Something More (4 page)

“Really?” Luke arched an eyebrow in surprise.

Ima Jane was quick to read his thoughts. “Yes, really. Unfortunately I didn't find out until this afternoon when a state trooper stopped in for pie and coffee.”

“And you managed to pry the information out of him,” Luke guessed.

“It wasn't hard.” A small smile of self-congratulation showed briefly, then faded with the onset of another memory. “I would have gotten the name, too, but he couldn't remember it,” she said, then added, “he seemed surprised that Beauchamp hadn't released it.”

“You know how Beauchamp is,” Luke said, with a dismissing movement of his shoulders. “He believes in going strictly by the book. I don't imagine it's all that easy tracking down someone's next of kin after a half century has passed.”

“That's just it.” Irritation flickered in her expression. “According to the trooper, he's already done it. Supposedly he talked to a relative Monday or Tuesday of this week.”

Luke frowned. “Then what's the holdup in releasing the name? Did the trooper know?”

Ima Jane sighed. “He thought he was probably waiting for some records to arrive verifying the man's identity. Someone has clearly never heard of faxes or Federal Express.”

“Irritating, isn't it?” he teased.

“In a word, yes.” But she smiled when she said it, then went to take a drink order from the waitress coming up to the bar.

Absently Luke studied the girl, his glance skimming her face, noting its pale and frazzled look. He waited until Ima Jane had filled her drink order, then asked curiously, “When did Liz Frazer start working here?”

“This is her first night.” She paused and lowered her voice to a confidential level. “She and Ken need the extra money.”

“Why? The last I heard, Ken was working for the Box M. He didn't quit, did he?”

“No. They need money for the baby. Liz is expecting, and his insurance won't cover it.”

“So, Ken's going to be a papa.” He tried to be happy for him, but all he felt was his own pain. He downed the rest of his drink, then pushed the empty glass toward Ima Jane. “I need a refill.”

Taking the glass, she gave him a look of motherly reproval. “Do you plan on drinking your supper tonight, or should I put in an order to the kitchen for you?”

Luke knew it usually took two drinks before the numbness set in. Tonight it might require three. “After I finish that drink you're pouring now, you can tell Griff to throw a steak on the grill for me.”

“It isn't good to drink on an empty stomach, Luke.” She poured a hefty shot of Wild Turkey into the glass, then added some more cubes and a splash of water.

“It is for me.”

But Ima Jane wasn't fooled by the sexy smile he flashed her. Everyone knew his smiles only went skin deep. Inside he was still raw and hurting. She set the drink before him and watched as his strong hand closed around it and lifted it to his mouth.

“What do you find in there, Luke?” she asked after he'd taken a sip.

There came that smile again, intent on deflecting the question. “I'll let you know when I find it, Ima Jane,” he said and winked.

A sigh of regret slipped from her. “This grieving has gone on too long, Luke.”

“Is that what people are saying?” His smile remained in place, but there was a coolness in his eyes.

“That's what
I'm
saying.”

“Everyone's entitled to their opinion. Here's to yours.” He lifted his glass in a toasting salute, then tossed down a swallow.

Her mouth thinned at the gesture. “You haven't been to church in ages, Luke. Why don't you come tomorrow?”

“Are you worried about my soul?” Luke jested.

“Among other things.”

“Such as?” he asked in an amused voice dry with challenge.

Always free with her opinion, Ima Jane wasted no time offering it. “It's high time you started dating again. A strong, handsome man like you, you ought to have your arm around a woman instead of sitting here by yourself hugging that drink.”

“Turning matchmaker, are you?” He grinned, then turned sideways on the stool, casting a jaundiced eye over the customers in the bar. “Take a look and see if you can find any likely candidates. And don't suggest Babs Townsend. She's been married and divorced three times. A track record like that only spells trouble. More trouble I don't need.” His glance paused briefly on a fresh-faced blonde with a scattering of freckles on her nose. “Sally Crane is single, but she's barely nineteen. That's like robbing the cradle.” Swiveling back, he directed a smug glance at Ima Jane. “You'll have to admit, the choice goes from slim to none.”

