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Even though Michael’s irritation was rising, he didn’t want to pick a fight with a sheriff. “I appreciate the attention, sir. I’m in town for the foreseeable future, so you’re likely to see my car out and about. I’ll be figuring out my father’s future care.”
“Good, good. Helps to have family around when you’re ill.”
“Yes, it does. And may I ask about the burglary issue? My dad and I aren’t very close and this is the first I’m hearing about it.”
“An issue with an ex-con, who is rightly back in prison. Stole something from your father to set up an innocent man, but the property has been returned. Nothing to do with what’s going on now. And again, sorry to disturb you. Welcome back to Weston, Mr. Pearce.” McBride put his hat on, tipped it politely, and headed back to his car.
Michael waited until the man left the property before closing the door and locking it. Growing up, they’d never locked the front door. Not once, even when going away for a few days to a cattle or feed show a day’s drive away. But someone had broken in recently, and Michael wasn’t going to risk his safety or Dad’s property.
He set the old coffeepot to brew while he took a fast shower. The upstairs bathroom had a claw-foot tub with an awkward shower attachment and plastic shower liners that hung on an oval ceiling ring and clung to his skin if he let too much steam rise in the small room. Fast was best.
Since visiting hours didn’t start until ten and he wasn’t keen on the box of wheat biscuit cereal in Dad’s cupboard, Michael poured his coffee into the first travel mug he could find, then headed to Weston’s only diner for breakfast, drinking his coffee along the way to try and wake up. He got a seat at the counter, since most of the booths were taken, and ordered more coffee from a young blonde named Shelby.
“Don’t know your face, honey,” Shelby said as she poured piping hot coffee into the same brown ceramic mug every diner in the country seemed to favor. “Passing through?”
“Something like that. Visiting family for a while.” He pointed at the oversize menu of breakfast items. “Anything you recommend?”
Her smile brightened. “You can’t go wrong with Donnie’s classic breakfast platter. Two eggs, two sausage patties, home fries, and toast.”
Donnie wasn’t in the diner’s name, so that had to be the current cook. “Sounds fine. I’ll take the eggs scrambled, whites only. And can I swap the sausage for some sort of fruit cup?”
Shelby scribbled on her notepad. “We can do that. I’ll put the order in for you.”
“Thank you, miss.” Michael hated being a fussy eater sometimes but he wasn’t going to eat crap just because he was back in the sticks again. Especially now that he was single for the first time since graduating college. Not that he was on the hunt but it was a lot easier to gain weight than to lose it, especially after forty.
No, that was Kenny talking, whispering in his ear about looking his best at all times. He could eat what he wanted, damn it.
He sipped his black coffee and studied the specials board above the counter, his only other view straight ahead into the busy kitchen. He’d heard too many stories from friends in food service over the years to truly want to see how his food was being prepared; all he wanted was to eat it. This morning’s visit from Sheriff McBride still bothered him and he couldn’t put his finger on exactly why. On one hand, he appreciated the sheriff taking care with the property of the locals; on the other hand, it was a little creepy. Did he act that way every time a neighbor had a guest?
The food arrived fast and after slathering his home fries and eggs with ketchup, Michael tore into his breakfast, hungrier than he thought for some decent home-style cooking. Shelby refilled his coffee twice. Considering how busy the place was, she was on top of things with every customer at the counter, and even a few at tables and booths. Something about her seemed vaguely familiar but he couldn’t put his finger on why. She was way too young to have gone to school with him.
He was finishing his last piece of toast and orange marmalade when a young man strode into the place with an upset blonde girl in his arms, maybe five years old. The man went right to the counter where Shelby was wiping her hands on a towel and handed the girl over. “I’m so sorry to drop her off early, baby,” the young man said, “but Hugo’s got some kinda food poisoning, Brand is out at a meeting with a possible new vendor for the beef, and I need to get to work.”
Shelby bounced the little girl on her hip, her expression clearly unhappy with this turn of events, and Michael tried not to stare. “It’s fine. My shift ends in an hour anyway. Susie can play in the office for a while.”
“Thank you, you’re the best. Love you both.” He kissed Shelby and Susie on the forehead before turning and leaving as quickly as he’d come.
“They have got to get more help at that ranch,” another waitress said to Shelby as she came by with a tray of food to deliver to tables.
“They’re trying,” Shelby replied.
“What ranch?” Michael asked without thinking.
“Woods Ranch. It’s my husband’s family’s place, and they’ve been having trouble keeping a full staff for about a year now. Men come and go, but it’s hard to find really qualified rustlers right now.”
“Sorry to hear that.” Now he realized why Shelby and the young man who’d delivered Susie were familiar. For a long time after their falling-out, Dad had sent Michael clippings about local goings-on in Weston and nearby towns, and he’d gotten the marriage announcement for Remington and Shelby Woods, complete with a photo. Woods Ranch was one of the largest in the county, and when Michael was a child, it had employed quite a lot of workers. But ranching was getting more and more competitive, as was the labor market. Michael had grown up on a ranch, and even though theirs had failed, he knew the life.
I need a job until I sell the house. What if...?
He guzzled down the rest of his coffee instead of speaking up. While yes, he did need some kind of job for now, his first priority was checking on Dad and assessing what sort of help he’d need at home going forward. Michael could be there during the night, but he might need to hire someone to be there while Michael was working. And to hire someone required income. They might be able to survive on just Dad’s social security and whatever retirement he had saved up, but Michael couldn’t mentally survive spending all day and night with his father. He’d go insane from boredom.
He could compromise with outside help, and he imagined a hospital social worker would be around sometime today to talk with them about it. If Dad listened to anything Michael had to say. They hadn’t had an in-person conversation in twenty-odd years and rarely spoke on the phone. Even though Michael sent him new puzzles every Christmas and birthday, they didn’t have a relationship anymore. Not since Mom died.
Michael dropped a twenty on the counter for his food and tip, and he left the diner, intent on his car and the long day ahead of him.
Dad was awake when Michael walked into his room about thirty minutes later, his hands empty of gifts, flowers or treats, because he honestly wasn’t sure what his father might want. For sure, Dad would have scoffed at flowers, but somehow arriving empty-handed made Michael feel like a misbehaving ten-year-old again, rather than the sort-of-successful forty-one-year-old man he was now.
Dad blinked at him over the remnants of his breakfast, his left hand resting on the rolling tray table near a plastic spoon. He’d dribbled a bit of something down his chin, and Michael sent a silent “what the fuck?” to the staff for letting a stroke patient try to feed himself with his nondominant hand. Even if it was what looked like runny oatmeal and juice.
