58

Owen entered the restaurant, aware of the looks he was getting.

Oh well. He‘d just have to act like he didn‘t notice the snickers. He was lucky to even be alive. Taking a deep breath to steady his nerves, he found a seat in the corner of the spacious room and sat down. The boots that were much too big for him scraped across the hardwood floor. He had to pull up his pants so they didn‘t fall down. Rope. He needed rope. Or a belt. But then, a pair of pants that fit would do even better.

He took a deep breath and allowed himself to relax. He made it to Omaha. That meant his problems were finally over.

No one would be looking for him this far out west.

―What can I get you?‖ a woman wearing an apron asked, holding a pad and pencil in her hands.

Right. Food. He quickly picked up the piece of paper in front of him and read the list of menu items. ―Do you have any fish?‖

She grinned. ―No. We don‘t. Hey, you sound funny. You aren‘t from here, are you?‖

―No, ma‘a