Almost a Hometown Bride. Helen R. Myers

to keep it from settling.

      “So how much snow do they expect?”

      “Maybe a foot before you head home tonight. Twice that before we open in the morning.”

      Since Merritt had spent her whole life where snow was common, and this wasn’t her first winter in Montana, she wasn’t immediately intimidated. Besides, Thanksgiving was just around the corner. It might not say “winter” on the calendar, but frigid weather had definitely dipped below the forty-ninth parallel from Canada. “Okay. Guess I better arrange to come in earlier tomorrow.” As a rule, she arrived minutes before the doors opened at six o’clock.

      That earned her a critical look from Alvie. “I want you to be kind to your body and spend the night upstairs on my couch.”

      Alvie had many good qualities, but coddling didn’t seem to be in her DNA any more than hugging was. Nevertheless, Merritt had been the recipient and witness of enough kindnesses by the two-time widow to know she had a soft side that appeared when she wanted it to. Apparently, this was one of those moments.

      “You know I have to see to matters at the house. The barn cats will be craving some warm milk, especially tonight, and the stove needs tending to keep the pipes and Wanda and Willy’s tank from freezing.”

      Wanda and Willy were her goldfish, the only pets she allowed herself to have, except for the stray cats that had been homesteading the barn on and off since it was built decades ago for Alvie’s grandmother, who’d been a bride at the time. The house still belonged to Alvie, a one-bedroom wood-frame dwelling on several acres of land. It had stood empty for some time because it was more convenient at Alvie’s age to live upstairs in the apartment over the café. Alvie had let Merritt stay there as part of her salary the minute she learned Merritt could bake.

      “And what if Leroy can’t get the truck started in the morning and come get you?”

      It wouldn’t be the first or last time, Merritt thought wryly. Alvie’s live-in boyfriend handled the counter traffic at the café and seemed genuinely sweet on Alvie, but he was pretty useless as a mechanic or with most handyman chores. “Don’t worry. I’ll walk as I usually do.”

      With a sigh of exasperation, Alvie pointed at her with her stainless spatula. “You fighting blizzard-strength winds when there’s not so much as a truck tread to follow to ease your way is an invitation for trouble, especially at that hour. Besides, you already spend more hours on your feet than any doctor would say is sensible. If you went to a doctor, which you won’t.”

      Merritt prepared two more baskets of biscuits and bran muffins rather than wasting her breath. The walk was barely a mile, and doctors cost more money than she could afford. She already knew what she needed for her damaged hip from the one time she did need to get medical input, and she definitely couldn’t afford that. Why go again?

      “Walking has helped me build up my strength,” she said when Alvie finally finished. “And when have I ever not pulled my weight around here?”

      “You work harder than Nikki or Leroy combined,” Alvie acknowledged. “That’s another reason I need you to be reasonable.”

      She had dough rising at the cottage for this afternoon’s baking, too. Merritt’s mind was made up. She was going home. Thankfully, the cowbell on the café’s door sounded and saved her having to further explain. After taking one of the baskets and accepting the omelet she’d been waiting on, Merritt headed up front again.

      She grew aware of the changed atmosphere even before she rounded the lunch counter. Silence loomed throughout the large room. Then she noticed that almost everyone was staring at the newcomer standing just inside the entryway. He was an imposing figure as he fought the wind to pull the door closed behind his frame, big-boned with plenty of muscle to reinforce that. He succeeded with that wrestling match, then scanned the room with a combination of wariness and the same resentment some were radiating toward him. One look at his Native American coloring and stern features immediately had a number of diners shifting around to return to their meals. The rest took their time, but conversation remained a whisper of what it had been.

      The stranger wasn’t basketball-player statuesque, but he had to be at least six feet, which was intimidating to a woman who had to stretch to make five-three. There was something about the man’s bearing that made Merritt think of the mountains she liked to look at from her kitchen window at the cottage as she washed dishes. His denim jacket was too light for this weather, and it and his jeans were a half size too small. No wonder Nikki was staring open-mouthed from the far corner of the room. Usually, the flame-haired Energizer Bunny pounced on any and every male who walked through the front door if they weren’t regulars with an established preferred seating choice. She even dressed to entice; today she was wearing a skintight green sweater and jeans that left little to the imagination. But this man was no one to trifle with. Although she hadn’t yet heard his name spoken, Merritt realized she had to be looking at Cain Paxton.

      When his gaze fell on an open seat at the counter, the man sitting beside it shifted his hat onto it. Ashamed at one of Leroy’s regulars, Merritt quickly set her customer’s plate before him and went to correct the situation.

      “Sit anywhere.”

      The breathless quality of her voice told her that she was as rattled as everyone else. When his dark gaze zeroed in on her, she wondered if that was what being hit with a Taser was like.

      “It appears some of your customers object to that,” he said.

      Swallowing, she tore her gaze from his and glanced around in desperation, ultimately focusing on the table beyond the far end of the counter in the corner of the café. It rarely got used and would probably be a tight fit for him, yet she still found herself saying, “Will that do, sir?” She maneuvered to pluck a menu from the counter, then awkwardly shifted between tables to lead him to the corner.

      “Perfect,” he told her.

      Not surprisingly, he chose the chair against the wall that would allow him to face the door, but he could only manage to get one leg under the table. The other he stretched beside it and half out into the aisle. His thigh was larger than both of hers combined—and she supposed so was his boot size.

      Her throat dry, Merritt all but rasped, “Coffee? Juice?”

      “Just coffee. Black.”

      “I’ll be right back.”

      What happened next was ridiculous, since Merritt knew perfectly well where that long leg was; nevertheless, as she turned away, like a bird fooled by its reflection in glass, she managed to walk right into it and trip. With no chance to protect herself, she fully expected to hit the floor face-first. Then, to her amazement, a strong hand slowed her fall. A heartbeat later, another completely averted catastrophe.

      “Sorry, sorry,” she mumbled. Wholly mortified, as soon as he eased his grip she hobbled away without daring a look back at him.

      The semisecluded location of the table had protected her from most diners’ view; however, Merritt felt the concerned inspection of those who had witnessed it, and her cheeks burned with embarrassment. She thought some were thinking, Serves you right, for not refusing him service. But Alvie hadn’t given any such order. Second-in-command Leroy had kept his back to the room the whole time—although she could see him watching in the mirrored backsplash. So what choice had she had but to do her job? She had no reason to treat him the way everyone else was.

      Willing herself to calm down, she put the mug and coffeepot on a tray, along with a napkin, silverware and a basket of the muffins and biscuits, and carried it back, accepting that she couldn’t get a filled mug to his table without sloshing half of it onto the floor. Upon reaching his table, she set the potbellied ceramic before him and poured with an inane amount of care.

      “You hurt yourself,” Cain said, observing her and not the painstaking service.

      “No, I’m fine,” she said reluctantly as he made the observation.

      “You’re limping.”

      “That’s