think she’s milking the injury for all it’s worth. Norberto’s been spending most of his time fussing over her, which means I’m not only short a cook, my best ranch hand is too distracted to think straight. A guy like me could starve to death cooking for himself. You don’t happen to know of anyone looking for a job as a housekeeper, do you?”
Fiona snorted. “No. Too bad Dorothy Miller’s in Florida for the winter or you could ask her to come out of retirement and come back to work for you.” She paused, thoughtful. “Say, if it’s a cook you want, how about asking at the Galilee Women’s Shelter? I’m sure Susan Dawson knows someone who could use the job and the self-esteem boost.”
“I thought of that. And I may. But I was kind of looking for a stable, motherly type, like Dorothy was.” He flashed Fiona a lopsided grin. “What are you doing for the next couple of weeks?”
The restaurant owner gave him a playful whack on the forearm. “Running this place and taking care of my Joe. That keeps me plenty busy, thank you.”
Michael shrugged. “Well, it was worth a try. How’s Joe doing these days?”
“Pretty well, considering. I’m not going to tell him about your problems because he might try to help out. It wouldn’t be good for him.”
“I know it wouldn’t. I’ve offered to get somebody to come in and take good care of Imelda to free up Norberto but he won’t hear of it. He’s like a mother hen around her.”
“Love is like that.”
Michael made a face. “I wouldn’t know.”
“You can’t count Tammy. She was wrong for you from the get-go. I’m just glad you saw through her before you made the biggest mistake of your life.”
“Yeah, right.” He cocked his head toward the kitchen. “So, what’s the special today? I figure I’d better fill up while I’m here.”
Fiona patted his hand as she got to her feet and took out her order pad. “We’re featuring the Smoked Salmon Caesar Salad but I know you’re strictly a meat-and-potatoes man. How about the Roasted Pork Green Chili? I’ve got fresh-baked corn bread to go with it.”
“Sounds good.” He scanned the growing lunch crowd. “Have you seen Doc Pritchard lately? I’ve been calling his office and all I get is the answering machine.”
“That’s all you will get for a while. He’s having some sort of midlife crisis, I guess. Took off for Vegas and left old Wilt in charge.”
Michael grimaced. “That’s what I was afraid of.”
“Why? What do you need a vet for?”
He lowered his voice and spoke aside. “I’ve lost five head recently. No sickness, no symptoms of disease. They just keeled over. I’m not about to trust the rest of the herd to Wilt. He retired from practice twenty years ago. His methods of diagnosis have to be outdated.”
“You going to bring in another vet then?”
Michael again raked his fingers through his thick, dark hair. “I don’t know yet. I hate to. The last thing we ranchers need is to have the government get in a tizzy over nothing and quarantine us before we figure out what’s causing the problem. The price of beef is already unsteady.”
“Well, no wonder your chin is draggin’ the ground. You just sit there and relax for a bit. I’ll get your order in and bring you a cup of coffee while you wait. How’s that sound?”
“Better than anything that’s happened to me lately,” Michael said. “And a piece of your famous apple pie, too, please.”
“Gladly. Back in a jiffy.”
Michael watched Fiona wend her way between the red-checkered, cloth-covered tables, greeting patrons as she went. The decor of the place was rustic and Western and the food was superb, but the real ambience came from its owner. Fiona radiated a homespun warmth that gave the Stagecoach Café its special aura of welcome, of home. Though her pride in the restaurant’s offerings was understandable, he suspected she could have served mundane fast food like any generic burger joint and been just as successful.
Speaking of burgers…Michael’s gut twisted. The mysterious losses he’d experienced hadn’t looked as though they were caused by any known bovine diseases but anything was possible, even though remote. The Double V was his life. His reason for being. His uncle Max, his sister, Holly, and most of his cousins had gone into some form of law enforcement. That kind of career had never appealed to him. He was man of the land. A rancher to the core. If he lost the ranch…
Philippians 4:6 popped into his mind and made him smile. “Yeah,” he said, trying not to be cynical, “‘Be anxious for nothing…’” Easier said than done. It was almost as hard to trust the Lord and not worry as it was to give thanks for the mess he was in.
Fiona delivered his meal and he bowed quietly over it to whisper, “Thank You for this food, Lord. Please be patient. I’m working on thanking You for the other stuff.”
Michael sighed, then added an honestly reverent, “Amen.”
Layla hesitated at the door of the busy restaurant. The red, barnlike building had been an empty, rundown relic of the nineteenth century the last time she’d visited Colorado Springs. Whoever had renovated it had done a monumental job of restoration. Curiosity urged her to open the door. Once she did, tantalizing aromas drew her inside without a second thought. She might not choose to eat meat but that didn’t mean she couldn’t appreciate well-prepared cuisine.
She slipped off her scarf, propped one hip on the nearest stool and leaned an elbow on the small counter just inside the entrance. A woman with hair the color of a shiny fire truck hurried over.
“Afternoon. Something to drink?” Fiona asked.
“No, thanks. I’m just waiting for a table. I can eat out here if you’re too full.”
“Nonsense. We’ll find you a place in a jiffy. What brings you to Colorado Springs?”
“Just passing through,” Layla said pleasantly. “I used to live around here, years ago.”
“Really?” There was no condemnation in the titian-haired woman’s expression when she said, “Maybe I knew you. I used to have lots of friends from the hippie commune on the way to Cripple Creek.”
“Then you may have heard of my family. I’m Layla Rainbow Dixon. My mother is Carol and my dad’s Gilbert.”
“Dixon? Not Carol ‘Moonsong’ and Gilbert ‘River’ Dixon!”
“That’s them.”
“Well, well, what a small world. What’re they up to these days? Still selling organic vegetables?”
“Actually, they run an herb business on the Internet. Dad may be sold on the simple life but it hasn’t stopped him from taking advantage of modern conveniences.”
“You don’t say. How about the little ones? Didn’t you have a brother and sister?”
“Sure did. My brother Hendrix is a stockbroker. My sister designs clothes.”
