Rattlesnake (7 page)

“Mae’s cinnamon rolls are even better than the french toast,” Shane said. “And what she can do to a strawberry rhubarb pie is practically obscene. Wrong season for that, though.”

“You eat here a lot.” A statement, not a question. Jimmy had never stuck around long enough to be a regular anywhere. It might be kind of nice.

“Almost every day. I have a little apartment over at the Snake, and I have a kitchenette and all, but I can’t cook. And I work through dinnertime. So I eat my big meal of the day here, in the morning.”

As if on cue, the waitress appeared with Shane’s plate. It wasn’t as overloaded as Jimmy’s, but it did contain an enormous omelet overflowing with cheese and veggies. The omelet was flanked by two slices of toast and a ceramic cup of grapes and orange segments. Shane watched Jimmy assess his meal. “Not too much longer and Mae’ll have fresh strawberries instead. Yum.”

“You eat that every day?”

“Every Tuesday. I alternate menu items by the day of the week. It… helps me remember. French toast is on Fridays.”

Jimmy nodded, then shoveled more food into his mouth. He hadn’t known it was Tuesday and he didn’t know the date. Those things rarely mattered much to him. He certainly didn’t have a weekly meal schedule. The concept was strange yet oddly endearing. “What’s on Wednesdays?” he asked.

“That’s my depressingly healthy day. Oatmeal.”

They ate silently for a while. Whenever new customers entered the café, they waved at Shane and stared curiously at Jimmy before taking their own seats. “You know everyone in town, huh?” Jimmy observed.

“Ought to. Lived here my whole life. Where are you from?” He paused with his fork in midair.

“Nowhere in particular.” Time to change the subject slightly. “So do you own the inn?”

Shane swallowed and wiped his mouth with a paper napkin. “No, but my aunt Belinda does. That was her at the desk last night. She and Uncle Emilio used to live in the apartment and run the place, but after he died, she moved in with my cousin Trudy, and I… I bet you don’t need to know my entire family history, do you?”

“I don’t mind,” said Jimmy. Who already knew bits of Shane’s family history that Shane probably didn’t.
“Ring of Fire.” Tossing rocks at cans.

“Well, it’s not all that exciting. Anyway, I’ve lived at the Snake for over seven years now. I like it. It’s practically across the street from the best breakfasts in Calaveras County.” With a little flourish, he ate the last of his omelet.

Jimmy’s food was long gone, and he could have paid and left. But Shane leaned back comfortably in his chair, not seeming inclined to leave, and Jimmy wasn’t in a hurry. He could enjoy some company for a while yet. They both smiled at the waitress when she refilled their coffee cups.

Jimmy dumped sugar into his and stirred. “A bunch of years back, I was in a little town in South Dakota. One of those old farming towns where most of the young people have moved away, and everyone else is just sort of waiting to die. Wasn’t near the freeway or Mount Rushmore or anyplace tourists go, so there was no reason for anyone to go there except the locals. I could’ve laid down in the middle of Main Street and had myself a good nap without much danger of getting run over.”

“What were you doing there?”

“Just passing through,” Jimmy said, smiling. “It was raining. There was one bar—Dan’s Silver Dollar. I asked the bartender if there were any cheap beds around. He said I could stay upstairs in the old hotel for free if I wanted. It’d been closed for a few years already, but there were mattresses and running water. He said it was haunted, though.”

Shane was leaning forward as if he didn’t want to miss a word. “So did you stay?”

“Didn’t have much choice. There was nothing else for miles and I didn’t much like the idea of sleeping rough. Not much for cover in the plains states, you know?”

“I’ve never been,” said Shane, and he sounded more wistful than anyone ought to be over South Dakota. “So what happened? Did you see any ghosts?”

Jimmy remembered the smell of dust and old plaster as he huddled in his own blanket on a bare mattress. There were no light fixtures in the room and possibly no electricity, so the only illumination was a single streetlamp shining through the water-streaked window. The storm had kicked up a few notches after he’d settled in, and the wind howled mournfully. “I saw a few things creeping in the shadows in the corners, but maybe that was just spiders and mice. And I heard things. Whispers. Cries. A man’s voice shouting. I smelled a woman’s perfume. When I came downstairs in the morning, I was a celebrity. Half the town was there, and someone bought me a steak breakfast. And I’d stayed dry all night, so it was definitely a success. I didn’t tell them I’d spent the night scared half to death.”

