Lost but not Forgotten

Mitch flashed Ethan a wicked grin. “Gil puts me in mind of a sumo wrestler. Besides, my man, if I remember right, you hauled your ass out of bed at the crack of dawn to chase Regan around a few tracks. And you don’t even like exercise.”

Mitch had him there. Ethan said something indistinct and undoubtedly rude. Before stomping off, he announced that there were plenty of single women in town who were dying to go out with Mitch. Wearing a thunderous expression, Ethan joined the men waiting for him outside the cafе.

Gillian watched the drama with half an eye. She wished the plainclothes cop, Ethan, had succeeded in talking his pal at the counter into leaving. Her heart did a funny jig once it became evident that Mitch Valetti wasn’t going to budge. She told herself it was first-day job jitters. She wasn’t attractive enough to draw more than a passing glance from a man like Mitch Valetti. She was too tall. Too thin. Her chin was too pointy and her mouth too wide. Her eyes weren’t even an exciting color. Blue was blue was blue. So what gave her the idea he’d stuck around because of her?

Gillian managed to stay convinced that he hadn’t until the lunch traffic waned enough to slow her hectic pace. He was still there. And he snagged her arm as she darted past.

“Hey, Flo,” Mitch called, hunching to peer into the kitchen via the pass-through. “Isn’t there a state rule requiring employees to take regular breaks? Appears to me that Gillian, here, is overdue.”

Flo stuck her head out around the kitchen door. “Gilly-girl. Climb up there on the stool next to Mitch and take a load off. I said earlier you’ve got to eat. What’ll it be? Bert’s special is chicken-fried steak. But, shoot, you’d know that. You’ve served a gazillion plates of the stuff so far.”

Gillian would have rather sat anywhere than beside Mitch Valetti. Unfortunately, a mob of high schoolers bounded in at that moment, filling the remaining empty seats at the counter. “Uh, Flo. I’ll just take these kids’ orders first. I can eat later. A dinner salad will do me, if you want to set one aside. The house dressing looked good.”

Flo came all the way out of the kitchen. She fanned a ruddy face with the tail of her apron. “All that bunch of twerps ever order are french fries and Cokes. I’ll handle ’em. You eat.”

“Skinny as you are,” Mitch observed, “you ought to eat something more substantial than a damned salad.” He rounded on Gillian. “You’re not anorexic or anything, are you?”

She felt her jaw slacken and snapped her mouth closed. “Are you always so free and personal with someone you haven’t even met?”

“We met. Flo introduced you earlier.” Mitch stuck out his hand and grasped hers gently. “I’m Mitch Valetti. Detective. Er…former detective.” He acted flustered, quickly releasing her hand to curl his wide palms around his coffee mug instead. “Guess you could say I’m a rancher now.”

“I’m sure there’s a story somewhere in that statement.” Allowing a reluctant smile along with a small sigh of capitulation, Gillian slid onto the end stool. “A detective turned rancher has the makings of an intriguing book.”

“Are you a starving writer, then?”

She shook her head. “Gee, I thought I was a bona fide waitress.”

Grinning, Mitch took another swig before setting his mug back on the counter. “Touchе. I deserved that. You’re a good waitress. At least, you managed Flo’s lunch crowd better than her niece, Tracy, ever did. Say, I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“You didn’t,” Gillian said, glancing up as Flo placed a huge taco salad in front of her. “Hey, this isn’t what I ordered.” Frowning, she dragged her fork through the mountain of lettuce, black beans, olives, avocado, chicken and grated cheese heaped inside a crisp tortilla shell. She’d never be able to eat even a quarter of this.

“Are you allergic to any of that stuff?” Mitch enquired.

Gillian’s frown deepened. “No. Not that I know of.”

“Then stop complaining and chow down. I guarantee Bert makes the tastiest taco salads in town. Add a generous splash of his homemade salsa and you’ve got a lip-smacking meal.”

“So now you’re a detective turned rancher turned restaurant reviewer?” As she spoke, Gillian brought a forkful of the concoction to her mouth.

“You gotta forgive this guy,” Flo said, scooting past them again, hands laden with steaming platters of french fries. “He’s still recovering from an on-the-job injury. Must be the medicine making him act so smart-aleck. He’s never been shy, but usually his mouth is connected to his brain.”

“Oh? A head injury, was it?” Gillian didn’t know what had gotten into her. She rarely teased people she knew well; being sarcastic to a stranger was unthinkable. Especially since she was trying to keep a low profile.

Mitch and Flo found her remark amusing. Flo broke off laughing first. “At last, Valetti. A woman who can toss back all the baloney you dish out. I hope you cultivate her acquaintance. I’ve always said you flit from date to date because the ladies you ask out bore you to death within a week.”

Tilting his head, Mitch stared at Gillian so long she choked on a slice of olive. An infusion of heat seeped up her neck and across her cool cheeks. “I shouldn’t have said anything. It was rude of me. I don’t know you well enough to crack jokes about your injury.”

“I’d like to get to know you better,” he said, gazing directly into her eyes.

