Hogan didn’t like it, either, but he’d set her up on her couch as best he could, arranging her medicine nearby with a glass of juice, a bottle of water and the TV remote. “She’ll be okay. My guess is she’ll sleep most of the day away.”
Colt looked around. “So what can I do?”
Since Violet didn’t have a breakfast menu, the diner opened at noon. Kristy would be in soon, along with another employee. He’d already come up with a plan, so he got Colt going, then did some prep work on his ribs.
With that done, curiosity got the better of him and he moved to Violet’s office to take a look at her paperwork.
Just as he suspected, it was horribly dated, and as far as he could tell, she didn’t have a menu profitability analysis. Critical stuff in restaurant bookkeeping. He’d work on that, he decided, as well as catching her up, but he’d maintain all her regular records, too.
Violet could be prickly. No reason to fire her up more.
Around three, Nathan Hawley, the sheriff, stopped in. Hogan wasn’t surprised when he came around back to sit in the shade.
“I went by to check on Violet.”
Hogan stiffened a little. Nathan was single, and he wasn’t blind. If he hadn’t been tempted by Violet, he had to be dead. “Yeah? How’s she feeling?”
“She told me to go away, and that if I saw you, to tell you to go away, too.”
“How can I go away when I’m not even there?”
“I didn’t ask her,” Nathan said. “She was too limp for me to tease her. But I did notice she was propped on the couch watching a movie. Or pretending to watch it. Overall she looked like a zombie. I told her...”
Just then a single woman, carrying a drink and salad, dark glasses on her eyes, walked out. Ignoring them both, she went to the farthest section of the seating area, to a worn picnic table under a large maple tree.
She sat alone, with her back to them.
Hogan watched her, wondering about her since he’d never seen her before, then realized Nathan was watching her, too.
Amused by the sheriff’s distraction, he grinned. “You were saying?”
Without taking his gaze from the woman, Nathan asked, “What?”
Hogan shook his head. “Never mind. Who is she? Do you know?”
“New neighbor,” he murmured. “Real private.” Finally, Nathan got his gaze off her. “I saw her step outside this morning to jog. I waved, but she didn’t acknowledge me.”
“Does she know you’re the sheriff?”
“My car is parked in the driveway and it’s emblazoned on the side, so yeah, I assume so.”
“If being sheriff doesn’t impress her, maybe she needs to hear you sing.” Nathan cut a mean guitar and sang for the local garage band, the Drunken Monkeys. Where they’d gotten that name, Hogan had no idea. It all happened before he’d moved into the area.
“I wasn’t trying to impress her,” Nathan growled. “Just being neighborly.”
“She’s pretty.” Thick, straight, light brown hair, secured in a low ponytail, hung to the middle of her back. Snug yoga pants and a tank top showed a very nice figure. She still wore running shoes, looked a little sweaty, and gigantic sunglasses hid half her face. “She lives on the other side of you?”
“Moved in a few days ago.”
“Alone?”
“Far as I can tell.”
Just then the woman peered over her shoulder. Those ridiculous sunglasses kept them from knowing if she looked right at them or not, but it seemed likely.
Nathan said nothing, so Hogan did the honors and waved.
She turned back around.
“See what I mean?” Nathan frowned. “What are we supposed to think about that?”
“No idea.” Hogan swiped up a dish towel, wiped his hands, then headed toward her.
Startled, then quickly on board, Nathan followed.
Stopping at her table, Hogan smiled down at her. “Hi. Welcome to Screwy Louie’s.”
Very slowly she put her fork on her salad dish and looked up at him. “Thank you.”
“I’m Hogan Guthrie, the barbecue guru, and this is Nathan Hawley, your neighbor, the sheriff, and part of Drunken Monkeys, the local band.”
After all that, which he considered plenty to be a conversation starter, she only glanced up at Nathan and nodded.
Talk about a tough act... “New to the neighborhood, huh?”
Her mouth tightened—a very nice, very full mouth, Hogan noticed—and then she said, “Yes.” She hesitated, pulled off her sunglasses and tried a smile. “Thank you for the welcome. The salad was delicious. I need to get going now.” She stood, her “delicious” salad only half-eaten.
Nathan and Hogan stared.
She had beautiful eyes. Calling them light brown wouldn’t have done the unique color justice. They were brown, definitely, but golden flecks lightened the color. Fox eyes, maybe. Really startling.
Hogan got it together first. “Sorry we intruded. It’s a small neighborhood. No strangers, if you know what I mean.” He offered his hand. “Hope we’ll see you around again soon. Violet—she’s the owner here—would love to meet a new face, I’m sure.”
After replacing the sunglasses, she accepted a quick handshake, her hand small in his, her grip firm. Then she gathered up stuff.
To escape.
Before she left, she paused. “You’re here often?”
“Weekends only, usually.”
Nathan said, “I usually stop in for my lunch, then sometimes on weekends, too.”
Ho, so Nathan finally found his voice? Not that Hogan could blame him. He couldn’t wait to tell Violet about this little meet and greet. She loved to observe her customers.
As the woman left, Nathan fell into step beside her. “I’ll walk you out.”
She didn’t appear all that receptive, but still Hogan smiled at Nathan’s determination.
It occurred to him that she hadn’t given her name.
* * *
Throughout the day, Hogan got reports on Violet. The first time he called, she’d been napping and he’d disturbed her. After that, he asked her to call him and he kept his phone on him. She called twice, both times asking only about the restaurant.
She tried to dodge his questions, but he played tit for tat and wouldn’t answer her questions until she answered his.
No, she hadn’t eaten.
Yes, she had slept.
Yes, she’d taken her meds.
No, she didn’t need anything.
He sent Colt over to her house with some soup the cook made and a big glass of raspberry iced tea.
To Colt, she was apparently all sweetness, at least according to Colt. He’d stayed long enough to watch her eat and to pick up afterward.
By the time Hogan finished things that night it was nearly one in the morning. He packed up Violet’s accounting records and headed out.
She was still on the couch when he let himself in. A comb hadn’t touched her hair, and she was still in the same clothes.
The second he stepped in, she stirred awake, then forced herself to