Shane smiled and shook his head. “I’ve never seen any ghosts at the Snake. But I figure an old place like that, it’s full of memories. Can you imagine the things that must’ve gone on there during the gold rush days? Wish I had a magic camera so I could see some of them.”

“You could see old Rattlesnake himself.”

“Yeah. Find out if he really was such a mean-tempered bastard.”

Jimmy liked Shane’s company, and not just because Jimmy was a little lonely and Shane was easy on the eyes. Shane seemed sweet and happy, the kind of guy who had a grin for everyone and didn’t judge a tired drifter with a day-old growth of whiskers.

A man in his late sixties entered the café. His cowboy hat looked like the real deal instead of an affectation, and his lined face was deeply tanned. He caught sight of Shane and ambled over. “Not surprised to see you here,” he said.

Shane grinned. “I’m not surprised at you right back. Mom talked you into fetching cinnamon rolls?”

“Doc’s coming out to take a look at one of the horses today. As if the ridiculous amount of money he’s gonna charge us ain’t enough, your mother thinks we oughta feed the sonofabitch too.”

“It’s a tough life, Dad.”

Dad? Jimmy peered curiously at the man, who looked nothing like Tom. The man peered back, his eyebrows slightly raised. Then he stuck out his hand. “Adam Little.”

“Jimmy Dorsett.” Adam had a firm grip and skin as tough as old canvas.

When Adam continued to stare at Jimmy, Shane huffed with exasperation. “Jeez, Dad. He’s just some poor guy who was willing to share his table with me. Stop giving him the hairy eyeball.” He turned his attention to Jimmy. “Sorry. He seems to think that guarding my virtue is his job.”

The corners of Jimmy’s lips quirked. “You look plenty old enough to decide what to do with your virtue.”

“What’s left of it,” Adam muttered. But it seemed as if the interchange was good-natured, because he clapped Shane on the shoulder. “Lunch Sunday? We ain’t seen you in a while. Pokey can pick you up.”

“Sure. Sounds good.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Adam said to Jimmy. Then, with an honest-to-God little tip of his hat, he walked to the counter.

Shane’s face had flushed slightly. “I’m really sorry, man. My dad’s old-school. Once he adjusted to me being gay—which took a while—he decided to police my dating life. Which, as you pointed out, I’m way too old for. Oh, and I can’t believe I never even introduced myself. Shane Little.”

Oh fuck. He
was
queer, and he was adorable. Jimmy gritted his teeth under his smile. “You already know my name. And it’s nice that he cares.”

“He cares, Mom cares, Aunt Belinda cares. I can’t do anything around here without the entire town knowing right away. I’m really not that interesting, but I guess folks here find their entertainment where they can.”

“Yeah. Small towns are like that.” Jimmy squinted at him. “Do the locals give you a hard time about being gay?”

“Nah. Some used to, years ago. Until I beat the crap out a couple of them. I used to be stronger, and besides, Jesse—” A shadow briefly passed over his face. With a visible effort, he smiled. “So what are you going to do about your car? Hank’s got a pretty good shop and he won’t rip you off.”

“Out of my budget. Besides, even if I had the money, it wouldn’t be worth it. I got more miles out of that Ford than I expected to, so that’s all right.”

Now Shane looked concerned. “So what will you do?”

“Hitch.”

“To… where?”

“Wherever someone will take me,” Jimmy replied.

Their waitress appeared beside the table. “Anything else?” she asked Jimmy.

He didn’t want to go just yet. But his belly was full, and any further conversation with Shane was probably going to frustrate him. Already Jimmy wanted to reach across the table and touch Shane’s hair, maybe run a finger across his scars. “Just the check. Thanks.”

“Mine too,” Shane said, but his thoughts were clearly elsewhere. As soon as she took their plates away, he leaned forward. “You don’t
have
to go, do you? I mean, you’re not, um, on the run from the law, are you?”

That made Jimmy laugh. “I’ve done some stupid shit, but never bad enough to make me a fugitive.”

“If I google you, I won’t find you on the Ten Most Wanted list?”

“Afraid not.”

“So.” Shane traced his finger through a bit of spilled sugar on the tabletop, worrying at his lip and not meeting Jimmy’s gaze. He finally looked up again. “So you could stick around here for a while. If you had a place to stay and a job.”

