Something More (5 page)

Luke fired a glance at Ima Jane, but the significance of the name clearly hadn't registered. Smiling to himself, he took a leisurely sip of his drink and wondered how long it would take before the name sunk in.

“A
nd now you've come all the way to Glory to claim the body. That's nice.” Ima Jane nodded in approval. “Will you be taking him back to Iowa for burial?”

“That's what I'd like to do,” Angie admitted, then switched her attention to Luke, the shine of barely suppressed excitement in her eyes. “Meeting you practically the minute I arrived—it almost seems fated. You see, I planned on getting directions to your ranch so I could visit the place where his body was found. I know Grandma would have wanted me to do that. Would you mind showing it to me? Sometime when it's convenient for you, of course.”

“Luke would be happy to show you,” Ima Jane volunteered when he hesitated.

A dry smile slanted his mouth. “In case you haven't noticed, Angie, Ima Jane always sticks her nose into everybody's business.”

“Luke McCallister, that is an awful thing to say,” Ima Jane protested, both hands coming to rest on her hips in a combative pose.

“It's also the truth,” he retorted, then glanced sideways at Angie Sommers. “Have you eaten tonight?”

“No.” But she seemed to hesitate as if she had a fair idea of what was coming next and was still trying to decide on her answer.

“Neither have I. Let's grab ourselves a table and over dinner we can settle on a time for you to come out to the Ten Bar.” He swung off the stool and picked up his drink to drain it, then added the warning, “Believe me, as long as you keep sitting here, Ima Jane will ply you with questions until she's learned your whole life story. And she'll do it so slickly you won't even realize it until it's over.”

Ima Jane was quick to object. “I resent that, Luke.”

“But you can't deny it.” A smile crinkled his eyes, taking any sting from his words.

“You're right. I can't.” She grinned and waved the towel in her hand, shooing them away from the bar. “You two go have your dinner. I'll have my chance another time.”

This time Angie didn't hesitate, pausing only long enough to gather up the map, her purse, and her coffee cup before sliding off the stool. All the way from Iowa, she had driven with her fingers mentally crossed, hoping she would have the opportunity to talk at length with the owner or foreman of the ranch where her grandfather's body had been found. She certainly hadn't expected it to come so quickly—or that he would be so young. At least, young in the sense that she had expected him to be much older.

She cast another glance at Luke McCallister as he guided her toward a vacant table. She had never been very good at guessing people's ages, but she suspected he had to be somewhere in his middle to late thirties. Strictly speaking, he wasn't handsome, but there was no denying his rugged good looks were attractive in a rough, masculine sort of way. And she would have been less than honest if she didn't admit to a tingling awareness of him as a man. That was part of the reason she had hesitated about having dinner with him. That, and the possibility that a lot of time might be wasted fending off passes.

“Ima Jane meant what she said,” Luke remarked when he pulled out a chair for her. “She's confident that she'll get another crack at you.”

“Why's that?” Angie placed her coffee mug on the table, then sat down in the chair, laying her purse across her lap.

“She figures you'll need a place to stay tonight, and the closest motel is sixty miles away.” Luke sat across the table from her. “They have rooms upstairs that they rent out . . . usually to stranded motorists.”

“I'm afraid she'll be disappointed. I already have a place to stay tonight.” Angie saw the flicker of surprise in his blue-gray eyes and smiled. “I borrowed my uncle's pickup camper to make the trip. It's a gas hog, but I have a bed, a kitchen, and a teeny bathroom.”

He chuckled, and the low rumble of it was decidedly appealing. “I can hardly wait to see Ima Jane's face when she finds that out.”

“She seems nice.” Angie glanced back to the bar.

“She is nice. Just nosy.” He raised a hand, signaling to one of the waitresses. “Griff offers a very limited menu,” he informed her. “You can have your choice of steak, fried chicken, or today's special—which happens to be barbeque ribs. All the dinners come with salad, french fries, or baked potato. For sandwiches, there're hamburgers or hot dogs.”

