A crude sign had been hung over the door. “Harry’s,” it said.
“Best food in town,” Ellen grinned.
“I think this is the same warehouse Colton and I helped unload during the spring flood.”
“Possibly,” Ellen said. “It’s very new.”
“I hope it doesn’t smell like old moldy wood.”
Ellen laughed. “No moldy wood.”
Jim held the door and followed Ellen inside.
The interior was nothing like Jim expected. The back wall was missing and in its place was a long wooden railing and the river beyond. The owner had stripped the wooden walls down and polished them until they shone. A few scattered lamps hung in the corners, providing more light. Jim also noticed the wood flooring when it creaked under his weight. That hadn’t been here during the flood. There were a half dozen tables scattered around the room.
The waitress smiled when she saw Ellen. “Missus Heston, I haven’t seen you in quite some time.”
“We’ve been traveling, Mary,” Ellen said. “This is my husband, Jim.”
Mary was a handsome young woman, blond and tall.
“Nice to meet you, ma’am,” Jim said, and removed his hat.
“He’s very polite,” Mary said to Ellen.
“Texan.”
“Of course,” Mary giggled. “Are they all like that?”
“All the ones I’ve ever met,” Ellen said.
Jim cleared his throat to hide his embarrassment.
Mary led them to a table near the water. “We’ve got elk steak, potatoes, and corn today.”
“Coffee?” Jim said.
“Always,” Mary said.
“We’ll take two plates and two cups of coffee,” Ellen said.
“I’ll let Harry know. He’ll probably come out to see you,” Mary said.
Jim waited for Mary to go.
“Harry?” he said when they were alone.
“The owner. I helped him out with supplies at the store a time or two.”
They had the place to themselves, and Jim enjoyed just listening to the rippling water. “I wouldn’t have thought of this. Knocking a wall out, I mean.”
“I wouldn’t either,” Ellen said. “But it’s nice sitting by the water.”
A fat man in a thick apron emerged from the back, carrying two plates of steaming food.
“Missus Heston,” he said. “I haven’t seen you in an age.”
“We’ve been to the coast and back,” Ellen said as he set the plates down.
Jim looked the man over. He was an older fellow, streaks of gray ran through thinning hair and a bushy beard. Though fat around the middle, he had thick wrists and forearms, along with a broad neck. He looked like a wrestler or boxer.
“This is my husband, Jim,” Ellen said.
“The gunfighter,” Harry said. “Happy to finally meet you.”
He threw out a hand, and Jim shook it. There was power in his calloused grip, and Jim met it with his own.
“Don’t know if I’m a gunfighter,” Jim said. “But I’ve used a gun. When need arose.”
Harry smiled and held up his hands. “I’m a man of peace myself. No guns for me.”
He didn’t look like a man of peace. He looked like he could and had wrestled bears.
“Harry was a dockman in New England before he came west,” Ellen said.
“And a fisherman at times, and now and then I had to use these.” He held up a pair of huge fists. “Dock workin’s a fighting man’s business.”
He gave Jim an appraising eye. “Though you look like you could handle yourself on the docks well enough.”
