Lone Star Bachelor. Линда Гуднайт

      “Memorizing Jan’s signs and slogans?” Every inch of wall space was crammed with signs or plaques, most of them snarky and clever.

      She pointed at one. Plenty of people have eaten here and gone on to live nearly normal lives. “Pretty funny.”

      Then why didn’t she laugh? “Jan’s got sass but she sure can cook.”

      He pulled out a chair for her and stood, patient as Job himself. She could be stubborn. He could be patient.

      Her full mouth flattened but she didn’t yank away the chair and make a scene. Satisfied, Sawyer took the seat across from her and folded his arms on the laminated tabletop. He enjoyed seeing her straight on. She was nice to look at.

      “Anything in particular sound good to you?” he asked.

      Jade took a paper napkin from the metal container and shook it onto her lap. “You have recommendations?”

      Sawyer studied the tiny mole—just one—to the left of her nose. He’d never noticed how appealing one single little beauty mark could be. “Plate lunch special.”

      She blinked. “What is it?”

      “I didn’t read the sign, but whatever it is will be good.”

      “Okay by me.”

      Nice. A woman who wasn’t picky about her food, though Jade Warren was picky about everything else. Well, maybe not everything and maybe the word was prickly instead of picky.

      Charla, an African American waitress with every bit as much sass as Jan, slapped two plastic menus on the table. “Hiya, Sawyer.”

      “Hey, Charla.” He waved the menus away. “Don’t need those. We’ll have the special.”

      “Good choice. Roast beef and mashed potatoes. Jan’s recipe.” She retrieved the unused menus. “Drinks?”

      “Iced tea for me.” He shot a questioning look at Jade. “You?”

      “Iced tea is good. Sweet, please.”

      Charla scribbled on her pad. “Who’s your new friend, Sawyer?”

      Now, that was a dilemma. He didn’t particularly want the whole town to know he was being investigated by order of his own father. “Jade Warren, meet Charla Fredrick.”

      The two women exchanged greetings before Charla dashed to answer the call of “Order up.” A new waitress, probably Abby’s replacement, moved much slower.

      Sawyer made small talk about the town and the people in the café until Charla returned with their tea glasses.

      “We sure miss Abby around this place,” Charla said. “Have you heard from her?”

      “Yep. They’re having the time of their lives.”

      “Good. She deserves that. You tell her I got her postcard from Venice. Such a pretty place. Is little Miss Lila doing all right with her grandma and grandpa?”

      Abby’s four-year-old daughter was staying with Sawyer’s mom and dad while the newlyweds honeymooned in Italy.

      “They’re spoiling her, but you know Lila. She’s a ray of sunshine and easy to spoil.”

      “She miss her mama much?”

      “They Skype every night. I think Abby is the one suffering separation pangs. Lila’s in her element.”

      “Abby’s a good mama.” Charla tossed her head, swinging giant pink earrings as if she dared anyone to argue.

      “The best, and we Buchanons are all suckers for Lila.”

      “She does that to people. Precious child.”

      The waitress scooted away, returning in minutes with two steaming plates that she slid with expert ease onto the table.

      “Tender roast beef, mashed potatoes and gravy, green beans and hot buttery biscuits.” Sawyer rubbed his hands together. “Food of the divine.”

      Charla perched a hand on her ample hip. “Y’all need anything else?”

      “Pie later.”

      “Coconut?”

      Sawyer flashed a victory sign. “Two.”

      “Got it.” She hustled away again.

      Jade stared, wide-eyed, at her plate. “I’ll never eat all of this.”

      “Take a carryout box home with you.” He reached for the salt and pepper. “Where are you staying anyway?”

      “The Red River Roost.”

      Oh, not so good. “You okay there?”

      “Sure. Why wouldn’t I be?”

      “The River Roost isn’t in the best area of town.”

      She got that look on her face again. The one that said he should mind his own business. “I can take care of myself.”

      He shrugged. So she said, but if she was his sister, he’d be concerned. Not that he considered her a sister. Not even close.

      He frowned at the fluffy white insides of a steaming-hot biscuit.

      She didn’t like him, was suspicious as all get-out, but he was fascinated by her.

      Now, what did that say about him?

      * * *

      Jade thought she should probably tell him to mind his own business, but Sawyer knew Gabriel’s Crossing and she didn’t. Forewarned was forearmed. If there were problems, she needed to know.

      “What’s so bad about that part of town?”

      “Kind of run-down. More crime. The Roost is the type of motel where—” He leaned back in his chair and scrunched his face. “How do I put this delicately?”

      “No need. I understand your point.” She lifted a fork, not letting him see that his words troubled her. Not for herself, but for that lonely teen and her baby. “I was a police officer before becoming a private detective. I’m well trained, and like I said, I can take care of myself.”

      Sometimes she’d made a mess of things, but she’d survived and grown wiser from the experience. She didn’t need or trust anyone’s protection but her own.

      Sliding her fork into the potatoes, she prepared to enjoy what appeared to be a delicious meal. Sawyer, she noted, had yet to begin. She shot him a questioning look. “Something wrong?”

      One side of his mouth quirked up. “Grace.”

      “Oh.” She lowered her fork and bowed her head but kept one eye on the man across the table, bracing for a major show so everyone in the place would know how devout he was.

      Sawyer discreetly murmured a few words followed with “Amen.” As he opened his eyes, she sat back, studying him while battling the slight guilt that she’d been focused on the man instead of the blessing.

      When she’d left home, she’d left her faith behind. Not that she’d ever had much to begin with. She wasn’t mad at God or anything like that. She was just...tired of the hassle.

      But Sawyer Buchanon didn’t fit her concept of loud, judgmental Christians. Those she knew and understood. This quiet faith, offered up with a smile and courtesy, bewildered her.

      “What?”

      She shook her head. “Nothing really.”

      “I offended you by praying?” Those magnificent eyes were serious but not apologetic. Could a man really have eyelashes that long and black?

      “No. Your faith is your business.”

      “I take it you’re not a believer?”

      “Religion isn’t my thing.”