White Trash Witch (3 page)

The lunch crowd had finally begun to thin out when
Ryder walked into the SOB. Wiley was laughing as she stood beside a
table, coffee pot in hand. The elderly couple laughed with her. She
looked so natural in her environment, her hair up in a ponytail,
her cheeks flushed from the heat, her eyes glowing with
happiness.

Ryder took the same seat that he'd used the day
before and waited for her, telling himself that he was only
interested in the lunch menu. Liar, said a voice in his head.

Looking up at him as though she'd felt him staring at
her, she smiled, and his stomach did a little flip. Her smile was
like sunshine, brightening the entire room. Alarm bells went off in
his head.

Once she'd said a few more words to the couple, she
patted the man on his shoulder, and made her way to Ryder.

"Hello there, stranger. Twice in one day! Go
figure."

"What's good for lunch?" he asked, his eyes roving
over her face, touching on the freckles that he liked more and more
each time he saw her.

"Soup, Minestrone, If you like leftovers," she
muttered.

"And?" he asked, chuckling.

"Omelets," she said, muttering, "If you don't mind
the odd eggshell."

"Next?"

"Toasted Club Sandwich. Now that's a good one. No
moldy bread or rotten tomatoes to be had!" she teased,
laughing.

"Do you talk to all your customers like this?" he
asked, smiling.

"Only my favorites," she said.

"The Club it is, on brown please. Jeffrey says you do
tours?" he asked, his cheeks flushing for the first time since he
was a teen in high school.

"Oh, I do on occasion, but I think I'm booked for the
day. Maybe tomorrow?" she asked, pouring him a coffee in a used
cup.

"Um, that cup was here when I sat down, Wiley," he
said.

"Oh, sorry. Force of habit." She put the pot down and
quickly picked up the dishes and cutlery, dropping an opened jam
packet without noticing. "Ah, did you want coffee?" she asked.

"How about a cola," he said, grinning.

"Sure. Cola I can do." Smiling she turned and went to
the kitchen to place her order.

He hated to admit it, but he was mesmerized by her
sexy walk.

"Wiley? Are you all right?" Nat asked.

"Sure, it's just…I don't know. There's something
about Ryder that draws me. I find myself thinking about him at the
oddest moments."

"Come on, Wiley, he's bald, short, and so not your
type."

"Beauty is in the eyes of the beholder. Besides, he's
kind, sweet, protective, and definitely not gorgeous! I told you, I
don't want a good looking man in my bed. They’re too
unreliable."

"One man messes with you, and you think all good
looking men are the same. Broaden your horizons, Wiley. Don't pick
a guy for his looks, good or bad. It's the guy inside that
counts."

"You know, you’re right, Nat. What a smart girl you
are! I'll just ignore the hunks and trust my instincts on the
not-so-good-looking guys. Ryder is a doll. There is something about
his eyes that draws me like a magnet."

Rolling her eyes, Nat picked up her order and left
the kitchen.

Wiley poured the cola, and took a damp cloth to wash
the table. As she approached the table, she slipped on the jam
packet, and went sailing face first into Ryder's lap, preventing a
spill with magic.

Ryder's arms went around her to steady her.

"Are you okay?" he asked, staring into her eyes that
were scant inches away.

Ryder felt a flutter in his lower belly that he knew
wasn't hunger for food.

"I'm fyder, Rind. Ah, I'm fine, Ryder," she said,
staring into his eyes.

"That's a little above and beyond the call of duty,
Wiley." The deep voice held a note of anger.

"Oh," Wiley cried, placing the glass on the table,
and standing. She brushed her hair back out of her eyes.

"I slipped, and he caught me. What are you doing
here, Victor?" she asked, staring up at the handsome cop.

"I came to ask if you meant to press charges against
the man who attacked you yesterday."

"Was he a criminal?" she asked, her cheeks flushing a
delightful pink.

"No. They both have clean records."

"No bank robberies? Muggings? Car stealing? Beating
up little old ladies?"

"No."

"Okay. Then I won't press charges as long as they
stay away from the diner."

"Fine. Now, how about going out with me tonight?" he
said, moving in closer.

Avoiding him, she moved around Ryder's table, and
began wiping at imaginary dirt, arranging the salt, pepper, and
sugar before picking them up one at a time to examine them.

