Page 3 of Out of Time (Undaunted Courage #3)

TWO

“LET ME GUESS. You want the Tuesday meatloaf special.”

Brad arched an eyebrow at the fortysomething waitress standing beside his table. “Am I that predictable?”

“Not always. But I know you’re partial to Chuck’s meatloaf.

You and half the town.” Angie waved a hand over the crowded diner, wrote down the order, and stuck her pencil behind her ear.

“I keep telling him it should be a regular menu item, but does he listen to me? Ha.” She snorted.

“That man can drive a body crazy. Talk about a temperamental chef.”

Chef?

That was a generous term for the taciturn hash slinger who owned Chuck’s Place.

On the other hand, the hearty fare the man whipped up was close to homemade—a godsend over the past three years. Plus, stopping in here for dinner was better than eating alone in a house that always felt too empty.

Brad shrugged. “I suppose you can be temperamental if you have a loyal customer base.”

“Tell me about it.” Angie rolled her eyes. “Say, I heard Natalie Boyer took a fall. She okay?”

No point asking how she’d heard the news. In small communities, gossip had wings—and ambulance calls were big news.

“As far as we could tell.”

“She’s awfully old to be living alone out there.”

“Micah lives on the property too, and Lydia’s there on a regular basis.”

Angie affected a shiver. “Micah gives me the creeps. I wouldn’t want him lurking around my house, let me tell you.

And I doubt he’d be of much use in an emergency.

Lucky for Ms. Boyer that Lydia was out there today.

With the spotty cell service around here, I don’t know what she’d do if she ever needed help and no one was close by.

’Course, she’ll have the professor on hand this fall.

You get to meet her while you were there? ”

“How did you hear about that ?” Even Lydia hadn’t known about Natalie’s guest until late last week, from what the housekeeper had said earlier today. And a houseguest wasn’t in the same gossip league as an ambulance visit.

“Lydia mentioned it to her brother, who told his girlfriend, who passed on the news to my sister at the hair salon. Lydia had to make a special trip out yesterday to clean the guest cottage because Ms. Boyer’s cousin came down from St. Louis for the weekend.”

As usual, Angie was a font of information.

“We could use you as a detective if you ever want to switch careers.”

“Very funny.” She smirked at him. “It’s all a matter of keeping your ear to the ground. No special skill involved. I also picked up a few unrelated tidbits at the church picnic this weekend. You should have come.”

Brad averted his gaze, straightened his cutlery, and took a deep breath. The mere thought of facing the inflatable bounce house and slide, or the face painter and balloon artist, had unleashed an avalanche of memories best kept buried.

“I wasn’t in a picnic mood.”

Angie sized him up with the practiced once-over she used on customers. “Well, you missed a good time. Father Johnson was in fine form in the dunking booth.”

The corners of Brad’s mouth twitched. “I would have enjoyed seeing that.”

“He drew quite a crowd—and raised a fair amount of money for the mobile rural clinic. So what’s she like?”

At the abrupt change of topic, Brad squinted at her. “Who?”

“The visiting history professor.”

An image of Cara Tucker materialized in his mind—early thirties, lithe and graceful, with wavy dark brown hair, a focused demeanor, and perceptive hazel eyes that radiated warmth.

“It wasn’t a hard question.” Angie inspected him.

He smoothed out the edge of his paper napkin. “She was pleasant and professional.”

“What sort of research is she doing?”

“Something to do with French culture around Old Mines.”

“Hmm.” Angie pursed her lips and tapped her order pad against her palm. “I wonder if it has anything to do with those old journals Ms. Boyer has. Paul Coleman’s been after her to donate them to the historical society.”

“What kind of journals?”

Angie hiked up her eyebrows. “You don’t know about those?”

“Should I?”

“No, I suppose not. I doubt many people do. But Paul mentioned them once while he was having lunch here. Let me get your order placed and I’ll fill you in on what little I know. Hang tight.”

She zipped off, detouring to top off coffee mugs at another table after a patron summoned her.

Brad leaned back and scanned the street outside the window of the corner booth that let him keep tabs on the action inside and out.

Tonight was quiet, though. Not many people had ventured out into the steamy weather.

Despite the waning day, heat still shimmered from the sidewalks, more intense now than it had been while he’d stood outside Natalie Boyer’s house this morning talking to the professor he’d mistaken for a student.

He flinched.

