Page 28 of Tattered and Torn

I shove away my guilt over Chris and my concerns about John and greet them with a warm smile. “I’m glad you made it.”

“So am I,” Owen says. “It smells amazing.”

* * *

Sunday morning, I help out in the restaurant by serving customers while Tammy acts as host. Nelle and Betty do an excellent job keeping the buffet replenished.

After the breakfast rush, I take care of cleaning up the kitchen and doing the dishes so the ladies can take a much-deserved break before the lunch rush. We need to increase staffing soon. It’s too much to expect those two older ladies, me, and Tammy, who occasionally volunteers, to keep a restaurant this size running smoothly.

After I finish cleaning up the kitchen and dining room, I finish my design sketches and take the last of the measurements. I think I’ll be prepared tomorrow when I visit the kitchen supply store.

I hope John hasn’t changed his mind about driving me to Denver. I still don’t have the Jeep yet, but even if I did, I’d much prefer to go to Denver with him than make the drive by myself.

Speaking of John, I haven’t seen him since yesterday evening when he came into the restaurant and then abruptly left. He didn’t come in for breakfast this morning.

Last night, I was able to save some of the pot roast and apple crisp for him. I pack up a to-go lunch, along with some rolls and butter, and go in search of him. I try the barn first, and luck out finding him cleaning one of the stalls.

“Hi, John.”

He looks up from his work and nods.

“I missed you at breakfast.” I’m standing outside the stall where he’s working.

It looks like he stripped down to a short-sleeve T-shirt. I notice a long-sleeve flannel shirt draped over the stall door. It’s the first time I’ve seen him dressed in short sleeves. His arms—wow. Those biceps are a work of art. I’ve always been a sucker for muscular arms. In romance books, they call it arm porn. I smile. I can see the appeal.

He continues shoveling straw, not bothering to look at me. “I ate in my cabin.”

I hold up the carry-out sack I brought. “I saved you some dinner and dessert from last night. I thought you might like to have it for lunch.”

He finally stops shoveling and straightens, one hand on the handle of the shovel, the other wiping his forehead. “How’d it go last night?”

“Dinner? Great. The pot roast was a big hit.”

“I don’t mean dinner. I mean your date.”

“My—” I frown. “I didn’t have a date last night.”

“I saw you eatin’ with Chris. Just the two of you.”

“Oh. That wasn’t a date. He just stopped in for dinner, and he asked if I wanted to join him.”

“Looked like a date to me.”

“Well, it wasn’t. It was just two people eating dinner at the same table.”

He gives me an incredulous look. “You do know he’s sweet on you, right? You’d have to be blind not to see it.”

I feel a guilty flush cross my cheeks. “He did sort of ask me out.”

“Of course he did. And I don’t blame him one bit. I wouldn’t blame you, either, for wantin’ to date him. He’s a great guy, Gabrielle. He’s got loads of integrity. Folks around here rely on him. He’s a sheriff, for crying out loud—a real life hero.”

“I’m sure he is a great guy, but I said no.”

“Why in the world would you say no to him? Women jump at the chance to go out with the sheriff.”

“I’m new to town. I—” I’m at a loss for words because I can’t very well say, I’m not interested in dating the sheriff because there’s this other guy I’m interested in. A surly, grumpy cowboy.

“He’s a good-lookin’ guy, Gabrielle. Even I can admit that.”

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