Chapter 29

Dawson entered the diner, his thoughts only on pancakes and bacon. He should be sitting in a pew with his brothers and parents, but the call of something good to eat had gotten the better of him.

Unfortunately, a lot of other people had the same idea he had, and the diner didn't have a spare table or seat anywhere.

"Just you, Dawson?" Sandy asked.

"Yes, ma'am," he said.

"Might be a bit," she said. "We've got some bigger parties and couples." She looked at her list and wrote his name down. Then she grabbed a couple of menus and called someone's name.

Dawson did everything as a single, and he'd never been overlooked because he wasn't part of a party or a couple. But looking around, he definitely felt out of place and like he wouldn't get a table until Sandy had served everyone else.

His first thought was to go somewhere else, but he edged against the wall and waited. He busied himself with his phone, only looking up when names got called. Two tables, then three, and then Sandy called, "Caroline."

Dawson found the blonde easily enough as she stepped around another cowboy. He wasn't sure if his increased pulse was because of her beauty or because he'd never filed any paperwork, and the moment she saw him, she'd start lecturing. He certainly didn't need a public dressing-down in the local diner, in front of people he knew.

Caroline stepped over to Sandy and said, "My friend had to leave. It's just me."

Sandy frowned. "Just you?" It was clear she didn't want to serve singles today, though Dawson had never had any trouble before. "It's a table for two." She glanced at all the others waiting, clearly torn about what to do.

Before he could stop himself, he pushed away from the wall and took the few steps to Caroline's side. "There you are," he said above the din in the diner. "Sorry I didn't see you before."

Caroline looked at him like he'd spoken Japanese, and even Sandy's mouth had dropped open a little.

"You can cross me off, Sandy," he said. "I'm with her, and we'll take that table you've got for two."

Sandy recovered first, and she snapped her mouth shut and waved the two menus in her hand. "All right. This way."

Dawson waited for Caroline to go ahead of him, but she simply stood there staring at him. "Do you want to eat breakfast, or not?" he murmured. "Come on." He moved in front of her and reached back to take her hand.

Her skin against his sent a pulse of warmth through his body, which he tried to ignore. This was insane. The woman didn't even like him. His pancakes would probably taste like poison with her sitting across the table from him, glaring and throwing thinly veiled insults at him.

Sandy led them to a table against the wall, and Dawson sat down. "Thanks," he said as he picked up a menu. Caroline sat too, and Sandy had already left.

"She wouldn't have seated you without me," Dawson said. He studied the menu he had memorized like his life depended on having his eyes on the breakfast choices printed before him. "We don't have to talk. I'm just hungry."

Caroline made a noise of disbelief. "We don't have to talk?"

He glanced at her. "No."

"Well." She huffed, but Dawson went back to his menu. She wore a burgundy cardigan though it wasn't anywhere near cold enough to wear such a thing this Sunday morning. He'd only met her once, but Dawson found himself wondering if she had a thing for sweaters.

Why do you care?he asked himself.

He didn't, and he looked up as a waitress arrived. "Ah, howdy, Marianne."

A smile split her face. "Dawson Rhinehart." She laughed like they were best friends for life. "Haven't seen you in a while."

He glanced over to Caroline and then looked at Marianne again. "Been busy with harvest and Market Day and all that," he said. Then he allowed himself to smile at the woman who was probably only five or six years older than him. "I mean, I'm playing hooky from church just for some pancakes."

She laughed, and Dawson joined his chuckles to the sound of it. "You and a whole lot of other people," she said. "You want water and orange juice now, with milk when the food comes?"

"You haven't lost your memory," he said.

"I should hope not," Marianne joked. "I'm only thirty-six." She grinned over to Caroline. "What about you, honey? Something to drink before I take your orders?"

"Diet Coke, please," she said through tight lips and partially gritted teeth.

Dawson's heartbeat skipped over itself, and not in a good way. More of a what-have-I-done? way. Dear Lord, he thought as Caroline then asked a question about the hashbrowns here. Don't let this be too big of a mistake. I just wanted pancakes.

Marianne left to get their drinks, and Dawson looked over to Caroline. "You've never been here?"

"I've only been in Three Rivers for a few months," she said. "I got assigned up here out of the Amarillo office, and the burrowing owl issue is recent. There are three of us here to deal with it."

Dawson nodded, hating that they'd gotten to the owls already. His unfiled paperwork was surely only one breath behind. "The hashbrowns are good."

Caroline actually looked like he'd attacked her favorite band or insulted her sweater. "They're home fries," she said. "I want shredded, crispy hashbrowns. With cheese."

He found himself smiling at her, albeit briefly. "My mom makes them like that," he said. "They're really good."

"With the cheese too?"

"Sometimes," he said coolly, not liking her challenging tone. "Are you a cheese aficionado, then?"

"A what?"

Dawson's smile had slipped, disappeared, and hidden. Burrowed down into his body the way he imagined those silly owls did into the ground. He didn't want to talk this morning. He just wanted pancakes and some of the candied bacon with chili flakes.

Then, he'd head back to the church to pick up his brother, and they'd go on home to the ranch, where the work didn't stop just because it was the Sabbath. He pulled up the latest news articles on his phone, and Caroline got the hint that he did not want to socialize. She remained quiet and absorbed in her device too, which suited Dawson just fine.

He hadn't dated in a while, and he wasn't going to start with someone who made assumptions and chewed him out for no reason. They put in their orders, and since the diner had fast cooks, especially when busy, their food came quickly.

He'd just buttered his buttermilk pancakes and poured syrup over them and his chocolate chip stack when Caroline asked, "Are you ever going to file your paperwork to protect the endangered habitat on your ranch?"

Looking up from his food, he glared at her. "We don't have burrowing owls on our property."

"It's not about the animals," she said. "Yet."

"We cleared the dens before it was legally required to keep them," he informed her coolly. "Did you not get my email?"

"Did you get mine?" she shot back. "It clearly stated I needed the paperwork anyway."

He'd gotten it, but he pressed his teeth together instead of admitting so. "We've been busy." He indicated the diner beyond them. "You heard me tell Marianne about the harvest and the roundup."

"Yes," she said with a bite of attitude he did not appreciate.

"I just want to enjoy my breakfast," he said.

"That's all I wanted too," she said.

He studied her, trying to find a way past her displeasure. "She wouldn't have seated you without me. I did us both a favor."

"If you say so." She looked down at her breakfast—she'd gotten the All American, which was two eggs, two sausage links, two bacon strips, two buttermilk pancakes, and hashbrowns. "These aren't the potatoes I want."

Oops, home fries.

Dawson ducked his head before she could see his smile, and he tucked into his pancakes before the syrup could make them too soggy. As he swallowed, down went the insane words scratching through his head.

Do you have a boyfriend?

No? Perfect.

Would you maybe want to go out with me sometime?

I'll file the paperwork.

No, he definitely couldn't say any of those things, and he thanked God that he'd managed to keep them dormant, so he wouldn't make a fool of himself when she laughed and rejected him outright.