He crossed the street, waiting for a few seconds while a gas-driven wag rumbled slowly by, carrying a huge load of hewn logs on its flatbed, then headed for an eatery called Carl and Joanna’s Diner, which looked to be pretty full for so early in the evening. Ryan hoped that the number of diners meant the place was good.
He pushed open the door and a bell jingled.
A middle-aged man with an apron tied over his ample stomach appeared, beaming, and offered him a handwritten menu. “You got the reading, stranger? Or one of the girls can tell you what we got on tonight.”
“I read, thanks.”
“Table for yourself, or do you mind sharing?”
“Prefer my own company.”
The man put his finger to his lips. “Nod’s as good as a wink to a blind man, friend. This way.” He pushed between the tables, exchanging banter with his customers. “You passing through?”
“Yeah. Come up from Glenwood Springs. Meeting some people in a few days.” Ryan was impressed with the incredible speed at which he’d gone from being a stranger to becoming a friend.
The menu offered what sounded like real good cooking. There was duck with a sauce made from oranges; turkey stuffed with cinnamon apples; breast of goose with mushrooms; steaks of all shapes and sizes with a range of about eight different vegetables.
Ryan picked the duck, choosing sweet corn and creamed potatoes with butter and mashed carrots and snow peas, selecting iced lemonade to go with the food.
The place was three parts full. There were several locals, probably storekeepers and folks working in offices, as well as a scattering of miners and trappers.
Carl was rushing around, busier than a one-legged man in an avalanche. The thin-faced woman with glasses visible in the kitchen had to be Joanna. She caught Ryan looking at her and gave him a distracted smile and a half wave of the hand.
The food was brought by a chubby young woman in a flowered print frock and a checked apron, who unloaded her tray with professional expertise, reeling off what everything was as she did so.
“That everything, mister?”
“Lemonade?”
“Sure. On the way. Enjoy your meal.”
Ryan did.
Everything was delicious, cooked to perfection. As he was polishing off the last mouthful he again caught Joanna’s eye and gave her a double thumbs-up, getting a broad smile in return.
“Couldn’t have been better, Carl,” he said, as he was settling his bill.
“Sure you can’t make room for a dessert? You seen the special list?”
“I don’t even have the room for a single grain of chocolate rice, thanks.”
“Not the key lime pie? Or the French almond silk pie? The black cherry cobbler? The blueberry meringue with vanilla ice cream or fresh cream? The strawberry gteau with a brandy syllabub? Grapefruit sorbet with a sweet raspberry-liqueur? There must be something to tempt you, brother.”
Now he’d gone from friend to brother.
Half the things on offer were alien to Ryan. “I don’t think that I could Mebbe a small, and I mean small, portion of the black cherry cobbler.”
“We got five other kinds of cobbler. There’s”
Ryan held up his hand. “No. Don’t push it, Carl. This may be a mistake and I’ll have to go lie down for an hour to recover. But bring me the cobbler.”
The small portion hung over the side of a large dish, soaked in thick cream.
Ryan was three parts through it, when he felt the coldness of steel against the back of his neck.
“One move and your face ends up blown into your plate, stranger. We want to talk to you about what happened to some friends down the Glenwood Trail.”
From brother straight back to stranger.
EVERYONE IN THE HOUSE had finally gone to bed, leaving the fire piled high with enough wood to last most of the night.
And the half circle of panting wolves still sat patiently outside the big window.
Krysty lay on the sofa beneath a couple of blankets. Most of the bedding had gone to the upstairs sleepers, where the cold was beginning to bite.
She had lain awake for some time, plagued with worry that something had gone wrong for Ryan and Dean, finally slipping into an uneasy sleep, only to be jerked awake by a dull thumping sound.