Argosy Junction (3 page)

“You saying you’re a better cook than the local chefs?”

“Nope. I can’t peel a potato, and my scrambled eggs are too crunchy for most people’s taste, but my mom—”

“Well maybe if you cracked the egg and dumped the contents before you scrambled them…”

Lane whipped off her hat and whacked him with it. “Listen wise donkey—” She swallowed hard. Before she could change her words, however, Matt laughed.

“My mom used to call my Uncle Arnie, ‘Baalam’s relief.’ As a kid I couldn’t figure out if she was calling him the donkey or its excrement.”

“He was probably both.” Lane’s dry wit was often lost on the locals, but Matt howled. In her opinion, that spoke well of his intelligence.

“I wish I could have brought Mom. She’d like you.”

A truck pulled away from the front of the café just as Lane neared. If she didn’t take the spot, he’d have questions. If she did, she’d antagonize half the town—literally. As feisty and spunky as she was, Lane’s orneriness had limits. She whipped around back and parked in her old “usual” spot. Here she could honestly claim habit.

However, Matt didn’t ask. She suspected that tantalizing scent of sausage gravy made it nearly impossible to notice where they’d parked. Once inside, no one missed the instant lowering of the conversational decibels. Again, Matt said nothing. He pointed to a “Seat Yerself” sign that hung over the cash register, and scouted the room for a free table. A small ice cream settee near the corner window was the only open table available, and Matt gestured toward it.

Sometimes, the oddest things are our biggest humiliations. That stupid settee was a thorn in Lane’s side. She’d tried to get Sister McKee to move it out years ago, but the owner of the café was adamant. When the café was busy, there was always room at the uncomfortable table, and today, that was her punishment.

As they took their seats, Lane realized that Matt’s hands were empty.” You didn’t grab a menu.”

“You order for me. I’ll have whatever you say is good.”

Mitzi Treynor paused several steps from their table and did an about-face, stuffing the order pad in her ruffled apron pocket. The café quieted even more. Murmured discussions escalated the level of tension in the room. A loud bang echoed from the kitchen, the big doors swung open, and Sister McKee herself came hustling into the dining area.

She stood at the table smiling broadly at Matt. “Welcome to the Homestead, what can I get for you?”

The plan was obvious. Sister McKee would ignore her. She’d just take Matt’s order and walk away before Lane could order. Life is fun when an innocent bystander wads and tosses the best-laid plans in the garbage, and that is exactly what would happen.

Matt, oblivious to the destruction of a perfectly planned shunning, smiled at Lane, and said, “Can you tell her what I want?”

Lane took a quick breath and looked into Sister McKee’s stone gray eyes. “I think he’d like the Rancher’s Breakfast Plate, a glass of orange juice, and fruit on the side for his pancakes. Oh, and I think he’d like a side of corned beef hash and a cup of coffee.”

Sister McKee spun faster than anyone knew her ample body could move, and stalked through the swinging door into the kitchen. Matt eyed her—hesitation hovering around him. He seemed torn between minding his own business and demanding to know exactly what was happening around him. Just as she was sure he’d ignore it, he asked, “Aren’t you hungry?”

Lane’s wicked grin almost sent him into a fit of laughter. “Do you really think you can eat scrambled eggs, biscuits and gravy, sausage, bacon, pancakes, and corned beef hash?”

“Well, it did seem like a lot of food…”

“Mitzi will be back with coffee and orange juice in a couple of minutes. She’ll give them to you. You can have your choice. Oh, here she comes. Don’t forget to ask for water. And smile at her. She likes to feel admired.”

Mitzi set a steaming cup of coffee and a glass of orange juice before Matt, and gave her nervous little curtsy-like bounce. “Can I get
you
anything else?”

Matt flashed a charming smile that transformed his average features into one of the most appealing faces Lane had ever seen. “I’d love a glass of water, and I’d appreciate it if you’d bring one for my friend.”

Mitzi gave a weak smile and went to get the water. Lane forced her jaw to remain in place as she watched the skittish girl return with a glass for each of them. As Mitzi started to set the second glass in front of him, Matt shook his head. “Oh no, that one is for Lane. The orange juice too. I couldn’t drink all of this myself.”

Left with no way to refuse without being rude to a customer, Mitzi set the glasses in front of Lane, before scuttling to a nearby table to refill a cup of coffee. Matt sipped his own cup and eyed Lane with interest. “Care to tell me what is going on?”

