Bo reached in his pocket, took out some coins, and counted out twelve dollars’ worth. He put them on the desk in front of O’Brien and said, “If Luke and Thad show up to make a complaint, Sheriff, you give that to them, understand? And if that’s not good enough to settle the debt…”
“Then I reckon they’ll have to come find us,” Scratch finished in an equally grim voice.
The two Texans turned and walked out of the sheriff’s office, leaving the badly shaken O’Brien behind them.
When they reached the street, they paused. Now that they were out of earshot of the lawman, Scratch asked quietly, “You don’t reckon we ought to ride on like the man suggested, just to save ourselves some trouble, do you, Bo?”
“I suppose it would have been a lot less trouble if you and I and Sam Houston and all those other fellas had just let Santa Anna go on about his business that day at Buffalo Bayou, wouldn’t it?”
Scratch laughed. “Yeah, that’s about what I figured you’d say. The Good Lord seemed to be out of cut-and-run the day He made us, didn’t He?”
“I’d say so.” Bo pointed diagonally across the street toward a building with a sign on it announcing BONNER’S CAFÉ. “That looks like a good place to eat. What say we get a surrounding before we go find a hotel?”
“Lead the way,” Scratch said.
CHAPTER 8
They untied their horses and took the animals with them, threading their way through the crowds in the street. The hitch rail in front of the café was crowded, but there was just enough room left for the Texans’ horses.
A pair of doors with curtained windows in their upper halves led into the building. When Bo opened one of them, a mixture of delicious aromas floated out and washed over him and Scratch.
Scratch paused to take a deep breath. He sighed and then asked, “Are you sure this is Mankiller and not heaven, Bo?”
“I don’t reckon El Señor Dios would have a couple of mangy varmints like those Deverys trying to charge a toll to get into heaven, do you?”
“Probably not,” Scratch agreed.
They went inside and closed the door behind them. The place was busy, which testified that the flavor of the food matched its aroma. Most of the tables covered with blue-checked tablecloths were occupied, and every one of the stools at the counter running along the right side of the room was occupied. A couple of pretty waitresses in gingham dresses and white aprons were hurrying from table to table, delivering platters of food and taking orders. An older but still very attractive woman behind the counter refilled coffee cups for the men who sat there.
Bo spotted an empty table. He pointed it out to Scratch, and they hustled to take it before anybody else could come into the café behind them and steal it out from under them.
As they sat down and removed their hats, one of the fresh-faced waitresses came over to them. “Coffee and the special, gents?” she asked.
Bo glanced at the chalkboard hung on the wall behind the counter. The special, written in lovely, flowing script, was roast beef, potatoes, carrots, peas, biscuits, and apple pie.
“Oh, my, yes, ma’am,” Bo said, his mouth already watering. The prospect of such a meal after living on what he and Scratch could eat on the trail for a couple of weeks was very appetizing.
“And keep the coffee comin’,” Scratch added.
The brown-haired waitress smiled at them. “I sure will,” she promised. “Be right back with your cups.”
Scratch watched her walk back to the counter to turn in the order. “Mighty friendly folks in this place,” he commented.
“In the café, you mean,” Bo said. “The rest of the town didn’t strike me as being all that friendly.”
“Well, no, I reckon not.” Scratch paused. “You think those Devery boys will really come after us?”
Bo shrugged. “The sheriff seemed to think so. I’m not sure how reliable he is, but Luke and Thad didn’t seem to be the sort who’d give up a grudge easily.”
“In other words, we may be in for trouble.” Scratch chuckled. “It’s not like that’ll be a big change for us, will it?”
Bo shook his head. Unfortunately, what Scratch said was true. All they wanted was peace and quiet, and in this case, the opportunity to do a little prospecting. It seemed that those things might be denied to them, at least for a while.
But for the time being, they had a good meal to look forward to, so they pushed those other thoughts away. Neither of them had been the sort to let worry consume them. They took things as they came.
The waitress came back a couple of minutes later, expertly balancing two cups and saucers and a coffeepot, the handle of which she held with a thick leather pad. She set the cups down, filled them, and said, “Your food will be along in just a few minutes, gents.”
“Thanks, miss,” Bo told her. He had been looking back and forth between the waitress and the woman at the counter and had noted the resemblance between them. “Begging your pardon if I’m too nosy, but is that your mother behind the counter?”
The waitress smiled. “That’s right. And the other waitress is my sister.”
“Family business, is it?” Scratch asked. “Is your pa back in the kitchen doin’ the cookin’?”
The young woman’s smile went away. “No, I’m afraid not. I wish he was. He passed away a while back.”
Scratch instantly looked apologetic. “I’m sure sorry, miss,” he said. “Didn’t mean to bring up any bad memories.”
“No, that’s all right. You didn’t know. But to answer your question, my Uncle Charley is the cook.” She smiled again. “And he’s a really good one.”
“I’m sure he is,” Bo said. He took a sip of the strong black coffee. “He brews a good cup of coffee, too.”
Customers at other tables were clamoring for attention. The waitress gave Bo and Scratch a friendly nod, then went back to work.
Scratch sighed. “It’s downright amazin’ how far in my mouth I can shove this big ol’ foot of mine sometimes.”
“I wouldn’t worry about it,” Bo said. “Like the girl told you, you didn’t know about her pa.”
Scratch cast an interested look at the counter and the woman working behind it. “That means the lady’s a widow. Wonder exactly how long it’s been since her husband passed on.” There was nothing Scratch found more intriguing than a good-looking widow lady.
Bo laughed. “I get a feeling that if we wind up staying in Mankiller for very long, we’ll be eating here a lot.”
“We might be,” Scratch said. “We just might be.”
If they did, the quality of the food would justify it, Bo discovered as their meals arrived a few minutes later, delivered by the same waitress. The roast beef was tender, bursting with juices and flavor, and the rest of the food was almost as good. The biscuits were light and fluffy, a far cry from what a fella could cook on the trail. The apple pie topped off the meal perfectly, with its sweet filling and light, flaky crust. All of it was washed down with several cups of coffee, which the pretty brunette kept refilling.
The lunch rush died down a little while the Texans were eating. By the time they were finished, only about half the tables were occupied, and there were a few empty stools at the counter. The woman working there, the mother of the two waitresses, was able to pause and catch her breath. She pushed back a strand of brown hair that had come loose and fallen over her forehead. There were some threads of gray in that hair, but not many, Bo noted. He had to agree with what he knew Scratch was thinking…the woman had a mature beauty that made her very attractive.
In all their years of traveling together, the two of them had seldom if ever paid court to the same woman. One always deferred to the other out of the deep friendship they had developed. Since Scratch had expressed an interest in this lady first, Bo didn’t intend to interfere.