She did want to live here. Because it was small and out of the way, Argent soothed like a balm to a wounded soul. She and Dayton had lived in Spokane, Washington. In earlier, happier days, they’d driven by Argent to go snowboarding, a few times stopping at the diner for breakfast before hitting the slopes. He’d mocked Hicksville, but she’d fallen in love with the cozy little town forgotten by time.
While most small communities may not have accepted strangers, the residents of Argent had welcomed Kevanne with open arms. Maybe they pitied her because she’d been widowed young or the slowly dying town desperately needed new blood, but they’d treated her like a local from the start.
The new billboard still carried the same message, but instead of a laughing little boy, a cowboy of indeterminate age smiled down on the highway. Although she’d sworn off men, she could admit the dark-haired model was ruggedly handsome. But if passersby rode into Argent looking for cowboys, they would be disappointed to find an ordinary Idaho town with ordinary folks. Even before completing some online marketing courses, she’d questioned the council’s advertising. The “town” such as it was didn’t have a lot to offer families with small children or those seeking the cowboy and/or Western experience.
The light changed to green, she saluted the cowboy, and turned left.
She parked outside the bait shop, her first and most important stop. A bell over the door tinkled as she entered. “Hey, Gus!” She waved to the owner behind the counter.
“Good morning, girlie! Anything I can help you with?”
His address didn’t offend her. Eighty if a day, Gus called all men and women under fifty “sonny” and “girlie” respectively.
“My roof is leaking. I need a handyman. You know anybody?”
“Nobody specific comes to mind, but folks around here are pretty handy. You might check the bulletin board.”
“That’s why I’m here.” It had been on the bait shop bulletin board she’d spotted the real estate ad for the lavender farm. Her therapist had given her an assignment: once a week get out of the apartment and do something she enjoyed. So, one Saturday, she’d driven to Argent to visit the little antique shop and to have lunch at the diner. That’s when she’d found and bought Grandma’s quilt. After lunch, some force, some kismet had pulled her across the street into the bait shop. The ad, LAVENDER FARM FOR SALE, had jumped out at her. As if it was meant to be. She put an offer on it that weekend—a big, scary move for a newly widowed woman, but she’d felt a surge of pride because she’d forged ahead despite being nervous.
Her therapist had been a little surprised. “Buying a farm wasn’t what I meant,” she’d said.
While therapy had helped her deal with Dayton’s death, buying the farm had been the turning point, and marked the beginning of living again, of rediscovering Kevanne and liking her.
She was disappointed to see there weren’t any handymen for hire, but she’d come prepared and tacked up her own help wanted flyer. She scanned the other ads, noting free kittens and puppies and chicks for sale, and a “best offer” request on an old lawn tractor. Needs work, the ad said. Come summer, she could use a lawn tractor but not one that needed work. She had enough things requiring repair!
Beginning with fixing the roof herself. She walked up to the counter. “I need some shingles and some roof sealant.”
“This way.” Gus tottered to the back of the store.
There were a couple of boxes of shingles and some gallons of sealant. The charcoal-gray shingles wouldn’t match the roof’s medium brown, but she didn’t care. Once she got on a sounder financial footing, she’d replace the whole roof, but for now, leak-free would be good enough. She paid for a box of shingles and gallon of sealant, lugged the purchases out to her car, and then strode across the street to Millie’s Diner.
The smell of fried eggs, bacon, and coffee hit her nose as soon as she stepped inside. Millie’s was packed. Locals occupied all the tables and most of the counter seating. She shrugged out of her yellow slicker and hung it on the hook with the other raincoats. She waved at a few folks and then squeezed into the lone vacant counter stool next to a stranger.
The guy on her left, a local, had finished his meal. Remnants of the omelet special smeared the plate he pushed away. He’d doused everything in ketchup. “Looks like we’re gonna get more rain,” he said by way of a greeting.
“Looks like it,” she said.
“Have a good day.” He picked up his bill and wended his way to the cash register.
The stranger on her right squinted at a menu like it was written in Chinese.
Pad in hand, Millie bustled over. “What can I get ya, hon?” Nearly as ancient as old Gus, Millie owned the place. Breakfast smelled appetizing, but after climbing on the roof, riding into the woods, encountering a bear, and watching YouTube videos on how to repair a leaky roof, the morning had kind of gotten away from her. It was nearly noon.
“Cheeseburger and fries and a coffee,” she said.
“Got it,” Millie said.
“Is the cheeseburger good?” The stranger’s blue eyes were so light, they were almost silver.
“I like it,” Kevanne replied. Something about him seemed so familiar. Had they met before? Had she run into him somewhere?
“You ready to order?” Millie asked him.
“I’ll have what she’s having,” he replied in a deep, accented voice.
“Same to drink?”
“Yes.”
Millie left to place their orders, and Kevanne surreptitiously eyed the stranger, trying to recall why he seemed so familiar. She was sure she’d never heard the voice before. Maybe she’d seen him across a crowded room? Could he have been a business associate of Dayton’s?
She watched as he fiddled with the ketchup bottle, the napkin dispenser, and the salt and pepper shakers. He sprinkled salt into his palm and sniffed it.
No, not an associate of Dayton’s.
Maybe he only resembled somebody she’d met? Faint lines in skin tanned to mocha radiated from his eyes. Thick medium-brown hair fell over his forehead, and he kept pushing it away as if it annoyed him.
“You’re not from around here, are you?” she commented, trying to place a nationality to his accent.
He chuckled. “No, I’m not from around here, although I’m staying in the area temporarily.” She’d always been a sucker for a man with a gravelly voice. Bass? Baritone? Whichever, it was sexy as hell. There was no greater turn-on than a man with a deep voice whispering naughty suggestions in your ear. Or even asking what’s for dinner. It was sexy, period. Not that she was interested.
Dayton had had a rather high voice for a man. People sometimes had mistaken him for a woman on the phone. She’d giggled once…
“Two coffees.” Millie set mugs of steaming brew in front of them and bustled away.
Kevanne took a big gulp. “Perfect as usual.”
The stranger took a drink and spit it back into the cup. “It’s bitter!”
Kevanne stifled a snort. “Millie’s coffee will put hair on your chest.” She liked strong coffee. Black. Unadulterated.
He glanced at his chest. “It will?”
She motioned to the tiny half-and-half containers and the packets of sweetener. “Doctor it up.”