Ryder had a hard time keeping his expression
straight. He quietly sipped his drink while Wiley and the cop
conversed.

"Wiley, you have nothing to do tonight. Your mother
told me. Come on a date with me. I'll take you down to the park,
and we can walk on the beach."

"Oh, nope, can't do it tonight. I already have a
date," she said, throwing salt over her shoulder, and then
polishing the shaker lid."

Looking down at his pop, Ryder bit the inside of his
cheek to keep from laughing.

"With who?" the cop growled.

"Ah, with…with…with Ryder here. I promised to take
him touring. Gotta go now. Bye, Victor." Without another word, she
raced off to the kitchen.

Ryder kept his gaze down for the space of a few
heartbeats, and then looked up, way up the pant legs and torso of
the angry cop.

"Is that true?" he snarled.

"Yes. I asked her to take me touring just before you
got here. Sorry, officer." Playing his game face, he returned to
his drink.

"You'd better stay out of trouble while you’re here,
mister. I'll be watching you."

"I never cross the law, officer. I'm a model
citizen," he said, sucking the last of the pop from the glass with
the straw, making an annoying hissing sound with it.

Releasing another growl, Victor left the diner,
leaving Ryder wiping tears of mirth from his eyes.

Peeking from the kitchen door, Wiley watched Victor
leave, and then rushed over to Ryder, concern on her face.

"I'm sorry. He didn't belt you or anything, did he?"
she asked, wiping at his tears with a paper napkin.

"No," he chuckled. "I've never laughed so hard in my
life. You are way too cute, Wiley, and aptly named."

"Oh, like in Wylie Coyote, you mean. Well, I do get
into trouble a lot. It seems to be part of my makeup. I'm glad he
didn't deck you. I meant it about going touring if you want to.

Her eyes glowed with excitement.

"I'd really like that. What time?" he asked.

"I finish in an hour. Oh! I have to pick up your
order. Can't have my customer's getting angry with me now," she
said and turned to race off to the kitchen, only to slip on the
floor, once again landing in his lap, though this time
backwards.

Chuckling, he helped her stand.

"I'd better clean that up. It's getting to be a
habit, landing on you." Offering him a grin, she walked with care
to the kitchen.

The sky was vibrant blue with not a cloud to be seen.
The water was calm, releasing only a few whitecaps to buffet the
shore. Wiley stood staring out over Lake Ontario, and Ryder watched
her as she sucked in a deep breath, and then gagged.

Her laughter tinkled in the air. "Zebra mussels.
They're great for cleaning the lake, but when they die on the
shore, they stink to high heaven." She looked down, watching her
running shoes sink slightly into a beach that was littered with
small, fingernail-sized mussel shells. There wasn't a grain of sand
to be seen.

"They aren't native to Canada. It's believed that
they hitched a ride on ships from the Caspian Sea in Asia."

"You seem to know a lot about them," Ryder said,
studying her face.

"I am a vessel for knowledge. I don't think you can
ever know too much." Holding out her hand, she slipped it into his.
"Come on. I'll show you the lighthouse."

He threaded his fingers through hers as they walked
toward the structure. He was surprised by the tingling sensations
that trickled through his hand, and up his arm at her touch.

When they stood below the tall lighthouse, she
released his hand, and placed hers on her stomach. Her face was
flushed a becoming pink. She cleared her throat before she
spoke.

"The Island Provincial Park lighthouse stands
sixty-seven feet high and was built in 1840. In 1952 the lantern
was removed, and it became a monument."

"One hundred and sixty-six years old? It sure doesn't
look it," he said, craning his neck to see the top of it.

"I want to take you on a relatively easy hike on the
park trails. Are you up to it?" she asked, still not looking at
him.

"Absolutely. Can I hold your hand again?" he
teased.

Her eyes flew wide, and locked onto his. "Please
don't get any ideas, Ryder. I only went out with you today to take
you on tour. I'm not interested in dating. Not any man."

"I wish I knew him. I'd beat the daylights out of
him."

"Who?" she asked, appearing confused.

"The man who hurt you."

"Oh, well, that's nothing a quick divorce didn't
fix." Turning, she began to walk along the beach.

