“Has he been away long?”
“Served most of a three-year sentence.”
“He’s been in prison?”
“Could have been worse. Some say he intended to kill the guy who was beaten.”
Merritt had noted his hands just as she had the rest of him. She had to fight a shudder at the idea of being on the receiving end of their wrath. “But if he didn’t actually do that, why did he get convicted?”
“Because the victim filed charges. Listen, Miller Moth, there was a hit-and-run. The guy killed was Cain’s uncle. Someone figured, who would worry about one less drunk Indian? Cain got enough information to conclude who did it and he went after him. The problem was the driver was also the foreman at the Paxton Ranch.”
“How terrible.” But Merritt was confused. “Wait a minute—Cain’s Native American and his name is Paxton, too?”
“Yeah,” Alvie said with a heavy dose of sarcasm. “Small world, isn’t it? Cain’s father was Sanford Paxton’s only son. Cain’s mother was full-blooded Sioux. But as far as Sanford was concerned, that salad dressing never got concocted, understood? Now go take care of the rest of your customers before they change their minds about tipping you.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
First, though, she brought Cain the promised gravy and a saucer to pour it on the biscuits. Then she refilled coffee cups again, ending with his.
“Need another basket?” she asked when she realized he’d devoured everything.
“That’s tempting, but I’ll wait for the rest of my meal. Alvie’s stuff is better than I remembered.”
“I appreciate that. I do the baking now.”
At the end of the counter, she signaled Leroy to hand over a plastic tub to save her having to walk around. Once he did that, she pocketed her tips and cleared off two emptied tables. She and Nikki bussed their own tables and helped load the washer if Leroy was backed up at the counter. The only good thing about the extra work was that they didn’t have to split their tips with busboys.
By the time she finished, Alvie was calling, “Order, Merritt!”
She balanced the basin on her good hip and tried to ignore the ache in her right one. Her injury provided its own weather report. She would need an extra-strength pain reliever to get any sleep tonight.
After setting the basin on the long stainless steel counter, Merritt picked up the long platter that they usually used for dinners, now heaping with what Cain Paxton had ordered, plus the cake plate stacked with three pancakes. Once again picking up the coffeepot, she delivered Cain Paxton’s breakfast and refilled his mug.
“If there’s nothing else, I’ll be back to top off your coffee in a few minutes.”
“That’ll be fine.”
Since he didn’t bother looking up from the meal that he was already in the process of devouring, she placed his ticket on the corner of the table and returned to her other customers. She didn’t mind his reticence. She had to force herself to make polite conversation. Half the people who came in treated her as though she was part of the fixtures. Nikki was the one who got—and frankly invited—attention. She can have it, Merritt mused, thinking of some of their less palatable clientele.
The crowd started thinning out shortly after that. Almost everyone cast speculative looks toward Cain on their way out. Merritt wondered how many of them knew about his past. Probably everyone. Revenge was never right or wise, but it sounded like Cain had been pushed to an impossible limit, given his added parentage dilemma. Merritt supposed people were thinking a convict was a convict and the taint was eternal.
Before Merritt could bring the coffeepot back to the corner table, Cain rose and carried his plates and mug to the end of the lunch counter. Startled, Merritt rushed forward to take them from him.
“That’s my job,” she told him.
“You look like you could use the break.”
He spoke matter-of-factly and his gaze barely brushed over her, making her feel less significant than she already did in her discount-store, beige pullover and jeans. “I’m fine,” she said with a touch too much pride. “I work the dinner shift, too. I can do my job.”
“Excuse me for trying to help.” He slid a twenty-dollar bill across the counter. “Tell Alvie she hasn’t lost her touch.”
As he headed for the door, Merritt recovered enough to protest, “Your change, sir.”
“Keep it,” he said without looking back.
Merritt stared, stuck between the embarrassment of knowing that he’d overtipped her out of pity and confusion over why someone fresh out of prison would be so generous when he could ill afford to be?
Leroy plucked the ticket and twenty from her and made change. Of medium height and sinewy build, his steel-gray hair matched his full mustache and beard and framed a sardonic face with shrewd eyes and a down-turned mouth. Unlike her, he had an opinion on everything and didn’t wait to be asked for it.
“You be careful, honey,” he said, handing her the tip money.
“Me? What did I do?”
“You got his attention. That’s enough.”
That was the silliest thing he’d said in a good while. “He’s blaming himself for my limp when I clumsily tripped over his leg. I tried to explain.”
“Didn’t see that. But what I do know is that you’re female, and he tipped you nice. Cain’s always been a magnet to women. Just one of nature’s mysteries. Maybe Alvie told you that he’s been locked up for a good while, too?”
“But he’s hardly blind,” Nikki said, bringing her own ticket and cash for him to handle. She cast Merritt a saccharine, deal-with-it smile.
Ignoring her, Merritt untied her apron and went in back, thinking about Cain’s parentage. For a small town like Almost with a population of barely five thousand, that was a good deal of scandal and intrigue. The outcome seemed unjust, too.
Alvie was beginning to prep for the lunch crowd. The restaurant business remained a fascination to Merritt, but there was no denying that it was a physically demanding way to make a living.
“If you don’t mind, I’m heading to the house to get things ready for the weather,” she told her boss.
“Take the truck. I heard most of what you said to Leroy just now.”
“I tripped—I didn’t fall. I’m fine.” Merritt appreciated Alvie’s concern, but there was such a thing as overkill. “And remember that I don’t have a license.” She’d never bothered transferring her New Jersey license because she hadn’t known how long she would be staying. She continued to resist because she could walk to wherever she needed to go, or catch a ride with Alvie or Leroy, which let her save money, and now her old New Jersey license had expired.
“No one is going to stop you—unless you run over the chief of police himself. They’re sure not going to bother you in deteriorated weather conditions—or give you a ticket for coming to work. They know where you belong.” Alvie shook her head. “I don’t see why after all this time you won’t get a driver’s license.”
Having a license meant she could be traced. But Merritt wasn’t going to share that bit of information unless she was forced to hit the road again. With a negligent shrug, she said, “I’ll see you by four-thirty, okay?”
“Might be a slow night if things get bad really fast. If you had a phone, I could tell you to save yourself the trip and stay home.”
People living sparely could do without such luxuries as a phone, especially