Page 25 of Cowboy's Way

“Is she old enough to be Faith’s mother?”

“Both Faiths’ mother,” he answers without hesitation this time. “I’ll get back to you with the rest in the next forty-eight hours.”

“I owe you.”

“I’ll bill you.” There’s no trace of sarcasm in his words, then he ends the call.

Considering it’s nearly dawn, I get dressed and set out to feed the chickens before seeing to my horses.

Chapter 8

Faith

Spending time with Debbie and Bobbi last night inspired me to do a couple of things.

Find some furniture for my living room and go job hunting.

But as I scroll through the list of local furniture stores on my phone, Bobbi’s comment about an upcoming sale pop into my head, so I decide to put that on hold for the time being.

It’s just not reasonable to continue to burn through the money I took. I refuse to think of what I did as ‘stealing’. That sure as hell was money owed for years of playing the role of Tore’s wife and keeping all the secrets I overheard.

While money was never an issue when I was married to Tore, here and now, my spending is being noticed. I need to make a conservative budget and stick to it.

Then I need to figure out what I want to do and how to get a job. Crossing to the kitchen, I wonder why I even bother opening the fridge. I haven’t gone grocery shopping and last night we ate the cheese and crackers I had on hand.

Convincing myself that Walt’s for breakfast will help me kill two birds with one stone, I grab the baseball cap that Bobbi accidentally left behind and pull my hair through the opening in the back. Checking my reflection, I worry that I’m trying too hard to look casual, but I decide to go with it.

Just because I’m not used to leaving the house without makeup on doesn’t mean that’s the norm around here. Mynormalwould draw too much attention and I seem to be doing that without adding to it.

Besides a stellar breakfast, surely Walt must know of someone that’s hiring. While I know preparing a résumé is the typical way to get a job, considering that the only work experience I have was babysitting when I was in high school, I can’t imagine what good it would do me.

Pulling up outside the restaurant, I notice a few motorcycles off to the side and while I can tell that they’re all slightly different, I just have no idea if any of them belong to Logan. OrCowboy, I think to myself.

Although he’s never corrected me, I have noticed that I’m the only one who calls him anything other than his road name.

The bell above the door draws everyone’s eyes to me, and I fall into the aloof persona I adopted over the years. Pretending not to see the tightening of the women’s mouths nor the hunger in the men’s eyes, I cross directly over to the seat I sat in a couple of days ago—acting as if I’ve been sliding onto that particular stool most of my life.

It’s actually comforting when Walt barely casts me a glance before speaking. “Same?”

“Yes. But, no coffee, just a water would be great,” I answer him with a nod.

Respecting the fact that he seems to be the only person working today, I skip the small talk before looking in the direction of the three bikers who’ve been watching me since I entered.

None of them were at the party the other night, but the largest of the three is shooting me a knowing glance. The older man sitting next to him says something under his breath to his friends, which has the man closest to me shifting his eyes down to his plate, while it just seems to embolden the big guy.

“What have you got to say about that?” he asks, his eyes holding mine while he tilts his head in the direction of his older friend.

“I didn’t hear him,” I answer, refusing to be cowed as I match his stare.

“You’ll have to excuse my brother,” the oldest biker says, softening the look on his face as he shifts his eyes between the man to his right and me. “He hasn’t lived in the south long enough to learn any manners.”

“From the sounds of it, he’s from Pittsburgh,” I reply, drawing a startled glance from the third man as the large one pulls himself up to his full height; as though puffing up with pride. “So, I wouldn’t hold out any hope of him learning manners.”

Two of the three men burst out laughing at my comment, just as Walt sets down a glass of water in front of me and turns on the man whose cut reads ‘Beast’ just as he opens his mouth. I cannot see Walt’s face, but he must be giving him a silent warning because he seems to think better of saying anything further.

“How did you know where his accent is from?” the older man asks me.

“My husband had some associates from there,” I reply, smiling when I see Walt flipping my French toast on the grill, and I’m grateful that I’ll have a reasonable distraction very soon.

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