Milky Way. Muriel Jensen

Nobody does that to my friends and gets away with it.” Marge’s eyes filled briefly, then she sniffed and swiped at something on the counter that wasn’t there. “Not after what you’ve been through. So Officer Bauer here—” she glanced in his direction “—threatened to take me in.”

      Britt drew a breath and sat Jake down a second time when he tried again to get up. “Margie, he was just doing his job,” she said reasonably, almost surprised to hear the words come out of her own mouth. It was one thing to feel personal resentment at the bind his actions had left her in. But to see him unfairly treated by her friends in a public place for having done nothing more than what was required of him made her furious.

      “I ordered the stuff,” she said, “and I couldn’t pay. His company has waited eight months already, while still supplying me. Do you think I’d keep making Danishes for you,” she asked, tapping the plastic container, “if you didn’t pay me?”

      Marge folded her arms and raised an eyebrow. “Yes.”

      Britt wedged herself in between Jake and Brick so that she could lean over the counter toward Marge and give her the full effect of her stare. Brick grinned at Jake behind her back.

      “You get this man his ham-and-cheese omelet,” she said firmly, placing a hand on top of the container, “or I won’t give you these extra Danishes you ordered for the Kiwanis breakfast. Whoever told you I’d been cut off apparently neglected to mention that when Mr. Marshack arrived at my place I was hanging by my fingernails from the roof. He saved me from falling, at considerable risk to himself.”

      That was somewhat overstated, Jake thought, but Marge’s spine seemed to relax a fraction. She looked suspiciously from him to Britt.

      “That’s true,” Brick confirmed, taking a bite of toast. “She told me yesterday afternoon. Even blushed when she said it. I don’t think she’s half as mad at him as you are.”

      Britt turned on Brick and whomped him in the stomach with the back of her hand. He choked on the toast and had to reach for his coffee.

      She turned back to Marge. “Get the omelet now.”

      With one last, distrustful look at Jake, Marge made notes on her order pad, tore off the check and, scooping up the plastic container, went toward the kitchen.

      “Spoilsport,” Brick said, finally recovered. “That would’ve been my first collar in a the week.”

      Britt rolled her eyes at him. “You’re a nut, Bauer.”

      “Runs in the family,” he returned. “Faulty chromosomes or something.”

      Britt gave Jake an uncertain smile. “You okay?”

      He was having palpitations over the nearness of her eyes, but he suspected she wouldn’t want to know that. “Fine,” he said. “Thank you.”

      “Jake Marshack—” she swept a hand toward the officer “—my cousin, Donald Bauer, known among family and friends as Brick because his head bears a remarkable resem—” Her fingers traced a square in the air as Brick reached around with one hand to cover her mouth. He thrust the other toward Jake.

      “Actually, it’s a name from my football days. Pleased to meet you. And thanks for saving her neck. I offered to do that roofing job for her, but she finds it impossible to wait for anything.”

      Britt pulled Brick’s hand from her mouth. “He’s been promising for weeks. I’d hoped to enjoy the porch before snow sets in again.”

      Listening to their affectionate banter, Jake felt a wave of loneliness he usually kept at bay with long hours in the office and at his desk at home. But here in Tyler the pace was slower, and after calling on her yesterday, he hadn’t been able to turn off his mind.

      He wasn’t even sure why he was still here. Though he’d made another call after visiting her yesterday, he’d easily have gotten back to Chicago in time for a late dinner. But it had started raining, and he’d told himself rush hour would be slick and ugly and he might as well stay the night.

      He’d watched cable television in the small motel room he’d found on the outskirts of town and had wondered how in hell the widow Hansen could be expected to make it with no feed, four kids, and everybody from bank to grocer breathing down her neck.

      Then he remembered Brick saying a moment ago that Britt had told him about being saved from the roof, and that she’d blushed while telling him. Every time he thought about grabbing her thigh in his hand and scooping her bottom toward him as she’d dangled there, he felt a catch in his chest, a hitch in his pulse. Something subtle had happened to him yesterday. And it was possible something had happened to her.

      “I’ve got to go,” Britt announced, her purse bumping him as she slipped out from between them. She turned to give him a quick smile, one that on the surface held only courtesy. But her eyes were so close to his that he saw deep inside a vague little longing that flashed when their eyes met, then was gone. “Safe trip home,” she said. Then she leaned over to kiss Brick on the cheek. “Have a good day, cuz.”

      “Where you off to?” he asked.

      “Worthington House to see Grandma and Inger.”

      When she was out the door, Jake couldn’t resist asking Brick, “What happened to her husband?”

      “He was plowing near a ditch,” Brick said grimly. “Got too close. Tractor turned over on him.”

      Jake closed his eyes. That ugly accident happened all too often in farm country, but it was hard for him to think it had happened to someone Britt had loved.

      “She’d gone to Milwaukee with a friend for a weekend of shopping,” Brick went on. “The first time she’d ever left Jimmy and the kids alone. She carries a lot of guilt over it.”

      “God,” Jake said quietly, feelingly.

      “Yeah. You can see why Marge got testy. Britt’s fighting an uphill battle, and we’re all pushing and pulling for her.”

      As though on cue, Marge appeared with a steaming plate. The omelet was fat and beautiful, the hash browns golden and the toast buttered in every little corner. She poured coffee into a cup, put a pot of cream beside him and a jar of jam. “Anything else?” she asked, her tone a shade more congenial, but only just.

      Jake looked down at his breakfast, then up at her again. “Something to eat it with,” he said, “and I’ll be a happy man.”

      “Oh.” She looked surprised that she’d forgotten utensils. She retrieved knife, fork and spoon and a generous-size napkin, then leaned on her elbows across from him as he peppered the omelet.

      “So you can’t see your way clear to get her a month’s extension?” she prodded. “She’s got big plans, you know. She makes the best low-calorie cheesecake east of the Rockies, and she’s going to pick up more clients and make more different products with her yogurt.”

      Jake frowned, knowing how overworked she had to be already. “By herself?”

      Marge sighed. “That’s how she does everything since Jimmy died.”

      Jake couldn’t see how that was going to make any difference—provided she could even do it. Cheesecake, however elegant, would have to be produced by the thousands to affect the kind of debt on her books....

      Though she’d been gone ten minutes, he could still see deep into those blue eyes and that little flash of longing in them. Business was business, but it was hard to step on someone who was trying so hard.

      Marge was still waiting for an answer.

      “I’ll try,” he promised with a thin smile.

      A cheer rose from Marge’s Diner’s clientele. Jake looked around from the counter to find himself being applauded.

      Brick slapped him on the back. “All right,” he said.

      Jake