Her Minnesota Man (A Christian Romance Novel) by Brenda Coulter Page B
Authors: Brenda Coulter
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a smile that sent a shiver of apprehension up his spine.
Chapter Seven
H ungry for some of Willie's famous onion rings, Laney was dismayed to find all ten of the diner's red vinyl booths occupied. When she looked at Jeb to see whether he wanted to wait for a table or go elsewhere, he pointed out two empty stools at the counter.
"Fine," she said. "Let's grab those."
As they moved in that direction, the buzz of conversation in the diner swelled like an ocean wave. All eyes had turned to Jeb, but other than a slight firming of his lips, he gave no sign of having noticed.
Laney was about to sit down when she felt his hand against the small of her back. Without a word, he steered her away from the stool whose cover had split down the middle, showing an inch-wide strip of foam padding. He settled on that stool as Laney took the good one beside it.
"I've never seen this place so busy." She pitched her voice to be heard over the jukebox that had just powered up to blare a high-energy rock song.
Jeb glanced at her to indicate he'd heard her but had nothing to add. Still willfully oblivious to the attention of his fellow diners, he plucked a dessert menu from its standing metal clip.
Laney didn't recognize the song that was playing, but she'd have known that raspy baritone anywhere. No doubt someone had made the selection as a tribute to Jeb, but he didn't enjoy that kind of attention. Laney shot a worried glance at him and wasn't surprised to see his eyebrows slanting more sharply together, a vertical groove deepening between them.
She caught the eye of the diner's bulky, grizzly-whiskered owner as he tended hamburgers on the grill. When she flicked a meaningful glance at Jeb and then at the jukebox, Willie acknowledged her silent request with a curt nod. He flipped four burgers and slapped cheese slices on top of each one , and then he stalked over to the jukebox.
The music stopped a moment later. That provoked a few groans and halfhearted protests, but the jukebox was free and everyone knew that while Willie could listen to country tunes all night long, he got cranky if the kids played too many rock songs.
Still ignoring the curious stares and raised camera phones, Jeb perused the laminated dessert menu and wondered aloud why Willie wasn't serving his homemade apple dumplings anymore. When two teenage girls sidled nervously toward him, pens and notebook paper in hand, Laney headed them off.
"I'm sorry," she said with a sympathetic smile, "but he doesn't give autographs."
So much for a relaxing supper with Jeb. She was about to suggest leaving when Willie reappeared and led the way to a back-corner booth he had just reclaimed.
"Don't know how you celebrities stand all this fuss," he grumbled as his broad forearm moved in quick strokes to wipe the table with a wadded cloth.
"Thanks for unplugging the jukebox," Jeb said.
"You bet. I don't like that noise, anyway. When you switch to country, let me know." Willie flung the cloth onto an empty tray carried by a passing server and pulled an order pad from the pocket of his stained apron. "What'll it be?"
"Cheeseburgers and rings," Laney said, amused as always by his brusque manner. "Why else would we come here?"
"Some people enjoy my sparkling personality," Willie returned without expression. He dipped his craggy head and wrote something on the pad, and then he pointed his stub of a pencil at Laney. "You still drinking diet pop?"
"Yes, thanks."
"And the rock star?"
"Just water," Jeb said.
Willie nodded and walked away. When he delivered their drinks a minute later, he muttered a gruff, "Good seeing you, Jackson" before returning to his grill.
Warmth curled through Laney as she watched him go. "I have always adored that man."
Jeb gave her a long, considering look. "I'll put him on our list of eligible bachelors, then."
"There's a list?" Laney was too startled by that possibility to react to Jeb's teasing about her supposed romantic interest in a man old enough to be
Chapter Seven
H ungry for some of Willie's famous onion rings, Laney was dismayed to find all ten of the diner's red vinyl booths occupied. When she looked at Jeb to see whether he wanted to wait for a table or go elsewhere, he pointed out two empty stools at the counter.
"Fine," she said. "Let's grab those."
As they moved in that direction, the buzz of conversation in the diner swelled like an ocean wave. All eyes had turned to Jeb, but other than a slight firming of his lips, he gave no sign of having noticed.
Laney was about to sit down when she felt his hand against the small of her back. Without a word, he steered her away from the stool whose cover had split down the middle, showing an inch-wide strip of foam padding. He settled on that stool as Laney took the good one beside it.
"I've never seen this place so busy." She pitched her voice to be heard over the jukebox that had just powered up to blare a high-energy rock song.
Jeb glanced at her to indicate he'd heard her but had nothing to add. Still willfully oblivious to the attention of his fellow diners, he plucked a dessert menu from its standing metal clip.
Laney didn't recognize the song that was playing, but she'd have known that raspy baritone anywhere. No doubt someone had made the selection as a tribute to Jeb, but he didn't enjoy that kind of attention. Laney shot a worried glance at him and wasn't surprised to see his eyebrows slanting more sharply together, a vertical groove deepening between them.
She caught the eye of the diner's bulky, grizzly-whiskered owner as he tended hamburgers on the grill. When she flicked a meaningful glance at Jeb and then at the jukebox, Willie acknowledged her silent request with a curt nod. He flipped four burgers and slapped cheese slices on top of each one , and then he stalked over to the jukebox.
The music stopped a moment later. That provoked a few groans and halfhearted protests, but the jukebox was free and everyone knew that while Willie could listen to country tunes all night long, he got cranky if the kids played too many rock songs.
Still ignoring the curious stares and raised camera phones, Jeb perused the laminated dessert menu and wondered aloud why Willie wasn't serving his homemade apple dumplings anymore. When two teenage girls sidled nervously toward him, pens and notebook paper in hand, Laney headed them off.
"I'm sorry," she said with a sympathetic smile, "but he doesn't give autographs."
So much for a relaxing supper with Jeb. She was about to suggest leaving when Willie reappeared and led the way to a back-corner booth he had just reclaimed.
"Don't know how you celebrities stand all this fuss," he grumbled as his broad forearm moved in quick strokes to wipe the table with a wadded cloth.
"Thanks for unplugging the jukebox," Jeb said.
"You bet. I don't like that noise, anyway. When you switch to country, let me know." Willie flung the cloth onto an empty tray carried by a passing server and pulled an order pad from the pocket of his stained apron. "What'll it be?"
"Cheeseburgers and rings," Laney said, amused as always by his brusque manner. "Why else would we come here?"
"Some people enjoy my sparkling personality," Willie returned without expression. He dipped his craggy head and wrote something on the pad, and then he pointed his stub of a pencil at Laney. "You still drinking diet pop?"
"Yes, thanks."
"And the rock star?"
"Just water," Jeb said.
Willie nodded and walked away. When he delivered their drinks a minute later, he muttered a gruff, "Good seeing you, Jackson" before returning to his grill.
Warmth curled through Laney as she watched him go. "I have always adored that man."
Jeb gave her a long, considering look. "I'll put him on our list of eligible bachelors, then."
"There's a list?" Laney was too startled by that possibility to react to Jeb's teasing about her supposed romantic interest in a man old enough to be
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