greasy cheeseburger down the street at White’s.
A waitress who’d taken his breakfast order earlier in the week greeted Colt warmly. “Booth or table tonight?” she asked, looking him up and down with an admiring glance that wasn’t lost on him. She was an attractive woman. Long legs. Blond hair. Blue eyes. If he was in the market for female companionship, which he wasn’t, he’d have little trouble returning her interest.
“Booth, if you have one.” Colt wagged a leather portfolio he’d been holding at his side. “It’ll be another working dinner,” he said, hoping to discourage her from getting too friendly.
“Oh? What kind of work brings you to Callanton?” she queried lightly. “I couldn’t help noticing you in town this past week. On Tuesday I met some friends for happy hour at White’s and we saw you sitting at the bar. Gina, one of my girlfriends, said I should invite you to join us. Another girl said not to, that you were part of Frank Marsh’s group.”
Colt frowned. He thought he’d been more discreet in his observation of Marsh. Usually he wasn’t so careless. But then, he should’ve figured that any stranger would stand out in a town as small and tight-knit as Callanton.
“I wasn’t with anyone at White’s,” he said, sliding into the booth the waitress, whose name tag identified her as Megan, had directed him to. “It probably only seemed as if everyone at the bar was one of Marsh’s pals.”
Megan’s blue eyes widened perceptibly.
Colt accepted the menu she held out, wondering whether or not Megan represented another view of the warring couple. “Is Frank related to a woman named Summer? I bumped into her this morning at the veterinary clinic. I needed my horse checked out. She brought in a wild bird. An injured eagle.”
“Doc Holder came in for coffee. He told us about the eagle. Summer used to be married to Frank Marsh. They’re divorced, so I guess technically they aren’t related anymore. Why don’t I give you a minute to look over the menu? Tonight’s specials are listed on the yellow sheet inside.”
“Uh, thanks. Say,” Colt called as Megan turned away, “did Holder happen to say how the bird’s getting along?”
The blonde flashed Colt another of her perfect smiles. “Oh, yeah. He said with the proper care she’ll heal and fly again. Which’ll happen, once Summer gets her out to the ranch. Summer’s pure genius when it comes to fixing wild animals.”
Because Megan seemed to expect further comment, he nodded as if he already knew this was true. “Good. That’s good.” He bent over the menu, conjuring up a vivid memory of Summer Marsh’s strange golden eyes. He’d thought about her eyes several times since they’d parted. In the short time they’d been together, after he’d taken note of their unusual color, Colt had observed how they changed to reflect feelings of anger, wariness and hope.
Unsettled though he’d been by the chance encounter, he had little problem believing that Summer Marsh possessed an uncanny ability to connect with both humans and animals.
Wishing he hadn’t broached the subject of Summer Marsh with the waitress, he turned his full attention to the menu. He’d been right about the roast beef. Old-fashioned pot roast was the evening’s special. Colt had no more than given Megan his order, than his eyes were drawn to a flurry of activity at the café’s entrance.
For a moment he thought his mind was playing tricks. Summer Marsh had suddenly appeared, standing next to the sign that said patrons should wait to be seated. Was he hallucinating, creating an image of the woman he’d been thinking about?
Colt deliberately shut his eyes, then opened them again. She hadn’t gone away. And she wasn’t alone. A child, a boy Colt guessed to be six or seven years of age, stood with her. The kid wore a too-big cowboy hat that rested on slightly jug ears. Colt grinned. Otherwise, the boy was pretty ordinary. Towheaded and freckle-faced. But the kid’s body language suggested he wasn’t happy to be going out to dinner with his mother.
Colt couldn’t help recalling himself at the same age. Also an only child, he’d loved eating out. Which fortunately the Quinn family did a lot. His dad followed big-money rodeos, and his mom played jazz piano in night clubs. For tip money, she said. Colt wasn’t very old before he guessed the real reason. If a dinner crowd was especially receptive to her tunes, the establishment threw in a meal for the family. Not only did the food beat rodeo hot dogs as a steady diet, but the various club dining rooms’ meals were far superior to those prepared and eaten in the cramped quarters of the cab-over camper in which the three Quinns lived.
That was probably why Colt identified, just a little, with Summer Marsh’s son. A boy whose once-stable world had to be in turmoil. Lord, as an adult Colt knew how it felt to have a well-ordered life thrown into disarray; it’d be doubly hard on a kid.
Mrs. Marsh hadn’t seen him yet. Colt had no idea if she’d recognize him even if they bumped squarely into each other.
An older waitress, not Megan, greeted Summer’s party, grabbing a pair of menus and offering them a table. Colt strained to hear what was being said. “Summer, hi! Sorry to keep you waiting. There’s a wheat-growers meeting going on in the back room. You and Rory attending it tonight?”
Summer slid a steadying hand onto the shoulder of her fidgety son. “I probably should, Helen, especially if they’re discussing winter feed prices. I hadn’t intended to go, though. I wasn’t sure how late the hearing would run. I arrived home from Burns to discover that Rory’s teacher had requested an after-school visit. We’ve just come from there. Since I’ve spent virtually my entire day on the road, I decided we might as well eat in town before heading home.”
“How did the hearing go?” Helen asked as she directed them to the booth right behind Colt.
“Oh, fine, I guess,” Summer murmured absently. “Larkin Crosley is representing me, bless his heart. If the judge hadn’t been pro-ranch and anti-development, who knows how I’d have fared. Even now, the best that can be said is the court gave me a reprieve.”
“Oh? How so?”
“I’ve got six months to come up with money to buy Frank out.”
“Isn’t that good?”
Summer looked dejected. “There’s always a catch, Helen. The buyout’s based on an inflated price set by Ed Adams and his land-rustlers. He’s willing to pay a little over seven and a half million dollars. To keep the Forked Lightning, I’d have to pay Frank 3.8 million,” she said, her voice cracking at the end.
“That’s awful,” Helen commiserated. “What on earth are you going to do?”
Summer didn’t answer. She’d drawn abreast of Colt’s booth, and obviously recognized him, because she stopped abruptly. “Mr., ah…Quinn, isn’t it?” She extended a hand, then stumbled back as Colt rose politely, which crowded her. “That’s correct. And you’re Summer Marsh?”
Colt knew her name perfectly well, but he’d been thrown off guard when she spoke, as he’d been eavesdropping on her conversation with Helen. What he’d overheard concerning the results of the hearing interested him a great deal.
Summer met Colt’s unwavering gaze and felt heat stinging her neck and cheeks—which she found surprising. She’d dealt with men in a man’s world almost all her life. Men twice as tough and imposing as the one standing before her now, taking in every tiny detail from her head to her toes…
