Lost but not Forgotten
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Gillian managed to stay convinced that he hadn’t until the lunch traffic waned enough to slow her hectic pace. He was still there. And he snagged her arm as she darted past.
“Hey, Flo,” Mitch called, hunching to peer into the kitchen via the pass-through. “Isn’t there a state rule requiring employees to take regular breaks? Appears to me that Gillian, here, is overdue.”
Flo stuck her head out around the kitchen door. “Gilly-girl. Climb up there on the stool next to Mitch and take a load off. I said earlier you’ve got to eat. What’ll it be? Bert’s special is chicken-fried steak. But, shoot, you’d know that. You’ve served a gazillion plates of the stuff so far.”
Gillian would have rather sat anywhere than beside Mitch Valetti. Unfortunately, a mob of high schoolers bounded in at that moment, filling the remaining empty seats at the counter. “Uh, Flo. I’ll just take these kids’ orders first. I can eat later. A dinner salad will do me, if you want to set one aside. The house dressing looked good.”
Flo came all the way out of the kitchen. She fanned a ruddy face with the tail of her apron. “All that bunch of twerps ever order are french fries and Cokes. I’ll handle ’em. You eat.”
“Skinny as you are,” Mitch observed, “you ought to eat something more substantial than a damned salad.” He rounded on Gillian. “You’re not anorexic or anything, are you?”
She felt her jaw slacken and snapped her mouth closed. “Are you always so free and personal with someone you haven’t even met?”
“We met. Flo introduced you earlier.” Mitch stuck out his hand and grasped hers gently. “I’m Mitch Valetti. Detective. Er…former detective.” He acted flustered, quickly releasing her hand to curl his wide palms around his coffee mug instead. “Guess you could say I’m a rancher now.”
“I’m sure there’s a story somewhere in that statement.” Allowing a reluctant smile along with a small sigh of capitulation, Gillian slid onto the end stool. “A detective turned rancher has the makings of an intriguing book.”
“Are you a starving writer, then?”
She shook her head. “Gee, I thought I was a bona fide waitress.”
Grinning, Mitch took another swig before setting his mug back on the counter. “Touch'e. I deserved that. You’re a good waitress. At least, you managed Flo’s lunch crowd better than her niece, Tracy, ever did. Say, I didn’t mean to offend you.”
“You didn’t,” Gillian said, glancing up as Flo placed a huge taco salad in front of her. “Hey, this isn’t what I ordered.” Frowning, she dragged her fork through the mountain of lettuce, black beans, olives, avocado, chicken and grated cheese heaped inside a crisp tortilla shell. She’d never be able to eat even a quarter of this.
“Are you allergic to any of that stuff?” Mitch enquired.
Gillian’s frown deepened. “No. Not that I know of.”
“Then stop complaining and chow down. I guarantee Bert makes the tastiest taco salads in town. Add a generous splash of his homemade salsa and you’ve got a lip-smacking meal.”
“So now you’re a detective turned rancher turned restaurant reviewer?” As she spoke, Gillian brought a forkful of the concoction to her mouth.
“You gotta forgive this guy,” Flo said, scooting past them again, hands laden with steaming platters of french fries. “He’s still recovering from an on-the-job injury. Must be the medicine making him act so smart-aleck. He’s never been shy, but usually his mouth is connected to his brain.”
“Oh? A head injury, was it?” Gillian didn’t know what had gotten into her. She rarely teased people she knew well; being sarcastic to a stranger was unthinkable. Especially since she was trying to keep a low profile.
Mitch and Flo found her remark amusing. Flo broke off laughing first. “At last, Valetti. A woman who can toss back all the baloney you dish out. I hope you cultivate her acquaintance. I’ve always said you flit from date to date because the ladies you ask out bore you to death within a week.”
Tilting his head, Mitch stared at Gillian so long she choked on a slice of olive. An infusion of heat seeped up her neck and across her cool cheeks. “I shouldn’t have said anything. It was rude of me. I don’t know you well enough to crack jokes about your injury.”
“I’d like to get to know you better,” he said, gazing directly into her eyes.
Excitement fluttered in her stomach before tightening into a coil of apprehension. Gillian hadn’t fielded a pass in so long she’d forgotten how to extricate herself gracefully. She wasn’t sure what words to use. “Look,” she said at last. “I’m, uh, sure you’re sincere. And nice. But I, ah, have been married before.” It was lame, but the first thing that popped into her head.
Mitch stiffened visibly. “Bitter divorce?”
“No. A relief.” Gillian responded more honestly than she’d intended.
“Then what’s the problem? I’m more than willing to keep things simple.”
As Gillian scrabbled for a comeback that would end his pursuit, the door opened and a petite blonde dressed in a police uniform walked in. “Mitch. Hi!” Beaming, she waved and looked as pleased as a cat who’d found a fat goldfish. “Ethan said I’d probably catch you here. He told me you might be taking on some private investigative work. I have something that may strike your fancy if you’ve got some free time. My sister Lori said you could be busy—that you had a strange case fall right in your lap.”
“It’s not really a case,” Mitch admitted, casting Gillian a quick apology with his eyes. “I posted an ad in the paper for a week, but only one person responded. A sicko, at that. So, what’ve you got, and what does it pay? My pension covers my bills. But if I want to increase my herd, I need extra cash.”
The woman took Gillian’s measure. “You’re involved at the moment,” she said to Mitch. “My case is confidential. I’ll be at the station if you want to swing by later. Or come to Lori’s house tonight. I’ll fix dinner and we can talk. Lori has a class at the college, so we won’t be disturbed.”