“How about the one who just walked in?” she murmured, the light of the insatiably curious leaping into her eyes.

With a turn of his head, Luke glanced toward the entrance. There was no missing the woman who paused inside the door. She had on an oversized cotton sweater the color of antique gold that failed to hide the ripeness of her figure. A pair of wheat-tan slacks accented the long length of her slender legs. A pair of sunglasses sat atop auburn hair that was a mass of long, unruly curls, curls that gleamed like silk in the muted bar light.

“Who is she?” Luke knew he had never seen her around before. Drunk or sober, he wouldn't have forgotten a woman who looked like this one.

“Never saw her before,” Ima Jane admitted, then threw him a sly glance. “She's a looker, though.”

Ignoring that, Luke centered his attention on the woman, studying the hesitation in her manner as she made a visual search of the bar's interior. She fastened her glance on a point at the rear, tugged the strap to her purse a notch higher on her shoulder, then struck out in the direction of the restrooms, an easy grace to her striding walk. Luke tracked her until she disappeared from view.

“Did you see that?” Ima Jane chuckled.

“What?” He took a sip of his drink.

“Every man in the bar sat up straighter when she walked in. And a few got kicked under the table.”

“I'm not surprised.”

“I wonder what she's doing here?” Ima Jane murmured, curiosity surfacing again in her voice.

“Probably just passing through.” He felt a trace of regret at the thought, which amused him.

Without really intending to, he found himself watching for her return. She was back within minutes, the sunglasses no longer roosting atop her head. This time she walked directly to the bar, giving Luke a full frontal view of her face. Beautiful was too strong a word to describe her, a decision he based mainly on the refreshing honesty of her features. Her eyes were big and brown, and direct in their regard. He was almost sorry that Ima Jane was the object of her interest. She slid onto a stool two seats from him and flipped open her purse.

“What would you like?” Ima Jane inquired, studying her customer with curious eyes.

“Coffee, please, and”—she pulled a road map out and laid it on the bar top—“some directions.”

“I had a feeling you were lost.” Smiling, Ima Jane filled a thick white mug with coffee and set it before the woman, adding a spoon, a pitcher of cream, and a glass canister of sugar.

“I don't think I'm lost, exactly.” The curve of her lips held a touch of self-deprecating humor. “I'm just not sure where I am.” She added two spoonfuls of sugar to the mug and stirred her coffee. “I was told if I stayed on this highway, I would come to a town called Glory. I was hoping you could tell me how much farther it is.”

Startled, Ima Jane blinked in surprise. “You're looking for Glory?” What had previously been simple curiosity now took an avid turn.

“Yes.” She hesitated, suddenly uncertain. “Have I taken a wrong turn somewhere?”

“It isn't that,” Ima Jane hastened to assure her, suppressed laughter bubbling in her voice. “It's just . . . strangers coming to Glory are about as rare around here as palm trees.”

“I can believe that.” The woman smiled, and it was like a light had suddenly been turned on, illuminating her entire face. “The town isn't even listed on the map. Is it very far from here?”

“This is it,” Ima Jane informed her.

“This is what?” Confusion showed in the woman's expressive brown eyes.

“Glory. You're here.”

“You're kidding.” Disbelief riddled her voice. She half turned, glancing behind her toward the entrance. “I could swear there wasn't a sign—”

“A snowplow knocked it down a few winters back.” Luke joined the conversation.

When she turned her dark brown eyes on him, he had the urge to lift her off that stool, slide his fingers into those rich auburn curls, and feel the softness of a woman's body in his arms once again. It was an urge that told him the liquor was working its magic, blocking the unwanted memories and unlocking the old wants and desires of the flesh.

It was an impulse he wouldn't have entertained if she had been local. But this woman was safe. Strangers might come to Glory, but they never stayed. There were no job opportunities here, no future. The town was dying, slowly but surely, like so many other small rural communities.

