A Heart's Blessing - Linda Ford Page 0,1

tooled belts, a pair of fancy tooled chaps that had been ordered and never picked up, and an array of harnesses displayed in the window. He nailed an Open For Business sign above the door and stood back to admire it.

Saddles and harnesses were his bread and butter, but hand tooling specialty items was his dessert. Speaking of dessert…the aroma from next door reminded him that his breakfast remained unfinished and it was now time for dinner.

He turned to look across the street. The run-down stopping house next to Burnsie’s store held no appeal though he’d heard a man could get a meal there. Burnsie had not suggested he do so. The new café was his recommendation.

Ryder’s rumbling stomach warred with his reluctance. He didn’t want to get on friendly terms with his neighbors. But a man had to eat.

Just this once he’d enjoy a meal prepared by the ladies at the café.

He wasn’t the only one heading for their door. Several cowboys rode up, dismounted, and clomped in.

Ryder took the few steps that led him to the café, stepped inside, and chose a table by himself, relieved that no one asked to share it with him.

The woman he’d seen earlier with the children went from table to table, taking orders. She reached him.

“What would you like, Cowboy?”

His voice had disappeared. From a distance she’d been unremarkable. Close up, she had a don’t-mess-with-me-or-mine look, brown eyes full of reserve, and brown hair that seemed to hold the richness of good bottom land. A stupid thing to think. Mirabelle would have scolded him if she could. He swallowed hard.

She continued, despite his inability to respond. “There’s pea soup. You can have it with a ham sandwich or with a full meal with pork chops. Choice of pie or chocolate pudding for dessert.”

“The meal sounds good.” He didn’t recognize his own voice though he was sure the words came from his mouth.

A faint giggle drew his attention toward the kitchen. The little girl peeked out from around the corner of the display of baked goods. Ryder caught a glimpse of bluebell-colored eyes and a tangle of blonde hair. But what made him unable to swallow was the merriment wreathing her face.

The gal waiting for his order made a shooing motion with her hand.

Ryder shifted his gaze back to her. She smiled, like her world held a secret store of pleasure. Her eyes shone with so much love it sucked the air right out of him. He’d once felt that way. Believed nothing but good lay before him.

Mind you, he knew there was no man living on the premises, so he assumed she had lost her husband.

Like he said. Life wasn’t fair.

She brought her attention back to him. “You’d like soup with that?”

“Yes, ma’am.” She could have offered to bring him vegetable peelings and he would have agreed. Seemed he couldn’t get a coherent thought in his head. He stared at the tabletop and willed strength and steel into his thoughts.

The woman walked away, and his gaze followed her.

She held out her hand to the little girl as she returned to the kitchen, and the little girl took it and skipped at her side. The little boy, the older of the two, joined them, waving his arms and explaining something.

Ryder’s lips curled in a tiny smile as memories of Cody at that age flooded his mind. The boy had the same brown hair and sturdy build that Cody had. He appeared to have the same eagerness for life.

The woman patted his head and nodded, and the little guy relaxed. Whatever he had been concerned about, she had put him at ease.

Ryder watched them out of sight. Stared at the doorway long after they were gone, unable to ignore the fragments of his shattered dreams. He’d come to forget, not be reminded. If he’d known he’d have to deal with this woman and her children, he would have settled for a can of cold beans. Yesterday a blonde woman with a German accent had waited on him. She didn’t make his mouth run dry and his palms sweat. He scrubbed his hands on his knees.

A few minutes later the woman and another young lady—a frightened-looking thing, a pale comparison to the first—came from the kitchen bearing bowls of soup.

One of the other cowboys asked, “Where’s Mrs. Meyer? Haven’t seen her today.”

“She’s visiting friends,” the mother of the children answered.

“So who’s cooking?” The cowboy seemed surprised the place could operate without this Mrs. Meyer.

“We manage.”