"Wiley, wait," he said, holding out his hand to
her.

"I'm not looking for anyone either. Let's just enjoy
the day as friends."

Her smile made his heart pound it was so filled with
light. She nodded, took his hand shyly, and then began walking with
him down the beach.

They spent hours hiking through the trails and
laughing. Ryder found her easy to talk to, and was amazed at her
entrepreneurial skills.

"So let me get this straight, Wiley. You take care of
people's pets, pickup groceries and delivering them to the elderly
or sick, and you even tinkered with car engines?"

A becoming blush stained her cheeks as she dropped
her gaze.

"Well sure. Some people need help, and I'm more than
willing to give mine to them."

"You're amazing. Don't you wish you had a ton of
money?"

For a moment, she stopped, standing still in her
tracks as she looked at him, and then shook her head.

"No, Ryder. I don't want or need money. People with
money get spoiled and turn their backs on their friends and family.
Money simply causes trouble. I'm happy without it."

Amazed at her outlook, he thought back to his
ex-wife. Would they have been happy if he'd had no money?

"I guess you're right. Where to next?" He offered her
his best smile, and waited for her to speak.

She took a moment, studying him with curious
eyes.

"You're not wealthy, are you, Ryder?"

"Ah… not really. I guess, maybe a bit. I think of
wealth as something other than money. It isn't what you have, it's
more in line of the quality of people in your life."

Her bright smile took his breath away. Letting go of
his hand, she twirled, doing a little dance move.

"I like you, Ryder. You're a good man."

"Ah…thanks."

"Let's go. I have something else to show you."

He watched her eyes, the pleasure in them
stunning.

"I'll bet you do," he murmured.

"Pardon?"

He shook his head. "Nothing. I was just thinking out
loud."

They left the park at dinnertime, and Wiley took them
down the highway to one of the larger tourist attractions.

"You are an interesting woman, Wiley," he said as
they drove into a parking lot.

"Oh, not so much. I'm just a hard working girl, who
loves having fun."

Though she said it, he found it hard to believe,
since her eyes held a level of sadness she couldn't hide.

"This is the Big Apple. Not the New York big apple.
This really is a big apple. It stands thirty-five feet high and
thirty-eight feet in diameter. In the restaurant there is an oven
that holds one hundred-and-forty-four pies at one time."

"That's a whole lot of apples. Are they any
good?"

"Let's go in for dinner. You can have pie for
dessert, and then decide for yourself."

Slipping her hand into his, she went inside with him.
The building was huge, and held dozens of seats. At the end of the
room there was a gift shop, and a Hockey Hall of Fame. One wall was
all windows that looked down into the kitchen so you could watch
the staff baking.

"Wow. It's quite an enterprise," Ryder said.

"In 1995, half a million people visited here, and
that was before they expanded the buildings. I'm not sure what the
number would be today, but since they sit right by the main
highway, I would imagine it's a great deal more. There's a huge
sign you can see from the road that says they've sold over three
million pies. Oh! There’s also a petting zoo for kids, and
mini-putt golfing for those interested in sports."

"Amazing."

They sat down to eat hotdogs and French fries, and
then Ryder bought two slices of apple crumble pie.

"Mmm…this is delicious. I guess it's a good thing I
don't live here, or I'd be as big as a house," he teased.

"You look like the kind of guy who takes good care of
himself."

Looking down, Ryder remembered that he'd conjured a
small belly and suddenly wanted to look good for her. Frowning, he
said, "I guess a few sit ups are in order."

"Ryder, you look just fine the way you are. There is
nothing worse than a guy who spends all his time looking in the
mirror. Looks are not important. It's the guy inside that matters."
Wiley picked at her half-eaten pie, and sighed.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

Her gaze lifted to lock onto his. "I don't know why,
but I feel like I can talk to you."

"I'm all ears. I'm good at keeping a confidence. Talk
to me, Wiley."

"Well, I was married about five years ago to a real
gorgeous hunk. It was a disaster. I don't think he even waited
until we signed the marriage certificate before he was off
collecting his girlfriends. I'm not even sure why we got married.
It lasted all of six months. I came home from work one day, and he
lay in our bed with another woman. She had no idea he was married.
Apparently, neither did he!"