“It's a relief to know that,” she said on a sighing note. “I couldn't imagine how I had missed the sign when I was watching so closely for one.”

“Let me be the first to welcome you to Glory, Wyoming. My name's Ima Jane Evans. My husband, Griff, and I own this place.”

“It's a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Evans.”

Ima Jane laughed at such formality. “Nobody ever calls me that. I'm just Ima Jane to everyone. We pretty much stick to first names around here.”

“It's the same way at home, for the most part.” The coffee mug was halfway to her mouth before she thought to add, “My name is Angie Sommers, by the way.”

“Glad to meet you, Angie Sommers,” Ima Jane replied then indicated Luke with a wave of her hand. “This is Luke McCallister. He owns the Ten Bar Ranch outside of town.”

Putting a foot on the floor, he straightened from the stool and extended a hand to her. “Hello, Angie.”

After switching the mug to the other hand, she reached out to take his. “Hello, Luke.”

It had been a long time since he'd held a woman's hand. It felt small and smooth and warm, with a gently firm grip. Luke held it a few seconds longer than was necessary, betraying his rising interest in her. A recognition of it registered in her expression, along with an answering flicker of cautious interest. That told him right then and there that she wasn't the kind of woman who was free and easy with men. Part of him was disappointed.

Observing the exchange, Ima Jane inserted a sly, “In case you're wondering, Angie, Luke is single.”

A hint of color rose in her cheeks. Luke covered the awkward moment with a chuckle, resuming his seat. “Don't mind Ima Jane. Along with all the other things she does on the side, she's been thinking about trying her hand at matchmaking.”

“And what's wrong with that?” Ima Jane challenged in mock indignation. “Here I have two attractive people sitting at my bar—alone on a Saturday night. What's wrong with trying to bring them together if I can? Surely there's no harm in that, is there?”

“No, there's no harm in it,” Angie agreed, her smile pointedly polite, offering no encouragement to either of them.

“You've made your pitch, Ima Jane. Now it's time to back off,” Luke told her, amused by the ploy.

“If you say so.” Ima Jane lifted her shoulders in an expressive shrug and shifted over to the bar sink, then caught up a towel to wipe the glasses on the drainboard. “Where is home for you, Angie?” she asked, changing the subject, but Luke knew better than to think she was giving up.

“Southern Iowa.” Holding the mug in both hands, Angie sipped at its sweetened contents, then lowered it, murmuring appreciatively, “Mmm, the coffee tastes good.”

“What brings you to Glory?” Ima Jane was too nosy not to ask.

“Some family business.”

Startled by the answer, Ima Jane halted in midswipe. “You have family here?”

Luke could practically see Ima Jean sifting through her memory banks trying to recall which of the local residents had relatives in Iowa.

“In a manner of speaking, I—wait a minute.” Angie abruptly lowered the coffee mug and turned wide, questioning eyes on Luke. “What was the name of your ranch again?”

“The Ten Bar,” he replied, with a slightly puzzled frown.

“The Ten Bar.” She tested the sound of it, then dived into her purse, digging until she came up with a small, spiral notebook. She flipped through the first few pages; skimmed the handwritten notations on them; then planted the pad of her finger on a page and released a low, exultant laugh. “The Ten Bar. I knew that sounded familiar.” Her dark eyes were sparkling when she looked at Luke. “That's where my grandfather's body was found.”

The announcement stunned both Luke and Ima Jane. But Ima Jane was quicker to recover her speech.

“That was your grandfather?” she repeated on an incredulous note, then darted a quick glance at Luke. “We had heard the body had been identified, but they hadn't released any name.”

“They're probably waiting until they get the records I brought with me before they make it official.” Angie returned the notebook to her purse. “But there really isn't any doubt it's him.”

“What was your grandfather's name?” As always, Ima Jane went straight for the facts.

Angie hesitated ever so slightly before answering. “Henry James Wilson.” Then she added, with a smile of fond remembrance, “But my grandma always called him Hank.”