Read Online Burned in Broken Hearts Junction: A Cozy Matchmaker Mystery (Cozy Matchmaker Mystery Series) by Meg Muldoon - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Meg Muldoon
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eyes.
Hank growled at him for a few moments, but the growls turned to whimpers and whines of joy when the stranger knelt down and started rubbing the top of Hank’s head.
I liked to think that Hank could sense when somebody was good. But the truth was, the big ol’ dog was just a sucker for attention of any kind.
“You scared the hell out of me,” I said when I finally got my breath back.
Not too many people passed by this spot on the river. I always thought of it as my cottonwood grove. I liked coming here and listening to the water run and the trees rustling in the wind. I’d play some country on my car stereo and feel more or less at peace with the world.
Or that was the goal anyway.
I’d forgotten about the hiking trail that passed through here that people, mostly tourists, used sometimes.
The stranger rubbed Hank’s side. The big St. Bernard rolled onto his back, growling with delight.
“What’s his name?” the stranger asked.
“Hank,” I said.
He smiled down at Hank’s oafish face.
“Does he sing, too?”
“Yeah, but he’s got a bad case of stage fright,” I said. “He won’t sing around strangers.”
I got down off the hood, leaving the half-empty flask closed on its side. I walked over to the stranger, my hands in my jacket pockets.
“Funny running into you again, Orange Soda,” I said.
He grinned.
“Yeah,” he said, standing up. “I guess it’s a small town.”
He stopped petting Hank. The St. Bernard looked positively betrayed.
The stranger nodded to my swollen cheek.
“I see that shiner hasn’t gotten much better.”
“That’s not what you’re supposed to say,” I said. “You’re supposed to lie and say how well I look today.”
“Pardon my poor manners, Miss,” he said. “But sugar coating it doesn’t negate the fact that you still look like you’ve been hit by a heavyweight champion.”
“Don’t I feel it,” I said, walking back to the car, grabbing the flask and taking another drink.
I was half impressed that the stranger used the word “negate” and worked it in so it didn’t sound highfalutin in the least.
“So what’s all of this about?” he said. “Bad day, or something more?”
He came up alongside me and leaned against the hood. I looked out across the river.
I really didn’t want to get into it. I wasn’t the type who spilled my entire life’s history to strangers. Hell, I rarely expressed myself to the people closest to me. But the drink had loosened my tongue, and there was something about him that made me want to talk.
Maybe it was because life had busted him up some too.
“Sometimes, it feels like my whole life’s been a bad day.”
“Can’t be that bad,” the stranger said.
“Easy for you to say,” I said.
I smirked.
He folded his arms across his chest, his cowboy boots sticking out in the dust in front of him. He followed my gaze out to the river, the ripples still dancing in the orange afternoon sunlight.
“Damn, this is pretty country,” he said. “Almost hurts to look at.”
“So is that what you’re doing out here?” I said, offering him the flask. “Taking in the scenery?”
He shook his head at my offer, and I took a drink for him.
“I’m in town for a little while,” he said. “Got here just before my car gave out. The engine’s shot to hell, and I’m thinking I best just get a new one. But as long as I’m here, I figured I should get to know the area. I heard about the trail back there. Felt like exploring a little. I’m a wanderer at heart, I guess.”
I nodded, about to ask him where he was from and what he was doing here, things I hadn’t gotten around to asking during the mayhem that was Saturday night at The Cupid, but he interrupted me before I could.
“So tell me the truth. What’s got you out here on a Sunday afternoon throwing back a flask and looking so lonesome?”
I sighed.
“Just a feeling that the rest of the world’s moving right along, and I’m
Hank growled at him for a few moments, but the growls turned to whimpers and whines of joy when the stranger knelt down and started rubbing the top of Hank’s head.
I liked to think that Hank could sense when somebody was good. But the truth was, the big ol’ dog was just a sucker for attention of any kind.
“You scared the hell out of me,” I said when I finally got my breath back.
Not too many people passed by this spot on the river. I always thought of it as my cottonwood grove. I liked coming here and listening to the water run and the trees rustling in the wind. I’d play some country on my car stereo and feel more or less at peace with the world.
Or that was the goal anyway.
I’d forgotten about the hiking trail that passed through here that people, mostly tourists, used sometimes.
The stranger rubbed Hank’s side. The big St. Bernard rolled onto his back, growling with delight.
“What’s his name?” the stranger asked.
“Hank,” I said.
He smiled down at Hank’s oafish face.
“Does he sing, too?”
“Yeah, but he’s got a bad case of stage fright,” I said. “He won’t sing around strangers.”
I got down off the hood, leaving the half-empty flask closed on its side. I walked over to the stranger, my hands in my jacket pockets.
“Funny running into you again, Orange Soda,” I said.
He grinned.
“Yeah,” he said, standing up. “I guess it’s a small town.”
He stopped petting Hank. The St. Bernard looked positively betrayed.
The stranger nodded to my swollen cheek.
“I see that shiner hasn’t gotten much better.”
“That’s not what you’re supposed to say,” I said. “You’re supposed to lie and say how well I look today.”
“Pardon my poor manners, Miss,” he said. “But sugar coating it doesn’t negate the fact that you still look like you’ve been hit by a heavyweight champion.”
“Don’t I feel it,” I said, walking back to the car, grabbing the flask and taking another drink.
I was half impressed that the stranger used the word “negate” and worked it in so it didn’t sound highfalutin in the least.
“So what’s all of this about?” he said. “Bad day, or something more?”
He came up alongside me and leaned against the hood. I looked out across the river.
I really didn’t want to get into it. I wasn’t the type who spilled my entire life’s history to strangers. Hell, I rarely expressed myself to the people closest to me. But the drink had loosened my tongue, and there was something about him that made me want to talk.
Maybe it was because life had busted him up some too.
“Sometimes, it feels like my whole life’s been a bad day.”
“Can’t be that bad,” the stranger said.
“Easy for you to say,” I said.
I smirked.
He folded his arms across his chest, his cowboy boots sticking out in the dust in front of him. He followed my gaze out to the river, the ripples still dancing in the orange afternoon sunlight.
“Damn, this is pretty country,” he said. “Almost hurts to look at.”
“So is that what you’re doing out here?” I said, offering him the flask. “Taking in the scenery?”
He shook his head at my offer, and I took a drink for him.
“I’m in town for a little while,” he said. “Got here just before my car gave out. The engine’s shot to hell, and I’m thinking I best just get a new one. But as long as I’m here, I figured I should get to know the area. I heard about the trail back there. Felt like exploring a little. I’m a wanderer at heart, I guess.”
I nodded, about to ask him where he was from and what he was doing here, things I hadn’t gotten around to asking during the mayhem that was Saturday night at The Cupid, but he interrupted me before I could.
“So tell me the truth. What’s got you out here on a Sunday afternoon throwing back a flask and looking so lonesome?”
I sighed.
“Just a feeling that the rest of the world’s moving right along, and I’m
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