Page 1 of My Cowboy Salvation
Chapter 1
One hundred and sixteen…twenty-one… thirty-one… thirty-seven.
Okay, all in all, it’s not enough to splurge on a steak dinner, but it is one hundred and thirty-seven more dollars in my pocket than when I arrived to work this morning.
“Dylan,” someone shouts, their impatience clear. “Your order is up for table twelve.”
Right. My last table. I fold the cash and shove it in my pocket, then run to the front to grab the order.
“And here’s your Breakfast Trio.” I place the plates down in front of the adorable elderly couple who arrived at four o’clock on the dot for their early bird dinner, just like they have for the past three Tuesdays.
“Could I get that ketchup, too, dear?” the lady asks.
That’s right. She asked for ketchup when they placed their order. So I’m not the best waitress in the world, but I think my skills have come a long way since I started a month ago.
The bell above the door jingles. “Take a seat wherever you want, and someone will be with you in a minute,” I say, barely looking up at the figure coming through the door as I run behind the counter to get the ketchup.
I check the time. Mariah should have been here five minutes ago.
My feet ache as I make my way to the couple and smile as I set the ketchup on the table. “Sorry about that. Is there anything else I can get you? Some refills maybe?”
“No, we’ll be fine.”
I eye the door one last time, hoping Mariah will appear, so I can check out for the night. I’ve been here since seven this morning, and my feet are about ready to fall off.
“Welcome to Kay’s Diner,” I say as I reach the new customer, a beefy guy with brown hair who seems vaguely familiar. “Can I get you something to drink to start? Or are you ready to order?”
“Just a coffee for now, Dylan.”
I stare a little harder at the guy. That’s right. He was in here last week. Sat here and drank two cups of coffee during the lunch rush before finally leaving. Left me a whopping two-dollar tip.
Grabbing the coffeepot and a mug, I bring them over and pour some coffee, aware of his gaze on me the entire time. “Let me know if you change your mind.”
I nearly sigh in relief when Mariah steps into the diner, an apologetic smile on her face. Ten minutes later, I climb into my old Toyota Corolla that feels like an oven as the seats and steering wheel burn under my skin. It’s nearly ninety degrees this evening, which I’ve been told isn’t necessarily atypical for mid-September in this tiny town located just outside St. George, Utah.
The engine comes to life after only two tries, and I immediately roll the windows down to try to get a breeze going inside. The car’s pitiful a/c won’t cool the car off before I arrive at my motel about five minutes away.
A few minutes later, I arrive at the tiny motel room I’ve been calling home for the past month. I nearly weep in relief as the cool air pumping from the a/c rushes over me. I should shower, should find something to eat, but the only thing I want to do right now is sink onto the bed and enjoy the cool comfort of the sheets, if only for a minute.
The rushing sound of cars passing on the highway outside becomes almost soothing. There’s probably a couple more hours of light left before the darkness creeps overhead, eliminating all the light and comfort, leaving me just the shadows and the memories that inevitably follow.
I close my eyes, counting the cars that pass until I slip into restless sleep.
* * *
Click-click
The sharp clicking sound that’s filled many of my nightmares pushes past the edges of my semi-consciousness.
Click-click.
Suddenly, I’m awake, my eyes flying open as I stare into the darkened room. My heart races as I try to still my breath that’s coming so fast I can’t seem to get any oxygen to my brain. A glance at the alarm clock confirms it’s after midnight.
I wipe my sweaty hands on the sheets and take a deep, calming breath to bring my heart back to normal. The room is quiet again, save for the quiet buzzing from the a/c unit.
It was just a dream, Dylan. Just like the others. You’re far from San Francisco. Far from him. There’s no way—
Click-click.
