A Rancher's Pride(16)
She glanced back at her niece and got a stranglehold on her door handle. If only it were a lever for an ejector seat that could catapult them both to Chicago in the blink of an eye.
She had thought—hoped—that Sam would refuse to follow orders and that she could set the good example and win points with the judge.
“It ought to be fairly quiet at the Double S,” he continued. “And it’s right down the street. We can talk there and have a drink while we’re at it.”
“A drink?” Her jaw dropped.
He looked at her fleetingly, then back to the road in front of him. His mouth curled in a sarcastic smile.
“What are you thinking?” she asked, unable to hold back her outrage. “You can’t take a child into a bar. They must have laws against that, even out here in the wild, wild West. Just as they have laws for child seats in moving vehicles.”
Fortunately, Kayla had come prepared—for what she had thought would be her quick return to Chicago. Now she looked pointedly over her shoulder at the booster chair she had strapped into the backseat. Becky held her doll close to the half window, allowing her to see the sights, too.
Not that there were a lot to be found on this tiny stretch of so-called civilization in the middle of nowhere. And, other than the grass around Town Hall and the cactus plants in the water troughs, she hadn’t seen much of anything green. Of course, in all honesty, there wasn’t much vegetation in her urban neighborhood back home, either.
Still wearing that mocking smile, Sam looked over at her again. “You must not get out much, if you think this is the wild West. Anyhow, the Double S isn’t a bar. It’s a café. With great coffee.”
“Oh.” Well, she’d already made her point over the safety seat. “I don’t drink coffee.”
“It figures.”
Less than the length of a city block away from Town Hall, he parked the truck in front of a squat, stuccoed building. Kayla rushed to unbuckle her seat belt, then to free Becky from hers.
After helping her niece jump from the truck’s high cab, Kayla glanced at the café.
A clever hand-painted sign above the front door showed one S swinging playfully from a second one. A trellised archway of amazingly lifelike flowers and curling vines, also hand-painted, wound around the entry. Terra-cotta pots filled with flowering cacti lined the walls on either side of the door. A pair of wooden shutters framed each window. The restaurant’s outward appearance was clean, quaint and well cared for.
She was curious to see if that impression held inside the café.
Becky looked from the building to Sam and Kayla, then brushed her open hand in the air in front of her face and pulled her fingertips together.
“Pretty,” Kayla voiced for Sam’s benefit. She bobbed her fist in the air and repeated the sign. “Yes, it’s pretty.”
Inside, the Southwestern theme continued with unvarnished wooden tables and chairs and rough woven place mats. The only jarring note came from a thoroughly modern glass display case at one end of the counter in the rear of the café, its shelves filled with cakes and cookies and pastries. Becky noticed the goodies, too, and headed right toward them. Kayla smiled.
After a glance at Sam, she stopped smiling.
Early that morning, he had said his mother planned to spend the day in her room. Kayla prepared a meal for him to carry upstairs. Before leaving the kitchen, he abruptly announced he’d already eaten breakfast. Then he walked out, returning only in time to leave for town.
Kayla had shrugged. To tell the truth, she’d been dreading the first meal with all of them together. Still, she couldn’t help a feeling of irritation on Becky’s behalf. Just when did Sam Robertson intend to begin getting acquainted with his own daughter?
Now Kayla shrugged again, no longer bothered by his actions. It would be much better for her plans if Sam didn’t get close to Becky at all. If only he hadn’t come up with the idea to stop by this café, either.
She turned to look at her niece, who stood staring into the dessert case. She had eaten a good-size serving of eggs and toast that morning, but she had a sweet tooth to rival Kayla’s own.
Kayla felt tempted to head toward the dessert case, too.
Instead, she followed Sam to the counter.
As they approached, a petite raven-haired woman in a bright orange waitress’s uniform shifted her gaze from Becky to them. She looked about Kayla’s mother’s age, but the broad smile that lit her face erased years from it.