The Waitress's Secret

Today’s Special: The Undercover Heiress!

On the run after a bad breakup, wealthy city girl Arden Wexford ends up stranded in small town Sweet Briar. When hunky chef Brandon Danielson comes to her rescue, offering shelter and a waitressing job until her car is fixed, she reluctantly accepts. But, wanting Brandon to like her for her, not for her money, she doesn’t mention her rich roots. The closer they get, the harder it is to untell the lie.

Brandon came here to start over. Things weren’t as they seemed with his ex-fiancée, and he got burned! But is it out of the frying pan, into the fire for Brandon as things heat up with this very special waitress?

Kiss me.

The stray thought caught her off guard and she jerked away from temptation, stumbling like a klutz over a box. Brandon grabbed her before she fell. The warmth from his hands sent heat coursing through her body. This was so not good.

“Thanks,” Arden said breathlessly.

Brandon raised an eyebrow and stared at her as if he knew what she’d been thinking. “Don’t you want to know what he said?”

“Who?”

“John.” She must have looked as blank as she felt because he spoke the next words very slowly. “The guy who’s fixing your car.”

“Oh, yeah. Right. What did he say?”

“He towed it in, but he needs the keys. Once we get this stuff inside, I’ll drop you off at the garage.”

The thought of sitting shoulder to shoulder again in the cab of his truck, his masculine scent swirling around her, tempted her to forget she wasn’t interested in getting involved with another man. “You don’t have to do that.”

“It’s not a problem,” Brandon replied as he hoisted a box onto his right shoulder.

Then he glanced at the woman before him and wondered, not for the first time, what the heck he was doing.

* * *

SWEET BRIAR SWEETHEARTS: There’s something about Sweet Briar...

The Waitress’s Secret

Kathy Douglass

www.millsandboon.co.uk

KATHY DOUGLASS came by her love of reading naturally—both of her parents were readers. She would finish one book and pick up another. Then she attended law school and traded romances for legal opinions.

After the birth of her two children, her love of reading turned into a love of writing. Kathy now spends her days writing the small-town contemporary novels she enjoys reading.

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This book is dedicated with love and appreciation to the following people:

To my best friend, Joya, who has been a true friend since the day we met. Thanks for reminding me that I wanted to be a writer.

To Ehryck, Teri and Sandra, who celebrated with me when I signed my first contract.

To Lauren Canan, the best critique partner on the planet.

To my editor, Charles Griemsman, who helps make my books better than even I could imagine.

To my mother-in-law and father-in-law, who raised my husband to be the most wonderful man in the world.

To my siblings, for a lifetime of love and support. A special mention to Marc, who actually did refer to his daughters’ playpen as Attica.

To my parents, who loved and supported me in everything I did.

And last, but certainly not least, to my husband and sons, who fill my life with love and happiness. I love all of you more than you can ever imagine.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

Arden Wexford pounded on the steering wheel, then turned the ignition key one more time. Still dead. Funny how that worked. Apparently the nineteenth time wasn’t the charm. Sighing heavily, she got out of her car and slammed the door, releasing a bit of frustration. She looked under the hood even though she didn’t have the foggiest idea what she was searching for.

Her great big adventure, as she had been sarcastically referring to it since her beloved Beetle had broken down, wasn’t turning out the way she’d planned. If things had gone the way she’d intended, she would be closer to her parents’ house in Florida by now. Instead, she was stranded in Nowhere, North Carolina. She wished she’d driven the Mercedes sedan her parents had given her when she’d graduated from college two years ago. But her candy-red Bug felt like a big hug from her brothers. Driving it always made her happy. After the disaster with Michael-the-jerk, she needed cheering.

Now, though, she wished she had driven the old-lady car. She’d be that much farther away from Baltimore and men willing to stoop to the lowest depths to turn her money into theirs. She was done with greedy men. She was going to hole up in her parents’ winter home and enjoy life away from the vipers.

If she ever got out of North Carolina.

She kicked the tire of the offending vehicle even though it wasn’t to blame for her predicament. It was properly inflated and ready to roll. All it needed was the car to start.

Arden considered turning the key for the twentieth time, but decided against it. Twenty wasn’t going to be any luckier than nineteen. And if she didn’t want to spend the night on the side of the road hoping that 2,019 was the charm, she needed to start walking.