She laughed softly. “When you said limited, you meant it.”

“It keeps the waste and spoilage down, and the inventory fresh. Operating a business in a small community solely dependent on the local trade, you have to keep it lean to survive.”

In the background, a jukebox blared a country tune, competing with the steady chatter of voices, occasionally punctuated with laughter. Angie ran an idle glance over the crowded tavern.

“It looks busy tonight,” she remarked.

“On Saturdays it always is. Some say they come for the food and stay for the gossip. The rest claim it's the other way around. I guess it's a toss-up which is the bigger draw.”

Angie noticed a waitress approaching their table. “Is there anything in particular you'd recommend?” She took a sip of coffee, watching Luke over the rim. He was much too easy on the eyes.

“Take your pick. It's all good,” he said, with an idle shrug, then sat back in his chair, turning to the waitress. “Hi, Liz. How's it going?”

“Don't ask,” the sun-streaked blonde replied, looking flustered and rushed as she flipped through her order pad, searching for a blank page.

“I understand congratulations are in order.” Something gentle and warm entered his expression, softening all the hard, sharp angles in his face.

“Ima Jane told you, did she?” A sudden small and shy smile appeared in the girl's face, bringing a glow to her eyes.

“Naturally,” Luke replied, then explained to Angie, “Liz is expecting.”

“How wonderful.” Angie was quick to express her joy for the girl.

“It
is
wonderful.” The waitress nodded. “Scary but wonderful.” Someone called to her from another table. “Coming,” she promised, the harried look returning to her face when she directed her attention back to them. “What can I get you?”

“Steak.” Angie said the first thing that popped into her mind, then went with her choice. “Medium, with french fries and Italian dressing on the salad.”

“How about you, Luke?”

“The usual steak. Griff knows what I want. And another drink.”

She scribbled down the order, then flipped the pad shut, glancing at the mug in Angie's hand. “Do you need a refill on that coffee?”

“Please.”

“I'll be right back with the pot—and your drink, Luke.” She started to move away from the table, then stopped and lightly touched Angie's shoulder. “We're all sorry about your grandpa.”

Too stunned by the expression of sympathy from a total stranger, Angie wasn't able to voice a response before the waitress moved away from the table. She was still struggling with the surprise of it when she glanced at Luke and saw the twinkle of laughter in his eyes.

“I did tell you that gossip was served right along with food and drink,” he reminded her. “By now, everyone in the place knows who you are and why you're here—and are busy speculating on everything else.”

The breath Angie had unconsciously been holding came out with an explosive little rush of astonishment. “You told me, but I never expected it would spread that quickly.” Coming from a small town herself, she probably should have.

“If there are any secrets around here, I can guarantee they won't be secret for long.”

“I believe you,” Angie murmured, suddenly conscious of the number of looks being directed her way.

The waitress sailed back to their table with Luke's drink and a full pot of coffee. She poured some in Angie's mug; dropped off two sets of silverware wrapped in a napkin; and moved off to make the rounds of the other tables, refilling cups.

“What do you do back in Iowa?” Luke asked after she had gone.

“I teach.” Angie took a tasting sip of the coffee, then reached for the sugar canister on the table to sweeten it some more.

“Which grade?” Luke had an instant image of her surrounded by a group of kindergartners with their faces lifted in rapt attention while she read to them from a storybook, bringing the words to life with animated expressions.

“Actually
grades
would be more accurate,” Angie corrected. “I teach American history and government at the local high school.”

He frowned in surprise. “To teenagers?!”

Amused by his reaction, Angie smiled. “At times it's a real challenge, but I enjoy it.” However, the last thing she wanted to talk about was herself. “Have you always lived around here?”

“All my life.”

“And, all of it on the Ten Bar Ranch?”

“All of it,” he confirmed.

“I guess the ranch has been in your family for a while, then.”

“A while.”

