Protector for Hire (12 page)

That was truer than the guy probably realized.

Janelle swiveled her head to look at Bill, then shot Schwartz a nervous glance. He shrugged, letting her know it was okay to at least acknowledge the guy had spoken. Hell, maybe it would have been better to have her pretend to be mute.

“So what’s a Walt Crossing?” she asked. “Is that the name of this place?”

“Nah, this here’s the Elk Horn Café. Walt is my father-in-law.”

“And he has his own crosswalk?”

Bill beamed and gestured to the table closest to the window, setting down a pair of paper napkins in invitation. Janelle followed, while Schwartz cast a longing look at his usual stool tucked up close to the battered wooden bar where no one else liked to sit. He usually had the spot to himself, which was how he liked it.

But Janelle was already standing next to the long wooden table at the window, and Schwartz had no choice but to join her as Bill continued to chatter on about Walt.

“Walt’s ninety-two years old and blind as a bat,” he said. “Still likes to get out for walks every now and then, so we put up the sign to remind people to slow down when they see the old guy with the cane.”

“That’s adorable!”

“’Course we don’t get a lot of traffic through here, so it’s mostly just for show.” Bill smiled again and bent to pull out one of the long wooden benches tucked beneath the table. “Please have a seat. I don’t think we’ve met before. I’m Bill.”

Janelle bit her lip and glanced at Schwartz. “Rebecca,” she supplied, and Schwartz gave an approving nod at the use of her middle name. At least it would be easy to remember.

“Rebecca, it’s great to meet you.” He shook her hand, then turned to Schwartz. “And I know you’ve been coming in here for years, but we’ve never really spoken, ’cept for the occasional food order.”

Right. That was the way Schwartz preferred it. No chitchat, no connections, no attachments. But it would be rude to say that now, so he stuck out his hand and nodded. “Schwartz.”

“Schwartz,” Bill repeated, offering a friendly smile and a handshake more suited to crushing beer cans. “Good to finally meet you.” He glanced over his shoulder to the empty tables behind him, then lowered his voice so the nonexistent patrons wouldn’t hear. “Gotta admit, Schwartz—there’s been a lot of speculation about you over the years.”

“Me?” Schwartz frowned. “What the hell for?”

Bill looked nervous, and it occurred to Schwartz that his social skills were probably a bit rusty. Beside him, Janelle gave an encouraging smile.

“Well,” Bill said, “you’re always so quiet and keep to yourself. Some folks thought maybe you’re some sort of terrorist. Janie—she’s the one who runs the post office—she thinks you’re a celebrity hiding out from the paparazzi. Back before you shaved off that beard, a coupla guys thought maybe you were a Sasquatch.”

“A Sasquatch,” Schwartz repeated, mystified.

Janelle grinned and reached up to brush a hand over his cheek. “I’ve never seen you with a full beard.”

“Yeah. Well, I shaved it off a week ago.”

His face was still tingling as she sat down on a scarred wooden bench and picked up the little handwritten card that passed for a menu at this place. He glanced back toward his usual spot at the bar, wondering why no one ever joined him there. It had never occurred to him before, but maybe they were afraid of him. He couldn’t decide if that was depressing or funny as hell, so he looked back at Janelle instead. There was plenty of space beside her on the long bench, so he sat down next to her, figuring that was easier than claiming the opposite bench. At least this way he wouldn’t have his back to the door.

Her arm brushed his side, and Schwartz tried not to think about how warm she felt beside him. She smelled like flowers and sunshine, and he took a deep breath to fill his lungs with her.

“I’m hungry enough to eat a horse,” she said, her eyes scanning the menu.

“’Fraid we don’t serve horse here, ma’am,” Bill said. “But we make a mighty fine buffalo meat loaf, if I do say so myself.”

“That’s what Schwartz told me.” Ma’am Rebecca Janelle set the menu down and picked up the ice water Bill had just poured for her. “Meat loaf sounds perfect. And if you have a fresh pot of coffee back there, I’ll take the whole thing.”

Bill laughed. “You want a mug, too, or you plan to drink it straight out of the pot?”

“If you could just hook it up to an IV, that would be great.”

“Coming right up,” he said, giving her another fond smile before nodding at Schwartz. “I like her. She’s spunky.”

Before Schwartz could reply, Bill turned and hustled off to the kitchen. Spunky Ma’am Rebecca Janelle watched him go, then turned back to Schwartz. “He’s not going to take your order?”

