The Cold Breakfast Bride novel · Chapter 6 of 24

Chapter 6: Tailgate

The Wilder pack hall sat a mile up the hill road from the diner.

It was a long log building with a tin roof and a kitchen nobody had cleaned since the mouse.

Abel gave me the key on Tuesday morning.

"It's ugly," he said.

"It has a six-burner range."

"It has a six-burner range and four of them work."

"Then I'll cook on four."

I scrubbed that kitchen for six hours.

The night cook came up after his sleep and scrubbed beside me without being asked.

The waitress came at noon with a box of gum and a bleach bottle.

"I'm not getting paid for this, am I, boss?"

"Not yet."

"Cool. Just checking."

By Wednesday afternoon we had a menu.

Breakfast burritos at six.

Elk chili and cornbread at noon.

Pie whenever there was pie.

We couldn't serve inside the diner, but nobody had padlocked the lot.

The night cook backed his old diesel up to the front steps and dropped the tailgate.

The waitress taped a cardboard sign to the side.

HATTY'S. STILL OPEN. SORT OF.

The first morning, nine people came.

They were truckers mostly, and a couple of Iron Ridge kids who'd heard and came up to see if it was true.

The second morning, twenty-two.

By Friday the line stretched past the gas pump.

Truckers on the long haul between Missoula and the Canadian border.

Hill wolves on their way to work.

Packless wolves, too.

I hadn't known how many there were.

They came out of the trailers along the highway and the cabins with no roads to them, quiet and careful.

They lined up like they expected someone to tell them to leave.

Nobody did.

On the treaty lot, nobody could.

A young packless wolf with a split lip ate three burritos standing up and then asked if he could wash dishes for a fourth.

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