Adam (Farraday Country Book One)

Chapter Six

"You, D.J., Finn, Adam, Connor, Ethan, and Grace." Meg kept a mental tally as she repeated each name. "Seven."

Brooks chuckled from the driver's seat of his Suburban. "At last count."

Earlier this afternoon she'd been sitting on the stool farthest away from the front door of the café, sipping a hot cup of tea, and watching the comings and goings of the patrons. The midafternoon interactions had been interesting. Yesterday—when she'd been rushing like a chicken with her head cut off, waiting on customers—she'd noticed very little about them. Remembered even less. Now she was able to see the way Abbie worked the room. On Sunday afternoons she was the only wait staff. Something about Sundays being for families, though she did a decent lunch crowd. Mostly folks coming in after church, Abbie had explained.

It was nice to see families arriving in their Sunday best. Little girls in pretty dresses and sons in their button-down shirts and slicked-back hair. A few teens took over the far corner where yesterday the ladies had been playing poker. A couple of the folks who'd come in alone sat at the counter. Burt Larson, the owner of Fred's Hardware store, had sat down beside her to chat a bit. A friendly old bachelor who had bought the business from Fred and hadn't seen any reason to change a name folks were used to, he seemed to know something about everyone in the diner and didn't mind sharing his knowledge. He also liked his hot tea with real cream. A little odd but something she'd remember for the next time he came in. Meg had noticed early on that Abbie knew every person not only by name but by their preferred drink as well.

"Will that be your usual diet cola, Miss Susan?"

"We're out of decaf, Harry. I've put a fresh pot on for you."

"Water, no ice, with a twist coming right up, Miss Cassie."

And everyone seemed to genuinely like Abbie. Not that there was anything about her not to like, but the feel was different here. Almost perfect. Like scenes from a black-and-white movie. The kind of film where small towns held square dances and barn-raising picnics. Unlike her world that relied on the bar scene and Internet dating to socialize, or insurance companies and TV attorneys to deal with property loss.

At exactly two o'clock on the nose, the bell at the café door dinged, and at first Meg thought Adam had come to get her after all. It took a few seconds to recognize the man at the door wasn't Adam, just a close double. Well over six foot, with broad shoulders, wearing the requisite west Texas jeans and well-worn boots, he had the same jet-black locks that Adam did, but, as he moved in her direction, it wasn't crystal blue eyes that spotted her. This man's eyes shone almost shamrock green. Eileen hadn't mentioned who Brooks was, but it was clear to anyone who could see that Adam and this man were brothers. Maybe even twins.

For the short ride from town he'd been filling her in on the rest of the family. It was much easier to keep him talking than answering the standard questions of where she came from and what was she doing in Tuckers Bluff.

"And you're a doctor."

He nodded.

"But, of the seven, only a few will be at dinner?" she asked. To an only child whose friends rarely had more than one or two siblings, keeping up with seven seemed like the making of a reality TV show.

"Finn, the youngest brother, he runs the ranch. He'll be there. Of course me, Adam, you've met. D.J.—"

"That's Declan James?"

"Correct." He nodded, turning onto a dirt road under a huge iron arch with a scrolling F dead center.

Bumping along, she was thankful to be in his large SUV and not her four-door sedan. Or worse, Jonathan's stupid sports car. West Texas had a thing or two to learn about paved streets.