“How can you bear to let them go again? Doesn’t it tear your heart out?”

Flo shrugged. “We provide a clean bed, good meals and a shoulder to cry on. Or in some cases an open ear. Sometimes that’s all they require to get them through a rough patch. You obviously don’t have kids, or you’d have requested to work shifts around school or daycare hours.”

Swallowing hard, Gillian gave a shake of her head. She couldn’t bring herself to talk about Katie. Twice yesterday she’d driven past the lane where she’d left the suitcase. Once, a vehicle directly in front of her entered it first. Not the blue car she was trying to avoid, but a big pickup. During a second pass-by, she noticed a man herding cattle in a nearby field. Tonight, after work, Gillian intended to go back under the cover of darkness.

Flo gave Gillian’s hand a sympathetic squeeze. “Now, don’t go fretting over your divorce. You’re still young enough to make plenty of babies. You have to concentrate on finding a good man to father them.”

“A man of any kind is the last thing I want. Shouldn’t I concentrate on hitting the floor running? Do I have everything? Pencil.” Gillian pulled two out of her uniform pocket. “Order pad? A smile.” She hauled in a deep breath. “Well, here goes.” Waving, she disappeared through the swinging doors.

Within two hours, Gillian discovered how out of shape she was. Luckily the technique for keeping orders straight came back to her before the large lunch crowd arrived. Good thing she’d had that experience, even if it was ten years ago, she mused, plopping down ketchup and mustard at a table of boisterous men.

Three at the table wore police uniforms; a fourth had on street clothing but was undoubtedly a cop. He indicated that they were waiting for someone who’d just entered. Gillian had already noticed that man the minute he walked in. Sauntered was more like it, in spite of a pronounced limp. Gosh, she hoped he wasn’t offended by her lengthy stare. It wasn’t his limp that drew her attention but his attire. He wore dusty cowboy boots, worn blue jeans, a body-hugging denim shirt and a Stetson set rakishly on his head.

Gillian had never seen a real cowboy in her life, and he was an eyeful. He seemed to be friendly with all the cops in the room. It took him a long time to reach his table because he stopped to talk with occupants at practically every booth along the way. So many people piped up to yell, “Hey there, Mitch, how you doing?” Gillian couldn’t help but learn his first name. Especially as she waited impatiently to add his order to those of his pals.

The name suited him. Mitch was a strong moniker. He certainly appeared commanding in spite of his limp. What had caused it? she wondered. Probably a fall from a horse.

Gillian felt herself blush as he turned, caught her still staring and tipped his hat. Hastily averting her gaze, she sorted menus to pass around at an adjacent table full of men wearing business suits. “I’ll be right back,” she told the group awaiting the cowboy, and dashed off to draw glasses of water for the businessmen.

The cowboy needed a haircut, Gillian decided after he finally removed his hat and reached for a chair. A haircut was pretty much all he lacked, though. He had dark-lashed coffee-colored eyes and a ready grin that creased lean, tanned cheeks. In her estimation, he possessed more sex appeal than all the other men at his table put together. Except, perhaps for the other man not wearing a uniform. Mitch greeted him effusively, calling him Ethan, as he spun a chair around across from the plainclothes cop and straddled it. So did that mean the cowboy was a cop, too?

At first Gillian thought they were brothers who hadn’t seen each other for a while. She nixed that idea based on snatches of conversation overheard on various trips past their table. Ethan, she saw, sported a shiny gold wedding band. Brand-new, she’d bet, mostly because he mumbled thanks but didn’t so much as lift his eyes whenever she brought something to the table. By contrast, his cowboy pal tracked her every move—to the point that Gillian found herself fumbling dishes. It occurred to her with a sudden start that maybe he’d seen her picture on a handbill. The fear galloping through her nearly made her drop a full tray.

“Ma’am,” said a gravelly voice at her elbow. “You’re obviously new to Flo’s. But I’m pretty sure she wouldn’t want you to be totin’ more than you can carry.”

How he—Mitch—managed to check out her every curve while he steadied her tray, Gillian didn’t know. She just knew there wasn’t a wrinkle in her uniform he missed with those lancing brown eyes.

“This is my first day here,” she said quietly. “While I appreciate your concern, if you don’t let go and sit down, you’ll make it look like I’m incapable of managing the job I was hired for.”

Cops seated around the room watched the byplay openly. Few tried to mask their amused expressions. Finally, one round-faced rookie, whose wire-rimmed glasses constantly slipped down his nose, chortled. “Wouldn’t you know it, Flo gets a pretty new waitress to replace Tracy, and it just happens to be the first day Valetti shows up in town. I swear, he has radar when it comes to sniffing out gorgeous, single babes.”

Gillian jerked away quickly and finished unloading the tray. She smacked one of the noon-time specials down in front of the loudmouthed kid. “Married or single, I’m not on the menu here.”