Chapter 37 Louise
LOUISE
By noon, Ryder had shoveled out Ansel, pulled him from the ditch, and loaded him onto the trailer—with minimal help from me. The man was a one-man show, capable of anything.
Snow had returned with a vengeance—its last hurrah—swirling through a brutal wind that could slice steel.
The drive into town wasn’t as bad as I feared, thanks to the beast Ryder chose for the job: a cherry-red diesel dually with chains on the tires.
It looked—and sounded—like it could plow through an avalanche.
I suspected Ryder had a whole fleet to choose from.
He looked like a walking ad for rugged masculinity: fitted charcoal-gray all-weather pants, a red and navy pullover under a thick Carhartt jacket, combat boots, and a worn-out ball cap.
I, on the other hand, had officially run out of clothes—again in my boyfriend jeans, red sweater, superglued boots, and my glorious puffer jacket.
Berry Springs was a ghost town. No plow had touched the roads since Winter Storm Barron rolled in. Frankie’s Auto Shop was dark, locked, and empty. Ryder called Frankie, who told him to drop Ansel off and promised to look at him once he could dig out.
We unloaded the 4Runner in silence. Then Ryder shook the snow from his cap, climbed back into the cab, and threw the truck into reverse.
“I’m hungry,” I said.
He hit the brakes. “Me too, actually,” he said as if suddenly realizing it. “The diner is right there.”
I followed his gaze to Donny’s Diner, two doors down. Blue-and-white checkered curtains framed the daily specials written in window paint. I licked my lips.
He grinned, watching me. “Donny’s, then?”
“Donny’s.”
“All-righty then.”
I grabbed my purse from the floorboard, and before I could reach for the handle, Ryder had rounded the hood and opened my door. He reached for my hand. I smiled, letting him help me out.
“The sidewalks haven’t been salted.” He lifted his elbow, and I looped my arm around his.
“Ryder, if you’re not careful, I might start to think there’s a gentleman buried deep inside that black soul of yours.”
He chuckled. I loved that chuckle.
A gust of wind whipped around us. When I shivered, he pulled me closer.
“You need a new jacket.”
“I need a lot of new things.”
He frowned, looking down at me. “Do you need some help?”
I gaped up at him, affronted. “You mean money?”
He nodded, serious as a heart attack.
“No. God, no. I might not own a castle on a hill surrounded by a million pristine acres, but I get by.”
“Selling pictures?”
“Yes. It’s not a lot, but it pays the bills.”
“Do you like it? Do you enjoy what you do?”
The question surprised me, and I hesitated. “Yes, I do. I opened my own business because I loved photography. I’m good at it.”
“But you’re not content.”
“You’re observant.” I slipped on a patch of black ice, then steadied in his firm hold.
“Add new boots to the list,” he muttered.
I kicked out my right foot. “Hey. These are comfortable. Broken in. What’s wrong with them?”
“The flapping sole is what’s wrong with them, Louise. The first night I met you, they were covered in duct tape. They make new shoes that I guarantee you are just as comfortable.”
“All right. I’ll add that to my list of things to pay for after I get the bill for Ansel.”
His hand dropped to mine and gripped it.
Only three trucks other than ours were parked on the town’s square, two in front of the diner. We pushed through the front door. A warm blast of air scented with bacon and coffee made my stomach rumble.
A lone cowboy sat at the counter, nursing a cup of coffee. A husband and wife, mid-seventies, sat in a booth by the window. An old Tanya Tucker song whispered from the jukebox.
Heads turned as we walked in.
Jaws dropped.
A coffee cup slipped from the waitress’s hand, shattering on the floor, her face paling as if she’d seen a ghost.
“Oh, silly me.” She bent down, a strand of gray hair falling over her face as she picked up the shards. When Ryder knelt down to help, she froze, staring at him.
“Ryder Jagger,” she whispered.
“Mrs. Booth.” He avoided eye contact as he picked up the remaining pieces.
“I haven’t seen you in…”
“Twelve years.”
They stood. The waitress continued to gawk at him, a mixture of awe and fear on her face.
“It’ll be two of us,” Ryder said tightly. His easy demeanor had tightened. He was uncomfortable.
“Ah, sure. Yes. Pick where you’d like.”
Ryder motioned for me to choose.
You could cut the tension in the place with a knife.
“Are you okay?” I whispered as we slid into the booth.
“Fine.”
I dared a look at the elderly couple, who were also staring at us, but with very different expressions than the waitress’s. Instead of shock, their reaction was disgust for the former inmate. I glanced at the cowboy at the bar top, whispering with Mrs. Booth.
“Ryder.” I leaned in. “We can go—let’s just go.”
“No,” he snapped. “You’re hungry. I’m hungry. We’re eating here.”
“Is this your first time here since being out?”
“Yes.”
An argument broke out in the kitchen, an old man in a hairnet peering out of the window at Ryder. A minute later, Mrs. Booth walked up.
“We’re, uh, thinkin’ about closing down early today, on account of the weather.”
“Not until you serve us, Mrs. Booth,” Ryder said, face like stone. “Louise, what would you like to eat?”
Holy crap. I looked at the menu and rattled off the first thing I saw. “Uh, I’ll take the western omelet, wheat toast, and coffee.”
“I’ll have the same.” His tone was as cold as ice as he pushed the menus to the side.
Mrs. Booth dipped her chin and scurried back to the kitchen to try to convince the cook—who didn’t want to cook for Ryder, apparently—to make our food.
A second later, the couple in the booth next to us gathered their plates, their coffees, and slid out of their booth.
“God bless your soul,” the woman whispered as they passed, scowling.
