Chapter 4: Way to go, Klutz
1074 Words
This and no other is the root from which a tyrant springs; when he first appears, he is a protector. -Plato
Stephen's devouring a plate of over-easy eggs.
The runny yokes merge with a clump of hash browns and crispy bacon. He sops up the eggs with a slice of toast and shoves the mixture into his mouth.
There are a few documents laid out on the small square table. I glance through the paperwork while waiting for the waitstaff to come and take my order.
The waitress moseys up. She's gawking at Stephen, which makes me want to laugh. Actually, that would be too mild a word. Stalking is more like it. Her eyes consume him like a hungry lioness watches a gazelle.
"What do you want, Danny?"
"Just a bowl of dry Cheerios and blueberry yogurt."
"What about a drink?"
I scan the menu. "Do they have English Breakfast or Chai tea? I drink it with cream."
The waitress seems oblivious to my order and my question about tea selections. Stephen relays what I want. She hangs on his every word.
The woman appears to be about his age. They'd make a cute couple. She returns quickly with my food and tops off his coffee.
I open my yogurt cup and mix it into the bowl of Cheerios.
Stephen drums his fingers on the table. "Do you always do that?"
"What?"
"Eat your Cheerios that way." He points at my food with his fork.
"Yeah, it's a Grandma Mae thing. She got me started on this concoction as a little kid."
"Interesting."
Picking up a few of the documents and scanning them, the name Drake Del Bosque jumps off a few of the pages. "Who's this?"
"From what I can tell, he lives on your grandfather's ranch."
"Wait. Does this mean what I think it does? He's suing me?" I hand him a document.
"Yes, but it's complicated. He's filed an injunction to keep you off the property."
"Why on earth would someone do this? I mean, can he actually do that?"
"I don't see he has any basis for the suit. All I know about him is that he lived with your grandfather. We'll find out more about this today."
"Lived with him, I don't understand. Is he staking a claim to being an heir? Because it sure looks like . . ."
"More than likely, he's a ranch hand seeking a handout. Larry Crawford is his attorney. We're meeting him this morning. Now, eat your food; we must leave shortly, and you didn't eat yesterday."
I brush off his comment about the food. "Is there cause for alarm over this ranch hand?" First, the door comment, and now he's telling me to eat my food. Geez! Is he keeping a running list?
"He probably worked for your grandfather, or maybe he's a relative. Either way . . ."
"You mean like a cousin?"
"That's possible." Stephen takes a sip of his coffee. "Or a sibling."
"Come on, that's stupid." I balance a spoonful of yogurt-covered cereal inches from my mouth. "In your office yesterday, you said my grandparents didn't have any other children. Well, besides my mother."
"From what I can tell, that's true. But your grandmother was away for almost twenty years."
"What exactly are you implying?"
"It's more than likely nothing. All I'm saying is you should keep an open mind. A lot can happen in a few months, let alone twenty years."
His comment reinforces how little I know about my grandmother's life or mine. This woman raised me, cared for me, and she took care of all of my needs, but even then, I guess I really didn't know her. I thought we were family. And family shouldn't lie to each other or withhold information. I feel lost, not to mention alone.
How could she leave me like this?
My head pounds.
I reach into my purse. My hand comes to rest on a cylinder container. I extract a pill and wash it down with a sip of tea.
"What was that?"
"Medication, Zomig. It helps. "
"Why do you take it? Do you have a medical condition?"
"It's for headaches, well migraines. Do you need one?"
"No, I'm good in that department. Besides, I use homeopathic remedies for pain."
"Really, I've tried a few, but they never work. What do you use for head pain?"
"Sex." He flashes a white toothy grin. "Let me know if you want to give it a whirl."
"No, thanks."
"Well, let me know if you change your mind. I'm at your service."
A fluttering sensation of butterflies stirs in my stomach. I'm not sure I'm prepared for the meeting in Crawford's office, much less the s****l direction the conversation with Stephen has taken this morning. I don't want him to get the wrong impression. He's cute but not my type.
Hell, with my recent breakup, I don't even know what my type is, but I know it's not him. He's too much like my last boyfriend, and I damn sure don't need a repeat.
Glancing up, I lock eyes with him. I brush hair out of my face and tuck it behind my ear. Reaching over, I take a file out of the leaning stack, causing a mini-avalanche. The corner of a folder knocks his coffee cup over.
He springs to his feet. "s**t," he mutters under his breath.
Bolting out of my chair, I say, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to do that." I gather as much of the paperwork I can before the coffee seeps into the stacks.
Jaws clenched, he dabs his pants with a linen napkin, but it's no use. He's drenched from the waist down.
"I didn't mean to . . ." I stifle a laugh.
He glares, then smiles, but his eyes still look dark.
"I'm going to have to change. Can you put those files in my briefcase?"
"Yeah, I really am sorry."
"Don't worry about it." His eyes trail to my mouth. "Wait for me here. I won't be long."
He grabs his keys off the table. Taking long strides, he leaves the restaurant.
Well, I guess it's one way to deter a guy's s****l advances. I shake my head and drop the files I'm holding into the case.
Stepping around the table, I retrieve the papers he dropped on the seat next to his coffee-covered chair.
Way to go, klutz.
- Writer
