They arrived at the diner, which had a gigantic red rooster perched on top of the sloping roof. Several cars and trucks were parked in the lot, and Chase had to drive around to the back to find an open slot.
“Busy place,” she commented.
“As nearly as I can tell, it’s the only decent diner between Newton and Highway 40.”
“True. I’m afraid this part of Kansas isn’t exactly the gourmet capital of the state.”
They got out of the car and strolled around to the entrance. Inside the smell of sizzling meat on the grill was accompanied by a pleasant hum of conversation from the patrons who filled the red vinyl booths. Waitresses hurried back and forth carrying trays of burgers and fries, cold sandwiches and salads, plus glasses of soda and iced tea.
The hostess showed them to a booth toward the back of the restaurant.
Vivian opened the menu the hostess had placed in front of her. “So are you into gourmet food?” she asked Chase. “Or are you more a meat-and-potatoes kind of guy?”
“I’m a pretty basic guy. No frills. You get what you see.”
What Vivian saw in Chase was looking better and better. “I don’t mind going out to a fancy dinner now and then, but my mom taught me to cook. Chicken and biscuits is about as wild as we get in my family. But Mom’s biscuits are pretty good.”
He studied her from across the table. “I’m a serious connoisseur of biscuits. I like ’em real fluffy.”
“Well, good. In that case I’ll have to invite you to dinner at my folks’ house sometime so you can see if Mom’s biscuits live up to your high standards.”
He chuckled. “It’s a deal!”
When the waitress returned, Chase ordered a cheeseburger with coleslaw instead of fries. Vivian chose a chicken salad with a raspberry vinaigrette dressing on the side. She had iced tea; he ordered a soda.
As they chatted over lunch, Vivian learned Chase had grown up in Wichita, living in a half dozen different houses or apartments. And that he’d started work at a warehouse when he was seventeen years old.
“You didn’t want to go to college?” she asked.
“My grades weren’t good enough, and I had to earn some money to help out my mother.”
Vivian sensed he was plenty smart enough to get good grades and go to college, but maybe he hadn’t been tuned in to academics. Some of her classmates had been like that: smart but not interested in studying. Then again, given his family’s situation, maybe he hadn’t had any other choice.
She sipped her sweet tea. “What about your interests outside of animals? Any hobbies?”
Thinking, he carried a forkful of coleslaw to his mouth and chewed for a minute. “When I was younger, I used to enjoy target practice with some buddies. They sometimes went hunting, but I couldn’t see killing a deer or even a raccoon.”
“Neither can I.” Her father had a gun, which he used to run off coyotes who were trying to get into the chicken coup. But Vivian had never been interested in shooting anything, not even a target.
“Like most guys, I’ve tinkered a little with cars,” Chase said. “How about you? What do you do in your spare time?”
“You mean besides reading?” She laughed. “I can do some crocheting and knitting, but I’m not all that good. My mother’s terrific, though. I’m pretty good at graphic arts on the computer. And I like decorating my little house.”
“On the computer, it’s all I can do to keep track of income, expenses and inventory. I bought a special program for that. Figured I’d need it come tax season.”
“Smart man.” She smiled at him across the table and felt herself falling further for this man.
When they’d finished eating, Vivian sat back. “That was a good salad. I’ll have to come here more often.”
“Good burger, too.” Using his napkin, Chase wiped his mouth. “We’ll have to do this again.”
Their waitress arrived. She was a woman in her forties with unnatural platinum hair pulled back into a ponytail. “Anything else for you folks? We’ve got some homemade apple pie. It’s really good à la mode.”
Vivian shook her head. “Not for me, thanks.”
“None for me, either.” The waitress put the check on the table, and Chase reached for his wallet.
“Why don’t we do this Dutch treat?” Vivian suggested.
“A gentleman never lets a lady pick up the check.” He put a twenty on the table. “I invited you, remember.”
“Well, I thank you very much.”
He winked. “You’re welcome.”
“Guess we’d better get back to work, huh?” Although Vivian would rather linger here with Chase, sipping another glass of iced tea, she really should go to the bookstore to give Allison a break.
Chase took a different road back to Bygones, although the landscape of small farms was much the same. They hadn’t gone far when he had to slow for a couple of brown-and-white milk cows that had wandered out onto the road.
“Looks like somebody left their gate open,” Vivian said.
“No, not their gate.” He pulled to the side of the road. “A whole big section of fencing is down.”
“How did that happen?” Two posts holding the wire fencing around a small pasture had been pulled to the ground. The cows had simply wandered out to eat the greener grass outside their pen.
Turning off the ignition, Chase said, “I’m going to try to herd the cows back where they belong. The farmer must not have missed them yet. Hang on.” He hopped out of the SUV and strolled slowly toward the cows.
Vivian climbed out, too. There was a small farmhouse and a barn on the property, both of which looked in need of a new roof and fresh paint. That wasn’t unusual in this part of Kansas. Small landholders had trouble making a profit.
“Come on, Bessie,” Chase said. “You and your sister need to go back where you came from.” Making clucking noises, he waved them toward the broken fence.
The cows started to move in the right direction.
Suddenly an old man half bent over at the waist came running out of the house. “Hey there, git away from my cows, or I’ll blow you away.” The man lifted a double-barrel shotgun to his shoulder.
Vivian gasped.
Chase threw his hands up. “Easy, mister. You’ve got a break in your fence. I was just trying to—”
The shotgun blasted into the air. “I tol’ you to git. Now git!” He cracked open the shotgun, reloaded and snapped it closed.
The cows lumbered out onto the road again.
Her heart in her throat, Vivian jumped back in the SUV, rolling down her window.
Chase, instead of getting into the truck and driving away, like any rational person would do, walked toward the farmer, his hands held out to his sides in a sign of peace.
“Be careful,” she whispered, appalled that he’d approach a man with a gun.
“I’d like to help you,” Chase told the farmer. “I live over in Bygones. I own the pet store. I know what it’s like to work hard and not have much to show for it.”
Slowly, the farmer lowered his shotgun an inch or two. “Kids are always messing with my cows. When hunting season started, one