Mornings in Two Pan (Two Pan Series Book 1) by B.K. Froman

Author:B.K. Froman [Froman, B.K.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Literary Fiction, Western, Humor
Publisher: Morning West Publishing
Published: 2014-06-29T05:00:00+00:00

If You Can’t Fix It With Duct Tape, You Haven’t Used Enough

JIGGS WALKED INTO the Bar and Grill. He had great hopes for “burrito night.” His previous strategy to skirt around the subject of the skull had failed. He wasn’t good at it like his mother had been. She could pierce a person with a perceptive look or a smooth-sounding, “If that’s what you think.” She’d let her unspoken questions circle and hover like a storm, building in the distance, rolling nearer and nearer, until it was a relief to confess and get the lightning strikes over.

Tonight, Jiggs had a different plan. Ox was usually in the mood to talk after a good meal. He liked to tell stories. With luck, Jiggs could get a piece of the puzzle answered.

A few Two Pan residents were scattered in the dining area. Several waved as he walked in. The clack of pool balls came from the side room. His usual spot was taken by a family from Minam, celebrating a birthday. A cake sat at Table 2, and gift-wrapped packages lay under their chairs as a pinched-mouth woman asked Misty for more chips and salsa.

In the corner, a man the size of a small building beckoned Jiggs toward him. Because of his weight, George Jugenmeir was relegated to Table 4. As a former logger, he’d been a hefty man, but years of eating lumberjack breakfasts long after he’d quit bucking timber had tripled George to “hulk” size. After breaking several chairs, Bazz had reinforced the seats at Table 4 so they’d support the man’s mass when he came to eat.

“Take a load off, neighbor.” George waved a thick hand.

“Hey. How ya doin’? I’m scouting for Dad. He been in here?”

George swung his heavy head back and forth. “Join me and wait. Seems we don’t talk over the fence anymore.”

“Be glad to, but first I need to find him. He’s already chewed up a stock boy. No telling—”

“I saw him.” Chicken Thief Bob skidded to a stop beside the table. “He’s down the street, sitting on a bale of sawdust, talking to Tracy.” The skinny man had a handle on most things happening in the area. Born in Two Pan, he chose to stay and drive a gravel truck for a living. His jeans hung loose from his waist, as though his belt were the only thing keeping them up. His shirt sleeve flapped as he snapped his fingers. “Hey! You figured out who the watch belongs to yet?”

Jiggs blinked. “Sometimes I forget how fast news travels. Well…” he hesitated, looking for words. “I figure it belongs to me. I found it.” He hoped that would put a stop to the tale.

“I heard Lottie Lubach can’t find her old watch. Have you looked inside? Is there a picture of her grandma in there?”

“What I found was broken up,” Jiggs said, thinking of the skull. “Doesn’t have a face.”

“I’ll go tell her.” He pointed to the back room used for meetings. “I got roped into helping the Daughters of Two Pan plan the Fourth of July shindig.

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