Angels Fall

raving mad from the unrelenting noise.
    It didn't stop people from coming in. Lynt turned off his plow to settle in with an enormous bowl of buffalo stew. Carl Sampson, with his cheeks red from the wind, puffed in to sit with Lynt and chow down on meatloaf, and stayed to eat two pieces of huckleberry pie.
    Others came and went. Others came and lingered. They all wanted food and company, she understood. Human contact and something warm in the belly to remind them they weren't alone. While she grilled, fried, boiled and chopped, she, too, felt steadier for the hum of voices.
    But there wouldn't be voices and contact once she finished her shift. Thinking of her hotel room, she fought her way down to the mercantile on her break for spare batteries for her flashlight. Just in case.
    "Winter's got to take her last slap," Mac told her as he rang up her batteries. "Going to have to reorder these. Had a run on them. Close to running out of bread, eggs and milk. too. Why is it people always load up on bread, eggs and milk in a storm?"
    "I guess they want to be able to make French toast."
    He gave a quick, wheezing laugh. "Might be they do. How you doing down at Joanie's? Haven't made it down there since this hit. I like to get by all the businesses that re open when we get socked. Being mayor, it just seems the thing to do."
    "Generator's going, so we're still in business. You, too."
    "Yeah, don't like to close the doors. Lynt's got the roads clear enough, and the power should be back up in a couple hours. I checked on that. And she's already passing. The storm."
    Recce glanced toward the windows. "It is?"
    "Time the power's back, she'll be done. You'll see. Only real trouble we've had from this is the roof of Clancy's storage shed caving in. His own fault anyway. It was due for repair, and he didn't get it shoveled off. Tell Joanie I'll be down to check on things first chance."
     
    IN JUST OVER an hour, Mac's predictions proved on target. The wind tapered down to an irritable mutter. Before another hour had passed, the juke—which Joanie refused to run on her generator— whined back on, hiccuped, then offered up Dolly Parton.
    And long after the heavy fall of snow and brutal wind left town. Reece could see it raging in bruised clouds in the mountains. It added, she thought, to their fierceness, gave them a cold, aloof power.
    It made her grateful she could stand in the warmth of her hotel room and look out at them.
    She mixed up vats of stew according to Joanie's recipes, grilled pounds and pounds of meat and poultry and fish. At the end of every shift, she counted up her tip money, then tucked it in an envelope she kept zipped in her duffel bag.
    Sometime during the day or evening, Joanie would stick a plate of food under Reece's nose. She'd eat in a corner of the kitchen while meat smoked on the grill, the jukebox played and people sat at the counter and gossiped.
    Three days after the storm, she was ladling up stew when Lo strolled back. He made a small production out of sniffing the air. "Something sure smells good."'
    "Tortilla soup." She had finally convinced Joanie to let her prepare one of her own recipes. "And it is good. Do you want a bowl?"
    "I was talking about you, but I wouldn't turn down a bowl of that."
    She handed him the one she'd just prepared, then reached up for another bowl. He slid up behind her, reaching up as she did. A classic move, Reece thought, as was her easy side step. "I've got it. Your mother's back in her office if you want to see her."
    "I'll catch her before I head out. Came in to see you."
    "Oh?" She filled the next bowl, sprinkled on the cheese she'd grated for it, the tortilla strips she'd fried. She thought wistfully how much better it would have been with fresh cilantro as she set it on a plate with a hard roll and two pats of butter. Shifting around, she put it in line. "Order up," she called out, then took the next ticket.
    Maybe she could talk Joanie into adding cilantro, and a few other fresh herbs, to the produce order. Some sun-dried tomatoes and arugula. If she could just—
    "Hey, where'd you go?" Lo demanded. "Can I come, too?"
    "What? Sorry, did you say something?"
    He looked a little put out, and surprised with it. She imagined he wasn't used to having a woman forget he was there. Boss's son. she reminded herself, and offered a quick smile. "I get caught up when I'm cooking."
    "Guess you do. Still, business is pretty light today."
    "Steady though." She got out the makings