An IHOP, really? She thought after five years behind bars he’d want a steak, not soggy pancakes and sickly-sweet syrup. But, IHOP was where he wanted to meet.
The old Dodge pickup with a Wyoming plate, lift kit and over-sized tires shouldn’t have surprised her. Of course he’d drive. He wouldn’t want to deal with airport security or get some dorky little rent-a-car. Still, that bucking bronco license plate made her pause as she crossed the parking lot. The truck could have driven right out of her best and worst memories. She wondered if it smelled like chewing tobacco and pine tree air freshener the way Kyle’s used to.
He didn’t tell her what he’d be wearing. There might be another six-foot-tall blond guy at IHOP today. She could just see herself walking up to the wrong guy and asking, “Are you Wade?” only to have him shake his head like she was an idiot.
A bell jingled as she pulled the door open. The moment she saw the guy in the foyer, she knew he was Wade. No one else would have been wearing faded Levis, cowboy boots and a black Jack Daniels T-shirt in ninety-degree heat.
“Mary,” he said when he saw her. She nodded, and he held out his arms.
Never seen the guy before, and she walked right into his arms.
He hugged her tight—a real bear hug—like he’d missed her his whole life. They followed the hostess to a window booth. Wade watched her expression as he slid into the seat opposite her.
She tried not to stare. He could have been any average-looking Wyoming cowboy if it wasn’t for that amazing hair hanging almost to his shoulders, Midas touched, partially covering his left eye. She wanted to push her hands through it and watch the golden strands swirl around her fingers.
“My mom hates it,” Wade said. “She keeps trying to cut it.”
Mary dropped her eyes, embarrassed. “That would be tragic.”
He folded his hands on the table, and she admired his long fingers. Little white scars marked some of his knuckles, but those fingers wrote letters in handwriting so clear and pretty, it was hard to believe they were penned by a guy.
“You do not look sixteen.” He reached over the menus and coffee cups and pulled the oversized sunglasses from her hair.
She tugged on the ruffled collar of her sleeveless shirt. “I’m not. Not really.” She didn’t have to explain why. Not to him. He knew she’d had to grow up fast when her brother went away. There was no child left in her by the time Kyle died in prison. She turned a cup over and slid it to the end of the table so the waitress would fill it. “Why’d you come?”
“I promised Kyle I’d make sure you were taken care of.” He tilted his head toward the BMW she parked next to his pickup. “Looks like you’re doing fine.”
“The car’s not mine. Belongs to my adoptive parents.” She wasn’t supposed to drive it. She didn’t even have a license. They wanted her to prove she was responsible before they cut her loose with a car. Then they took off to Palm Springs for weeks at a time and left her with the housekeeper. “Bleeding-heart, liberal phonies. They’re a means to an end.”
“What kind of end?” Wade considered the car then turned his eyes back to her. “College?”
The air conditioning blew cold on her bare shoulders. She reached for the steaming coffee and brought it to her lips. The bitterness didn’t bother her. She wasn’t brought up for sweet. “The only end I’ll ever want—revenge.”