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couldn’t wait to sample the apple pie. The men around him seemed as intent upon their meals as he was. It wasn’t until he was sipping the steaming cup of dark, rich coffee at the end of the satisfying meal that he struck up a conversation with the man sitting next to him.
    “I’m new in town, does Belle always serve such good meals?”
    “Best damn place in town to eat,” the man vowed. “And reasonable, too. Most of the miners take their meals here.”
    “I’m Casey Walker,” Casey said, offering his hand.
    “Bram London,” the man said, shaking Casey’s hand. “You a miner? If you’re looking for work maybe I can help you out. I’m foreman at the Gold Bug mine.”
    “I might take you up on the offer one of thesedays, but not now. I’ve just accepted another position. Besides, I don’t expect to be in town long.”
    London did not inquire further. Out here a man’s past was his own private business, and his comings and goings could be speculated upon but never questioned.
    “How long have you been taking your meals at the diner?”
    “From the first day it opened.”
    “Do you know Mrs. Henderson well?”
    London shrugged. “As well as most.”
    “How well is that?” Casey’s line of questioning had a definite purpose. He hoped to learn whether Belle was still practicing her trade while using the restaurant as a front.
    London took exception to Casey’s altogether too personal inquiries. “What are you getting at, Walker? Mrs. Henderson’s personal life is no one’s business, you ought to know that.”
    “I sure would like to know her better—a whole lot better,” a leering miner across from Casey alleged. He had been eavesdropping on the conversation and decided to horn in. “Dinks said she was a sweet little piece despite her lame leg.”
    “Dinks?” Casey asked sharply, recalling the drunken miner he’d pulled off Belle earlier today.
    “Yeah, he’s a friend of mine. Works at the Big Cut. He’s had the little widow plenty of times, the lucky stiff.”
    Casey was trying to decide whether to beat the crap out of the ugly miner or shoot him, when Belle happened to walk out of the kitchen. The chatter all but stopped as she traveled between tables, passing around a platter of dumplings. Casey wasn’t at all pleased by the elbow-nudging and whisperingamong the customers for he knew exactly what they were thinking. He could read it in their hungry expressions. Each and every one of them wanted to bed Belle, and he included himself in their numbers.
    “How do you suppose Mrs. Henderson came up lame, Wentz?” London asked the vulgar man sitting across from him and Casey.
    “Who cares.” Wentz gave a lascivious laugh. “She’s like any other woman where it counts. It’s not her legs I’m interested in, but what’s between them.” He licked his thick lips. “Dinks says she’s good, real good.”
    London looked skeptical. “I wouldn’t put stock in anything Dinks said. He’s drunk more often than not these days.”
    Casey decided he liked Bram London and couldn’t abide Wentz. “I strongly suggest you don’t repeat anything Dinks says, Mr. Wentz.”
    Wentz gazed into the depths of Casey’s hazel eyes, and the recognition of something ruthless and dangerous in them passed over his face. He instinctively sidled away from Casey, as if trying to escape some deadly peril.
    “I don’t know what business it is of yours, mister,” Wentz challenged, “but if it will make you feel better, everyone knows Dinks is a liar.” He rose abruptly. “I gotta go, can’t sit around jawing all day.”
    “Me, too,” London said. “See ya around, Walker.”
    Casey sat brooding over his empty coffee cup, knowing that Dinks’ personal claims about Belle were false, yet wondering if somewhere in his words lay a thread of truth.
    “Would you like more coffee, Mr. Walker?”
    Casey looked up and saw Belle standing beside him with a coffeepot in one hand. Damn, she had the prettiest brown