“Oh you know… just the famous local celebrity causes awe and amazement everywhere she goes.”

He nodded. “Mm-hmm. Looked more like infamy to me.”

“Famous… infamous. Same smell.”

Matt laughed again, his killer smile flashing at stunned looks from nearby diners. “If the looks they’re giving you are the same ‘smell’ of fame, then fame stinks.”

Mitzi returned with the huge rancher’s breakfast platter and side dishes. The table was too small to hold it all so Matt gathered the napkin dispenser, salt and pepper, jelly tray, and daily special notice and set it all on the window ledge next to him. Even still, Lane held the corned beef hash in her hand, and shoved half across the plate before taking a bite.

“Hey, push one of those biscuits over would you? I’d like one when you’re done. I saved some hash for you.”

They split the rest of the meal in silence. He slid a pancake off his plate and onto her empty hash plate. The entire meal would have been ludicrous if it hadn’t been so enjoyable. The restaurant patrons watched the scene in amazement, disgust, and confusion. By the time Matt paid for their meal and escorted Lane to her car, the town buzzed with the news that Lane Argosy had dined in the Homestead Café.

Lane started to pull into Gideon’s, but Matt stopped her. “Uh-uh. You owe me one thorough explanation. That was the strangest restaurant experience of my life.”

Why she accepted his terms, Lane didn’t know. Perhaps it was the earnest and sympathetic tone to his voice and expression. Maybe it was appreciation for the way he treated her like a lady rather than a simpleton. Most likely, however, it was the dawning realization that this was someone she could share the entire story with and not have to worry about condemnation.

“Want to see a working sheep ranch?”

Matt’s infectious grin was an answer in itself. She turned onto the long winding dirt road that led to the even longer driveway to their house, nestled at the base of the mountain. The ride was silent, comfortable, and yet part of her felt foolish. How she would explain to her family why she’d brought a perfect stranger to their home, she didn’t know.

A border collie raced to meet the Jeep, giving Lane little time to warn Matt. “Here she comes!”

Matt looked around and saw the dog. Horror-struck, he braced for impact with the dog. She could almost hear his screaming thoughts; they were written plainly on his face.
You’ll kill that dog!

Seconds later, Boozer sat on his lap, licking his face and panting. Maybe now Matt knew what she’d meant. “Boozer likes to jump in. She’s only missed once.”

The Border collie nuzzled his shirt and panted happily, as Matt scratched behind her ears. “I thought you were going to hit her! I couldn’t understand why you didn’t slow down.”

“She’s been doing that since she was a pup. Here we are. Argosy Ranch at your service.”

A tall, lean man leaned against one of the stout support beams of the long porch.” Is that one of your cowboys or sheep boys or whatever you call them?”

“We call them hands—as in the Amish saying about many hands and lighter work. That’s my brother, Tad. I should warn you; they won’t understand me bringing home a strange man.”

“Well I’m not from around here, but I wouldn’t call me strange…”

She whacked him with her baseball cap and climbed from the Jeep. “Hey Tad, come meet the Shakespearean Shepherd.”

Nonplussed, Matt shut the door of the vehicle behind him and strode, albeit somewhat gingerly, to the porch, hand extended. “I’m Matt. Pleased to meet you. Lane offered to let me see a sheep ranch in action, and who could turn that down?”

Tad stood silently for a moment before taking Matt’s hand.” Welcome.” He turned to Lane, a wry look on his face and said, “Funny one to be sharing the inner workings of a sheep ranch.”

Lane bopped her brother with the hat on her way inside. What else is a sister to do when her brother gets in a dig under the watchful eye of an interesting man? Matt shrugged at Tad and followed Lane’s beckon. “Seems like I’m supposed to follow.”

“She’s probably going to introduce you to Mom and Patience and find out where Dad is. If you want to rile her a bit, tell her you would assume that a sheep rancher might be in the barn with any injured lambs instead of galivantin’ about town.”

Matt started to apologize and explain, but something in Tad’s eyes told him that this was another dig at Lane, and an expected one. “Will do.”

Martha Argosy dried her hands on a faded apron as she turned to meet him.” I’m sorry; my hands are wet. It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Rugby.”

“I’ve already enjoyed the hospitality of your sheep. It’s nice to meet you as well.”

Lane eyed him curiously before she turned to her mother.” I got his name wrong. It’s Rushby.”