Frustrated by his failure to elaborate, Angie sighed and shook her head in mock disapproval. “You must have gotten low marks in class participation when you were in school. A ‘yes' or ‘no' answer doesn't tell a teacher how much you know.”

He had the good humor to smile. “I don't suppose it does. If you spend much time around Ima Jane, it becomes a kind of self-defense to keep too many answers from being pried out of you.”

“You clearly value your privacy.”

“Doesn't everyone?” he countered, again avoiding a direct response.

“To a degree, yes.” But with Luke McCallister, Angie had the feeling it bordered on an obsession. She couldn't help wondering why.

For a tick of seconds, neither spoke. Then Luke filled the void. “Anybody around here can tell you that a McCallister has owned the Ten Bar since it came into existence back in the eighteen-eighties. At one time it was one of the largest spreads in the state. But over the years, sections of it have been sold off to cover financial losses or taxes. Now, there's roughly three hundred fifty thousand acres within its boundary fences.”

“That's still a lot of land by Iowa standards. Back home, a farm is considered big if it has more than four hundred acres.”

“Different area, different agriculture. In rough country like this, it takes about two hundred fifty acres just to support one cow and her calf.”

“You raise cattle, then.”

He nodded. “Most years we carry about five hundred head through the winter.”

 

 

Over in a booth along the wall, Fargo Young shoved the platter back from the edge of the tabletop. All that remained of the large slab of ribs were the bones, slicked clean of meat and sauce. Pushing his full stomach out, he gave it a satisfied pat and sighed his contentment.

“That Griff knows how to fix ribs,” he declared and dug in his shirt pocket for a toothpick. “I think I got me enough room left for a big wedge of apple pie. How about you? Are you gonna have anything for dessert?” He looked across the table at Tobe.

Dulcie sat quietly beside him, nibbling indifferently at her hamburger and swinging her legs back and forth, imitating the rhythm of a cantering horse.

Tobe shook his head. “I'll just have another beer.” He drained the brown glass bottle in front of him, then shot another look at Luke's table. “What do you suppose Luke is talking to that girl about?”

Idly picking at the scraps of meat caught between his yellowing teeth, Fargo briefly studied the pair. “Looks to me like Luke's doing more listenin' than talkin'.” But the sight of them prompted another thought. “What was the name of that girl's grandpa again?”

“Wilson,” Tobe replied. “I think Liz said his first name was Henry.”

“Wilson, Wilson, Wilson,” Fargo repeated, with a troubled scowl. “That name rings a bell somewhere, but I'll be danged if I can think why.”

“I know,” Dulcie inserted.

“I know something, too,” Tobe flashed in irritation. “I know you'd better quit dawdling around and get that hamburger eaten. I never saw anybody as slow as you are.”

Guiltily she ducked her head and took another bite, chewing at it desultorily. Fargo took pity on her. “You just hush up there, Tobe, and let her talk.”

“She doesn't know anybody named Wilson,” Tobe scoffed.

“Don't pay any attention to your brother, Dulcie,” Fargo told her. “You just say whatever it is you were gonna say.”

She glanced out of the side of her eyes at Tobe, then made a project of swallowing the food in her mouth. Her response, when it came, was small and uncertain.

“I was just going to say that was the outlaw's name, too.”

“What outlaw?” Tobe's challenge was full of pure scorn.

Fargo yanked the toothpick from his mouth, his entire face brightening. “Wilson. Ike Wilson. That was the name of one of those train robbers. You don't suppose—” But he didn't finish the thought, breaking off the sentence as he scooted from the booth. “I gotta find out. If Liz comes back, order me some pie,” he said, then gave Dulcie a pat on the head. “Good thinkin', girl.”

 

 

When the steaks were delivered, Angie wasted no time slicing into hers. Luke went through the motions of taking a last sip of his drink while he studied her bent head with its mass of gleaming auburn curls, conscious of the contradictions she presented. The casual disarray of her hairstyle suggested a personality that was carefree and breezy, someone quick to embrace life. The readiness and ease of her smile echoed that.