“Am I late?” he asked, looking at his watch.
“I made reserva
tions at the Depot for six-thirty,” she replied, walking ahead of him.
“I didn’t know we were going to the Depot,” he said.
“You don’t like eating there?”
“No, it’s fine,” he said.
“Good. That’s where I usually eat when I’m in Missoula,” she said. She opened the car door for herself and got inside, her purse on her lap, waiting for him to start the engine.
The restaurant’s main dining area and the bar across the foyer were crowded. Outside, on the terrace, a jazz combo played under a striped canopy, the sun a soft orange ball above the hills behind the railroad tracks.
“I’m glad you got reservations,” Darrel said.
“You have to. On Saturday night university types take over everything,” she said.
“It’s that kind of town, all right,” he said.
She ordered wine and he a glass of seltzer with a slice of lime.
“You don’t drink?” she said.
“Not too often. But I can if I want to,” he replied.
“When do you want to?” she said, and smiled when she said it.
“When I feel like it. I just never had the taste for it.”
“Give me the sirloin, well done, sour cream and chives on the baked potato. No butter,” she told the waiter.
“Yeah, same for me,” Darrel said.
During dinner he realized she spoke to no one at the other tables, although her eyes seemed to take note, without personal interest, of everyone in the room. She had firm arms, square shoulders, a small cleft in her chin, and medium-size hands with clipped, pink nails. She ate with a good appetite and midway through the meal ordered another glass of wine. “Sure you won’t join me?” she said.
“Why not?” he said, nodding to the waiter.
Later, she had Bavarian cake for dessert, and when the waiter brought coffee, she looked sated, happy, her face a bit flushed. She didn’t order anything else to drink and he knew she wasn’t a real boozer. “I always like the food here,” she said.
“I’ve been looking into that guy Dixon’s background. You know, the rodeo guy?” he said casually.
She picked up her spoon from her coffee saucer and looked at it and put it back down. “I think I already told you I strayed into a dalliance with Wyatt. It was my fault, not his. But I’m not really interested in hearing any more about him,” she said.
“The Feds say he writes letters to the President. He’s a definite head case.”
He looked out the window, waiting for her reaction. “Is this why you asked me out?” she said.
“I shouldn’t have brought this guy up. Cops have a hard time getting off the clock. That’s why they hang out together. Lot of times in late night bars. I’m glad you wanted to go to dinner tonight.”
She let her eyes rove around the dining room, her thoughts veiled. “Ever been married?” she asked.
“For a little while. I was in the Army, moving around from place to place.”
“You seem like a frank man. What do you think of me?”
“You’re a classy lady. I got a feeling we’re a lot alike,” Darrel said.