Page 21 of Tattered and Torn

After Hannah and Killian take off, I get ready for bed, finish drying my hair, and braid it for sleeping. I climb into bed with my tablet and read until my eyelids are too heavy to keep open.

After turning off the bedside lamp, I stretch out between the cool sheets and sigh. This move to Colorado feels good. This place feels good. And I’ve already met so many people—Betty and Nelle, Maggie, Jennie, Ruth, the sheriff. And, of course, John.

I feel a pang of sadness when I think of all the loved ones I left behind in Chicago. My friends, my parents.

Yawning, I roll onto my side and wrap my arms around the spare pillow. I hope things will be different here in Colorado. Back home, I was so busy at the restaurant—trying to outdo everyone else—I had no time for a life. I routinely worked twelve-hour days. I’m hoping life is a bit slower in Bryce. I’m hoping to find time to have a life, to have time for friends. Maybe even have time to date.

I set the alarm on my phone for six. That’ll give me time to get ready and help out in the kitchen before the breakfast rush begins and before John and I leave for the farmers market.

The last thought in my head before I drift off to sleep is the expression on John’s face when I walked in on him this afternoon in the barn.

I know shame when I see it. He seems like such a strong, confident person, and knowing that he’s ashamed of his injuries—his scars—breaks my heart.

Chapter 8 – John

My stomach is in knots when I enter the lodge. It’s eight a.m., and I’m right on time to pick up Gabrielle. I stop at the front desk. “Do you know where Gabrielle is?”

Kevin doesn’t even bother to look up from the crossword puzzle he’s doing. He just points down the hall. “In the restaurant. She said you’d be coming by. She said you should stop in and have breakfast before you guys head out. She made pancakes this morning.”

“Pancakes?” Lately the breakfast buffet has been the same thing—cold cereal, scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage, and toast. But pancakes? “Thanks.”

On the way to the restaurant, I pass by the guest lounge where Maya and Travis are going over the ground rules with a group they’re takin’ rock climbing today.

“When I tell you to stop, you stop,” Maya says. She points at a young man with long bangs in his face. “I’m specifically talking to you, Harry. If I have to rescue your ass one more time, I’m banning you. Got it?”

The one named Harry glares at her, while Travis flattens his lips to keep from laughing. Man, Travis has the patience of a saint.

I shake my head as I pass on by. Maya is a pistol, that’s for sure; but she sure knows her stuff. So does Travis. But he’s content to stand back and let her run the show. The two of them are in charge of the climbing excursions, but they’re also critical members of the search and rescue team.

When I walk into the restaurant, I find a crowded dining room filled with chatty clientele. I spot Hannah and Killian seated at a window table, eating breakfast. Gabrielle is moving efficiently through the dining room, stopping to chat with guests and refilling coffee cups. She smiles and laughs and generally makes her customers feel welcome. She’s a natural—a natural beauty as well as a natural when it comes to interacting with folks. She makes it look easy. I wish I could say the same—about the folks, I mean. I’m more comfortable with horses.

She hasn’t noticed me yet, so I stand off to the side, out of the way, and simply enjoy watching her work. She’s wearing a pair of khaki trousers and a short-sleeve white polo shirt. Her beautiful fiery-red hair hangs down the center of her back in a single braid. I yearn to reach out and touch that braid, hold it in the palm of my hand to see if it’s as heavy as I imagine. But as pretty as the braid is, her hair would be even prettier hanging loose.

When she laughs at something a guest says, her cheeks turn pink. Her cinnamon-colored freckles stand out like tiny specks on her creamy skin. Those green eyes are alight, crinkling in amusement.

A male guest waves her over to his table, and she goes to refill his coffee cup. He says something to her, and she shakes her head. Then he reaches out and encircles her wrist, and she steps back, pulling out of his reach. Son-of-a-bitch, it’s that Anderson guy who was hitting on her last night right here in the restaurant.

I’m about to march right over there and put him in his place when Gabrielle walks away, heading to the kitchen.

I pause in my tracks, and that’s when I notice Killian watching me, a curious expression on his face.

The aroma of hot food finally registers, and I obey my stomach’s command and walk over to grab a plate and some silverware. I pile a plate with scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage links, and toast. Sure enough, there’s a serving tray piled high with pancakes as big as dinner plates. Protein first. I’ll come back later for the pancakes.

I grab an available table and take my first bite.

“Good morning,” Gabrielle says, her voice light as she appears at my side. “Would you like some coffee?” She’s holding a coffee pot poised over the empty cup on my table.

“Mornin’,” I say, sounding like a bear with a thorn stuck in its paw. “And yes to the coffee. Please.”

She fills my mug. “Sugar and cream are on the table. Aren’t you going to have pancakes?”

I nod. “I’m goin’ back for more after I eat this.”

“Excellent. There’s plain butter up there, but there’s also cinnamon-sugar butter, which I strongly recommend.” She winks at me.

“Have you eaten?” The question just pops out.

“No,” she admits. “I’ve been running nonstop since I got here. I did grab a piece of toast earlier.”

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