good as it got.
“In about three hours, you’re going to wonder what on earth you were thinking when you agreed to this,” she said, looking for her apron and finding a brand new one with her name embroidered on it hanging on a peg next to a new set of lockers.
Grabbing the apron, Clarissa almost laughed at the worry on Jed’s face.
“I’ve moved cattle, planted and harvested wheat and spent multiple weekends camping with Mack. I think I can handle helping out Pete for one day.”
“We’ll see,” she said over her shoulder before heading into the restroom.
Once the door closed, she blew out a breath in one long exhale and looked in the mirror. There wasn’t one in the bunkhouse, and she tried real hard to avoid the mirrors at the church because she didn’t like what she saw in herself in that house of a God who didn’t seem to care about her.
The face looking back had changed. Her eyes were soft. She had to be careful. Had to resist the temptation that was Jed Dillon.
Jed watched Clarissa maneuver from table to table to diner bar to pie fridge and back with a combination of wonder and pride. Momma was right. Clarissa Dye was grit personified.
And she sure was pretty.
He wanted...he said a quick prayer. Your will, God. Not mine.
It wasn’t always easy to remember that. But with Clarissa it was essential. She needed God, needed His salvation, His comfort, His absolution in her life.
So far she hadn’t been willing to talk to any of them about God. Not him, not his daddy, not even his Momma, and Susie Dillon could talk to anyone about God.
“You working or lolligagging?” Pete asked and threw a towel in Jed’s direction.
Message received.
He started wiping down the tables and would have been content doing that all night.
Only the bell above Pete’s door rang and Joan Anderson walked in, a piece of paper clutched tight in her hands, her powder blue suit and matching shoes showing she’d already been to church for the day.
And of course she was headed right for him.
“Jed Dillon, you need to be aware who you’re keeping company with.”
Chapter Eight
Clarissa watched the woman marching through Pete’s diner, like spit and vinegar and maybe worse.
She should have told him the truth. Should’ve told him that day in the church.
The diner full of lunchtime customers looked a little startled at Mrs. Anderson’s sudden pronouncement, and Clarissa could feel their eyes on her.
She tried to make herself shrink, tried to make herself pretend this biddy and her gossiping ways meant nothing, but she couldn’t make herself move. Couldn’t make herself stop watching the train wreck about to happen.
“That girl,” she heard Joan say the words as she pointed in her direction. “And her mother….”
“Table eight’s fried pickles are going to get cold,” Pete said sternly and then he stepped from the kitchen and started toward the ugly scene playing out in his shiny new diner.
But he didn’t have to worry because Jed had it under control.
He gently took the paper from Joan Anderson’s hands, ripped it in four pieces, threw it in the shiny new trash bin and spoke loud enough for the whole diner to hear.
“Joan Anderson, you’ve been a good friend to my mother, and a good aunt to my daughter, but I guarantee you that if you go around casting aspersions on the woman who has given selflessly to this community and who has become an extension of the Dillon family, Momma won’t take kindly to it. And I won’t tolerate it. Clarissa Dye is a godsend to this town. You owe everyone here an apology for disturbing their Sunday lunch like this.”
With that, the problem of Joan Anderson was done. She’d told him to let her solve it, but she couldn’t fault Jed for his actions. He’d stepped in like a hero. And she wanted to hug him for it.
Oh, be honest , her brain screamed. She wanted to do a lot more than hug him.
Clarissa grabbed the fried pickles and rushed to get them
“In about three hours, you’re going to wonder what on earth you were thinking when you agreed to this,” she said, looking for her apron and finding a brand new one with her name embroidered on it hanging on a peg next to a new set of lockers.
Grabbing the apron, Clarissa almost laughed at the worry on Jed’s face.
“I’ve moved cattle, planted and harvested wheat and spent multiple weekends camping with Mack. I think I can handle helping out Pete for one day.”
“We’ll see,” she said over her shoulder before heading into the restroom.
Once the door closed, she blew out a breath in one long exhale and looked in the mirror. There wasn’t one in the bunkhouse, and she tried real hard to avoid the mirrors at the church because she didn’t like what she saw in herself in that house of a God who didn’t seem to care about her.
The face looking back had changed. Her eyes were soft. She had to be careful. Had to resist the temptation that was Jed Dillon.
Jed watched Clarissa maneuver from table to table to diner bar to pie fridge and back with a combination of wonder and pride. Momma was right. Clarissa Dye was grit personified.
And she sure was pretty.
He wanted...he said a quick prayer. Your will, God. Not mine.
It wasn’t always easy to remember that. But with Clarissa it was essential. She needed God, needed His salvation, His comfort, His absolution in her life.
So far she hadn’t been willing to talk to any of them about God. Not him, not his daddy, not even his Momma, and Susie Dillon could talk to anyone about God.
“You working or lolligagging?” Pete asked and threw a towel in Jed’s direction.
Message received.
He started wiping down the tables and would have been content doing that all night.
Only the bell above Pete’s door rang and Joan Anderson walked in, a piece of paper clutched tight in her hands, her powder blue suit and matching shoes showing she’d already been to church for the day.
And of course she was headed right for him.
“Jed Dillon, you need to be aware who you’re keeping company with.”
Chapter Eight
Clarissa watched the woman marching through Pete’s diner, like spit and vinegar and maybe worse.
She should have told him the truth. Should’ve told him that day in the church.
The diner full of lunchtime customers looked a little startled at Mrs. Anderson’s sudden pronouncement, and Clarissa could feel their eyes on her.
She tried to make herself shrink, tried to make herself pretend this biddy and her gossiping ways meant nothing, but she couldn’t make herself move. Couldn’t make herself stop watching the train wreck about to happen.
“That girl,” she heard Joan say the words as she pointed in her direction. “And her mother….”
“Table eight’s fried pickles are going to get cold,” Pete said sternly and then he stepped from the kitchen and started toward the ugly scene playing out in his shiny new diner.
But he didn’t have to worry because Jed had it under control.
He gently took the paper from Joan Anderson’s hands, ripped it in four pieces, threw it in the shiny new trash bin and spoke loud enough for the whole diner to hear.
“Joan Anderson, you’ve been a good friend to my mother, and a good aunt to my daughter, but I guarantee you that if you go around casting aspersions on the woman who has given selflessly to this community and who has become an extension of the Dillon family, Momma won’t take kindly to it. And I won’t tolerate it. Clarissa Dye is a godsend to this town. You owe everyone here an apology for disturbing their Sunday lunch like this.”
With that, the problem of Joan Anderson was done. She’d told him to let her solve it, but she couldn’t fault Jed for his actions. He’d stepped in like a hero. And she wanted to hug him for it.
Oh, be honest , her brain screamed. She wanted to do a lot more than hug him.
Clarissa grabbed the fried pickles and rushed to get them
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