“Thirty-one.” The answer was out before he could even dwell on how inappropriate it was, he’d been so thrown by the question. The woman looked like she was around sixty. How would she like it if he asked her age?
She twisted her lips. “I would have guessed a little younger. Maybe twenty-nine. But you’re close enough.” With those words she stepped back and walked over to one of the tables then sat down, leaving Ryder staring after her, perplexed.
He left the doorway and walked over to the counter and leaned against it. “Close enough for what?” he asked.
“Close enough in age,” she said, her tone unapologetic. “Blake is twenty-seven and you’re thirty-one. That’s not too bad.” She lifted her hefty handbag and dropped it on top of the table. “So what do you think of our Blake?”
“I think she’s great,” he said, drawling the words as he watched the woman making herself comfortable at the table. She was shifting the centerpiece and the plate mats around, clearing space for a book she’d taken out of her bag.
That done, she plopped her book down then looked at him, her blue eyes glinting. “She’s more than great,” she said. “She’s a catch.” She jerked her chin toward him. “You’re not married. You should gobble her up.”
Ryder frowned. The visitor seemed to know a lot about his business. Not that is was hard to guess. He wasn’t wearing a wedding ring.
“You’re thirty-one,” she continued, relaxing back into her chair as if she planned to have a really long chat with him. “You’re not getting any younger. Time to settle down, especially if you want to have children. You don’t want to be running after your toddler when you’re forty or fifty, do? What brought you to our town, anyway? You have kinfolk here?” Not pausing for breath, the words tumbled out of the woman’s mouth so fast that Ryder almost couldn’t keep up.
Not even waiting for his answer she barreled on. “We haven’t had a newcomer in a long time and even the young ‘uns who were born and raised here, they don’t want to stay. I don’t know what’s going to become of our little town.” She sighed as if she carried the weight of the town’s troubles on her shoulders. “We need more babies, that’s what. And when they grow up we need them to stick around.” And as if that triggered another idea she gave Ryder a piercing look. “So are you here to stay or what?”
Well, at least she hadn’t asked if he planned to add to Pequoia’s population. “No,” he said. “I’m just passing through.”
“Not another one of those.” She gave a hiss of obvious frustration. “So where are you from, anyway? And why did you stop in our town?”
Ryder didn’t know if this was the norm in Pequoia but he’d never in his life encountered anyone as nosy as this one. And she wasn’t apologizing for it, either.
Seeing that she had no intention of leaving until she got answers, Ryder decided he might as well make himself comfortable. He slid onto a nearby bar stool. “Before I answer that,” he said slowly, “do you mind telling me who you are?”
“Why, I’m Peggy Thatcher, the mayor of this town. Didn’t they tell you about me?” She actually looked offended, like he should have known.
“No, they didn’t.” He had to fight to hide his smile of amusement. “But now that I know who you are I can introduce myself properly.” He slid off the stool and walked over to the woman’s table. “I’m Ryder Kent,” he said, extending his hand. “I’m pleased to meet you, Ms. Thatcher.”
She took his hand in a surprisingly firm grip. “A man with manners. I like that. So where are you from, Ryder?”
“I'm from Des Moines,” he said, preparing to move away then realizing he couldn’t. She was still holding on to his hand.
“And what are you doing in Pequoia?” she asked. “Visiting relations?”
“No, I just ran into your little town,” he said as he gently extricated his hand from her grasp, “on my way to Mexico.”
“Is that so?” Now she looked even more curious. Then she frowned. “What have you got in Mexico? A girl?”
Ryder smiled and shook his head. “Nothing like that. I was on my way to see some old college buddies of mine.”
“And you decided to drive all the way from Des Moines?” She gave him a look that told him she was wondering if he couldn’t afford a plane ticket.
“I wanted to drive,” he said. “I needed to clear my head.”
Her eyes narrowed, her gaze turning suspicious. “Why?”
There was no way he was going down that road with her. His personal life was none of her business. “Let’s just say, I needed some air.”
For the first time since she entered the restaurant Peggy Thatcher was silent, just staring at him with her sharp blue eyes. Then she gave him a slow nod. “You’re running away from something. I can see it in your eyes.”
Ryder held her gaze but he didn’t answer. The lady was as perceptive as they came. He didn’t let on but she’d hit the proverbial nail right on top of its head.
He cleared his throat. “So how may I help you, Ms. Thatcher? Would you like some lunch? All we’ve got is cream of broccoli soup and BLT.”
She nodded. “Soup and sandwich will be fine.”
Including Ms. Thatcher, Ryder had about a dozen lunch customers that day. They trickled in throughout the lunch hour and into the afternoon. It didn’t seem like lunch was a big deal at Beaumont’s but there were a few workers who passed through for sandwiches. The other workers had probably taken packed lunches from home.
Ms. Thatcher was the last person to leave that afternoon but Ryder didn’t mind. She’d entertained the whole lot of them with her constant chatter. Not surprisingly, she knew everybody and they all seemed to love her. By the time she was ready to leave she’d exhausted Ryder with her talk but she’d also become a fast friend. She’d all but offered him free boarding at her house if only he would stay in Pequoia for a while.
“Our town needs new blood,” she told him. “Young blood like you. You’re a good one. I can tell.” She smiled. “And the fact that Blake has you here says a lot.” As she went through the door, her massive handbag hanging from her arm, she threw him a parting shot. “You’ll stay for a while, won’t you? Just give it some thought.”