Matt by R. C. Ryan

would be horrible.”
    “Clay’s a good cook. Maybe not as good as Yancy, but he knows his way around pork.”
    “Of course. The Pig Sty. I guess I forgot about that.” She looked around at the gleaming floor and tables and chairs. “I guess with a name like that, I expected it to be filthy, and the food to be barely tolerable.”
    “Don’t let a name fool you.”
    “This from the man who just gave me a new identity.”
    He looked around, relieved that nobody was near enough to overhear them. “You might want to keep that to yourself.”
    “Right.” She sipped her beer and polished off the rest of her sandwich. “Vanilla Cowley knows how to keep secrets.”

Chapter Nine
    M att walked to the counter to pay their bill.
    Clay Olmsted rang it up and handed Matt his change before saying to the young woman beside him, “Bye, Van. Be sure and say hello to your uncle.”
    “My…?” She caught herself. “Yes. Uncle Burke. I’ll do that. The pulled pork sandwich was the best.”
    The old man brightened. “Next time you’re here, try the stuffed pork chops.”
    One of the regulars at the bar called out, “That’s why we call him Colonel Clay. His secret ingredient is in the stuffing.”
    To a chorus of laughter, Matt and Vanessa walked outside.
    Before crossing the street Matt caught her hand. At the truck he held the passenger door while she settled inside before circling around to climb up to the driver’s side.
    As they pulled away, a car fell into line some distance behind them, leisurely trailing along Main Street until they left town and turned onto the interstate.
    Vanessa swiveled her head, trying to take in all the things she’d missed on their way here.
    “Oh, look at those hills in the distance.”
    Matt followed her direction, trying to see everything through her eyes.
    “There’s so much space here. I bet there are more cattle than people.”
    He nodded. “You’d be right about that.”
    “And it’s all so clean and fresh and pretty. No streetlights. No throngs of pedestrians. No office buildings, or smoke from buses, or horns honking.”
    “Just remember you said all that when you complain about no fast food places, or easy transportation when you need a prescription for pain, or directions to the nearest hospital when a friend is about to deliver a baby.”
    She laughed. “Okay. Point taken. I’m sure there are plenty of drawbacks to living so far from civilization. But just allow me my fantasies for a little while longer, will you? It’s called trying to make the best of a situation.”
    “And you are.” He laid a hand over hers. “I know this isn’t easy for you.”
    When she clasped her hands in her lap, he glanced in the rearview mirror. Though the car remained far behind them, he had an uneasy feeling. “How would you like to make a detour on the way back?”
    She shrugged. “You’re the driver.”
    “Okay.” He slowed the truck before turning the wheel.
    Though there were no exits, he merely left the highway and started across a bumpy stretch of field toward a distant hill.
    The vehicle that had been trailing them stopped, but didn’t follow.
    “What’s up here?” Vanessa was straining to see beyond the high ground.
    Matt drove up and over the incline, cutting off their view of the highway. He continued on until they came to a swollen stream that was overflowing its banks.
    He parked and stepped out before speaking to the sheriff on his cell phone. Scant minutes later he took Vanessa’s hand and led her to a small promontory overlooking the water.
    “This is Malloy Creek.”
    She turned to him. “You actually have a creek named for your family?”
    He nodded. “My great-great-grandfather, the original Francis Xavier Malloy, came here from Ireland and cleared this land. When the state was charting its landmarks and asked the name of this creek, he decided to name it for himself.”
    Matt pointed to the hills beyond. “In the middle of summer, this will be nothing