Rugged and Relentless (14 page)

As Jake somehow knew he would, Volker Klumpf spotted him at the train station and affixed himself like an extra appendage. And also just as Jake knew he would, the man called Clump yakked nonstop from the time he plunked himself onto the train seat to the time it came to a rough halt in Hope Falls.

At least, Jake assumed Clump kept talking. He’d caught a nap an hour in and woken four hours later to find his new friend midsentence.
Call me crazy, but I doubt it’s the same sentence I fell
asleep to
. Not that he could remember either way, mind.

Twilight bruised the sky as night bullied its way forward, its bluish-purple glow silhouetting a town eerily empty. Lights shone in only two buildings, leaving the rest of Hope Falls to encroaching darkness. Jake frowned. Whatever he’d been expecting, a ghost town hadn’t made the list.

He headed toward the closest light, which also happened to be the larger building. Clump’s distinctive tread tailed him, but Jake noted at least two other sets of footsteps. He threw a casual glance over his shoulder.
Yep. The two others I marked on the train as heading for the Hope Falls free-for-all
. Good. One of the men matched Twyler’s description. It didn’t mean much—about one in three managed that—but Jake would keep an eye on him all the same.
Not a bad start for a wild-goose chase
.

With every step he took, his conviction Hope Falls harbored secrets worth uncovering grew. And grew. By the time he opened the doors to the building he now saw marked as C
AFé
, nothing could convince him he’d made the wrong decision in coming here.

Not the dozen or so men glowering at him as he stepped through the doors, muttering about do-nothings who swooped in for supper. Not the strangely familiar sign hanging on the wall: H
ATS
O
FF TO THE
C
HEF!

Motion at eye level drew his gaze toward an opening door in the back left corner, where women bustled through. Each carried platters of food—much to the delight of the men seated at the long tables lining the dining room.

Jake’s stomach rumbled its own homage to the mouthwatering steam rising from the savory dishes. The food smelled so good, it almost kept his attention away from the women. Almost wasn’t good enough, though he wished he hadn’t noticed that the women filing through the door were pretty enough to make the air heavy with competition.

Beautiful women, good food, and an offer too good to be true. It spelled trouble.

The ladies made their way into the room one at a time until four formed a neat row. Finding each lovelier than the last, Jake wondered if this wasn’t a terrible idea, after all. Until his gaze followed the line, snagging on a pair of golden eyes wide with recognition.

Then again
…

     NINE     

E
vie gawked. She gaped. She was very much afraid she downright ogled the stranger standing in the midst of her new dining room, looking for all the world as though he hadn’t done the exact same thing in her old café back in Charleston.

She scarcely remembered to snap her mouth closed as he lifted a sardonic eyebrow, motioned toward the sign she’d brought all the way to Hope Falls, bowed his head, and swept away his hat just as he had before.

Oh my
…

“Dibs on the last one.” Clump elbowed Jake in the ribs.

“Not on your life.” Jake’s growl sent the shorter man’s eyebrows shooting toward his hairline, but Clump didn’t back down. “She’s not up for grabs, Clump. There are three women in that ad, and four women standing up front. She’s last because she’s the chef, not one of the brides-to-be.” As he spoke the words aloud, they gained enough weight to send the lump in his throat tumbling back down to his stomach, where it could settle.
That has to be it. Miss Thompson doesn’t belong here
.

“How would you know?” Clump’s jaw stuck forward. “I like the looks of that one, and you didn’t want to come along in the first place. I said dibs.”

“If anyone’s layin’ dibs on any of the women, it’s one o’ us what got here first.” A lean man buried in far too many layers of clothes for a logger rose from his spot. “You four hop back on the train before you think to claim what you’ve no right to.”

Cheers and cracked knuckles encouraged them to take that kindly advice. It also made a set of tawny eyes narrow—something Jake knew instinctively boded well for no man. Or, more importantly, his stomach. And his stomach wasn’t having the promise of Miss Thompson’s food carried out of sight.

“If it comes to that, we were the first four to get here.” A swarthier man with an incongruous top hat perched jauntily atop his balding pate rose to his feet and gestured toward his companions. Rumbles of discord couldn’t swell to a roar before the fellow held up his hands and continued. “But every gentleman knows that it’s the ladies”—here he paused and tipped his hat toward the women before continuing—“who make the final choice. We’d all do well to remember that, before taking it upon ourselves to make others unwelcome where we stay by invitation.”

“Well said, Gent!” One of his friends pounded an empty tin mug on the wooden surface of the table, and others swiftly followed suit. In a few moments, even the most hostile loggers nodded their agreement, outdone by their own logic.