“Doesn’t have to. I always get the same thing. Keeps conversation to a minimum if he just brings it out without asking.”

She shook her head and gave him a look of dismay. “Welcome to humanity, Schwartz. It’s a nice place. You should visit more often.”

“Send me a postcard,” he muttered as he picked up his ice water and downed half the glass in one gulp.

She was looking around the room, taking in the mounted deer heads on the wall, the rustic woodstove in the far corner. Schwartz tried to see it through her eyes and wondered what she must be thinking. A set of stairs off in the corner led up to the second floor where Bill and his wife lived, but down here it was open for anyone who might want to stop by for a home-cooked meal. The scent of fried onions and woodsmoke was heavy in the air, and the wooden walls bore the burned scars of brands from nearby ranches. The tables were large enough to hold big families or large groups of friends, but right now it was just the two of them.

He grimaced as a bell dinged at the front of the room. So it wouldn’t be the two of them after all.

“Mmm-mmm-mmm!” In the doorway stood a round-cheeked woman wearing cowboy boots and a long braid in her salt-and-pepper hair. She stopped on the threshold, sniffing the air like a deer in a meadow, her face tipped toward the ceiling. “Something smells mighty good,” she announced.

A man walked in behind her, doffing a weathered brown cowboy hat. He had a slight limp, and his flannel shirt was tucked into jeans that bore ironed creases down the front. “Meat loaf,” he grunted.

“My favorite,” the woman replied, scanning the room. Her eyes widened as she spotted Schwartz, and he looked away fast.

“This spot okay?” the man asked.

The woman sighed. “I s’pose it’ll do. Looks like the usual table is taken.”

Schwartz gave in to temptation and looked up to see the woman watching him. The instant his eyes locked with hers, she broke into a smile. “Or we could sit with Triple M over there. Looks like he found himself a new spot. Gordy, you see this?”

Before Schwartz could say anything or ask what the hell Triple M meant, the woman was bustling over with Gordy in tow. “I almost didn’t recognize you sitting over here at our table instead of your usual spot,” she said. “And you brought a friend.” She eyed Janelle approvingly, then smiled and stuck out her hand. “I’m Laverne, and this here is Gordy.”

“Rebecca,” she said. “And—uh, Triple M?”

“Mysterious Mountain Man,” Laverne said, clapping Schwartz on the back. “That’s what everyone around here always calls you. Got a real name, honey?”

“Schwartz,” he said, and reached under the table to squeeze Janelle’s knee. It was supposed to be reassuring, but probably came off like he was copping a feel. He let go of her knee and put both hands back on the table in front of him.

“Rebecca and Schwartz,” Laverne repeated. “So nice to finally meet you. You two don’t mind if we join you, right?”

“I—uh—” Janelle stammered, then looked to Schwartz. He was trying to think of a reason to say no—agoraphobia? Contagious disease? Invisible friends occupying the other bench? Apparently not sensing his hesitation, Laverne plunked herself down opposite them and patted the table.

“It’s so nice to see you being all friendly-like, Schwartz,” Laverne said. “Always wanted to come over and say hello, but I got the sense you wanted to be left alone.”

“I did,” Schwartz mumbled, and Janelle shot him a look.

Laverne didn’t seem to notice the muttering or the eye roll, which was just as well. “Gordy and I have lived around here for almost forty years, so we know just about everyone. We’ve seen Triple M before, of course, but I’ve never seen you around here before, sweet pea.”

Sweet pea? Good lord, what was it with the pet names? If this is what social interaction amounted to, Schwartz wasn’t sure he wanted any part of it.

Sweet Pea Spunky Ma’am Rebecca Janelle just smiled and edged a little closer to Schwartz. “I don’t get out much.”

“Oh, so you’ve been here awhile?” Laverne looked from her to Schwartz and back again, her expression curious. She was clearly angling for gossip, or wondering if Schwartz had kept a woman chained to his woodshed for the last ten years. Maybe that would be a good cover story.

“Awhile, yes,” she said vaguely as she lifted her water glass to her lips.

He had to hand it to her, she was trying not to be noticed. But who the hell wouldn’t notice someone like Janelle? She practically glowed with energy and spirit and personality. Spunk, Bill had called it. Something like that. Clearly, everyone could see it. And if they could see it, they might remember her.

“So, uh—Laverne?” Schwartz tried. “Maybe you two should let Bill know you’re here.”

