she’d stood on the porch waving until their mini-van turned the corner.
She’d cleared the table and put on a fresh pot of coffee when she heard Tiny coming down the stairs, circumspectly like a gentleman. Biker, my foot! In the first place, you’re too old for that sort of nonsense, and in the second place…”
“Good morning.”
She didn’t turn around. “Good morning. I’ll have your breakfast in a few minutes.”
“That’s all right. I can get something in town.”
“You won’t find anything open on Sunday, and besides, there’s plenty of batter left, and the waffle iron heats quick.”
A chair scraped the wide terrazzo tile as he sat down. “Thanks for the things you left in my room.”
“You’re welcome. Daddy got them for you.”
“I had on clean clothes when I came.”
“It smells that way.”
“A biker in a laundromat can empty out all the other customers in a hurry. Do you think I could…”
“The utility room is that way.” She jerked her head toward the folding doors she’d had installed to shut off the old-style laundry room from the rest of the kitchen.
“Thanks. I stashed my stuff in the garage.”
Just making yourself right at home, aren’t you? “Where are your buddies?”
“Probably out looking for trouble. At least they’re not looking for me. They think I went off Rosedale Bridge into Pine Branch Creek.”
“What do they think that?”
“Because I meant for them to, I guess.”
Penelope let herself look at him as she brought his coffee. He presented a different picture without the grimy bandana covering his wavy gray hair, now neatly combed back. He’d shaved off his sideburns and the chin stubble. Instead of leather, he wore new jeans and a dark green knit golf shirt. When he said, “Yeah, it’s really me,” she realized she’d been staring.
“What are you anyway? FBI? DEA? Or maybe one of the bad guys?”
He shook his head. “I’ll never tell.” Then he grinned. “But it’s Sam now, not Tiny.”
“Sam what?”
“Just Sam. I am Sam, play-it-again-Sam, good Sam. Take your pick.”
She curled her lip and began to spoon batter onto the smoking waffle iron. A few minutes later, when she slid the plate in front of him, he laughed—a rumbling sound reminding her of the old men who used to sit on a bench in front of the courthouse when she was a little girl, feeding the squirrels, reliving their glory days in the first World War, and keeping tabs on everyone’s comings and goings. “Clown waffles?”
“The little boys staying on the third floor loved them.” She took a pitcher of warm syrup from the microwave and set it down. “I used to make them for Bradley. He thought they were pretty special.”
“He probably wouldn’t appreciate you telling me that.”
“Probably not. By the way, how do you know my son?”
“Uh-uh. I was ready for that question.”
She poured herself another cup of coffee and sat down across from him. “Did you clean that place on your head last night? It really needed stitches. I could’ve done it if I’d had what I needed, but…”
“Don’t worry about it.”
Penelope leaned on her elbows. “If you’re going to use my bed and breakfast for covert operations, I ought to know something about them. And about you.”
“No, you oughtn’t.”
“Oughtn’t? I don’t here that much around here.”
He wiped syrup from his lips. “I’m not from around here.”
“But you’re here, as at the B&B. For how long, by the way?”
“Until I leave.”
“Well, how blessed long is that?”
“I’ll let you know.”
“I’m empty until Thursday. Then I’ll fill up for the Black Walnut Festival.”
He looked up with no hint of humor in his blue eyes. Blue as the summer sky…but sad. Or maybe haunted.
“I might want to hang around until then.”
“Be my guest—literally.” She hoped he couldn’t see how her heart was pounding under the ribbed white turtleneck.
“You’ll be reimbursed. What
She’d cleared the table and put on a fresh pot of coffee when she heard Tiny coming down the stairs, circumspectly like a gentleman. Biker, my foot! In the first place, you’re too old for that sort of nonsense, and in the second place…”
“Good morning.”
She didn’t turn around. “Good morning. I’ll have your breakfast in a few minutes.”
“That’s all right. I can get something in town.”
“You won’t find anything open on Sunday, and besides, there’s plenty of batter left, and the waffle iron heats quick.”
A chair scraped the wide terrazzo tile as he sat down. “Thanks for the things you left in my room.”
“You’re welcome. Daddy got them for you.”
“I had on clean clothes when I came.”
“It smells that way.”
“A biker in a laundromat can empty out all the other customers in a hurry. Do you think I could…”
“The utility room is that way.” She jerked her head toward the folding doors she’d had installed to shut off the old-style laundry room from the rest of the kitchen.
“Thanks. I stashed my stuff in the garage.”
Just making yourself right at home, aren’t you? “Where are your buddies?”
“Probably out looking for trouble. At least they’re not looking for me. They think I went off Rosedale Bridge into Pine Branch Creek.”
“What do they think that?”
“Because I meant for them to, I guess.”
Penelope let herself look at him as she brought his coffee. He presented a different picture without the grimy bandana covering his wavy gray hair, now neatly combed back. He’d shaved off his sideburns and the chin stubble. Instead of leather, he wore new jeans and a dark green knit golf shirt. When he said, “Yeah, it’s really me,” she realized she’d been staring.
“What are you anyway? FBI? DEA? Or maybe one of the bad guys?”
He shook his head. “I’ll never tell.” Then he grinned. “But it’s Sam now, not Tiny.”
“Sam what?”
“Just Sam. I am Sam, play-it-again-Sam, good Sam. Take your pick.”
She curled her lip and began to spoon batter onto the smoking waffle iron. A few minutes later, when she slid the plate in front of him, he laughed—a rumbling sound reminding her of the old men who used to sit on a bench in front of the courthouse when she was a little girl, feeding the squirrels, reliving their glory days in the first World War, and keeping tabs on everyone’s comings and goings. “Clown waffles?”
“The little boys staying on the third floor loved them.” She took a pitcher of warm syrup from the microwave and set it down. “I used to make them for Bradley. He thought they were pretty special.”
“He probably wouldn’t appreciate you telling me that.”
“Probably not. By the way, how do you know my son?”
“Uh-uh. I was ready for that question.”
She poured herself another cup of coffee and sat down across from him. “Did you clean that place on your head last night? It really needed stitches. I could’ve done it if I’d had what I needed, but…”
“Don’t worry about it.”
Penelope leaned on her elbows. “If you’re going to use my bed and breakfast for covert operations, I ought to know something about them. And about you.”
“No, you oughtn’t.”
“Oughtn’t? I don’t here that much around here.”
He wiped syrup from his lips. “I’m not from around here.”
“But you’re here, as at the B&B. For how long, by the way?”
“Until I leave.”
“Well, how blessed long is that?”
“I’ll let you know.”
“I’m empty until Thursday. Then I’ll fill up for the Black Walnut Festival.”
He looked up with no hint of humor in his blue eyes. Blue as the summer sky…but sad. Or maybe haunted.
“I might want to hang around until then.”
“Be my guest—literally.” She hoped he couldn’t see how her heart was pounding under the ribbed white turtleneck.
“You’ll be reimbursed. What
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