Deep in the Heart by Sharon Sala

least he would sleep cool.
    He walked into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator door, staring at the meager contents before slamming it shut again. He’d shopped. But he couldn’t cook worth a damn, and wasn’t in the mood for cornflakes and milk. Not tonight.
    He had already checked out the assorted dining facilities in Rusk. They looked good and the choice was varied. He knew he could more or less have his pick of any sort of food he desired, but tonight he wanted something more than going into a strange establishment and eating alone. He wanted atmosphere.
    Remembering that the sheriff lived just outside of Cotton, and knowing that it was a long time until sunset, he decided to scout the territory in that direction and see where it and his stomach led him.
    It didn’t take long to drive out of town, and it took only a few minutes more before the rooftop of an obviously busy truck stop café just outside of Cotton came into view. He knew from experience that a truck stop often produced the best food and the nearest to home cooking that a man could find.
    But Montgomery had a sudden longing for more than food. He wanted to feel like he belonged. He was tired of being on the outside looking in. And the hell his life had been in over the past few months was beginning to wear his patience thin.
    Without further consideration, he wheeled into the truck stop and parked between a purple and chrome eighteen-wheeler and a pickup truck pulling an empty cattle trailer.
    An odor of drying cattle manure blended harshly with the faint scent of diesel. Wrinkling his nose with disgust, he made a beeline for the entrance. The smell of hot grease, cigarette smoke, and cool air met him at the door. It should have been as unappealing as what he’d left behind him, but for some strange reason it was not.
    Friendly faces looked up and then back down at the plates in front of them. Truckers nodded without missing a chew and a waitress wiggled by, winking at him and ogling his uniform and wide-brimmed Stetson as she deftly balanced four steaming plates of food bound for the table by the door.
    Montgomery grinned and touched the brim of his hat with a forefinger. He had a feeling this was the kind of place a man could lose himself in and still not feel one bit lonely. This was the atmosphere he’d been needing.
    “Sit yourself, honey,” a well-used, but shapely blond woman muttered, as she hurried by with a full pot of coffee. “I’ll be with you in a minute.”
    Montgomery sat himself as ordered, and waited. He didn’t wait long. The woman was as good as her word.
    “Hey there,” she said, as she came to an abrupt halt at his table, slapped a menu in front of him, a glass of water and eating utensils wrapped in a paper napkin near his left hand. “I’m Marylee. You must be the new deputy John Thomas was waiting for. Heard you were in town. Chicken fry is good, pork chops are better. You have a choice of two vegetables besides the fries. The list is on the menu. What’s your name, honey, and what do you want to drink?”
    “Call me Monty, and iced tea.”
    Marylee grinned. “Back with your tea in a jiff, Monty.”
    He leaned back in his seat and smiled. Now he knew where to go if he was lonesome. The food might not be so great, but the ambiance was downright welcoming. That and Marylee. Together they made a man feel good all over.
    He was right in the middle of chewing his second pork chop when a commotion outside overrode the dull roar of conversation inside, even through the thick outer door of the café.
    “No! No! You can’t do this to me!” a woman screamed.
    Monty sat spellbound, as did the other customers of Marylee’s Truck Stop Café, and listened to the drama unfolding outside.
    “Damn you, Tony! You promised!”
    Silence answered her fervent pleas, and then a familiar sound of a big eighteen-wheeler firing up and jerking as the driver slammed it in gear drowned out the rest of the woman’s tirade.
    The customers