The Judge and the Gypsy Read Online Free Page B

felt a response well up inside him, Rasch suddenly rebelled. He didn’t like the idea that this woman was trying to control him, even in this small way. With a growl he jerked his hand away and broke the visual contact between them.
    “Where’s the coffee? I’m hungry!”
    Without turning her head, she answered, “It’s coming.”
    It was. The waitress appeared from behind a swinging door, bearing two thick mugs, and filledthem with steaming strong coffee. She laid out napkins, butter, jelly, and a pitcher of cream.
    “Your food will be here terectly,” she said in the curious mountain dialect. She studied Rasch and Savannah for a moment before she turned away. “You know you’re supposed to be wearing shoes in here, lady.”
    Savannah looked startled. “No, I didn’t know, I’m sorry. I have boots in the car. Shall I get them?”
    “No,” the woman said, “just keep your feet under the table so nobody will know. You don’t look like hunters.”
    “We’re camping,” Rasch explained, then wondered why he did. Campers didn’t wear Gypsy skirts and ankle bracelets with bells over bare feet.
    “Well, take it easy. If you ain’t used to wearing shoes, them boots are gonna do a job on your feet.”
    Rasch had already considered that possibility and determined that after he got some answers to his questions, he’d persuade Savannah to turn back. It wasn’t that she didn’t belong in the mountains; everything about her said that she did. But his plan to be alone and do some serious thinking would be compromised by her presence.
    Savannah didn’t comment. She wasn’t worried. Years of circus performing had callused her hands and her feet to the point that she doubted anything would hurt them.
    The morning sunlight had burned off all the night mists, and the day was gloriously golden. The trees were speckled with orange and yellow and red patches where the leaves were taking on their fall colors. Fall was late this year, but now winter would come swiftly to the mountains.
    Rasch hoped that the sleeping bag his companion claimed to have brought would keep her warm. Mountain air was deceptive, especially in late October. The weather report said that conditions for the next two days would be bright and clear. After that the picture became hazier. The possibility of a cold front moving in always brought the chance of unexpected rain and sometimes snow.
    The waitress was back. She laid out thick white plates piled with scrambled eggs and crisp bacon.
    Rasch picked up his fork and speared a section of bacon. “All this cholesterol isn’t good for the body,” he said. “I usually have bran flakes and juice.”
    “That’s sensible, but the body sometimes has needs that aren’t sensible, don’t you think?”
    There it was again, that burning sensation. Except this time it concentrated itself in a spot just below his left ear. The current seemed to dart down the nerve endings to his fingertips, and he could hardly grip the fork.
    “Who
are
you?” he whispered huskily.
    She dropped her voice and answered, “I am called Savannah.”
    Not that her name was Savannah, but that she was
called
Savannah. “Why?”
    “Because that is the city where I was born, in a special place in a glen of sweet grass and gentle night creatures. And you are called Horatio, which means keeper of the hours, strong, steady. Is that what your mother intended for her son, why she called you Horatio?”
    “I doubt that time had anything to do with it. My mother thought that Horatio was an important-sounding name.”
    “Your mother wanted fame for you?”
    “I don’t know. She just liked the sound, I think.”
    Savannah raised her coffee cup and took a sip. “I like sounds. I like to hear, and touch. People don’t listen anymore. And when they do, they don’t hear.”
    “Do you always speak in riddles?”
    “No. Do you always ask questions?”
    “Yes, I think I do. I think that it’s important for a person to ask, and know,