Czytaj książkę: «A Little Texas Two-Step»

One

Hank caught a movement out of the corner of his eye and glanced toward the entrance to his bar. A woman stood before the front window, bent at the waist, her chin thrust forward as she peered through its dirty glass.

Hank muttered a curse. He was sick and damn tired of people sticking their noses in his window at all hours of the day. The sign on the door clearly read Closed, but that little fact didn’t seem to bother the throng of people who’d made their way to Temptation.

And it’s all Cody’s fault, he grumped silently, thinking of his friend and Temptation’s sheriff. If he hadn’t come up with the fool notion to advertise for women to save Temptation from becoming a ghost town, all these folks wouldn’t have converged on their town.

He watched, frowning, as the sun panned gold from the woman’s shoulder-length blond hair while the wind whipped it across her face. She caught the long tresses that curtained one cheek in long, delicately boned fingers to hold it back from her face.

Scrawny little thing, he told himself as he watched her. Probably didn’t weigh more than a hundred pounds dripping wet. He stepped around the bar to get a better look. Yep, he confirmed, she was scrawny all right. Her arms were thin as reeds, her shoulders narrow, and if she had any boobs at all beneath that baggy silk blouse, she was hiding them well.

Hank snorted and shook his head. Personally, he liked his women with a little more flesh on them. Full hips made for a man to ride, breasts big enough to fill his hands, lips thick enough to wrap around his—

At that moment, she glanced up and caught sight of him through the window and offered him a tentative smile.

Well, she had the lips, he admitted reluctantly. And the pearliest white teeth he’d ever seen. While he watched, she snagged the sign from the window he’d put there three days before. She disappeared for a moment, only to reappear on the other side of the locked front door. She tapped on the glass then pointed to the sign she held.

Hank groaned. “Damn,” he muttered under his breath, knowing full well that she was wanting to apply for the waitress position he’d advertised for. And Hank knew damn good and well this was going to be a waste of his time. She couldn’t handle the job. The work was backbreaking, the hours long, his customers rowdy at best. A slip of a woman like her wouldn’t last one shift as a waitress in a bar like The End of the Road.

Muttering curses under his breath, he crossed to the door and unlocked it. “Can I help you?”

Leighanna took a step back and pressed the sign to her breasts, startled by the intimidating size and the gruffness of the man who stood opposite her. Tall, broad-shouldered, slim-hipped, he had the face of an angel but the eyes and the mouth of the devil himself. “I hope so,” she said, then nervously wet her lips.

The dart of that pink tongue made Hank think of other things he’d like that tongue to do. Before he had time to follow that train of thought, though, she extended her hand.

“I’m Leighanna Farrow,” she said by way of introduction. “Are you the owner?”

Hank scowled. “Yeah, I’m the owner.” Reluctantly, he took her hand in his. “Hank Braden.”

Her hand was smooth as silk against his callused palm and soft as butter, further proof that she wasn’t fit for the job.

She pushed a smile to her lips as she withdrew her hand...but he could see the fear in her eyes, could almost smell it over the scent of her perfume. His customers would eat a woman like her alive.

“I’d like to apply for the waitress position,” she said politely, and offered him the sign.

Hank took it and stuck it right back in the window. “Sorry. You’re not what I had in mind.”

Her mouth dropped open. “But—”

“Lady,” he growled. “This is a bar, not some damn tearoom. You wouldn’t last five minutes in a place like this.”

Her chin came up, her blue eyes as sharp as tempered steel. “And how would you know?”

Hank snorted, then took his gaze on a slow journey from the top of her blond head to the tips of her high-heeled mules. She looked like one of those damn Dreamsicle ice cream bars, standing there in those peach-colored leggings and that baggy, watered silk blouse, looking all soft and creamy and temptingly sweet. And though he was tempted to offer her something other than a job, he knew sampling her would only bring him grief. By the regal lift of her chin and the cut of the clothes she wore, he figured she was a little classy for his taste, as well as that of his bar.

A sardonic smile tipped one corner of his mouth as his eyes met hers again. “Trust me,” he said. “I just know.” He turned his back on her and walked away.

Leighanna watched him and felt her last chance for employment slipping from her fingers. She needed this job, she told herself. She’d already walked the main street of Temptation, seeking employment in every possible establishment, but there wasn’t a job to be had...other than this one.

Squaring her shoulders in determination, she yanked the sign from the window and hurried to catch up with him, her mules slapping against her heels and clicking loudly against the scarred linoleum floor. “Mr. Braden—”

Hank wheeled and she skidded to a stop to keep from bumping into the wall of his chest. The woman was as pesky as a fly that just wouldn’t shoo. “The name’s Hank,” he snapped. “And I said no.”

