town. The private investigator intrigued him. One minute, when they’d discussed fishing and he’d done his best to be his usual enchanting self, she’d actually smiled. A second later, she’d bristled like a feral tomcat.
She didn’t want to like him. He’d figured out that much, but he didn’t know why. He wasn’t the bad guy here.
He opened the pickup door for her and helped her up into the high cab. She didn’t like that either, but his mama had raised him with manners, especially around ladies. Most women ate it up like a hot fudge sundae. Jade looked as if she wanted to throat punch him.
As he drove, he answered questions all the way. She was the most inquisitive woman he’d ever encountered. But every time he’d tried to ask about her, she’d shut him down.
The sun had moved to high overhead and his belly reminded him of the long gone popcorn and doughnut. He aimed the truck down First Street and pulled in front of the Buttered Biscuit Café.
Jade leaned forward, glaring out the windshield as if he’d driven her to a nudie bar. “What are you doing?”
“Eating. Private investigators eat, don’t they?”
“I can grab something later.”
He got out of the truck and went around, opening her door anyway. “You won’t find a better lunch than the Biscuit’s. Come on. I’ll buy.”
“I don’t need anyone to pay for my meal.”
A grin twitched his lips. “We’ll fight over the check after you taste Jan’s coconut cream pie.”
She hesitated. “Homemade?”
He had her now. “With meringue three inches tall.”
She didn’t smile but she did capitulate. “Sold.”
Score one for his team.
She let him help her down, another victory of sorts, though Sawyer didn’t understand why they were in a battle.
He led the way inside, nodding to friends and a cousin as he found an open table. The café, as usual, was jammed and noisy with townspeople, most of whom he knew by their first names.
Jade walked alongside him, gazing around the small space with her usual intensity.
“Memorizing Jan’s signs and slogans?” Every inch of wall space was crammed with signs or plaques, most of them snarky and clever.
She pointed at one. Plenty of people have eaten here and gone on to live nearly normal lives. “Pretty funny.”
Then why didn’t she laugh? “Jan’s got sass but she sure can cook.”
He pulled out a chair for her and stood, patient as Job himself. She could be stubborn. He could be patient.
Her full mouth flattened but she didn’t yank away the chair and make a scene. Satisfied, Sawyer took the seat across from her and folded his arms on the laminated tabletop. He enjoyed seeing her straight on. She was nice to look at.
“Anything in particular sound good to you?” he asked.
Jade took a paper napkin from the metal container and shook it onto her lap. “You have recommendations?”
Sawyer studied the tiny mole—just one—to the left of her nose. He’d never noticed how appealing one single little beauty mark could be. “Plate lunch special.”
She blinked. “What is it?”
“I didn’t read the sign, but whatever it is will be good.”
“Okay by me.”
Nice. A woman who wasn’t picky about her food, though Jade Warren was picky about everything else. Well, maybe not everything and maybe the word was prickly instead of picky.
Charla, an African American waitress with every bit as much sass as Jan, slapped two plastic menus on the table. “Hiya, Sawyer.”
“Hey, Charla.” He waved the menus away. “Don’t need those. We’ll have the special.”
“Good choice. Roast beef and mashed potatoes. Jan’s recipe.” She retrieved the unused menus. “Drinks?”
“Iced tea for me.” He shot a questioning look at Jade. “You?”
“Iced tea is good. Sweet, please.”
Charla scribbled on her pad. “Who’s your new friend, Sawyer?”
Now, that was a dilemma. He didn’t particularly want the whole town to know he was being investigated by order of his own father. “Jade Warren, meet Charla Fredrick.”
The two women exchanged greetings before Charla dashed to answer the call of “Order up.” A new waitress, probably Abby’s replacement, moved much slower.
Sawyer made small talk about the town and the people in the café until Charla returned with their tea glasses.
“We sure miss Abby around this place,” Charla said. “Have you heard from her?”
“Yep. They’re having the time of their lives.”
“Good. She deserves that. You tell her I got her postcard from Venice. Such a pretty place. Is little Miss Lila doing all right with her grandma and grandpa?”
Abby’s four-year-old daughter was staying with Sawyer’s mom and dad while the newlyweds honeymooned in Italy.
“They’re spoiling her, but you know Lila. She’s a ray of sunshine and easy to spoil.”
“She miss her mama much?”
“They Skype every night. I think Abby is the one suffering separation pangs. Lila’s in her element.”
“Abby’s a good mama.” Charla tossed her head, swinging giant pink earrings as if she dared anyone to argue.
“The best, and we Buchanons are all suckers for Lila.”
“She does that to people. Precious child.”
The waitress scooted away, returning in minutes with two steaming plates that she slid with expert ease onto the table.
“Tender roast beef, mashed potatoes and gravy, green beans and hot buttery biscuits.” Sawyer rubbed his hands together. “Food of the divine.”
Charla perched a hand on her ample hip. “Y’all need anything else?”
“Pie later.”
“Coconut?”
Sawyer flashed a victory sign. “Two.”
“Got it.” She hustled away again.
Jade stared, wide-eyed, at her plate. “I’ll never eat all of this.”
“Take
