A Family Name (26 page)

Bronson passed bright red upholstered booths
and tables with red-and-white checkered tablecloths, returning
greetings to a few lingering townsfolk as he weaved his way to the
counter. Pulling out a faded stool, he took up his regular spot at
the end near the kitchen. As far as he was concerned, it was the
best seat in the house. From his vantage point, he could clearly
see the entire café, the main street out the front window, and he
could listen to Heather sing along with the radio in her slightly
off-key manner from the kitchen.

One of the many things he'd learned during
his short time as sheriff was that very little ever changed in Big
Creek without a fight. The Pickle still resided in its original
spot, smack dab in the center of downtown, and the deco was
reminiscent of a time that had long ago faded away as the younger
generation began to spread their wings and leave the relative
comfort of the nest and the small community. Big Creek might still
be the tight-knit ranching community it had started as, but with
the years had also come some progress, technology, and a regular
stream of tourists brought in by many of the newer,
vacation-friendly businesses. Many of which the hometowners had
strongly opposed. They wanted the town to stay the same. Safe and
protected in a bubble.

They relished in sharing stories about the
black-and-white photos of the town in its early days that dotted
the cream walls all around the interior of the café. They took
comfort in the fact that Erma, the evening waitress, had been
waiting the same tables for nearly fifty years. And every year just
before school started again, the town would have its weeklong
birthday celebration. Residents, current and past, seemed to look
forward to the festivities almost as much as children anxiously
awaited Christmas. It was a time for friends and family.
Homecomings and reunions. Merrymaking and good, old-fashioned
redneck fun.

This would be the first of many he planned on
being a part of. As sheriff, he'd head up the parade and oversee
all of the events that would take place during the weeklong fiesta.
When he'd seen the list of his Big Creek Days' duties, the sheer
number of activities had floored him. The parade was just the tip
of the iceberg. Once that was over, there was a lawnmower race, cow
patty bingo, a beer-burping contest, two different cakewalks, and a
pie walk. There were the trade days, the fishing tournament, the
pig grab, the rodeo, a scavenger hunt, and a boxed lunch auction
and picnic. The final night the entire main street square would be
shut down to traffic and a street dance would ensue. The following
day, Sunday, the sheriff would host a brunch on the lawn of the
town square and thank everyone for attending and pass out any
awards that had been won.

And those were just the events he could think
of right off the top of his head.

Bronson closed his eyes and drew in a
steadying breath.

A full week to be sure, but everyone in town
had assured Bronson that a better time was not to be found anywhere
in the Lone Star State. And everything kicked off first thing in
the morning. He had a sinking feeling in his gut that it was going
to be a stereotypical Monday and things were bound to go awry.

Opening his eyes, Bronson glanced around the
café. The dinner rush was over and the last few customers were
slowly rising and heading to the register to pay their bills. Big
Creek was nothing if not predictable. Another ten minutes and Erma
would have the tables bussed and leave for the evening. Then, it'd
be just him… and Heather.

Alone.

Just like every other night since just after
he'd moved into the area. And who knew, maybe tonight would be the
night he'd actually drum up the gumption to ask her out like he'd
been planning on doing every single night for the past two months.
Ever since he'd learned about the upcoming picnic. It would be the
perfect date. Public but not too public. Romantic but not too
intimate. Just the right amount of buffer in case she decided he
was a total loser, and she needed an easy way out of a nightmare
date.

The woman of his dreams chose that exact
moment to leave her normal post in the kitchen. The first glimpse
of her, and all the stress of the day and the upcoming hullabaloo
melted away. Her long honey-blonde hair was neatly plaited into a
single braid that Bronson knew ran down the center of her back,
ending about four inches above the waistline of her jeans. Her oval
face was always free of make-up. Not that she needed any. He tended
to like a woman who was comfortable enough with herself that she
didn't fuss over primping and preening. Her bright blue eyes were
framed with long thick lashes, giving them a naturally smoky look
many women spent a great deal of time and a ton of money to gain.
She was pretty as a peach. If he didn't know better, Bronson would
never believe she spent her days toiling away in a sweltering
kitchen, serving the good folks of Big Creek.

"Evenin', Bronson." She placed a steaming
bowl of dark red chili on the counter before him, its spicy aroma
filling his nostrils and causing his stomach to rumble in
anticipation. "You want cornbread?" Her lush pink lips tipped up at
the corners, giving him a warm smile.

"You know I do." He followed her with his
eyes as she returned to the kitchen, humming just under her breath
as she went.

"Gonna try the pickles tonight?" Though the
question was slightly muffled by the swinging door that separated
them, the dreaded words still pierced his ears.

Bronson resisted the urge to shudder. Just
the thought of a deep-fat fried dill pickle slice did not sound
appetizing to him. "I'll pass."

Close to ten years his junior, Heather was a
breath of fresh air in the community. In her early twenties, she
had come home right after college to take over her grandmother's
café when the older woman had passed on unexpectedly. Bronson
hadn't had the pleasure of meeting Joy before she died, but if
Heather was anything like Granny Joy, it was no wonder the town
loved her.

