Page 8 of Saddles and Snowstorms
“Isn’t the customer always right?” She knew exactly what she was doing, laying it on as thick as she could. “Now you park your butt in that chair and let me give you some free coffee.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he muttered, tipping his hat. “Let me pull the truck around and I’ll be right back.”
As soon as he was back through the front door, Dolly placed a coffee mug at the empty seat next to me. “There,” she smiled, filling it up. “This should give the two of you a chance to talk a bit more.”
“Dolly… I don’t think he wants to talk to me.”
“Oh please,” she said, giving me a dismissive wave. “He needs afriend and so do you. Besides, a cute little thing like you deserves some attention.”
“I don’t think I’m his type, Dolly.”
She leaned close, her voice hushed. “I ain’t never seen Brooks date a woman. Even when we was in school together, he kept to himself. As far as I see it, you got just as good a shot as anyone, sugar.”
“But maybe he’s just not?—”
I didn’t get to finish my sentence as the bell over the door rang again, announcing my client’s return. Brooks Callahan moved like a storm front—slow, deliberate, inevitable. His boots scuffed against the worn linoleum as he made his way to the counter, dark eyes fixed somewhere in the middle distance. When he finally settled onto the stool beside me, I felt the air shift between us.
“Doc,” he nodded, barely glancing my way as he took off his brown cowboy hat and set it on the counter. His dark hair was pressed flat against his head, a thin line of sweat marking where the hatband had been.
“Brooks,” I replied, suddenly very interested in my coffee mug. “How’s that cow doing?”
“Fine.” He wrapped his calloused hands around the mug Dolly had placed before him. “Calf’s growin’ like a weed. Already. Three days old and I can barely keep him in the barn.”
Dolly hovered nearby, pretending to wipe down the counter while shooting me meaningful glances. When neither of us continued the conversation, she sighed dramatically.
“Lord have mercy, it’s like pullin’ teeth with you two.” She filled Brooks’ mug to the brim. “Brooks, did you know our vet here has been runnin’ himself ragged all week to keep up with you and everyone else?”
Brooks glanced over at me, those deep brown eyes lingering a moment longer than necessary. He took a slow sip of his coffee, black as midnight, before setting the mug down with deliberate care.
“That right?” His voice was gravel and whiskey, low enough that I had to lean slightly closer to hear him. “Thought you looked tired.”
“It’s been a week,” I admitted, suddenly self-conscious about the dark circles under my eyes and my rumpled shirt. Next to Brooks’ weathered but put-together appearance, I must have looked like something the coyotes had beenfighting over.
“My calf wasn’t much trouble though,” he said, a hint of defensiveness in his tone.
“No, you...” I cleared my throat. “You did most of the work yourself. I was just there to make sure everything looked right.”
The corner of his mouth twitched, not quite a smile but something close. “Man ought to know how to handle his own stock.”
Dolly slid a plate in front of me, a perfectly cooked ribeye with all the fixings, then leaned over the counter, her eyes dancing between us. “Brooks here’s got the best beef in three counties. Tell him what you think after you’ve had a bite,” Dolly insisted with a wink before sashaying away to help another customer.
I cut into the steak, the knife gliding through the meat like it was butter. The first bite melted in my mouth, rich and flavorful in a way that made my eyes close involuntarily.
“Damn,” I muttered after swallowing. “That is good.”
Brooks nodded, that almost-smile appearing again. “Grass-fed. No shortcuts.”
“Well, it shows.” I took another bite, suddenly ravenous. “Seriously, this might be the best steak I’ve ever had.”
He shifted on his stool, broad shoulders rolling beneath his worn flannel shirt. “Appreciate that.”
We fell into silence again, but it felt less strained now. I continued eating while Brooks nursed his coffee, those large, work-roughened hands dwarfing the mug. Every so often, I’d catch him watching me from the corner of his eye.
“Heard you helped out at the Richardson place,” he finally said. “Parasite problem?”
“Yeah,” I nodded, grateful for the conversation. “They’ve got a nasty infestation. I’ve been out there three times this week trying to get it under control.”
Brooks made a low sound in his throat, something between a grunt and a hum. “Richardson don’t know his ass from a hole in the ground when it comes to livestock. Throws money at problems instead of preventin’ ‘em.”
