“Oh, yessir. He was in just last night.” Sherman felt something hit him between the shoulders like an electric jolt. At first he thought it might be his old bolt of light that he’d taken to be heaven-sent, but this was a sharper, more wounding kind of jolt like jealousy. That’s exactly what it was—a jealous jolt right between the shoulder blades.

“Last night?” Sherman said in a short breath.

“That’s right. He came in the wee wee hours—maybe three, four in the morning. Hardly a soul in here.”

“Why would he do that?”

“Sorry, sir?”

“Oh, nothing—” Sherman said, and started to make his move to get up and leave the red booth. “You say, three, four in the morning he was in here, huh?”

“That’s right. Musta been. Real late—or early, depending— They just sat over in the corner in that booth there, sippin’ coffee and laughing almost till the sun came up.” Sherman stopped and straightened his bolo. He stretched his neck as though trying to see right through the fireproof ceiling to the sky and then he placed the Stetson on his head. “There wasn’t one customer to speak of so I just let her go ahead and visit. Couldn’t see no harm in it. She sure is one grand lady, I’ll tell you that much.”

“She sure is.” Sherman forced a smile and tipped his hat to the manager as he headed for the door.