If his size wasn’t enough to send her running for her car, the threatening look in his eye should have done the trick. But it didn’t. Leighanna was that desperate. Her creditors were already breathing down her neck. “Hank, then,” she said, and fought to hide the tremble in her lips. “Look. I really need this job.”

Hank heaved a sigh, then folded his arms across his chest. “Have you ever worked as a waitress before?”

“No,” she replied reluctantly.

“Well, what makes you think you can do the work?”

“I managed a clothing boutique in Houston before I moved here, so I’m accustomed to dealing with the public. And I’m a fast learner,” she was quick to add. “Plus, I’m willing to do whatever work is required.”

He curled his mouth in disgust. “You don’t even know what the job entails.”

“No,” she agreed in a voice as soft as her skin. “But perhaps you could enlighten me.”

Deciding the best way to get rid of her might be to tell her exactly what he expected of her, Hank grabbed a chair from the top of the table and plopped it onto the floor. He hiked a boot on the seat of the chair, folded his arms across his knee and narrowed an eye at her. “In the past, I’ve worked the place by myself, but with all these damn strangers that keep pouring into town as a result of the media attention Temptation’s received, business has picked up and I need help.

“I work the bar and the grill myself, and I’d expect you to take the orders and deliver them. That means carrying trays loaded down with beer and food and clearing the tables when they’re dirty. You’ll do all the dishwashing, too. And you’ll have to scrub out the toilets and mop the floors every night after we close.”

He paused, measuring her response, but she didn’t appear fazed one whit by what he’d described so far. He decided to shovel it on a little thicker.

“The men outnumber the women in this town about eight to one, and they’re a rough lot. They spend most of their time alone on their ranches and farms and come in here on Friday and Saturday nights to blow off a little steam and have a good time. They’ll probably find a woman like you hard to resist. But I expect you to keep your mind on your job and your skirt on...at least while you’re on duty,” he added with a wink.

Though she paled a little, she didn’t turn tail and run as Hank had expected. He heaved a deep breath, wondering what it was going to take to get rid of her. “After they have a few drinks, the boys tend to get a little testy. If a fight breaks out, it’s your job to bust it up.” Her eyes widened a little and Hank decided he’d finally hit on the right vein. “When they’re drunk enough to fight, they’re usually drunk enough to puke. If they do, you’ll be the one to clean it up.”

Convinced by the sick look on her face that he’d painted the bleakest picture possible and there was no way in hell she’d want the waitressing job now, Hank dragged his boot from the chair. “Well, what do you think? You still interested?”

Leighanna swallowed hard. “How much does it pay?” she asked weakly.

“Minimum wage, but you can keep your tips...if you earn any,” he added, sure that she would say thanks but no thanks.

He nearly keeled over when instead she said, “When do I start?”

“I found a job,” Leighanna sang cheerfully as she stepped through the back door of Mary Claire’s house.

Mary Claire turned from the sink. “You did?” she asked in surprise. A smile built when she saw the excited flush on Leighanna’s cheeks. She quickly snatched up a cloth to dry her hands and hugged Leighanna to her. “That’s wonderful!” she cried, then pushed Leighanna to arm’s length. “Where?”

“The End of the Road.”

Mary Claire’s smile wilted as quickly as it had formed. “The End of the Road? You mean that seedy little bar on the edge of town?”

Leighanna struggled to keep her smile in place. “Yes, that’s the place. I start today at five.” Ignoring Mary Claire’s stricken expression, she ducked from beneath her arm and headed for the refrigerator. “Is there anything cold to drink? My car’s air conditioner is still on the blink and it must be a hundred degrees outside.”

“Yes,” Mary Claire murmured, already wringing her hands. “I just made a pitcher of lemonade for the kids. Leighanna?” she asked nervously. “Are you sure you want to work in a place like that?”

“A place like what?” Leighanna asked innocently, though she knew full well what Mary Claire meant. The place was nothing but a glorified beer joint, but a job was a job, and beggars couldn’t be choosers. Not in a town the size of Temptation.

Mary Claire forced her hands apart to pluck two glasses from the cupboard and trailed Leighanna to the table. “Well...I haven’t been there myself, but I’ve heard that it gets pretty rough in there. Mrs. Martin over at the Mercantile told me that the sheriff is always having to go over there and break up fights on Saturday nights.”

