and pencil, she slipped into the stream of action without a ripple. Dishes clattered. Voices rumbled. Steam clouded or curled, spreading the smells of grease, coffee and fresh-baked bread. A waitress’s telltale perfume. She’d have to wash and rinse her hair twice tonight, but the thought didn’t annoy her as it used to. She pushed back a surge of uneasiness.
If there was an extra spring in her step, it wasn’t because today was Wednesday. She hadn’t worn her hair up in a French twist for any particular reason. Her heart didn’t leap each time the door jangled open. No, not hers. That would mean she cared who came in. And she was way too smart for that. Irene whizzed past balancing loaded plates on both arms. The harried waitress’s well-timed mumble found its mark and Mary Lou scanned the eating customers. Ah. So Grace had discovered the new driver for Valley Produce, had she?
When the pretty young woman tossed him a parting smile and headed toward the kitchen, Mary Lou stepped into her path. “The family in booth three finished five minutes ago.”
Grace blushed, knowing she’d been caught flirting. “Yes, ma’am.”
Mary Lou nodded and moved out of the way. Yes, ma’am, old lady, ma’am. As if she’d never experienced the thrill of a man’s appreciative gaze. As if she never would.
Without vanity, she knew her thick dark hair had very little gray, her skin few wrinkles, her body little excess flesh for a woman of fifty-two years. Men stillcast her second glances. She stared at the front door, realized what she was doing and turned back to the counter wearing a blush of her own.
Drivers sat hunched over their plates in a long row. Cattle at the trough, she’d called them once upon a time, when her dreams were big and her patience shrank in proportion to her swelling feet. She’d been so disdainful then. So…naive. Funny how tragedy changed a person’s outlook. She’d returned from the East a whole lot sadder but wiser.
These men had names. Families. Troubles and triumphs. Her feet swelled worse than ever, but thank God her head didn’t.
“Hey, beautiful, c’mere a minute,” a familiar voice boomed.
Irene, Grace and Mary Lou swiveled their heads at the same time. Nate Dawson grinned at all three but crooked his finger at Mary Lou. The younger women rolled their eyes fondly and returned to their duties.
Smiling, Mary Lou walked to the barrel-shaped trucker who’d become a true friend over the years. The birth of his two daughters, his problems with various employers, the glorious day he’d bought his own rig—she’d shared them all with Nate. Just as he’d cheered her promotion to manager two years ago. She suspected he’d put the original bug in the new owner’s ear that led to a serious interview.
She stopped in front of Nate and patted his arm. “How’s it going, stranger? You haven’t stopped by my office in ages.”
“Been workin’ against the clock the last coupla months. Only stopped today ‘cause I was runnin’ on fumes. By the way, pump 9 is knockin’ real bad.”
“I know. It’s on my list.” Along with a hundred other details to take care of. She tapped Nate’s polished plate and chuckled. “Sorry you didn’t like the special.”
“I couldn’t hurt Danny’s feelings now, could I? In fact, maybe I’d better have some of his peach cobbler.”
“Mmm. Aren’t you forgetting those size-forty pants you were going to fit into for Cindy’s wedding?” His daughter was getting married in three weeks. Short of liposuction, Nate was out of time.
His hopeful expression fell. “I stuck to my diet all morning. Didn’t stop for a doughnut or nothin’, you can ask Frank. He’s been tailin’ my mud flaps since San Antonio. Tell her I didn’t stop, will ya, Frank?” Nate elbowed the driver on his right, nearly knocking the smaller man off his stool.
Frank resettled his skinny rump and slanted his colleague a lethal glance. “Touch me again and Cindy’ll
If there was an extra spring in her step, it wasn’t because today was Wednesday. She hadn’t worn her hair up in a French twist for any particular reason. Her heart didn’t leap each time the door jangled open. No, not hers. That would mean she cared who came in. And she was way too smart for that. Irene whizzed past balancing loaded plates on both arms. The harried waitress’s well-timed mumble found its mark and Mary Lou scanned the eating customers. Ah. So Grace had discovered the new driver for Valley Produce, had she?
When the pretty young woman tossed him a parting smile and headed toward the kitchen, Mary Lou stepped into her path. “The family in booth three finished five minutes ago.”
Grace blushed, knowing she’d been caught flirting. “Yes, ma’am.”
Mary Lou nodded and moved out of the way. Yes, ma’am, old lady, ma’am. As if she’d never experienced the thrill of a man’s appreciative gaze. As if she never would.
Without vanity, she knew her thick dark hair had very little gray, her skin few wrinkles, her body little excess flesh for a woman of fifty-two years. Men stillcast her second glances. She stared at the front door, realized what she was doing and turned back to the counter wearing a blush of her own.
Drivers sat hunched over their plates in a long row. Cattle at the trough, she’d called them once upon a time, when her dreams were big and her patience shrank in proportion to her swelling feet. She’d been so disdainful then. So…naive. Funny how tragedy changed a person’s outlook. She’d returned from the East a whole lot sadder but wiser.
These men had names. Families. Troubles and triumphs. Her feet swelled worse than ever, but thank God her head didn’t.
“Hey, beautiful, c’mere a minute,” a familiar voice boomed.
Irene, Grace and Mary Lou swiveled their heads at the same time. Nate Dawson grinned at all three but crooked his finger at Mary Lou. The younger women rolled their eyes fondly and returned to their duties.
Smiling, Mary Lou walked to the barrel-shaped trucker who’d become a true friend over the years. The birth of his two daughters, his problems with various employers, the glorious day he’d bought his own rig—she’d shared them all with Nate. Just as he’d cheered her promotion to manager two years ago. She suspected he’d put the original bug in the new owner’s ear that led to a serious interview.
She stopped in front of Nate and patted his arm. “How’s it going, stranger? You haven’t stopped by my office in ages.”
“Been workin’ against the clock the last coupla months. Only stopped today ‘cause I was runnin’ on fumes. By the way, pump 9 is knockin’ real bad.”
“I know. It’s on my list.” Along with a hundred other details to take care of. She tapped Nate’s polished plate and chuckled. “Sorry you didn’t like the special.”
“I couldn’t hurt Danny’s feelings now, could I? In fact, maybe I’d better have some of his peach cobbler.”
“Mmm. Aren’t you forgetting those size-forty pants you were going to fit into for Cindy’s wedding?” His daughter was getting married in three weeks. Short of liposuction, Nate was out of time.
His hopeful expression fell. “I stuck to my diet all morning. Didn’t stop for a doughnut or nothin’, you can ask Frank. He’s been tailin’ my mud flaps since San Antonio. Tell her I didn’t stop, will ya, Frank?” Nate elbowed the driver on his right, nearly knocking the smaller man off his stool.
Frank resettled his skinny rump and slanted his colleague a lethal glance. “Touch me again and Cindy’ll
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