“That’s not just in the medical field, Doc. That’s life in general.”
Amy stirred her tea, smiled. “Still, it doesn’t seem to stop us from trying like hell.”
He surprised her by clinking his cup against hers.
“I upset Lurie, didn’t I?” Her smile faded.
“I think it was the extra pickle that broke her.”
She laughed softly, finding it easy to laugh with him. “She has a crush on you.”
“You trying to make me blush, Doc?”
“Is that possible?”
“We big, burly protectors of society have our sensitive sides.”
She liked seeing him smile. Not a polite smile, but one that relieved the flatness of his eyes and revealed warmth underneath.
“So…?” She angled a questioning gaze at him.
“So…what?”
Amy cocked her head toward Lurie at the far end of the counter. “So…” She aimed a pointed look at his hands, bare of rings. “I’m assuming you’re single if you’re going to flirt with pretty waitresses. If not, my illusion of a real-life Texas sheriff is going to be forever crushed.”
“Some might say my marital status is not exactly a pertinent issue here.”
“Is that a polite way of saying it’s none of my damn business?”
“In true Texas-sheriff fashion.”
She laughed, and he joined her. The scars stretched and faded. The pain that held his features tight eased. His laughter was like that of the boy she’d known, but then she’d heard a thousand similar laughs over the last fourteen years—across a room, on the street, in her dreams. For a moment, she was eighteen again and still believed all her desires would come true.
They were still laughing as Lurie arrived with their food. Amy saw the looks pass beneath the billed baseball caps of the men seated nearby, but she didn’t care. Right now, cows were lying flat in the fields and the rodents had burrowed for cover. Plywood strips were being fastened across windows and doors with three-inch nails. Generators were being checked, rugs rolled and pressed tight to doorjambs. Yet no one could ever be ready for what was to come. So for a few minutes at this counter, she would laugh with a man who bore the same name as a boy she had loved.
“Here you go.” Lurie set plates before them. Jesse’s “usual’’ was a king-size cheeseburger, a side of onion rings and a double chocolate shake. Lurie slipped a bottle of Tabasco sauce out of her apron pocket, put it beside his plate. Amy stopped smiling. She’d known only one other person in her lifetime who put hot sauce on his hamburger. She watched him unscrew the top, lift up the bun and splash the sauce on his burger. He replaced the bun, brought the burger to his mouth and took a big bite. He glanced at her untouched plate. “Something wrong?” he asked, chewing.
“The hot sauce on your hamburger…” She didn’t know what she was trying to say.
“Heavenly.” He took another big bite. “Obviously one of those true Texan habits that hasn’t hit the West Coast yet.” He tipped his head. Amy looked around. At every station, a similar bottle of hot sauce stood beside the catsup bottle. “Of course, when it does, you Californians will claim you all started the trend and take the credit.”
Amy smiled wanly, feeling foolish. She looked down at her food, but her appetite was gone.
“So, you’re married?” she asked bluntly.
He seemed to have trouble swallowing. “No, I’m not. Your image of a true Texas sheriff may remain intact.” He picked up an onion ring. “And I, darlin’, am free to flirt with whomever I want.”
Jesse didn’t ask if she were married. He didn’t have to. Still, sitting beside her, he wondered if she’d ever dreamed the things he had in the years they’d been apart. Had she dreamed of them holding each other, kissing in the soft moonlight? Dreamed of their naked bodies…?
He leaned back, wiped his mouth and dropped the napkin onto his empty plate. “Excuse me.” He rose from the counter and headed to the rest room.
Amy watched him, too many questions still forming in her mind. Lurie came over and picked up Jesse’s plate. Amy turned to her, pushed her own plate toward the edge of the counter. Lurie looked at the half-eaten sandwich as she stacked the plate atop the other. “Was everything okay?”
“Oh, yes, fine,” Amy assured her. “I’m just not terribly hungry.”
Lurie cocked a hip, balancing both plates in one hand as she gathered used napkins and Amy’s empty glass in the other. “I’ve been trying to get the sheriff to smile like that for two years.”
Amy looked at her, interested.
“Hell’s bells, half the single women in the county have been trying to get their claws into the good sheriff.”
“He doesn’t date?”
“Oh, he dates all right. Probably been through most of the single women in a twenty-mile radius and then some.”
“He’s charming…” Amy noted.
Lurie crossed her arms across her arresting bosom and gave a slow nod of agreement.
“But he doesn’t strike me as the playboy type,” Amy concluded.
Lurie leaned on the counter, settling in. “That’s exactly the problem, Doc. He’s a real gentleman and a wonderful date, but if things start heating up, getting too serious, he slows it down or calls it quits altogether. He refuses to go to the next level.”
“You and he…?”
Lurie nodded. “We dated. And he was upfront about what to expect from the first. He didn’t lead me on. He’ll let you know he enjoys your company and treats you right, but if a woman is looking for the cozy cottage and the rest of the enchilada, she’s got the wrong man. Of course, like most woman, I thought I could change him.” She paused, studied her fingertips with their crescent moons. “I didn’t.” She met Amy’s gaze.
“A lot of men are afraid of commitment, settling down, Lurie.”
Lurie shook her head. “It’s different with Jesse. I can’t explain. It’s like he lives with a ghost. When we were dating, he’d look at me, but I sensed he was looking at someone else. Or for someone else. And no matter how hard he looked, he couldn’t find her.”
The waitress straightened. “At least, not yet.” She gave Amy a wink, swiveled and sauntered into the kitchen, her hips swaying beneath her tight black skirt.
Jesse returned. He stood beside her stool. “Lurie giving you some good gossip?” He threw several bills down on the counter.
“Just girl talk,” Amy answered as she slid off the stool.
“She’s a good gal,” Jesse said as they moved toward the door. He nodded good-bye to the other customers. “But believe about fifty percent of what she says.”
“How do you know she didn’t say the same about you?”
“She probably said believe only ten percent of what I say.”
“Actually, she said you were a straight shooter. She’s a big fan. Like most of the single women in the county.”
Their eyes met. “Is that what she said?”
“That and some.”
He slowly shook his head, laughing under his breath.
“You don’t agree?”
He