Total pages in book: 209
Estimated words: 196085 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 980(@200wpm)___ 784(@250wpm)___ 654(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 196085 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 980(@200wpm)___ 784(@250wpm)___ 654(@300wpm)
She also taught me to cook, which I do well enough. I just don’t really enjoy cooking for one, so I end up here most times or at the Rusty Nail Bar & Grill on the other side of town.
They’re great parents, always supportive and proud. I graduated from a local college with my law enforcement degree, then went right to the academy. It’s a small town and it didn’t take me long to gain the respect of the other deputies, and when it was time for my dad to step down, I had the support of the community, as well as my fellow officers, to fill his boots.
Or try to, at least.
I’ve worked my ass off to not let anyone down, even when the choices were difficult. One of many things I learned from my parents, doing the right thing isn’t always easy and the easy thing isn’t always right.
The bells tied on the top hinge of the front door jingle as it opens, and Margaret turns toward the sound. Stepping inside the small diner, Summer grins at us both.
Margaret’s daughter is a good kid; she’s dating the son of one of my deputies and I’ve made sure he understands he’s to treat her with respect or he will have to deal with me.
Her hair, as always, has all eyes turning her way, looking more like it belongs on a fantasy unicorn than a young woman. Blazing stripes of purple, pink and green in a straight cut that hits just at her jawline, offsetting a sweet smile that I’ve grown to love.
“Well, hello, Lawman. You put down any bad guys today? Oppress the weak?”
She bites her tongue between her teeth she grins, and some might think she’s being antagonistic, but truth is she graduated from the local high school last year and is attending the same college I did, studying criminal law.
She’s wearing her signature black combat boots. Today they are paired with yellow leggings and a way-oversized vintage-looking gray ROTC sweatshirt.
Where the neckline of the sweatshirt hangs down, you can see the tops of the bright colors of the tattoos that cover most of her arms, back and torso.
“Not yet. Day’s still young though.” I raise my coffee mug to her as she steps over and bumps her hip into her mom.
“Morning, Mama Mia. How sizzles the grill?” Summer winks at me and Margaret shakes her head.
“It’s sizzling alright. You’re an hour late.”
Summer gives me a big smile and the silver stud in her tongue flashes in the fluorescent lights as she shrugs. “You know I believe time is fluid. Clocks are oppressive.”
I tilt my head. “You know attorneys charge by the minute? So, you might want to get on better terms with time or you might not get paid.”
She rolls her eyes. “I want to do pro bono work. Money doesn’t motivate me.”
“Money may not motivate you, but it keeps the lights on and your tuition paid.” Margaret pops her red lips at her daughter. “Now, go get into uniform and get to work.”
“Slave labor was outlawed in 1865, you know,” Summer snaps back, but it’s all in good fun.
She and Margaret are more like sisters. Margaret had her at seventeen, raised her as a single mom. Sort of a Gilmore Girl’s deal. Summer’s father was a carnival guy, passing through town taking advantage of young women as he went giving them fake names and a flashy smile.
If I could ever find him, I’d quietly make sure he couldn’t ever manage to…do that…to any other girls.
Margaret’s parents disowned her when they found out she was pregnant and from the little I know, they’ve never even met their pretty amazing and only granddaughter.
Margaret and Summer moved here about ten years ago from an adjoining county and Margaret started waitressing at The Over Easy the week they arrived.
When we found out she was pretty much alone in the world, my parents became pseudo-grandparents to Summer and I’ve done what I can to be a helpful sort-of-brother to Margaret, and adopted uncle to Summer.
Margaret worked hard from the day she started at the diner, and two years ago, bought the place from the former owner.
“If you’re comparing your life to the life of a slave, I’ve not done my job as a mother or human very well.” Margaret gives her a playful disapproving look and Summer twists her lips into a wry smile.
“Just joking,” she sing-songs as she spins on her heel and disappears into the back, her faint voice giving cheerful ‘hellos’ to Rodney the cook and Mike the dishwasher.
“So,” Margaret starts, and I hear that tone in her voice. “Janice Morgan’s daughter is in town.”
I restrain the groan that tightens my throat. “That’s nice. Hope she has a good visit.”
“Uh huh. I bet you do.”
“My food’s getting cold.” I take my fork and cut off a section of my egg and lay it on top of half a slice of toast, then gather it toward my mouth.