She locked the car, then dug through her purse and grabbed her cell phone. She glanced at the screen one more time, hoping that service bars would magically appear. None did.

She’d passed a road sign a couple of miles back indicating she was six miles from some town she’d never heard of. Small Briar or something like that. It couldn’t be more than four or so miles away. She ran that far most mornings at her health club. Of course the walk would be easier if she wasn’t wearing her cute-to-look-at-but-not-good-for-much-else high-heeled sandals. They were perfect for the airplane flight she’d originally planned. But then her brother commandeered the family jet at the last minute to fly to Monte Carlo for a meeting at one of the Wexford luxury hotels. He’d invited her to come along to relax while he worked, but she’d declined. Her brothers might not mind having their pictures appear in gossip rags catering to people enamored of the rich and famous, but she did. So, she’d decided to drive.

Traffic on the highway was light, with cars passing only occasionally. None of the drivers so much as slowed down. Weren’t people in the South supposed to be friendly? Not that she blamed them. She’d never pick up a stranger. And, truthfully, she wasn’t sure she’d take a ride even if one was offered.

The day had started out warm and breezy with a clear blue sky. Her T-shirt and color-coordinated skirt had been perfect then, but in the past twenty or so minutes, the temperature had plunged. The cool wind made her long for a sweater. Dark clouds were gathering and the sky was growing threatening. The smell of rain filled the air. She remembered hearing something about a storm in the weather forecast, but since she hadn’t expected to still be in the area, she hadn’t paid close attention.

Arden picked up her pace, hoping to get to shelter before the clouds burst and she got drenched. After walking about a mile, she checked her cell phone for service again. Still none. Amazing. Her car, which couldn’t make it from Baltimore to Tampa, had somehow managed time travel, propelling her into the Dark Ages.

Well, there was no use crying over it. She’d just have to keep walking. She eased a foot from her sandal and shook out yet another pebble. Rubbing her right foot on top of her left, she wondered if shoes that cost nearly a thousand dollars shouldn’t be as comfortable as they were beautiful.

Arden slid her foot back into her sandal and, after promising herself a good foot massage as soon as she reached civilization, continued her trek to town. She’d taken a handful of steps when a late-model silver pickup pulled to a stop several yards ahead of her. The driver’s door opened and a giant of a man got out. He closed the door and walked around to the back of the truck.

He had thick dreadlocks that were pulled back into a ponytail that hung to the middle of his back. His shoulders were so wide that she imagined he took up more than his share of an airline seat. His broad shoulders only emphasized his flat stomach and trim hips.

He was truly handsome, with dark chocolate skin, a jaw that could only be described as rugged and black eyes that quickly scanned her from head to toe before returning to meet her gaze. A shiver that had nothing to do with the temperature danced down her spine.

Although he had not done anything remotely intimidating, every warning her parents and older brothers had drilled into her since birth about stranger danger raced through her mind. Weren’t rich kids always at risk of being kidnapped and held for ransom? Arden looked around. There wasn’t another car in sight. She was alone on a deserted highway with a huge man. And no cell service. She stumbled back, cursing her high-heeled shoes.

As if sensing her trepidation, the man backed up until he bumped into his truck, his hands raised, palms out. “I’m not going to hurt you. I want to help you. I passed your car a couple miles back. That is, if you’re driving a red Beetle.”

His voice was deep, and she noted that he spoke in a calm manner as if soothing a child. She nodded.

“You’ve walked a long way. You still have about two miles to go until you reach Sweet Briar.” He looked up at the darkening sky. “There’s a severe thunderstorm warning in effect. Hop in and I’ll drop you off in town.”

Although he seemed harmless, her family’s lessons were too deeply ingrained to cast off simply because a guy had a smooth disc-jockey voice.

Arden shook her head. “Thanks. That’s really nice of you to offer, but I’ll walk. A little rain never hurt anybody. Besides, it’s not raining yet. Maybe it won’t.”

On cue, lightning streaked across the sky, followed by a loud clap of thunder. And then it started to rain.

“I really don’t mind giving you a lift.”

Arden tilted her head as she stared at him. Something was off. Although the words were correct and his posture nonthreatening, he didn’t appear at all pleased to offer her the ride. He was grimacing and seemed to be forcing the words out of his mouth as if he really didn’t want to say them. He reminded her of a reluctant twelve-year-old whose mother kept poking him in the back, prodding him to ask a girl to dance. That reluctance certainly didn’t engender confidence.

