“Much obliged,” Hawk called after her. He sat there, sipping the hot coffee, trying to get his mind back on the business that caused him to be in this town. He was still irritated with himself for letting irresponsible thoughts take control of his mind when he suddenly felt a hand on his shoulder, causing him to start.

“Whoa, horse!” Sophie said. “You’re as jumpy as a cat. What were you thinking about?”

“Nothin’,” he quickly insisted. “I just wasn’t expectin’ it, that’s all.”

“Glad you made it back for supper. Is Martha fixing you a plate?”

“Yes, she is,” Martha answered for him, coming through the doorway at that moment, carrying a plate heaped high. She placed it on the table before him and checked to see if he needed coffee.

“If you pile everybody’s plate up that high, we’re not gonna have enough to make it to closing time,” Sophie teased.

“Hawk appreciates my cookin’,” Martha said, “so I like to see that he gets plenty of it.” She turned her head toward him and gave him a little smile. “Besides,” she went on, “if you hadn’t been flirtin’ with those two cowboys over there, you mighta waited on him and fixed his plate the way you wanted it.”

“That’s just doing business,” Sophie replied. “Those boys come in here to eat every week. Mr. Hawk, here, doesn’t come in but once in a blue moon.” She turned quickly toward him then. “But we’re still mighty glad you come in when you are in town.”

Sitting there with his fork raised halfway to his mouth, he was astonished by the inane bantering between the two women. Noticing, Martha said, “Look, we’ve got him so confused he can’t enjoy his supper. Let’s let him eat.” Another customer came in the door at that moment, so Martha said, “Go take care of that customer. I’m going back to the kitchen, and we’ll let Hawk eat.”

When they left him, it felt to him like he had been struck by a lightning bolt of reality, his own, in particular. And he realized the absurdity of his thinking there might be something between him and Sophie. His life was not compatible with any woman’s. When he was not working for the army, his home was a cabin, far up the Boulder River, on a stream three hundred yards up the side of a mountain where nothing but wild animals lived. He had no future to offer a woman. With that discouraging truth fixed firmly in his brain, he signaled Martha to bring his apple pie, which he made short work of. Gulping the last of his coffee down, he left his money on the table and headed for the door. What I need is a drink of whiskey, he said to himself.

* * *