LITMIR.BIZ

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shorts and a white tank raised his hand. “Double-bacon cheeseburger and loaded fries?” A small woman, her gray hair purple under the fluorescent lights, waved her handkerchief from down the counter.

      “Right.” She bustled off to one of their chrome-edged tables, the top matching the diner’s counters. “Are you sure you don’t want anything else on this, Pete?”

      The logger shook his head, his long earlobes shaking beneath buzzed brown hair. “Watching my weight. Wife and I are renewing our vows next month, and I want to get into my old tux.”

      “One Heart Attack.” Maggie presented their burger special with a flourish. “Will you be having anything else, Sister Mary?” she asked the retired nun, a twinkle in her eye.

      “If you’ve got any raisin pie left, I’d have a slice of that.”

      “One Ministroke, coming up,” Maggie called cheerfully. “I think you got the last slice.”

      “Good. Can’t imagine a better way to meet my maker,” the elderly woman joked, lifting a burger bigger than her face and taking an enormous bite. No worries with dentures there, mused Vivie.

      She headed back to the counter, grabbing dirty plates off tables as she went. Since the loggers had come and gone, and she’d wanted Maggie to herself, they’d let the waitstaff go after the evening rush had ended.

      Brett, Rowdy’s nephew, pushed through the double wooden doors from the kitchen, an empty plastic bin on his hip. “I’ll take those, Miss Harris,” he said softly, his usual lisp barely audible.

      She handed over the dishes and joined Maggie at the counter, grabbing a salt container and refilling the shakers.

      “Why don’t you go home?” Maggie offered. “I don’t mind staying and Brett can wait tables if we get busy.” She untied a scarf from her bright red hair and shook the curling mass loose.

      Vivie contemplated the cozy diner, the yellow tables, the floral-patterned wallpaper covered with vintage local pictures, the spider plants that hung at each window. This felt like home—as much so as her real one. And going back meant facing the empty pantry and thoughts of the cub’s fate. No. She wasn’t ready for that. The extra food and water she’d left out for Scooter and Jinx would do.

      “Life isn’t fair, is it, Sister Mary?” She sidled down the counter and passed the woman a jar of hot sauce, anticipating her customer’s usual request.

      “Nope. And then you die,” drawled the woman, who nodded her thanks before dumping a quarter of the bottle’s contents over her fries.

      Vivie shivered, imagining the bear.

      “You want me to start tomorrow’s goulash, Maggie?” Rowdy rested his elbows on the stainless-steel surface in the cutout between the kitchen and the restaurant, his white tank top sticking to his damp chest.

      “Might as well.” Maggie rolled cutlery into paper napkins and wound a self-stick wrapper around it, making a pile on the counter beside her. Vivie caught her sideways glance. “I’ll be back to help in a few minutes.”

      “Suit yourself.” Rowdy disappeared into his domain and Vivie joined Maggie, grabbing a fork, knife and spoon to help out.

      “The cub’s in a better place, now. Not suffering.” Maggie patted Vivie’s hand before grabbing more utensils.

      Vivie’s fingers fumbled, the wrapper sliding off the napkin. “She would have been better off with me than dead.”

      Melodic whistling rose from the kitchen, a heavy metal tune turned into elevator music on Rowdy’s lips. Brett hustled back into the kitchen, his dish container half-full.

      “The cub would have grown into a full-sized bear. You never could have cared for something that big.”

      “I would have tried.”

      “You did everything you could, Vivie. You always do. Don’t torture yourself.”

      “I know,” she said, though she didn’t believe it. Not deep down. There must have been something else she could have done. Words that might have convinced the stubborn officer. It’d been a long time since she’d felt so helpless—her life out of her control. She’d thought she’d never have that desperate feeling again after making a secure home and career for herself.

      “Officer Walsh sounds like a terrible person.” Maggie’s smile drooped a little, the closest her upbeat friend came to a frown.

      “He—” Vivie dropped the napkin she’d just rolled as the bell above their glass door jingled and the man himself strode in. What was he doing here? Did he honestly think she’d put out the welcome mat? Of all the arrogant, egotistical...

      He doffed his hat and smiled. “Good evening, ladies.”

      Vivie flicked her eyes at Maggie. Given her friend’s soft gasp, she’d been right to think the officer was her type.

      “What are you doing here, Officer Walsh?” she ground out. Maggie gawked at her, then at the man nonchalantly seating himself at the counter. Her counter! Now she regretted wiping it. If she could give him salmonella, she would; it’d be worth the lawsuit.

      “Call me Liam. I came for a piece of your raisin pie,” he said lightly, his face relaxed, green eyes unnervingly guilt-free. Did the man have no remorse? No soul?

      “Claimed it!” called Sister Mary, waving a dripping french fry.

      The whistling in the kitchen stopped and Rowdy pushed through the kitchen door. He stopped beside Vivie and glowered at their latest customer. Brett was right behind his uncle, a similar expression on his face. No welcome for the man she’d been complaining about this past hour.

      “What’s he doing here?” mumbled Rowdy, the flick of his braid over his shoulder as agitated a move as she’d ever seen him make.

      “Wants pie,” put in Pete. He held up his empty salad bowl. “I’ll have a piece of the apple with some ice cream after all, if you’ve got it.”

      “That’s the spirit, Pete!” the sister called, her mouth full of burger. “Your wife didn’t marry you for your looks, anyway.”

      An appalled silence fell. Then Maggie’s pixie laugh rang out and the others joined in, Pete the loudest. Only Vivie and Officer Walsh remained silent, eying each other.

      “Guess not,” Pete sputtered, still chuckling. “Better make that two scoops, Maggie.”

      “Coming up.” She pulled a couple of pie tins from the glass case on the counter and slid pieces onto plates. She passed the apple to Rowdy. “Would you make that à la mode?”

      “Sure.” After eyeballing Officer Walsh, their cook headed back into the kitchen.

      Maggie squirted whipped cream beside the raisin pie and delivered it to Sister Mary.

      “Thank you, dear.”

      “You’re lucky to get it. We’re usually out by noon.”

      “Guess my years of service come in handy sometimes.” She smiled at the ceiling. “Got an in with the big guy.”

      “More like good karma,” Brett spoke up, lifting his red, wooden-bead necklace and shaking it before wiping down a table.

      “You’ve got a nice place here.” Officer Walsh scanned the room, the lights picking up auburn strands in his dark hair.

      “We think so. This is my partner, Maggie Wilson.”

      Maggie smiled, a winsome turn of her lips that pulled in more customers than the raisin pie. “Hello. I’ve heard so much about you.”

      Officer Walsh’s gaze slid to Vivie. “I’m sure. Can we have a word, Vivie? In private.”

      “Not interested.”

      Maggie laced her fingers

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