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

As she headed toward him, all she could think about was the two of them last night in her big bed and all the other nights they’d spent together over the past year. Oh yeah, she had a lot of questions.

She took the stool next to him at the counter. “Culhane,” she said quietly, calmly. “Hope I didn’t miss breakfast.”

He didn’t look at her. “We need to take this outside,” he said, his voice low.

The urgency in his tone made her frown. As he made a motion to get up, she put her hand on his arm and felt his muscles tense as he looked over at her.

Just in case he’d forgotten, she reached with her other hand inside her jacket. His eyes narrowed. He knew from experience that she had a gun tucked in there. She doubted he wanted her to pull it here in the café with all these people.

“Alexis,” he said, but she interrupted him. Surely he didn’t think he could sweet-talk her into stepping outside with him. So he could get the jump on her?

She saw that he hadn’t eaten yet. “I’m hungry,” she said, looking around for the waitress. Catching her eye, she motioned the teen over to them. “A stack of pancakes and bacon,” she told her. “And coffee, please.”

“You need to trust me on this, Alex,” he whispered as the waitress left. A knot formed in her stomach at the use of his nickname for her. It conjured up images of the two of them in bed, the sheets twisted around them, a breeze cooling their naked bodies. But that was back when she’d thought she knew this man and trusted him with more than the left side of her bed. Hard to believe that that was just yesterday.

“Trust you?” She chuckled and held his gaze with a fierce one of her own. Sometimes she forgot how damned handsome he was, especially when he smiled at her like that. She could have drowned in those bottomless blue eyes of his. Perhaps he was thinking about them being together just last night. It gave her little satisfaction. Taking him in, though, would make her feel better.

“Just look where trusting you has gotten me. So I don’t think so,” she said and lowered her voice. “And Culhane? If you give me any trouble, I’m taking you down right here.”

She had pepper spray and handcuffs in her purse and a Glock in her holster under her jacket. This wasn’t her first rodeo, and he knew it.

FIFTY-SEVEN-YEAR-OLD Bessie Walker could smell her cinnamon rolls she’d made baking in the café’s oven. Earlier, she’d told herself that they might be her last ever here in her native Buckhorn. She’d been thinking about leaving. Maybe just for the winter. Maybe for good. On the radio in the kitchen, a Christmas song came on. She’d forgotten all about the holiday this year. She hadn’t even gotten a tree. Her heart just wasn’t in it.

“Bessie?” She’d smiled in spite of herself as she’d heard Earl Ray call her name. “Bessie, did you notice that one of those cinnamon rolls had my name on it?”

“This center-cut one that I’ll slather with extra icing?” she’d called back from the kitchen and heard that low chuckle she’d come to love. She knew the way to Earl Ray’s heart. The problem was the overcrowding when she got there. He was still in love with his wife, who’d been dead for years.

Grabbing the coffeepot, she’d gone out front. Some locals had gotten up early this morning, knowing it was cinnamon-roll day—and the last of the season. It was that time of year. The tourists had cleared out. Buckhorn was about to become a near ghost town, with shops and residences boarded up as winter set in.

She’d refilled coffee cups, including the cowboy’s at the counter who’d given her a nod of thanks, before she’d moved to people she’d known all her life. Today had felt bittersweet. She’d closed her bakery at the edge of town for the season, likely for good, but few people knew that.

Normally she moved her baking down to the café for the winter months. But last winter had been brutal. She’d been thinking about following some of the other Buckhorn residents south for some time now. She’d never thought she’d be a snowbird, but lately she’d realized she would be on her own for the rest of her life. At her age, she could kid herself that she had all the time in the world. But in truth she was almost sixty and all alone.

Deep in these kinds of thoughts, she’d handed off the coffeepot to Cheri, the teenage waitress, after refilling Earl Ray’s cup and joining him this morning in his booth. The ex-military hero was the heart of Buckhorn. Her own age, he had dark blue eyes that she swore twinkled and this great smile. His great love had been his wife, Victoria “Tory” Crenshaw Caulfield.

But when Earl Ray smiled at Bessie, it made her as weak in the knees as if she were a schoolgirl. She’d been in love with this man for years. Looking at his open, honest face, she’d wondered if she could live without the sight of him for even a few months this winter—let alone the rest of her life.

Earl Ray had said he couldn’t live without her baking. Maybe it was time to find out if that were true. She would miss him horribly, but it could be the best thing for both of them, since she knew Earl Ray would never go south in the winter. Just as he would never leave his house that he’d shared with his late wife. Just as there would never be another love for him—no matter how much he adored Bessie and her baking.

“Did you hear on the news this morning?” Earl Ray had asked when she’d joined him in his booth only minutes before the three men had walked in. “Big snowstorm coming.” Montanans joked that there were only two seasons, winter for nine months, and spring, summer and fall for three...if they were lucky and winter didn’t hang on—or start early.