Excitement fluttered in her stomach before tightening into a coil of apprehension. Gillian hadn’t fielded a pass in so long she’d forgotten how to extricate herself gracefully. She wasn’t sure what words to use. “Look,” she said at last. “I’m, uh, sure you’re sincere. And nice. But I, ah, have been married before.” It was lame, but the first thing that popped into her head.

Mitch stiffened visibly. “Bitter divorce?”

“No. A relief.” Gillian responded more honestly than she’d intended.

“Then what’s the problem? I’m more than willing to keep things simple.”

As Gillian scrabbled for a comeback that would end his pursuit, the door opened and a petite blonde dressed in a police uniform walked in. “Mitch. Hi!” Beaming, she waved and looked as pleased as a cat who’d found a fat goldfish. “Ethan said I’d probably catch you here. He told me you might be taking on some private investigative work. I have something that may strike your fancy if you’ve got some free time. My sister Lori said you could be busy—that you had a strange case fall right in your lap.”

“It’s not really a case,” Mitch admitted, casting Gillian a quick apology with his eyes. “I posted an ad in the paper for a week, but only one person responded. A sicko, at that. So, what’ve you got, and what does it pay? My pension covers my bills. But if I want to increase my herd, I need extra cash.”

The woman took Gillian’s measure. “You’re involved at the moment,” she said to Mitch. “My case is confidential. I’ll be at the station if you want to swing by later. Or come to Lori’s house tonight. I’ll fix dinner and we can talk. Lori has a class at the college, so we won’t be disturbed.”

Mitch rubbed his neck. Christy Peck-Jones was a good cop. She was also separated, not divorced, from a bad-tempered husband. Tangling with Royce Jones was the last thing Mitch needed or wanted. While Christy had indicated her interest in him more than once, she didn’t ring any bells for Mitch. Even if he was attracted to her, he’d never act on it unless she was free. Some guys on the force didn’t have much integrity when it came to honoring their wedding vows or those of women cops they worked with. They found it easy to blame their betrayals on an excess of adrenaline from being thrown together in life-and-death situations. Mitch had met death face-to-face, twice. Both experiences had only served to solidify his values. This last time, he really thought he’d bought the farm.

Which could be why he felt an uncustomary urgency to meet the right woman. He’d been given a new lease on life. Now he’d like kids and even grandkids. The next time he met his maker, he wanted to look back and see that he’d accomplished something worthwhile. Men ought to have a legacy to leave behind.

“My lunch break is over. I’m going to the kitchen to box this to take home. Please, don’t let me keep you from exploring a potential job offer.” Sliding off the stool, Gillian whisked away her plate and utensils.

She flat-out disappeared before Mitch could press harder for a first date. Not altogether surprising. She’d made her reservations clear. And with all the crime against women he’d seen while working the streets, he couldn’t really blame her. What did she know about him? Nothing. But if she stuck around town, he’d have a chance to ask her out again. If she moved on— Oh, well, she wasn’t what he was looking for anyway.

Exactly what is that, Valetti? And when did you start picking up strangers? Confused by the questions, Mitch attempted to push her out of his mind.

He crossed slowly to Christy’s table. As he settled in the chair farthest from her, Mitch recalled Ethan experiencing a similar bewilderment the day he met Regan, whom he later married. Mitch couldn’t say why, but when he exchanged banter with Gillian Stevens, he felt a lot like his former partner had looked back then—like an alley-cat standing hip-deep in fresh cream.

Gillian walked back into the room. From the erratic way Mitch’s heart flip-flopped, he knew he’d definitely be making a second trip to town. Possibly even a third and fourth…

CHAPTER THREE

PREPARED TO RESUME her duties, Gillian noticed that Flo had delivered the last plates of french fries to the kids, and stopped on her way back to take the order from Mitch’s lady friend. Uncertain why she didn’t want to wait on them, Gillian nevertheless recognized her reaction as one of profound relief.

Late lunch-goers from the police station and other area businesses converged on the cafе. The flurry of activity served to take Gillian’s mind off the couple in the corner, whose pale and dark heads drew closer together as time wore on. The fact that she kept an eye on them at all annoyed her. The very last complication she needed, considering her own plight, would be to develop a thing for a cop.

“Ex-cop,” she muttered under her breath as she tore three order sheets off her pad and tucked them under clips that she spun toward Bert. He glanced up and grinned.

“Your first day and already you’re talking to yourself? Bad sign, Gillian.”

“Sorry. Talking to myself is an old habit. I’m enjoying the job. Truly.”

“Hey, I believe you.” Still smiling, he handed her two steaming platters.

Her need to define Mitch as an ex-cop irritated Gillian even more than being caught talking to herself. Why couldn’t she forget him altogether?

Apparently putting him out of her mind wasn’t going to be simple, she realized, all the while deriving immense satisfaction from watching him walk out some twenty minutes later, leaving the lady cop to finish her lunch alone.

It fell to Gillian to collect Christy Jones’s plate, though, and ask if she wanted anything else.

“I want Mitch Valetti,” the blonde stated boldly, drilling Gillian with arctic-blue eyes.