There were rumors, of course, just as there
were in every small town. Most of the gossip mill centered around
the fact that Joy's son, Bill, who was also Heather's father, had
sold the homestead farm as soon as he could after Joy's death and
before Heather could stop him. It was said that he'd waited until
she went back to College Station to finish her finals and pack up
her apartment, then he'd brokered a speedy sale with the owner of
the property next to Joy's. By the time Heather had returned to Big
Creek, the deal was done and Bill had split with the proceeds and
everything that had remained in Joy's bank accounts, leaving
Heather to deal with the expenses of the Café on her own.

Fortunately, according to Unice over at the
hardware store, Joy had had a sneaking suspicion that Bill would do
exactly that, so she'd placed Heather's name as the recipient of
The Pickle in her will. It was the only thing Heather had left in
the world that tied her to her family roots and, bless her soul,
she lived and breathed the Fried Pickle.

Heather came back into the dining room,
carrying a round tray with a plate brimming with fresh cornbread
and two small bowls. The hearty aroma of the just-from-the-oven
bread sent his salivary glands into overdrive.

"I gotta say, Heather, you certainly know how
to keep a man happy."

She placed the plate by his bowl of chili.
"Granny Joy taught me everything I know." Turning, she filled a
glass with iced tea and set it near his right hand. "How was your
day?" She grabbed two spoons and added one each to the small bowls,
one of sour cream and the other of shredded cheese, and set them
down on the counter within his reach then placed the tray on the
shelf below the counter.

Bronson shrugged and crumbled a piece of the
warm cornbread into his chili. "It wasn't bad. I had to go help old
man Schultz with a downed fence over off the county road by his
west pasture, and we keep getting calls about a prowler in town,
but no one seems to have any idea about what the perp looks
like."

"Probably just a couple of the local boys out
and about cuttin' up before school starts again."

"For their sakes, I sure hope not. Mrs.
Pearson's organized a neighborhood watch, of all things. She's
bound and determined to uncover the mischief-makers at any cost.
Says she wants them prosecuted to the fullest extent… made an
example of."

"I'm sure that she's just overly concerned
because the Big Creek Days are starting tomorrow. It's the biggest
thing to happen around here all year."

Bronson tried to focus on his dinner before
him. He knew if he looked at her he'd be lost. Things would likely
just fall from his mouth before checking in with his brain. Yep,
he'd make a total fool of himself. "I've looked over the list of
events. Looks like it'll be a fun time."

Heather ran her hands over the laminate
countertop. "Oh, it is. I make a real nice lunch to go in the boxed
lunch auction. Usually whip up a batch of that fried chicken you
like so much with fried squash, mashed potatoes, homemade biscuits,
and pecan pie." She tapped a fingernail on the slick surface. "I've
been thinking about making peach this year, though."

Bronson stirred the cornbread into his chili.
Peach pie was his favorite.

"No toppings tonight?" She nudged the bowl of
shredded cheese closer to him.

"You know me too well." He glanced up from
his chili and found her staring at him. His heart rate spiked.
There was something very intimate about her knowing his habits and
preferences. Like she was taking a special interest in him. Truth
be told, she probably knew how every single patron she served liked
their drinks and what sides they preferred, but it still made him
feel special.

"Good men aren't hard to figure out." Her
blue eyes sparkled. "But like a five-pound bass, they're hard to
land."

Oh, man.
Bronson swallowed hard. This
was it. The perfect opportunity to ask her out to dinner. Or the
picnic. Or anything.
Say something, genius.
"Um,
Heather?"

She tilted her head slightly to the left and
edged closer to the counter. "Yes, Sheriff?"

Man, she smelled good. Some kind of delicious
cross between fresh flowers and apple pie. His heart pounded in his
chest. He hadn't been so nervous since his senior year in high
school when he had asked Jenny Perkins to the prom. "I was
wondering if…"

Heather placed her elbows on the counter and
leaned a bit closer. The creamy skin of her neck seemed to beg him
to discover if it was as soft as it looked. "Yes, Bronson?"

He cleared his throat and shifted in his
seat. "Wondering if maybe sometime… if maybe you'd like to…" The
radio attached to his belt crackled.

"Dispatch to Sheriff."

And just like that, the spell was broken.
Like two teenagers who had just been caught neckin' in a car behind
the gym, they both straightened, instantly putting distance between
them. Heather broke eye contact and began wiping down the
countertop, moving away from him.

Bronson reached up to his shoulder, depressed
the button on his mic, and tried desperately to keep the irritation
from his voice. "Go ahead, Martin."

"We've got a disturbance over by the water
tower."

With a deep sigh, Bronson closed his eyes.
Time to get back to work. He had to check it out. The town depended
on him, and there had been three complaints in just over a week
about some strange shadows lurking around town. Mrs. Pearson was
threatening to round up her watch group and start doing nightly
checks. The last thing Big Creek needed was a handful of geriatric
locals shuffling down the streets at all hours of twilight, trying
to rid their precious community of thugs and ending up with broken
hips from a misplaced step. "On my way."

Glancing toward where Heather worked on the
other end of the counter, he mentally groaned. He should just ask
her. Otherwise it might be another two months before he found the
courage to try again.

"Go." Heather smiled as she made her way back
to him and picked up his bowl of barely touched chili. "I'll see
you tomorrow."

Before he had a chance to think twice, she
disappeared into the kitchen along with his dinner. And his shot at
asking her out.

Well, sugar-nuts. If this turned out to be a
cow wandering around town, he was going to be mighty upset.