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The Yummy Cowboy Diner
Monday, June 13
“But Brock made it perfectly clear yesterday that he doesn’t want my help.” Summer tried her best to sound reasonable. “Wouldn’t it make more sense to upgrade a business that actuallywantsto be upgraded? I noticed that there’s a new café-bakery place on the other side of the square. Maybethey’dbe interested in expanding into the building next door. It’s been vacant for years, ever since Phillips & Son went out of business.”
Grandma Abigail stretched her neck, then rubbed it as if it ached.
“Are you all right, Grandma?” Summer asked.
“I’m fine. I think it may be time to replace my pillow.” Grandma folded her neatly manicured hands, with their flawless pale-rose polish, on the scratched fake-wood Formica tabletop. Her blue gaze met Summer’s. “And Jenna’s Java doesn’t need my help,” she said firmly. “But this place does.”
Trapped, Summer looked around the crowded diner. “Okay, but if that’s the case, Grandma, then where is Brock? Wasn’t he supposed to meet with us?”
And if he bailed on them, then too bad, so sad. It wasn’t like he was open to advice, anyway.
“I’m sure he’s very busy right now,” Grandma replied, “but I expect he’ll join us when our food is ready.”
“Awesome. So, that’ll be in an hour?” Summer couldn’t keep the snarkiness out of her tone. She smiled tightly at her grandmother. “Don’t worry, I ate a substantial breakfast.”
Grandma Abigail sighed. “I know he didn’t impress you yesterday, but sweetheart, I really need your expertise to save this diner. It’s been part of this town for fifty years, and it would be a shame if it went out of business when the food has improved so dramatically over the past year.”
“But I’d only be able to offer a Band-Aid fix,” Summer countered. “I mean, how much can Ireallydo when I’m only here for a few weeks? Plus, it’s pretty clear that Brock Michaels still hates my guts.” She grimaced. “You saw the death glares he was shooting my direction yesterday, right? What makes you think he’s going to listen to anything I say?”
Unexpectedly, Grandma Abigail grinned at her. “Well, for one thing, those awful laminated menus are gone now.”
“What—? Oh.” Summer spotted a white sheet of paper propped behind the salt and pepper shakers.
She reached for the new menu. It looked like it had been created using one of those free templates from the Internet, then printed on an ink jet printer. And it was still a hundred times better than the laminated phone book from yesterday.
The revised menu listed a short set of breakfast options, with pancakes and waffles getting top billing, and omelets and breakfast burritos beneath. She turned the menu over and found lunch entrees plus various milkshake combinations on the other side.
Gone were the old menu’s massive selection of fourteen different kinds of hot and cold sandwiches, twelve omelets, ten pasta dishes, seven salads, six burgers, five different kinds of steak, and four different soups.
The new lunch menu listed a single Soup of the Day (ask your server), hamburgers with a choice of toppings, a Sandwich of the Day (Monday was classic grilled cheese sandwich served with house-made tomato soup), plus a rotating list of daily specials.
Today’s special was chicken pot pie with a side salad, with a note that each pie was baked to order and would take about twenty minutes.
The prices were all higher, too.
She was grudgingly impressed. Despite his defensiveness yesterday, Brock had apparently listened to at leastsomeof her recommendations, and acted on them overnight.
Maybe he’s not a complete idiot.
But he was still an ass, and she’d rather help her brother shovel manure than work with Brock.
She opened her mouth to tell Grandma Abigail just that, when Terri came by to deliver their sodas and take their lunch orders for the chicken pot pie.
When the young server left their table, Grandma Abigail leaned forward. “Before he passed, your grandfather and I did a lot of thinking about what needs to be done to attract tourists traveling between the Bozeman Airport and the North Gate of Yellowstone. We both agreed that the two most important things were to have a real restaurant and a hotel in operation before the LVR begins service next summer. And of those two things, only the restaurant is actually doable between now and then.” She frowned and rubbed her upper left arm, as if it ached, too.
Summer nodded. The old Snowberry Springs Inn, which had occupied a Gold Rush-era mansion on the outskirts of town, had closed twenty years ago, after the death of its longtime owner. The grand old house, like so many other historic buildings in town, had been left vacant since then. Even the presence of a turn-of-the-century spa building around the private hot spring on the property hadn’t been enough to entice someone to buy the place and fix it up.
“None of our plans to save this town will succeed unless The Yummy Cowboy Diner becomes profitable,” Grandma continued. “Sweetheart, Frank and I believed in your dream enough to help you start your new life in San Francisco. Now, I need you to believe inmydream. And with Frank gone, I can’t do this alone.”
Summer noticed that her grandma looked pale and drawn under her tastefully applied makeup. “Are you feeling all right?”
Grandma Abigail waved off her concern. “I’m just tired, and very worried about the future. I need you, Summer. I need your help to save this diner.”
