AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Tom sprayed coffee across the table. He coughed until he thought his lungs would come up while Dad wacked his back and mopped the table. Once he finally stopped, he refilled his cup and refreshed his dad’s. “Thanks for cleaning up my mess. Maybe I shouldn’t drink anymore coffee until you finish telling me about last night.”
Dad laughed. “Not much more to tell. We had a great time. They’re all nice folks. Ryan has a great sense of humor, and Deb can be wicked.”
“Glad you had a good time.” His father had a better social life than he did; that was sad. Tom fiddled with his cup. He’d just ask. “What did you think of the steaks?”
Dad put down his spoon. “You know, they may be on to something there. A tiny bit tougher, but the taste was outstanding. Maybe we should do some research this winter.”
Tom smiled. “Sure, Dad, we could do that. There’s a couple of places to start, like the American Grass Fed Association.” He spooned up cereal. Never mind he’d already done a lot of the research. Dad would have to ride the trail himself, but Tom could point the way. He ate until he couldn’t stand the suspense. “What did you think about Wiz?”
“Nice girl. Quiet, for the most part. She does have a bit of a... haunted look about her sometimes.” Dad frowned at the table.
“Hmm.”
“Didn’t seem very comfortable until about halfway through dinner. A little fidgety, but once she got to know everybody, she settled down.”
Tom laughed. “Dad, you sound like you’re describing one of the horses.”
Dad chuckled. “Well, you compared her to a rescue horse, and I think you’re right. She sat with her back to the fireplace outside, didn’t say hardly anything, just watched, and then, when we sat at the dining table, she sat on the far side, where she could see everyone. Ryan offered to arm wrestle her for the spot, and that’s when she started to calm down a bit. She laughed a good bit there toward the end, which seemed to surprise Erin and Ryan. Maybe she’s getting over whatever happened to her. She said she’d been out of the military for a few years.”
“I don’t think she’s over it, or she wouldn’t be so worried about me.”
Dad’s mouth twisted, and he tapped the table. “I didn’t say she was over it, I said maybe she’s getting over it. Working on it. Gradually. Maybe you’re just a bit much at this point. You’re a big guy, in your prime, and you can be pretty intense and downright dogged. Just be patient.”
Tom nodded and finished his cereal. The cows weren’t gonna feed themselves, and they didn’t care about his love life. Or lack thereof.
Later that week, he pushed his cart through the store. Grocery shopping might get him off the ranch, but it wasn’t fun. When he’d lived in the city, he’d rarely shopped. Evon got the few things they needed at home. Neither of them cooked. Smoothies for breakfast, lunch out with co-workers, dinner was take-out or restaurants with friends on Friday and Saturday nights. Sometimes they’d have dinner at a friend’s place on Sundays, but most of that was catered.
He was probably a lot healthier now. More physical labor, more fresh fruit and vegetables, less sodium. Still, meal planning and cooking was a hassle. Mom made it all look simple, but she’d grown up in a big family with ranch hands to feed; their family of five was easy, comparatively. He was just as grateful as Dad for the invention of the slow cooker and modern pressure cooker.
He got to the checkout and chatted with the clerk a bit, then loaded all the groceries up and drove back to the ranch. They’d have to hit Costco soon. Dad hated going to the “big city,” but Tom loved Missoula’s funky college town vibe. He laughed every time Dad called it a big city—it wasn’t even close. He chuckled. Dad and Mom visited him in NYC once; Dad was shell-shocked and refused to return. Mom came back on her own, several times. He took her to all the restaurants she’d read about and to the latest theater productions, and she’d had a wonderful time.
He missed his morning coffee, the variety of ethnic restaurants, live theater, live music—those things existed on a smaller scale in Montana, but after a long day at the ranch, the last thing he wanted to do was go out. He attended the big events, remaining involved with the community, but it was hard staying awake and alert after a late night. He yawned.
The neon colors of the Coffee and Cars sign caught his attention. He’d seen it plenty of times before but hadn’t stopped. Well, no time like the present. The groceries would be okay sitting in the car for a short time, and he could use a dose of caffeine. Erin had told him to drop in, too, so he put on his turn signal. As he entered the shop, the scent of deep, dark espresso woke him up immediately. He walked down the long dining area filled with wood chairs and tables, not seeing a soul. Well, it was Wednesday afternoon, which wasn’t exactly prime time for coffee in the Bitterroot. The sign on the counter said “ring once for service, please,” so he did.
The decor made him smile. Old service station signs from the 1920s through the 1970s covered the walls, along with the front end of a classic car. Near the counter, he recognized the work of a local photographer. He’d had a few of these same shots in his NYC condo.
The door behind the counter opened, admitting a young man with light brown hair pulled back from a slightly scarred, pale face. He was a little shorter than Tom, and a little leaner, but clearly in great shape. “What can I get you?” He turned his back, washing his hands.
“Espresso, double, please. Are you Ryan?”
“Yeah, that’s me.” He flicked the lever on a grinder, and the coffee scent grew.
He held out his hand, to the side of the espresso machine. “I’m Tom Borde.”
Ryan’s head jerked up, and his eyes narrowed into a glare. Tom held his gaze but kept his expression neutral. Ryan broke the stare-off to put the filter in the machine. “Cream? Sugar? Is this to-go or stay?”
“Black, and you tell me. Erin asked me to stop by, but if this is a bad time, or it's not going to do me any good, then I’ll go.” No point in pushing anything. He’d done too much of that already.
Ryan barked a laugh and handed him a to-go cup. Tom’s heart sank. If Wiz’s friends wrote him off, he’d get nowhere. Guess he wasn’t so nonchalant about the outcome as he pretended. He paid for the drink, putting the change in the tip jar, picked up his cup, and turned to go.
Ryan said, “Come on, we’ll cut through here to the garage.”
What a surprise. Didn’t think he’d even get to meet Erin, let alone anything else. Especially since Ryan hadn’t shaken Tom’s hand. But perhaps he hadn’t even seen the offer.
Tom followed him back to the garage, and that’s when he noticed Ryan’s hand. Or the lack of a hand. Instead of a left hand, he had some sort of plastic gripper. It looked like one of those things they sold old people to get cans out of high cupboards.
At least Ryan had his back to him. He grimaced. It would have been nice if Dad had warned him, though. It probably happened while he was in the military; way too many kids came back damaged. They’d started with the best of intentions; living in NYC during 9/11, he’d been all for the war, but it wasn’t long before he wondered if it was doing more harm than good.
