Page 19 of Tattered and Torn

“You don’t have to do that. I’m happy to pay, honestly.”

“It’s Law Enforcement Appreciation Day,” I say, making that up on the fly.

“Then I guess it’s my lucky day for two reasons,” he says.

And then he winks at me.

John coughs to clear his throat, as a reminder he’s waiting for me. “We should go, Gabrielle,” he says.

“Right. Enjoy your meal, sheriff. It was a pleasure meeting you. If you need anything else, just pop your head into the kitchen. Betty and Nelle can help you.”

John and I finally leave the restaurant and take the stairs up to the apartments on the second floor. I unlock my door, and John follows me inside.

“I guess the pasta was a big hit tonight,” I say as I switch on the living room light. I cross to the kitchen and turn that light on as well. I feel a bit self-conscious now that it’s just the two of us in my apartment. “I hope to develop the first draft of a full menu this weekend so I can run it by Hannah and Killian.”

“I’m sure they’ll be fine with whatever you come up with.”

“Thanks, John.” He’s standing there pretty stiffly, with his hat still on. “Would you like to sit and relax? Can I get you something cold to drink?” Suddenly, I’m curious to find out if he’ll take his hat off.

He shakes his head. “Thanks, but I should get back to the barn and check on the horses before it gets any later.” He heads for the door but pauses when he gets there. “So, are we still on for the farmers market in the morning?”

“Yes, if you don’t mind driving me.”

“Sure. Then Monday I’ll drive you to Denver to the kitchen supply center.”

“That would be fantastic. The sooner I can order the new appliances, the sooner the kitchen will be renovated.”

He reaches up with his right hand to grip the top of his cowboy hat. For a brief moment, I think he might take it off, but no, he tips his hat. Such a gentleman.

His left hand is in his front jeans pocket, out of sight.

John, what happened to you?

But I don’t ask. If he wanted me to know, he’d tell me himself.

“Goodnight, Gabrielle,” he says as he turns the door knob behind him.

“Goodnight, John.”

After the door closes behind him, I’m left staring at an empty room. I haven’t even been here twenty-four hours yet, and already so much has happened.

* * *

I take a quick shower and wash my hair. Dressed in my pajamas—knit shorts and a tank top—I let my hair hang loose and dry on its own. To kill time, I unpack my luggage and hang up my clothes. I organize my undergarments in the dresser drawers. I didn’t bring much with me. Besides my clothes, I brought my laptop, my tablet, some books, and my collection of family photo albums.

It’s nine-thirty when there’s a quiet knock on my door. I get up from the sofa and check the peephole. It’s Hannah. “Hey,” I say when I open the door.

She peers into the apartment. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

I laugh. “Like what?”

She shrugs. “Oh, nothing. Can I come in for a few minutes? If it’s not too late?”

“Of course.” I swing the door open, and Hannah comes in carrying a bottle of red wine.

She hands it to me. “It’s a little housewarming gift.”

“Thank you.” I happily take it and put it on the kitchen counter. “Where’s Killian?”

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