“No, thanks. I’ll take my chances with the rain.” It was becoming more of a steady downfall by the second but, still, wet was better than dead or whatever else he might have in mind.

* * *

Brandon stared at the woman, wondering if she’d lost her mind. Her hair was plastered to her head and water streamed down her face. Her T-shirt, a pale gray with some sort of orange-and-pink design, now clung to her breasts and tiny waist. He had a feeling she had not as yet realized that her top was fast becoming transparent, revealing the lacy white bra she wore beneath it. She was getting soaked to the bone and she wanted to walk?

Of course she did. That was the cherry on top of a perfectly terrible day. He’d wasted hours in a bank being shuffled from person to person as he unsuccessfully tried to straighten out a mess with the restaurant’s account. Now he was wasting even more time standing in the pouring rain trying to convince a stubborn woman to accept his help.

He was tired and irritated and ready to put this day behind him, but he couldn’t in good conscience leave her to hoof it to town. It was out of the question. His parents and grandparents had raised him too well to leave her stranded. He could practically hear his father reminding him that a gentleman never left a woman in distress while his mother stood in the background, nodding and murmuring in agreement.

He rubbed a hand across his neck.

The woman lifted her cute little chin in hardheaded resolve.

“Look, I can’t just leave you here. I have a sister, and I hope someone would stop and offer assistance if her car broke down. I also hope she’d have sense enough to take the ride.”

“Even with a man she’s never seen before in her life?”

Brandon huffed out a breath. She had him there. “My name is Brandon Danielson. I own a restaurant in Sweet Briar.”

He reached into the back pocket of his jeans, removed his driver’s license from his wallet and held it up for her to see although he doubted she could read it from the distance that separated them. “This is me. You can keep it if it makes you feel better. Hell, you can drive if that’s what it takes for you to feel safe.”

She nodded but still looked unsure. “Okay,” she finally agreed. “Thanks.”

“Thank me after we get out of this storm.”

Slipping and sliding on the unpaved shoulder, the woman reached the passenger door. She stepped on the running board of the truck, then grabbed at the hanging strap to pull herself up the rest of the way. Suddenly her foot slid out from under her. Instinctively, he reached out to help her, grabbing her around her impossibly small waist.

The feel of her soft body sent a jolt of awareness surging through him. He set her away as quickly as he could and frowned at the reaction of his body. He was a Good Samaritan, not some player picking up women on the side of the road.

“I’m going to help you into the truck.” Before she could respond, he lifted her into his arms and settled her into the passenger seat. Even soaking wet, she couldn’t have weighed more than a hundred and fifteen or twenty pounds. Closing her door, he lost no time getting to the other side and slipping behind the wheel. As soon as he started the truck and the air began to circulate, he got a whiff of her scent. Man, she smelled good. Like rain and shampoo—which was expected—but also like sunshine and flowers. Like happiness. Where had that come from? He shook his head slightly in the hope the foolishness would rattle out his ears, then glanced at his passenger.

Even with most of her makeup washed off, she was incredibly beautiful. She had remarkably clear caramel-colored skin and light brown eyes. With high cheekbones and a perfectly shaped nose and lips, she could have been a model. Of course, he would have appreciated her beauty more if he didn’t need to start building an ark. And, like any beautiful work of art, she was best viewed from a distance. He would do well to keep that in mind.

She returned his glance with wide eyes. Her teeth were chattering, whether from nerves or because she was drenched and cold, he didn’t know. Maybe a little of both. He flipped on the heater and edged back onto the road. The wipers were on the fastest setting, yet they could barely keep up with the downfall.

“The truck has heated seats. And there’s a jacket in the back you can use.”

She moved her hand off the door handle and pressed the button he indicated. “I don’t need your jacket. I’m fine. Besides, you’re just as wet as I am.”

“Maybe.” He reached behind the seat and grabbed his denim jacket. “But perhaps you should look at your shirt. You might reconsider.”

She looked down and squeaked. “I look like a refugee from a wet T-shirt contest.”

He couldn’t help chuckling as she took the jacket and draped it over her torso. Although her breasts weren’t nearly the size of the women’s who entered such contests, they were still appealing. Not that he was looking. Much.