God
damn
it! You don’t hope. You don’t
want
. That only leads to destruction. But Jimmy felt himself nod. “I could. For a short time.”

Grinning as if he’d won an argument, Shane leaned back in his chair. “So what are your job skills?”

Now this at least was comfortable ground. “I can sweep a floor, pluck a chicken, mow a lawn, clear a trail, pick an apple, stock a shelf, and flip a burger. I’ve been a grocery bagger, a landscaper, a human sign, a—”

“A human sign?” Shane asked, eyebrows raised.

“Yep. Advertising a place that buys gold jewelry. I was supposed to dance to grab drivers’ attention, but I mostly just stood there. That gig only lasted a few days. And I’ve been a janitor, an orderly, a handyman, a street cleaner. Basically, if it requires only a little skill or training, I can do it.” And he wasn’t afraid of hard work. In fact, when he had a job, he put his all into it because he liked the way it cleared his mind of other things.

“Can you ride?”

“Ride?”

“A horse.”

Jimmy shook his head. “I’m afraid not.”

“Too bad. Dad could probably use another ranch hand this time of year. The calves are here and we have—
they
have to move the cattle around a fair amount. To make sure the grazing is good.” There was something painful for him in these statements, but Jimmy couldn’t fathom what.

“Sorry. Cowboy’s not on my résumé.”

“Hmm.” Shane tapped the table and scrunched up his mouth. “Could you give me a couple of hours? I have an idea.”

Jimmy had nothing but hours. But he kept his voice low and even. “Why do you care whether I stay or go?”

Shane dropped his head. “You seem like a guy with a lot of interesting stories. And I told you. Entertainment’s hard to come by around here.”

Maybe Shane was hoping for a little more—entertainment of the clothing-free sort, perhaps—but he didn’t say so, and Jimmy didn’t want to push. It was a nice enough novelty for someone to want a bit of his company. “I can wait a few hours,” Jimmy said.

“Great!” Shane’s smile was brilliant. “The bar’s not open yet, but—”

“I can walk around. I have all that french toast to work off.” And he’d been too sedentary for quite some time.

“Okay, good. Um, I can hold your duffel for you over at the Snake. If you want.”

“Afraid I’m gonna hitch that ride after all?”

Shane’s cheeks colored a bit. “No. I just wanted to save you from having to drag it around.”

“I’m used to dragging it around. But thanks. I guess it would be nice to have a lighter load for a time.” He didn’t add that if he really wanted to go, he wouldn’t hesitate to abandon the bag. He’d miss his boots and the unfinished book, but he’d survived bigger losses.

Impossibly, Shane’s smile brightened two notches. “Good. Come around to the Snake early this afternoon, okay?”

“Will do.”

But he absolutely would not hope.

T
HE
WEATHER
was fine, Jimmy’s stomach was full, and it was the perfect time for a long walk. He followed Shane to the inn, both of them walking slowly on account of Shane’s limp, and Shane took the bag from him when they reached the door. “See you in a while,” Jimmy said. He strolled away, thinking how strange—and unexpectedly pleasant—it was to have someone waiting for him to return. He immediately distracted himself from the thought.

The shops on Main Street had opened, but he didn’t feel like browsing. Shopkeepers tended to track him carefully, even when he looked more or less reputable. Instead he turned down a narrow street between buildings and began to climb the hill. The little houses looked slightly worn but well loved. They had colorful flowerbeds in front, decorative flags in the lawns, wind chimes hanging on the porches. Someone had painted one cottage an awful shade of lavender, but Jimmy liked even that house.

After a few blocks, the houses grew farther apart and, with their surrounding gardens, looked more like small farms. Chickens clucked at him from the roadside, and a huge orange cat wandered over and demanded to be petted; Jimmy obliged. He liked cats, although he’d never had one.

The road narrowed. Now the houses were newer but still modest, with stables and barns behind them. Horses watched him pass, reminding him of Shane’s question. He could picture Shane in a saddle. But that thought led to mental images of a very different kind of riding, which Jimmy tried to censor. Not the time or place.

The cemetery lay at the crest of the hill, surrounded by a low metal fence. A large hand-painted sign at the entrance read NO HORSES BEYOND THIS POINT. He chuckled at that—until he pictured Shane riding again. Swearing under his breath, Jimmy entered the cemetery.