That had been a major faux pas.

But her tank top and slim capris hadn’t been stereotypical professor attire.

Fortunately, she’d seemed to take his gaffe in stride. Found a touch of humor in it even, if his reading on the tiny flex in her lips had been correct.

Her very generous, soft-looking lips.

He took a sip of his cold water and erased that image.

Strange that he was still thinking about her hours later.

And blaming his musings on the prompt from Angie would be disingenuous.

The truth was, she’d been on his mind since they met.

Not just because she was beautiful, though she was, but also because of her intensity and singular focus.

While they’d conversed, she’d given him her rapt attention. As if every word he said mattered.

There’d also been a unique quality to her speech. An accent, perhaps. Almost as if English wasn’t her first language. What was the story there?

Whatever it was, there wasn’t much chance he’d hear it. She’d be sequestered at Natalie’s for the duration of her stay in the area, and he had no excuse to venture out there again.

Too bad.

Cara Tucker was an intriguing woman, and it was rare for intriguing women to cross his path these days. Not that he had any interest in her personally, of course, but she did pique his curiosity.

“Sorry. I had to straighten out an order with Chuck.” Angie paused beside his booth and propped her hands on her hips. “Where were we?”

“You were going to tell me about the journals.”

“Right. According to Paul, Ms. Boyer has some journals written in Paw Paw French by one of her relatives. Paul said they’re one of a kind, because as you know, Paw Paw was a spoken, not written, dialect, and unique to this area.

Maybe the professor got wind of the journals and convinced Ms. Boyer to let her use them for research.

” Angie lifted one shoulder. “I can’t imagine what else at that house would merit an extended stay. ”

Brad didn’t try to hide his skepticism. “Unless the professor speaks the dialect, they won’t help her much.”

“But Ms. Boyer speaks it. Or she used to. I’m thinking the professor may have sweet-talked her into translating them for her. Why else would she be staying out there for the semester?”

It was hard to fault Angie’s logic.

“You may be right. But how on earth did she convince Ms. Boyer to let a virtual stranger invade her privacy?”

“You’ve got me. Either they clicked, or the professor charmed her into agreeing.

Did she strike you as—” A loud brrriiinnng sounded from the call bell, and Angie cast an annoyed glance toward the pickup window.

“Oh, for pity’s sake. After all these years, does Chuck really think I’m going to let an order sit on the counter and get cold?

Sheesh.” She smoothed out the apron she wore over her jeans.

“I’ll have your food out in a jiffy, hon. ”

“No rush on my end.”

“We don’t like to keep our customers waiting.” She winked and bustled off.

That was a fact. The service at Chuck’s Place was quick and efficient. If this visit ran true to form, his food would be out in less than ten minutes. And no matter how long he stretched out his meal, he’d be done far too fast.

He drummed his fingers on the table.

If he relieved one of the deputies on duty for an hour or two after he finished, he could delay going home. Larry would grab the chance to run back to his house and play with the grandkids until bedtime. They didn’t get down from St. Louis often enough to suit his senior deputy.

Of course, going on a patrol circuit would extend his already long day—but it beat wandering around his empty, silent house where the love and laughter that had once filled the rooms were only a distant echo in the recesses of his heart.

Outside the window, a couple strolled past hand-in-hand on the other side of the street, and Brad’s stomach hollowed out.

Strange how the loneliness and sorrow and despair he’d learned to keep at bay felt more acute tonight.

Stranger yet?

He had the oddest feeling his melancholy state was somehow related to his encounter with Cara Tucker.

“THAT WAS A WONDERFUL WELCOME MEAL, Natalie.” Cara set her napkin on the table. “But I wish you hadn’t gone to so much trouble after all the excitement earlier today. A sandwich would have been fine.”

“Nonsense.” The older woman waved her concern aside. “I did most of the prep yesterday. Besides, I’ve dealt with far worse than a bruised knee in my day.”

Hard to dispute that. For someone who’d suffered through polio in her youth and continued to live with the aftereffects decades later, a bruise or two would be nothing more than a minor inconvenience.

“At least let me handle cleanup.”

“Now that I won’t argue with. Much as I enjoyed cooking while my father was alive, I must admit I never liked the pot-scrubbing part.”

“Why don’t you give me fifteen minutes to take care of the dishes, and then we can discuss our schedule for tomorrow. Shall I meet you in the living room?”