The Maverick & the Manhattanite. Leanne Banks
*
Gage didn’t pull into his dirt driveway until after eleven o’clock. He stopped by the Martins’ ranch, where he was helping Bob Martin redo the kitchen floor. The family hoped to be back in the house by Thanksgiving, but it was going to be close. Gage wasn’t a certified plumber or electrician, but growing up with his dad had provided him with a lot of practical do-it-yourself knowledge.
He would ask Lissa Roarke if she could send her mold specialists over to the Martins. He thought of her and her long, curly hair and upbeat attitude. Inhaling deeply, he could almost smell her perfume.
Gage scowled at himself. What was he thinking? He’d just met Lissa and he could tell she was city through and through. Not at all his type. He’d dated a couple city girls during his early twenties who’d visited relatives in Rust Creek Falls, and he’d quickly learned that the women didn’t have any staying power and needed more amusements than this small town could offer.
Stepping out of his car, he felt a chilly wind sweep through him. He shivered and hustled to the trailer he was living in now. If Gage had devoted himself to repairing his own home, he could have been in it a month ago, but it just didn’t seem right to him. Entire families had been uprooted by the flood, so he spent most evenings trying to give those most affected a hand. Even though people were in need, they were more than willing to help their neighbors. That was a fact of life in Rust Creek and it was one of the reasons he’d allowed himself to be talked into running for sheriff.
There may have been times when he’d thought about leaving Montana, but his roots here ran deep. His family and the people were important to him. Ranching was in his blood. Gage stepped inside the trailer and felt the wind shake and rattle through his metal home. Chuckling to himself, he rubbed his hands together before he turned on his coffeemaker. Sometimes he felt like he was living in a tin can. He would get around to fixing his own home after he’d helped more of the families who were suffering.
Gage pulled off his hat and grabbed a pair of pajamas out of one of the few drawers in the trailer. Still cold, he stood over the coffeemaker until the brown liquid made its way to the carafe. Even with the long hours he was pulling he still sometimes had a hard time falling asleep, so he’d started drinking decaf at night. He sure as hell didn’t need one more reason to keep him awake.
He poured a cup of the hot coffee then sank onto the sofa that sat across from his television. Turning on the TV, he prepared to lose himself in a ballgame. For a few minutes before he fell asleep, he would think about something besides the way so many of his people were suffering. He watched for several moments before his eyes started to drift closed. He blinked, realizing he was more tired than he’d thought.
Gage brushed his teeth and washed his face, then pulled out the sleep sofa and sank onto the bed. It wasn’t the best bed, but it felt good at the moment. He listened to the game with his eyes closed for a few moments then turned off the TV. Sighing, he forced himself not to think about what he had on his plate tomorrow. Instead, a vision of a red-haired woman sneaked into his mind like smoke under a door.
Gage shook his head, willing the image away.
* * *
Lissa dragged herself out of bed, started the coffeemaker in the room and stumbled into the shower. It would take a few days for her to get used to the time zone change. It might only be two hours different from New York, and she might be an early riser, but five-thirty a.m. was a little too early for her. Inhaling a cup of coffee, she pulled on a set of long underwear, jeans and a sweater, as she ran through a mental list of what she wanted to accomplish today. Hoping she would succeed after riling the good sheriff, she brushed her teeth and put on a little lip gloss, then headed out of her room.
She smelled the scent of fresh coffee brewing along with something cinnamony baking in the oven and bacon frying. Lissa drooled. She’d planned to grab some yogurt from the local store.
A woman’s voice called out to her. “Breakfast is almost ready. Come on in to the kitchen.”
Lissa stepped into the warm room, catching sight of Melba Strickland, the eighty-something-year-old owner of the rooming house, removing crispy bacon from a cast iron skillet. “How do you like your eggs, honey?”
“Oh, you don’t need to do that,” Lissa said, noticing a couple of men at the breakfast table. “I planned to grab a bite on my way to the sheriff’s office.”
“No need for that when you can eat the best breakfast in town,” Melba said, then shot Lissa an assessing glance from behind her glasses. “Besides, you look like you could use a little fattening up, and breakfast is included with your room. Sunny-side up or scrambled?”
“Scrambled, thank you,” Lissa said, smiling at the take-charge woman.
“Go ahead and get yourself some coffee,” Melba said, nodding toward the coffeemaker with mugs beside it. “There’s orange juice, too, if you like. What do you have up your sleeve today?”
“Getting more information about the damage from the flood and trying to get a better feel for the layout of the county. I have a mold specialist coming in tomorrow. I’m hoping that since Montana is usually dry that it won’t be the kind of problem we had with Hurricane Sandy.”
Melba shook her head. “Trouble is, not everyone was willing to give up their furniture. If I said it once, I said it a hundred times—you have to get all the wet stuff out of the house, or you’re just asking for more trouble. But I’m an old woman. I don’t know anything.” Melba plopped the scrambled eggs onto a plate along with a large portion of bacon and a huge cinnamon roll. “There you go. Eat up.”
“Oh, that’s entirely too—” Lissa stopped at the hard glance Melba threw at her. “Looks delicious. Thank you,” she said, wondering if there was a hungry dog close by with whom she could share all the food.
She sat down next to an older man who had cleaned his plate. “Hello. I’m Lissa Roarke.”
The man nodded. “Nice to meet you. I’m Gene Strickland, Melba’s husband.”
“I don’t suppose you’re still hungry,” she said in a low voice.
He shook his head and chuckled. “No chance. But I’ll distract her when you’re done. You might wanna fix your own plate from now on. Melba thinks women are too skinny these days and she’s on a mission to change that.”
“Thanks for the tip,” Lissa said. She hadn’t wanted to offend the rooming house owner the second day she’d arrived in the state.
While Gene drank his coffee, Lissa finished her eggs, a slice of bacon and a few bites of the delicious cinnamon roll. When she could eat no more, she nodded in Gene’s direction.
He nodded in return. “Hey Melba, I think we might have a leak in the roof. You want me to fix it?”
Melba frowned. “We don’t have a leak in the roof. We better not have a leak in the roof,” she said, putting her hands on her hips. “Even if we did, I wouldn’t let you go climbing on top of the house at your age. Have you gone crazy? You show me what you’re talking about, Gene.”
Gene smiled and rose from the table. “I think it’s on the northeast side,” he said. “Let’s take a look.”
“Bless you, bless you,” Lissa whispered and quickly rose and wrapped the rest of her cinnamon roll to eat later.
Walking out of the rooming house, she felt a hint of moisture in the cold air. She glanced up at the sky. She hadn’t checked the weather, but she supposed that with those clouds, anything was possible. Shrugging, she headed down the street to the sheriff’s office. The weather wasn’t going to stop her today.
As she stepped into the building that housed the sheriff’s office, she saw Gage putting on his Stetson and looking as if he were preparing to leave.
“Good morning,” she said.
“Mornin’,” he said in return. “I just got a call about an accident, so I won’t be able to show you around today.”