At the Crossroads (Buckhorn, Montana #3)(15)

Which was why he had to end this before that happened, he thought as he cooked and kept an eye on what was going among the tables. Everyone was getting restless, always a bad sign. One of them was bound to decide to play hero. It was just a matter of time. He just didn’t want to be that guy.

BOBBY FELT THE tension building as he looked around the room. What was taking breakfast so long? He was starving. Eric had wandered over to the opening into the kitchen, but he wasn’t watching the cowboy cook. Instead, he was giving the woman at the counter the eye. Damn Eric. Bobby hoped Gene didn’t catch him.

Gene had dragged the old man back outside again to the van. This time, they’d taken a bunch of towels along. Bobby couldn’t imagine how much blood was back there since Gus had been bleeding for a long time.

He let his gaze shift to the two men in the blue overalls sitting at the booth across the room. The name stitched on the pocket of the younger man’s overalls read Tyrell. The old man’s, Fred. Motor jockeys. Both had grease under their fingernails. He started to shift his gaze to the others when the younger of the two looked at him. Their gazes locked. Bobby saw defiance and bravado in those eyes.

He met the challenge with the slow shake of his head as he raised his gun off his thigh. Wanna die today, Tyrell? Just say the word.

He reminded himself that Gene would be pissed off if they killed anyone. But he was getting restless as well. Itchy and twitchy. His nerves felt raw and exposed as if even a stray breeze would set him off. He glanced toward Eric again. “What’s keeping breakfast?”

“You ordered a mountain of food. That’s what’s keeping breakfast,” Eric snapped.

They were all hungry and tired and strung out after everything that had happened in the past forty-eight hours. Worse, cops everywhere would be looking for them. Gene had said something about changing vehicles. Is that what the disagreement with the cook had been about?

All Bobby knew was that the longer they stayed here, there was more chance of the law catching up to them. But the real danger was in that van, he thought glancing out there again. He told himself that if he heard gunshots and Gene came busting in that front door in a blind fury, he’d better be ready.

“Breakfast is served,” the cowboy cook announced from the kitchen as the front door of the café opened on a gust of cold air.



CHAPTER SIX


CULHANE FELT THE cold air, felt the tension and turned to see Gene and Earl Ray come through the front door again. Gene locked it behind them, his gun in his hand. He looked sick. Even from where he stood, Culhane could tell that the man was sweating profusely and appeared shaky. He was definitely coming off something.

Gene leaned against the door for a moment, and Culhane hurriedly dished up three to-go boxes wondering why he was wasting his time. They weren’t just going to leave. That would be too easy. He filled three containers with eggs, bacon, hash browns. In a fourth box, he piled up pancakes. In a fifth, he scooped up three large cinnamon rolls.

Earlier, Bessie had taken rolls out to everyone but few had touched theirs. His stomach growled, surprising him as the aroma of the food rose up from the boxes before he closed the lids.

Under these circumstances, he would think he couldn’t eat a bite. But he’d made cakes and bacon for himself and Alexis. It would give them something to do, a diversion not just for them. He’d seen the way Eric was looking at her.

He took the to-go boxes out and put them on the table next to where Bobby was leaning, cradling his weapon. Without giving Culhane even a glance, the man slid into the booth and, opening the boxes, began digging in.

Earl Ray went straight to the men’s restroom. Gene followed him only partway down the hall to make sure that’s where he’d actually gone. Back in the kitchen, Culhane loaded two plates much as he had for the gunmen. Taking them out to the counter, he placed one in front of Alexis and sat down in front of the other.

Gene eyed him suspiciously as Culhane slid onto the stool next to Alexis and picked up his fork.

“Hey, I thought we were taking it to go,” Eric said behind them, swearing as he slid into the booth across from Bobby. Gene was still standing in the hallway, leaning against the wall, the gun dangling from his hand as he waited for Earl Ray.

Looking over his shoulder, Culhane saw that Bobby was rolling up eggs, bacon and hash browns into one of the large pancakes and stuffing them into his mouth. Eric joined him, both wolfing the food down as if ravenous, their weapons resting on the table within reach.

“You have to be kidding,” Alexis whispered as she considered the overflowing plate he’d given her.

“Wasn’t sure what you might want for your last meal—other than the pancakes and bacon you ordered.”

She gave him a sour look. “I should have listened to you,” she whispered. “But under the circumstances, I’m sure you understand why I might not trust you.”

“Yeah,” he agreed. “It isn’t what it seems.”

She chuckled as she picked up her fork and cut into her pancake. He’d buttered it and drowned it in syrup in the kitchen—just the way she liked it. “Are you married or not?”

“Not. Well, legally apparently, but married?” He met her gaze. “No. Haven’t been for seven years.”

Alexis gave him a smile. “Let me guess. It’s complicated.”

He nodded, grinning. “Boy howdy.” He began to eat, even though he’d lost his appetite. But he figured if he and Alexis didn’t at least try, it would raise red flags, especially with Gene. Culhane had already seen the distrust in his gaze.