Runaway Wolfes of Manhattan Three - Helen Hardt Page 0,14
What surprised me most was her footwear. She was wearing cowboy boots—really broken-in cowboy boots. Surprising.
“Did you get anything to eat this morning?” I asked, once she had seated herself in the passenger side of my truck.
“Are you kidding? I barely rolled out of bed in time.”
“Not a problem. Mrs. Carson always has breakfast burritos for us.”
“I’m not sure if I’ve ever had a breakfast burrito.”
“Then you’re in for a treat. Hers are the best. Her mother came from Mexico. Mrs. Carson makes the best Mexican food you’ll ever eat.”
“Oh? I don’t eat much Mexican food. Too much fat and carbs.”
“You’ll be wanting fat and carbs today, honey. You’re going to be working hard. Pure physical labor.”
“That’s what I’m hoping,” she said.
I laughed. Oh, she was definitely running from something. Running fast and far enough that she wanted to get up at six in the morning to help fix a fence. Her manicured nails sparkled in the early morning sunlight. I’d bet she’d never held a hammer in her life.
She would soon.
Lucas’s truck was already in Mrs. Carson’s driveway when we arrived. I pulled in and hopped out of the driver seat. I began to walk around the truck to help Riley out, but she jumped out on her own. She followed me up the walkway to the door of the house.
Before I could knock, Lucas opened the door, holding a burrito. “Hey, Matt.” Then his eyes nearly popped out of his head. “Who’s this?”
He knew damned well who she was. He’d seen me dining with Riley last night. Still, they hadn’t been formally introduced.
“Riley Mansfield, Lucas Connors.”
Lucas swallowed his bite of burrito and held out his hand. “My pleasure.”
Riley took his hand. “Nice to meet you.” When she took her hand away, she rubbed her fingers together.
I couldn’t help a chuckle. Lucas probably had burrito hands.
“Come on in, you two. Mrs. C’s got burritos ready and hot coffee.”
“Just coffee for me,” Riley said. “Very strong and very black.”
I laughed again and then said quietly, “Mrs. Carson’s coffee is more like light brown water. We can go into town and get you a decent cup if you want.”
“Oh. No, that’s okay. I’ll just have some water.”
“And a burrito,” I said.
“Tortillas are pure gluten,” she said.
“Tortillas are pure carbs, which are pure energy,” I said, “and trust me, you’re going to want pure energy this morning.”
She gave me a semi-smile along with a sigh. “All right. I’ll try one. I changed my mind on the water, though. I need some caffeine.”
“Afraid you won’t find that here. Tell you what. Luke, tell Mrs. Carson we’ll be back in a jiffy. I’m going to take Riley into town to get her a decent cup of coffee at the Bean House.”
“I’m not telling her that you can’t stand her coffee.”
“Shit. You’re right. Yeah, don’t tell her that. Just say Riley only drinks decaf or something.”
“Her coffee’s as good as decaf, and you know it.”
“For God’s sake, Luke, make something up. We’ll be back in a few minutes.”
Riley turned to me. “You don’t need to go to all this trouble on my account.”
“Coffee shop’s a block away, honey. I’m telling you, it’s no trouble at all. JoJo at the Bean House opens up at five for those of us in a small town who need some coffee.”
“Okay, thanks.” She smiled.
And when Riley Mansfield smiled, I felt like I could give her anything in the world. Way more than just a cup of decent coffee. She was that fucking beautiful.
Our quick detour to the coffee shop took no more than fifteen minutes. After we exchanged pleasantries with JoJo and I introduced her to Riley, she poured us each a cup.
“Just hot enough,” JoJo said. “I’ve got this down to a science regarding temperature and brewing. You won’t burn your tongue on my coffee.”
Riley took a sip, and a dreamy smile split her face. “Now this is fabulous.”
“Thank you kindly,” JoJo said. “You come around anytime while you’re here. Coffee’s always on from five in the morning to five at night.”
“I’ll definitely do that,” Riley said. “Thank you.”
We hopped back in the truck and rode back to the widow Carson’s place. Luke had already finished his burrito and was out measuring the area we needed to repair. “Looks like we’re going to need about sixty pickets,” he said when Riley and I got out of the truck.
“I’ve got about thirty in my backend,” I said. “We can head over to Jeb’s to get the rest.”