“Oh I’m sorry, Mr—”

“Matt. Matt’s just fine. It’s not a big deal. The world won’t end if someone switches a few letters in my name.”

“Can you stay to lunch?”

All eyes turned to Martha. Lane’s jaw visibly dropped. Tad, in the doorway, turned, and clamored down the steps, and Patience’s eyes grew so large it looked like Ping-Pong balls had replaced them.

Martha Argosy hadn’t invited anyone to dine with them in over five years.

“Thank you. I—”

“We just ate. He’s probably stuffed, but we can try to shove more down him.”

Lane turned to leave the room and stopped. “Mom, where is Dad?”

Matt winked at Martha and said, “I would imagine he’s in the barn taking care of any injured lambs as any self-respecting sheep rancher should.”

Lane did an about-face, threw Matt a scathing look, grabbed a large plastic tumbler from the cupboard, filled it with cold water from the fridge, tested it, and then added a few ice cubes. “There. Let’s go.”

Just outside the barn, Lane pushed Matt out of the shaft of light streaming through the doors. “Careful. They’ll see your shadow,” she whispered. “Go around to the side, see where Tad is, and then come tell me.”

“Yes,
ma’am
.” Matt inched along the side of the barn in an exaggerated way that drove Lane absolutely crazy. Seconds later, though it felt like several long minutes, he returned. “Okay, two guys are working with a lamb in the right corner stall. There are two boys around ten to fifteen years old hanging over a stall. I think Tad is holding the lamb’s head. Someone with similar boots and a hat like the one he was wearing is sitting there, but I couldn’t see his face and one of the men was blocking him.”

“That should be Tad. He usually holds the lambs. He’s really good with them. Are there any other sheep around?”

“Not that I saw, why?”

“Don’t want to get tripped up. The boys won’t mess me up, so I’m good to go if I can get in without anyone looking at the door.”

He watched from the other window, fascinated as she slipped through the door, went circuitously around the barn to behind the two boys hanging over the stall. One looked down and then commented casually, “Looks like we’re getting mice in here again.”

Tad mentioned something about poison. Matt’s eyes grew wide. That voice was not coming from the guy holding the lamb. He gestured wildly at the boys, trying to warn her, but wicked grins covered their faces. Tad turned and shook his head saying, “It’s amazing how bold these mice keep getting.”

Lane dumped. A head shot up to her gloating face. Her look of triumph turned into dismay and then guilt. “Um sorry, Dad. I—”

“Towel,” grumbled the voice, and to Matt’s amazement, Warren Argosy used the towel to wipe the lamb dry.

Lane began apologizing again, but a coughing fit stopped her. Warren threw her an irritated look. “Get out of here before you need more medical attention than this little fellow.”

With a backward glance that told Tad and Matt both that she wouldn’t forget it, Lane shuffled to the barn door, hands in pockets and looking like a kid sent out of the way. Matt hurried to meet her at the door and try to explain. He found her leaning against the side of the barn wheezing and fumbling with an inhaler.

“Can I help—”

Lane waved him off and inhaled a deep breath of Albuterol. “I’m fi—” she coughed. “Fine. I’ll be okay. Let’s go saddle you a horse, and we can take a ride. I want to show you something.”

To Matt, the next scene was ripped from the pages of his boyhood westerns and old movies. He watched fascinated, as she pulled tack from a wall, bridled the horses, saddled them, and led them to a nearby corral fence. “Climb up on that second rail. I’ll bring her to you and you can slide on.”

“Her?” Matt climbed the fence, balancing carefully on the rail. As Lane helped him slide onto the saddle and fit his feet in the stirrups, she explained how to ride.

“Her name is Cardiff.” Lane mounted her horse and turned him around. “Stay beside me until you get the hang of it.”

They circled the barns twice before they wandered down the driveway. Halfway to the road, Matt suddenly felt uneasy. Their comfortable companionable silence was gone, and in its place came an awkwardness that he scrambled to remove. “So what is your horse’s name?”

“Talgarth.”

Still grasping at straws as he pondered the sudden change in the air around them, he grabbed for the first thing that came to mind. “Interesting names you have for your horses.”

“We name all our horses after towns and cities in the British Isles. Cardiff and Talgarth are both Welsh names.” She gave him a pointed look. “Want to see the whole ranch? It’s mostly uphill to see it and really it’s kind of hard for a beginning rider, but it’s a gorgeous view.” The change of subject made things more comfortable.