Night Thunder by Jill Gregory Read Free Book Online Page B

Diner.
    The morning was mild, without any trace of the chill that had pinged the air once the sun went down last night. She was comfortable in her sandals, Diesel jeans, and a red tank top as she studied the long, pleasant main street, filled with rows of shops. Some of them—like Granny’s Quilts and Mrs. Brown’s Antiques—looked brand-new and were probably geared toward the tourists staying at the Crystal Horseshoe Dude Ranch. Others—like the Mane Event beauty salon, Merck’s Hardware, and Krane’s drugstore—looked as weathered and permanent as the mountains themselves and had probably been here the last time she walked along this street—with her parents when she was eight years old.
    What struck her most was the pure freshness of the pine-laced air, the vastness of the rolling gray and green expanses stretching in every direction from the town, and the gorgeous silk-blue sky that seemed to fill the universe. Her breath caught at the sight of the mountains towering in the distance, glittering snow frosting their peaks. A waterfall glinted like liquid crystal amid cool green ponderosa pine. And something inside of her, something knotted tight, relaxed at the sight of all this space and openness, at the grand wild beauty of it arrayed before her as far as she could see.
    She felt at last that she might be safely, thoroughly, totally removed from New York—and from the danger that had sent her fleeing from the city.
    “Morning. Coffee?” A buxom, middle-aged waitress with a mane of wiry, silver-frosted hair pulled back in a low ponytail dashed toward her, coffeepot in hand, the moment she slid into an empty booth near the back of the restaurant.
    “Here’s the specials of the day, and here’s our regular menu. I’ll be back in a sec,” the waitress told her breathlessly as she finished pouring coffee. She flashed a quick, harried smile, and her dangling crystal earrings swung as she rushed over to the cash register where several customers were lined up to pay.
    Josy cradled the coffee cup in both hands as she raised it to her lips. Thank God for caffeine. The coffee was hot and strong and glided down her throat. The waitress had her hands full, bringing out plates of eggs and sausage, pancakes, toast, refilling coffee cups, trying to wipe down a newly vacated table as yet more customers entered the diner and the little bell over the door jangled an announcement of their arrival.
    By the time the waitress had a moment to skid to a stop beside her table once more, she was ready to order scrambled eggs, hash browns, and toast.
    “Got it, I’ll bring it out quick as I can,” the waitress promised, scribbling frantically on her pad.
    “Is it always this crazy in here?” Josy asked with a smile, and the woman rolled her eyes.
    “It’s busy every day, but usually we’ve got it covered. Today we’re shorthanded. The owner and the lady who works the cash register are in Vegas, and the owner’s granddaughter was supposed to come in but her baby has a cold, so . . .” She sighed. “It looks like I’m ‘it’ for now. Don’t worry, though, hon, we’ve got a great cook and he’s fast, so you shouldn’t have to wait too long.”
    And she didn’t. Her breakfast arrived in a remarkably short time considering the crowd, and she dug in, famished and feeling like she hadn’t really tasted anything since she’d left New York.
    She savored every bite and by the time the last crust of toast was gone and she was lingering over her third cup of coffee, Bessie’s Diner had pretty much emptied out and the waitress was clearing tables left and right.
    “Is that it for you, hon—?” The waitress began, but she stopped in midsentence as the door to the diner opened and a lean blonde of about thirty wearing a lemon-yellow shirt, black jeans, and a slim gold bracelet slipped inside.
    “Roberta, don’t kill me, but the invitation list for my shower isn’t ready yet.” The blonde thrust a hand through her hair