Journey of the Magi by Barbara Edwards Page A

wayward thoughts.
    The woman didn’t question him further. She waited like the stray hound who hung around outside the kitchen door, hungry for scraps. The animal had been kicked so often it froze when the light came on, expecting more abuse.
    He sighed and wiped his cloth over the polished walnut surface. This unexpected attraction mattered. He needed a waitress, not a lover or sweetheart.
    “Experienced, huh? Can you take orders quickly without messin’ up? How about adding the check? I don’t have a calculator for you to carry. My last waitress, Thelma, complained she needed one when I told her to double-check her addition.”
    “I can add.” When her lips curved slightly upward his breath hitched at the way her face brightened. “I worked in a restaurant for years.”
    “Where was that?” Dan couldn’t drag his gaze from her restless fingers. For a split second he wondered how they would feel on his bare skin.
    “San Francisco.”
    “California?” He gave a low whistle. “Minnesota is a long haul from there.”
    “Not as far as Connecticut,” she added in a kitten-soft voice that purred through his gut. “I’ll be honest with you, mister. I’m not looking for a long-term job. I need to get some cash together. We’re going home for Christmas. ”
    Dan swallowed his disappointment. He neatly arranged the gleaming glasses while he considered. He couldn’t keep working eighteen-hour days to keep the place open. She looked clean and sounded educated. She’d do until one of the local girls got fired or laid off after the Christmas rush ended at the stores.
    “That’ll work out. I’ll need you to start in the morning.” He waved toward a shadowed arch in the side wall. “I serve breakfast and lunch to the paper mill crew.”
    She sagged slightly and then straightened. “Can you recommend a place to stay? We pulled in to town tonight.”
    “Pretty late to be drivin’.” Dan wanted to slap his forehead in disgust. She was tired and cold and he had kept her talking. He gestured at the frost-covered window. “The roads are getting bad.”
    Grainy snow pelted the glass and moisture fogged the window as the heavy door opened again.
    A small child peered around the edge and called, “Mom? Can you come? The baby’s crying.”
    Dan’s gaze flew from the child to her mother.
    “I have to go.” The woman hastily pulled on her gloves and wound the scarf around her head. Guilt dug claws in Dan’s soul when he straightened. He’d kept her chatting while her kids sat in the bitter cold.
    He swallowed the concern lumped in his throat. She needed shelter, and he could help. “Bring the kids in here. The wind-chill factor must be pushing ten below zero.”
    “Are you sure?” She paused with her hand on the door.
    “Yeah, yeah. Bring in the family. I don’t mind.” He kept his voice business-like and silently promised to keep it that way.
    “What about the owner?” She glanced at the kitchen’s swinging door.
    He shrugged. “Like I said, I don’t mind.”
    Ernie nodded slowly when Dan caught his interested gaze. “Thought you gave up collecting strays. You know you’re going to regret it,” Ernie mumbled.
    “And you’re a Scrooge,” Dan muttered.
    Dan blinked when less than five minutes later she struggled inside clutching a wailing baby, a huge diaper bag, and a square leather purse the size of a kitchen sink. Behind her the child awkwardly held a rumpled pink blanket. One corner trailed on the floor.
    Dan started forward, but she waved him back. A vague disappointment welled up in his chest. He wanted to help.
    “Thank you. We’ll be fine.”
    She carefully placed the crying baby on one vinyl seat of the corner booth and spread the blanket on the other. She deftly removed the older child’s winter clothing and neatly folded it. Dressed in pink overalls and a white knit sweater with pink bunnies, the girl yawned sleepily and rubbed her eyes with her fists. Cute tyke was about five years