Leighanna silently cursed Hank Braden. Oh, he’d told her about the fights all right, but he hadn’t said anything about the sheriff being the one to bust them up. She specifically remembered him saying that it would be up to her to settle any disputes. She wondered what else he had lied about.

Sighing, she filled the two glasses. It didn’t matter whether he’d lied or not She needed the money too much to complain. “It’s the only job I could find,” she said, and pushed a glass across the table before picking up her own.

Mary Claire shoved aside the offered drink and fisted her hands in a white-knuckled knot on the table. “If you need money that badly, I’ll loan you some until something better comes along.”

Leighanna shook her head. “You’re already providing me room and board. I won’t take your money.”

Mary Claire heaved a sigh. “But, Leighanna—”

Leighanna leaned forward, covering Mary Claire’s hand with hers, and squeezed, grateful to her friend for offering, but knowing she had to do this by herself.

When she’d left Houston, she’d been on the run, hoping to escape the power her ex-husband still held over her. But she knew that putting distance between herself and Roger wouldn’t solve all her problems. She’d been a mouse where men were concerned, a doormat who had continually accepted whatever dirt the mien in her life scraped her way in exchange for a little of their affection.

But not any longer. Leighanna was determined to change her ways. She’d already made a large step toward achieving this goal by standing up to Hank Braden and insisting that he give her the job. And though the thought of working for such a disagreeable man frightened her, she was determined to fend for herself, relying on no one and nothing other than her own abilities to pay her way.

“No, Mary Claire,” she said firmly. “I won’t take your money, though I do appreciate the offer.”

When Leighanna arrived at five o‘clock, Hank was already behind the bar, shoving long-neck beer bottles into an insulated box filled with ice. His hair was wet and slicked to one side, and though it was obvious he’d just shaved, his jaw still carried a five-o’clock shadow. “You’re late,” he grumped.

Leighanna glanced at her watch. “It’s not even five,” she said in surprise.

Hank jerked his head toward a clock behind the bar, The clock, like the rest of the bar’s decor, had obviously been supplied by the beer distributor. A fake waterfall on the clock’s face spilled over a mountain stream, and neon lights above it blinked on and off, advertising Coors beer.

The hands on the clock pointed to 5:03.

Leighanna knew darn good and well that her watch was accurate because she’d set it by the radio that very morning, but she also knew it wouldn’t do any good to argue the point with Hank. Swallowing her retort, she quickly stored her purse on a shelf behind the bar. “I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

“It better not.”

Though tempted to tell the man where he could shove his precious job, Leighanna bit her tongue and tied a towel around her waist. “What do you want me to do?” she asked.

Hank nodded toward the open room. “Take the chairs down and situate ’em around the tables, then check the salt and pepper shakers and make sure they’re full. After you’re done with that, you can chop lettuce and slice up enough tomatoes and onions to fill the bins there by the grill.”

Sure that there was more to her job then the tasks he’d named, Leighanna frowned in puzzlement. “Is that all?”

“Nope,” he said, and stopped long enough to shoot her a lazy grin. “But I know how you blondes are. I don’t want to send your brain into overload by giving you too much to remember.”

She knew he was baiting her, looking for any excuse to fire her before she ever started, and Leighanna refused to give him the pleasure. But that didn’t stop the sweep of anger that burned her cheeks. Marching across the room, she started jerking chairs from the tops of the tables and shoving them up underneath.

Though Hank continued to stuff beer bottles into the cooler, he watched her out of the corner of his eye. Damn fool woman, he cursed silently. Didn’t she know that silk didn’t belong in a place like his? The slacks and matching blouse she wore looked as out of place in The End of the Road as she did. And those shoes she had on! Nothing but a handful of thin leather straps. Her feet would be killing her by closing time...if she lasted that long. As he watched, one of the baggy sleeves on her silk blouse caught on a splintered rung of the chair she was struggling to pull down. With a cry of dismay, she dropped the chair and it fell to the floor with a clatter as she lifted the sleeve to examine the snagged fabric. A soft, pitiful moan slipped from her lips.

Hank’s blood heated in anger. He wouldn’t feet sorry for her, he told himself. Any fool would know not to wear something like that to work as a waitress.

“Careful with the furniture,” he snapped. “You break, you pay.”

Her head came up, her chin jutting imperiously as her gaze met his and held. He saw the anger, the frustration in those blue depths, but ignored it. He’d tried to tell her she couldn’t handle the job, but she wouldn’t listen. So now she’d just have to learn it the hard way.

He waved a hand toward the tables. “Better get moveing. You’ve still got those shakers to refill.”