“Well said, indeed.” Miss Thompson laid down the heavy platter she held on a sideboard while exchanging a knowing glance with the other women. She selected one of the fragrant pies—potpie, he suspected—and made her way over to where the first man tried to muscle them out of town. A man, Jake noted, who numbered among at least half a dozen to bear Twyler’s not-so-distinguishing hallmarks.

“Mr. Dodger, did I hear you say a man shouldn’t lay claim to something he has no right to?” She held the dish beneath the
lucky man’s nose, so close he practically salivated atop the golden mashed potatoes Jake recognized meant shepherd’s pie.

“Yes, ma’am.” He donned an air of wounded dignity.

“Do you know, Mr. Dodger”—Miss Thompson slowly moved the pie back and forth, pretending not to notice every man’s eyes following the motion as she spoke—“I absolutely agree with you.” With that, she turned and handed the pie to Clump. “Welcome to Hope Falls, sir. Mr. Dodger admits he won’t attempt to claim what he has no right to, so you’re more than welcome to his supper.” A dimple appeared in the recess of her left cheek.

Jake swallowed his laughter at the bereft look on Dodger’s face as he mourned the loss of his perfect pie and regrouped.

“Here, now. The deal says I’m supposed to get my meals!” His demand earned him glares from the other women, grins from the men as he dug himself deeper, and the undeserved attention of Miss Thompson as she turned to face him once again.

“We made another deal, Mr. Dodger. When you invaded my kitchen, I told you if you took a biscuit then, you’d forfeit your supper tonight. If you don’t recall, I’m sure the man you called Bear will be happy to speak up.”

Or lose his own supper
. Jake’s satisfaction slipped a notch when he realized Bear must be the brawny Irishman seated nearby whose nodding response sent a smile to her face.

“Aye, lassie, that I do. You’re free to call me Bear, but just so you know me proper, Rory Riordan is my Christian name.”

“I recall saying I wouldn’t swap supper for a biscuit!” Righteous indignation colored the response. “I want my pie.”

“What a man says and what a man does can be two very different things.” Miss Thompson’s words struck straight through Jake, almost making him miss what happened next. “Please empty your left jacket pocket, Mr. Dodger, then turn it out.”

“That don’t make no sense.” The man’s face went purple.

“The more quickly you humor Miss Thompson, the more quickly we’ll serve supper.” The woman dressed in the frilliest
gown called out this encouragement, prompting the other men to add their demands and yells until Dodger turned out the pocket.

“No, not that one.” Her tone brooked no argument. “I didn’t say your overcoat, but your jacket. That’s the pocket to empty.”

The man gave a sigh of resignation and plunged his hand between layers of garments to hold out a blue pocket. Along with a few coins and an impressive amount of lint, a shower of crumbs scattered across the tabletop beneath his jacket—clear evidence.

“As I suspected. You tried to have your biscuit and eat supper, too.” Miss Thompson shook her head. “I expect more from any man who works here—and still more from any man who intends to court any of my friends. God-fearing, the ad said. It meant men of character and honor.”

Friends, she said
. Jake raised an eyebrow at Clump, who didn’t spare him a glance. His attention stayed divided between the pie in his hands and the woman who’d handed it to him. Jake couldn’t blame the man, but something inside him growled at Clump’s all-too-obvious appreciation of Miss Thompson.
Lucky for him it’s only my stomach
.

“A man’s got to honor his stomach when it growls.” Desperation for a fine meal made idiots out of better men.

“Say what you mean, and your stomach won’t argue.” Jake decided to support the spunky chef’s decision. Before another man could beat him to it. “A man’s word is his bond.”

The Gent and Bear were quick to back him up. Clump was quicker, but then again, he had the pie to protect. Dodger looked ready to lunge for it, but the man next to him grabbed his arm and held him in place, the other men at the table muttering dire warnings about holding up their own meals until it got through his thick head he’d have to abide by the cook’s decision. At last he gave a grudging nod and hushed.

“We’d like to welcome you all to Hope Falls.” The blond in the fanciest dress spoke on the women’s behalf. “First, I’d like to make introductions. I know you’re all waiting to eat—which means we
have your full attention.” They all smiled.

“Ain’t that the truth,” came one good-natured reply. A few other, more restless murmurs agreed.

“You’d have our attention if you brought nothing but your pretty selves,” one slick fellow swore, his smile oozing charm.

Jake decided on the spot that one meant trouble, no matter his blond hair ruled him out of
his
manhunt.