“Hold your horses!” a man hollered in a deep, rough voice from the back of the café. “I’ll be out in a minute.”
Misty glanced around the long room, noting the high ceilings covered in pressed tin squares and the smooth oak floors like in Adelia’s Delights. Wagon-wheel chandeliers—old lantern-type globes attached to the outer spokes of horizontally hanging wooden wheels—cast soft light over round tables covered in red-and-white checked tablecloths. A tiger oak bar with enough dings and scratches to look original stretched across the back of the room with battered oak bar stools in front and a cash register on one end. A window behind the bar revealed a kitchen updated with chrome appliances.
In one corner, a large cedar Christmas tree reached almost to the ceiling. Red-and-white candy canes, red-and-white plaid bows, and twinkling red-and-white lights decorated the deep green boughs. The scent of cedar battled with the tantalizing aroma of food for prominence.
“What a lovely place,” Misty said. “I could almost believe we’ve stepped back over a hundred years in time.”
“Bet the food’s better now.”
“No doubt.”
“Let’s sit at my favorite table.” Trey indicated a table for two near a front window. He walked over and pulled out a spindle barrel-back captain’s chair with a red-and-white checked seat cushion.
“Thanks,” she said as he seated her at the table.
He sat down and eased the curtains apart. “Never know what you’ll see on Main Street. That’s why I like to sit here.”
“Perfect view.”
“Yeah,” he quickly agreed as he turned his gaze from the street to her. “Couldn’t be better.”
She grabbed a two-sided, plastic-coated menu from between the salt and pepper shakers and big bottle of hot sauce, so she could look at anything but his teasing gaze. She’d never met a guy before who could so easily and comfortably and effectively flirt. He must have graduated top of his class. For that matter, his cousin Kent wasn’t far behind in that graduate degree. No doubt Texans could be outrageous teases for the sheer fun of it, but Wildcat Bluff raised the art form to a new level.
She picked up the other menu and offered it to Trey, wanting him to look at something besides her. She might not have crawled under a burning house, but she wasn’t as pristine as she’d started the day.
“No thanks. I don’t need it.”
“You know what you want to order?”
“I’m a creature of habit.”
“Barbeque?”
He nodded, smiling with boyish charm. “Chopped beef sandwich. Curly fries. Coleslaw. Sweet tea.”
“Sounds good. But I still want to check out my options.”
“Be sure to find out the daily special before you make up your mind. That’s always good, too.”
Misty glanced down the list of down-home Texas favorites. “I bet their chicken-fried steak is delicious.”
“And huge. Better save that order for a day after mending fence or busting a bronc.”
“Then I’ll be saving it forever.”
Trey chuckled. “You never know.”
She didn’t say it, but she did know. Life for her didn’t include falling off a huge animal like a horse or hitting her thumb with a hammer. At least it hadn’t till she’d met Trey. Now she wasn’t so sure. He might have her up on the back of a horse or hammering a fence before she quite realized what had happened to her. No two ways about it, Trey Duval was a dangerous man.
When she heard the uneven sound of boots thudding across the wooden floor in their direction, she glanced up. Now there was danger with a capital D. An enormous cowboy made his careful way toward them. He was six five easy, and solid muscle. A thick crop of ginger hair accented hazel eyes. A barbwire tattoo circled his right bicep—about as big around as her waist—while a lasso tattoo graced the other. Scuffed brown cowboy boots led to faded jeans with ripped-out knees that led to a tight white T-shirt. But the machismo stopped there. He’d tied a red-and-white checked and ruffled apron around his waist.
“Lula Mae,” she read out loud from the pocket of his apron. “Pleased to meet you.”
Trey snorted, but didn’t say anything.
“Darlin’, all the gals are pleased to meet me.” The stranger stopped near the table, favoring his right leg.
Trey snorted louder.
“Just so you know, you can call me Lula, or you can call me Mae, or you can call me Lula Mae, just so long as you call me.”
“And please call me Misty.” She couldn’t help but laugh at his ridiculous words.
“You think I jest?” He appeared wounded by her laughter.
“Slade Steele, you big goof,” Trey said, sounding exasperated. “She’s never calling you.”
“I don’t see a brand on her, but I’m not seeing nearly enough of this fine filly, am I?”
“You’re seeing all you’re ever gonna see of her.” Trey drummed his fingertips on the tabletop.
“Will you two stop talking about me as if I’m not here?” Misty glanced from one to the other. “And for the record, I’m not a filly.”
“I didn’t say it.” Trey crossed his heart with two fingers.