I wanted to slap the brooch from her plaid jacket. They reseated themselves two booths away from us.
“Ryder, I didn’t realize. We can get the food to go.”
“Are you embarrassed to be seen with me?”
“No! No, not at all. But this is bullshit. You don’t deserve—”
“Stop. It is what it is. I’ll have to deal with this the rest of my life.”
“It’s not okay. I’m going to say something to that cook.”
“No, you’re not. Sit, Louise.”
“Why? You shouldn’t have to deal with this.”
“Why? Because if that man says one cross thing to you, I’ll bust out his teeth. And guess why that’s not a good idea?”
I blew out a breath. “Because you’re still on parole.”
“Exactly.”
I shook my head, frowning at the waitress who was staring at us. The cowboy at the counter paid his bill and left.
My heart broke for Ryder. I felt defensive on his behalf. Protective.
He sat stoic, expressionless.
I wondered if he was embarrassed.
I slid out of the booth, and he grabbed my hand.
Tugging out of his grip, I said softly, “I’m going to the bathroom.”
I didn’t go to the bathroom. I paid our tab and asked the waitress to box up our food to go. Five minutes later, our grease-stained paper bags were delivered to us. I winked at Ryder, grabbed the bags, and slid out of the booth.
“What did you—”
“Let’s go. Come on.”
As we pushed out the doors, I glanced back at the table where Ryder had left the waitress, who’d asked him to leave, a hundred-dollar tip beneath the salt shaker.
We stepped onto the sidewalk and Ryder grabbed my hand. Although he tried to hide it, I heard him take a deep breath.
I now completely understood why he avoided all human contact.
“Thank you,” he whispered, barely audible.
“You’re welcome,” I whispered back.
When he pulled me off the sidewalk and onto the street, I glanced up at him. “Where are we going?”
“Pit stop.”
We crossed the street without bothering to check for cars. The town was dead. All the storefronts on the square were dark, except for a flashing open sign on a small store on the corner. The sign above the door read damsel in a dress.
Cowbells jangled as Ryder opened the door for me.
“Howdy, there!” A woman’s voice called out from the back. “Be right out.”
The store was warm, scented with spicy cinnamon and leather.
Racks of cowboy hats lined the back wall behind a cabinet filled with turquoise jewelry.
To the right were rows of coats, sweaters, pants, and dresses.
To the left, a wall of shoes. A saddle on a wood-carved horse sat in front of the window.
In the center of the store were two rocking chairs and a table over a Navajo rug.
This was no discount thrift shop.
A woman, five feet tall and maybe a hundred pounds, shuffled out of the back.
She was dressed in a cashmere sweater, skinny jeans, and ski boots, her glasses perched on the end of her nose.
Her gray hair was pulled into a messy bun on the top of her head.
She smiled, lines creasing around friendly blue eyes.
I liked her instantly.
“Well, I just lost a bet with myself. Didn’t think I’d get a soul in here today. I live above the store,” she said, pointing to the ceiling. “I open, no matter the weather. My name’s Mary Anne. What can I help y’all with?”
I assumed she didn’t know—or recognize—Ryder.
Ryder grabbed my hand. “We’re going to need everything in your store, Mary Anne.”
Her face lit up and her eyes sparkled. “Sir, that I can do.”
I squeezed Ryder’s hand. “What are you doing?” I whisper-hissed.
Ignoring my question, he said to Mary Anne, “Louise here is a little shy. Can you help get her started?”
“Oh yes, yes. My pleasure.”
Mary Anne grabbed my arm and pulled me away as Ryder took a seat in the center of the store.
Ten minutes later, the dressing room was a tornado of shirts and pants being tossed in, then tossed out.
Dresses, sweaters, slacks, a suit that I’d never wear—all came over the curtain.
I recognized half the brands from fancy magazines I’d perused while waiting in line at the grocery store. Expensive brands.
I got lost in it, feeling like a princess while Mary Anne styled me. How I was going to pay for it, I had no idea. But hey, you only live once, right?
Ryder left us alone, taking no interest in two women chatting about fabrics. Instead, he sat patiently in the chair, buried under stacks of National Geographic.
An hour later, I met Mary Anne behind mounds of clothes and coats stacked on the counter. Boxes of shoes sat on the floor. My hand trembled as I handed her my credit card.
“Oh no, it’s already been paid for. Go sit up front, and I’ll bring out your food.”
“What?”
“It’s been paid for, dear. I’ll get your food.”
“What—and food?”
“The food y’all came in with. Your husband asked me to put it in my oven upstairs until you were done. I made you two a fresh pot of coffee too. Stay as long as you’d like.” She beamed up at me. “You guys just made my year. Literally.”
Speechless, I smiled back.
“And, ma’am,” she continued, “if you don’t mind me sayin’, he is one of the most handsome men I have ever seen in my life.”
My smile widened. “He sure is, isn’t he?”
“You’re a lucky girl.” She winked and scurried off to get our food.
I met Ryder, still seated in the chair at the center of the store. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“You didn’t have to do what you did in the diner.”
I smiled, staring down at him as he grinned up at me. “Thank you, Ryder.”
“Thank you. Let’s eat.”
Surrounded by piles of shopping bags, we ate our western omelets peacefully in the rocking chairs, watching the snow fall outside. Mary Anne waited on us hand and foot, thanking Ryder profusely for coming in. She even sent us on our way with a homemade apple pie she’d baked hours earlier.
Ryder took the bags to the truck, then came back for me. As my hand slid into his, I savored the closeness, the feel of his skin against mine. The warmth of his hand. Of him.
I was lucky.
If only for one more day.