Angels Fall

miles of wildflowers on the sage flats, and more along the area's lakes and ponds.
    She was ready for flowering, Reece thought. Ready for blooming.
    Then she shifted her eyes up to the wide front window of the restaurant. More diner than restaurant, she corrected. Counter service, two-and four-tops, booths, all in faded red and white. Pies and cakes on display, and the kitchen open to the counter. A couple waitresses bustled around with trays and coffeepots.
    Lunch crowd, she realized. She'd forgotten lunch. As soon as she'd taken a look at the hotel, she'd…
    Then she saw it in the window, the sign, hand-lettered.
     
    COOK WANTED INQUIRE WITHIN
     
    Signs, she thought again, though she'd taken a step back before she caught herself. She stood where she was, making a careful study of the setup from outside the glass. Open kitchen, she reminded herself, that was key. Diner food, she could handle that in her sleep. Or would have been able to, once.
    Maybe it was time to find out, time to take another step forward. If she couldn't handle it, she'd know, and wouldn't be any worse off than she was now.
    The hotel was probably hiring, in anticipation of the summer season. Or Mr. Drubber might need another clerk at his store.
    But the sign was right there, and her car had aimed toward this town, and her steps had brought her to this spot, where daffodil shoots pushed out of the dirt into the first hesitant breaths of spring.
    She backtracked to the door, took a long, long breath in, then opened it.
    Fried onions, grilling meat—on the gamey side—strong coffee, a jukebox on country and a buzz of table chatter.
    Clean red floors, she noted, scrubbed white counter. The few empty tables had their lunch setups. There were photographs on the walls— good ones to her eye. Black-and-whites of the lake, of white water, of the mountains in every season.
    She was still getting her bearings, gathering her courage, when one of the waitresses swung by her. "Afternoon. You're looking for lunch you've got your choice of a table or the counter."
    "Actually, I'm looking for the manager. Or owner. Ah, about the sign in the window. The position of cook."
    The waitress stopped, still balancing a tray. "You're a cook?"
    There'd been a time Reece would have sniffed at the term good-naturedly, but she'd have sniffed nonetheless. "Yes."
    "That's handy, cause Joanie fired one a couple of days ago." The waitress curled her free hand, brought it up to her lips in the mime for drinking.
    "Oh."
    "Gave him the job in February when he came through town look-ing for work. Said he'd found Jesus and was spreading his word across the land."
    She cocked her head and her hip and gave Recce a sunny smile out of a pretty face. "He preached the Word, all right, like a disciple on crack, so you wanted to stuff a rag in his mouth. Then I guess he found the bottle, and that was that. So. Why don't you go right on and sit up at the counter. I'll see if Joanie can get out of the kitchen for a minute. How about some coffee?"
    "Tea, if you don't mind."
    "Coming up."
    Didn't have to take the job. Recce reminded herself as she slid onto a chrome-and-leather stool and rubbed her damp palms dry on the thighs of her jeans. Even if it was offered, she didn't have to take it. She could stick with cleaning hotel rooms, or head out and find that dude ranch.
    The juke switched numbers, and Shania Twain announced joyfully she felt like a woman.
    The waitress waikeci back to the gnü and tapped a short sturdy woman on the shoulder, leaned in. After a moment, the woman shot a glance over her shoulder, met Recce's eyes, then nodded. The waitress came back to the counter with a white cup of hot water, with a Lipton tea bag in the saucer.
    "Joanie'll be right along. You want to order some lunch? Meatloaf's house special today. Comes with mashed potatoes and green beans and a biscuit."
    "No, thanks, no, tea's fine." She'd never be able to hold anything more down, not with the nerves bouncing around in her belly. The panic wanted to come with it, that smothering wet weight in the chest.
    She should just go, Reece thought. Go right now and walk back to her car. Get the hose fixed and head out. Signs be damned.
    Joanie had a fluff of blond hair on her head, a white butcher's apron splattered with grease stains tied around her middle and high-topped red Converse sneakers on her feet. She walked out from the kitchen wiping her hands on a dishcloth.
    And she measured Reeee out of steely