Miner's Daughter by Alice Duncan Read Free Book Online Page B

Hope you like your food.”
    She seemed to have forgotten Mari’s earlier
sniping about the fare at the Mojave Inn. Mari considered this a
piece of good luck, although she didn’t expect it to last The next
time she came to town, Judy would assuredly complain to her about
her bad manners. And she’d be right about them, too.
    Mari told herself she could feel contrite and
apologize to Judy later. Right now she had to keep her wits about
her. It was a darned good thing the wine tasted like vinegar, or
she might be tempted to gulp it down to steady her nerves.
    Because she felt kind of blue for saying
sassy things about the food, Mari said, “I’m sure we will, Judy.”
She was sure of no such thing, having heard from others about the
fare served at the Mojave Inn.
    “Ah,” said Martin, gazing at his plate and
obviously trying to maintain a calm demeanor in, the face of trying
odds, “food.”
    Mari considered it an optimistic statement
under the circumstances.
    Tony Ewing lifted about a pound of fried
onions with his fork, peered beneath to discern what they’d hidden,
and said, “Um . . .”
    If Mari hadn’t been so angry with him, she
might have laughed. Nobody’d warned him about the onions. Judy’s
mother claimed that any kind of meat tasted better when smothered
in fried onions. Since hers was the only restaurant in town, nobody
dared contradict her for fear of being barred for life from her
dining room.
    After making sure Judy was beyond hearing
range, she hissed to Tony, “I told you so.”
    He glanced up from the pile of onions, and
Mari wasn’t sure if he was mad at her or not. She thought she
detected a twinkle in those magnificent eyes, but didn’t dare stare
into them for long enough to be sure. Lordy, the man’s eyes ought
to be outlawed.
    “You didn’t, either. I distinctly recall you
telling me the steaks were as tough as an old boot. You didn’t
mention word one about the cook’s penchant for onions.”
    In spite of herself, Mari smiled. “I guess I
forgot.”
    “Um, I kind of like fried onions.” Martin
slipped his comment into the fairly tense atmosphere, using a
chipper voice in which Mari perceived an undertone of
apprehension.
    “Want some of mine?” Tony obligingly lifted
his fork, from which dangled a tangle of limp onion rings.
    “Ah, no thanks, Tony. I appreciate the
offer.”
    Poor Martin. Of course, he might be a
legitimate good guy, but Mari didn’t feel it would be wise of her
to let down her guard yet. He still might be out to trick her into
some deal she’d regret.
    Tony shoved most of the onions into a pile
beside his steak. “I like onions, too, but not quite that many.” He
tried to saw off a bite of his steak and found it rough going.
Lifting his knife, he glanced first at its edge and then at his
plate. Gingerly, he stabbed at his steak with his fork. The tines
didn’t even make a dent in the meat. He glanced up at Mari, looking
rueful. “I’m afraid you were right about the relative tenderness of
this steak, Miss Pottersby.”
    Mari refrained from another “I told you so.”
Rather, she said, making an attempt to be agreeable, “Maybe you can
get one of those steel carving knives from the kitchen. It’ll
probably taste all right if you can ever cut up.”
    Tony shook his head and resumed gazing at his
steak. He looked both sad and hungry, and Mari took pity on him.
She told herself she was being a jackass to give in to her tender
heart. After all, Tony Ewing had enough money to buy the whole town
of Mojave Wells if he took it into his head to do so.
    Nevertheless, she said, “Please excuse me for
a moment,” rose from her place, and walked to the swing door
separating the dining room from the kitchen.
    Even though she’d never bought a meal in
their restaurant, she’d been to the Nelsons’ kitchen often enough
to know the way. She returned a few moments later, bearing a sharp
knife in her fist. Because she was feeling kind of jocular, she
repositioned