped out a bunch of houndstongue and flung it onto his compost heap, then vengefully attacked the long tendrils of bindweed sneaking up his beanpoles.
The clock was ticking. Between now and lunchtime tomorrow, he had to come up with some kind of plan to satisfy Mrs. S’s concerns… and keep Summer Snowberry the hell out of his business.
Chapter Five – Summer
Sunday, June 12
Winnie: Hey sis, you still awake?