“Aw, he’ll be out in a minute,” Laverne said, waving a dismissive hand. “So tell me how you two know each other.”

Schwartz gripped his water. “She’s my cousin.”

It would have been a great response if he hadn’t said it at the precise moment Janelle gave her own answer.

“I’m his fiancée.”

They both turned to look at each other, too dumbstruck to say anything else. Janelle winced. He grimaced.

Then she shrugged and slid her hand across the table to twine her fingers with his. “Babycakes,” she murmured, smiling at him.

Schwartz blinked, struggling to come up with an endearment. “Uh, pudding stain?”

Across from them, Laverne raised a hand to her mouth. “Oh. Oh my. I understand now.”

“You do?” Schwartz looked back at her.

“Yes.” Laverne nodded, looking between them again. “It’s no wonder you’ve kept to yourself all this time. What with being blood relations and all.”

Oh, hell.

Beside him, Janelle was nodding. “So you understand why we’d kinda like you to keep this between us, right?”

“Of course,” Laverne replied. “I mean I’m not sure what the laws are in Montana, but I had some cousins in Alabama that fell in love with each other back in 1974.”

“Sure, it happens.” Janelle was nodding beside him. “The laws in the South are a little more permissive, but we just adore Montana so much, you know?”

“Well, I can understand that, cupcake. Can’t we understand that, Gordy?”

“Yep.”

God bless Gordy, a man of few words. Schwartz picked up his ice water and drained it, wondering where the hell Bill was. Maybe he could drop a tray of glasses or light the building on fire or stand up and shout about an alien invasion. Anything to get them out of this.

“My cousin and—well, my other cousin—they ended up having the most beautiful baby boy,” Laverne prattled on. “So much dark hair, and the bluest eyes you’ve ever seen. I crocheted booties by the dozen for that sweet little baby. Do you crochet, lambchop?”

Beside him, Lambchop Cupcake Sweet Pea Spunky Ma’am Rebecca Janelle nodded. “Sure, just a little bit. I’m really more of a knitter, though.”

“Oh, you should join our sewing circle! We meet every Tuesday from noon to four. Potluck, of course.”

“Of course.”

Schwartz considered crawling under the table, but Janelle pressed her thigh against his and he suddenly lost the urge to flee.

“Do you two plan on having kids?” Laverne asked.

“We’re not really sure,” Janelle said, and Schwartz stepped on her toe under the table. “Ow?”

“What’s that, dear?”

“Oh, uh—toe cramp.”

“Oh, I used to get those myself. I tell you, it’s probably a potassium deficiency. What you need to do is eat a banana every morning for a week.”

“Banana,” Janelle repeated, wriggling her foot out from under his. “Got it. Darling, maybe we can hit the grocery store after this?”

Darling? Right, he needed to contribute another damn term of endearment if he was going to keep up with this conversation. “Whatever you want—uh, honey bunion.”

“Bunions!” Laverne grinned and clapped her hands together. “Let me tell you, I used to get those so bad. I can teach you some toe stretches that’ll have you dancing the two-step again in no time.”

The door chimed again, and before Schwartz could learn more about bunions or turn to see who else might be joining their unplanned party, Laverne was waving someone over to the table.

“Merle! SaraJo! Come on over here and meet Schwartz and his special friend, Rebecca. Dollface, this here’s Merle and SaraJo from over in Butte. They come all the way up here twice a month for Bill’s blueberry pie. Did I tell you he makes the best pie around?”

“Um, no, you didn’t,” said Dollface Lambchop Cupcake Sweet Pea Spunky Ma’am Rebecca Janelle as she squeezed his hand again.

Bill chose that moment to come bustling back into the dining room with a pot of coffee and a blue mug printed with white letters that read F
RANK’S
W
ATER
T
RUCKS:
W
E SPRAY ANYTHING
. He set it down in front of Janelle, beaming like she’d just installed electricity in the dining room and showed them how a light switch worked. In a matter of speaking, she kinda had.

“Thank you,” she said, cupping her mug with the hand that wasn’t already twined with his. “You may have just saved my life.”

“It’s a life worth saving, ma’am.” He turned to Gordy and Laverne and Merle and SaraJo. “The usual each of you?”

“That’d be great, Bill,” SaraJo said. “We’ll just sit here and get acquainted.”

“It’s good to finally meet you, Schwartz,” Merle said. “Been wanting to say hello for years, but everyone said you were one of them deaf mutes.”