“What’s your name?”

The question really wasn’t that difficult, yet she hesitated as if trying to find the right answer. “It’s Arden... Arden W...West.”

“So, Arden, what brings you to North Carolina?”

She raised a suspicious eyebrow and leaned closer to her door. “How do you know I’m not from here?”

“No accent. You don’t have that Southern way of speaking.”

She nodded. “True.”

“And I saw your car, remember? Maryland plates.”

“Oh.” She heaved out a breath. A bit of remorse fell over her fine features and the stiffness left her spine.

“So, what brings you to our neck of the woods?”

“My car broke down here.” Arden had an impish smile on her face, which hit him in the center of his chest with unexpected force, momentarily making breathing hard.

“Sweet Briar is a small town. There’s a magnetic field that captures new people and won’t let them leave. Sort of like the Hotel California.”

“Where you can check out but never leave?”

Brandon nodded, pleased that she understood his reference to the classic Eagles song.

“Are you from here?”

“No.”

When he didn’t say anything more, she looked at him, her eyebrows raised in question.

“Chicago. I moved here three years ago.” A man who preferred to keep things on the surface, he didn’t normally volunteer information about himself. But being open seemed to put her at ease. So, as long as they kept to generalities, it was all good.

She tilted her head and looked him over, a mischievous expression on her face. “Did the magnet catch you or did you stay by choice?”

“Choice.” He hadn’t been able to leave Chicago and that lying Sylvia fast enough. When a friend mentioned his cousins loved living in Sweet Briar, Brandon had been on the first plane to North Carolina.

Arden nodded, then turned to look out the window. Lightning flashed, followed by loud, booming thunder. The rain was coming down too fast for the drainage system to keep up. At the rate water was beginning to flood the road, he wouldn’t be surprised if several streets in town were already closed.

After several frustrating minutes of inching down the highway and ten minutes spent sitting under an overpass when the downpour made driving too hazardous, they finally saw the sign welcoming them to Sweet Briar, population 1,976. He heard his passenger’s sigh of relief and wondered if maybe she was more nervous than she let on.

“Is there a hotel where you can drop me? Or, better yet, a garage where I can arrange a tow?”

“No hotel. We only have a couple of bed-and-breakfasts.” He wiped the condensation off the windshield and leaned forward for a better look. Just as he thought. There was close to three inches of water on the roads and the level was rising. “We have a garage, but I’m sure John has closed up for the night.”

She checked her watch, then glanced over at him, disbelief on her lovely face. “It’s only five o’clock.”

“He generally closes around four thirty or five. You know, small town.”

“I guess.” She agreed but still looked doubtful. “Is there another mechanic in town?”

“Nope. Just John. And, to be honest, the way the streets are flooding, he probably wouldn’t tow you now anyway.”

Arden considered a minute. “Okay. Then I guess you can just drop me at the B and B.”

“No problem. The Sunrise B and B is just a couple of blocks away. Call John in the morning. Let him know you’re in a hurry and he’ll have you back on the road in no time.”

“Thanks.”

“Kristina will be able to give you John’s number. She owns the B and B, by the way.”

“Speaking of calling.” Arden pulled out her phone and checked it. Grinning, she held it up to him. “Bars. I have bars. I’m out of the seventies.”

Brandon blinked. “What?”

She laughed. “I couldn’t get service where the car died.”

He nodded his understanding. “Ah. Gotcha. Cell service is spotty in this area. It takes some getting used to. But you shouldn’t have trouble in town.”

“That’s good to know.”

He pulled in front of an old Victorian mansion that Kristina Harrison had converted into a thriving business.

Arden peered out the window. At that moment, lightning streaked across the sky and thunder rolled. “You called this the Sunrise B and B?”

“Yeah.”

“It looks more like a haunted house.” She glanced at the building and then back at him. “You sure Herman and Lily don’t live here?”

He barked out a surprised laugh. So she liked the old sixties television show The Munsters. So did he. “I’m positive. Although the name of the street is Mockingbird Lane.”

“Are you kidding me? The Munsters lived at 1313 Mockingbird Lane.”

“Yeah. I’m kidding. This is Rose Street.”

She shook her small fist at him. “That’s so not funny.”

Brandon resisted the urge to laugh but couldn’t suppress a smile. “Yeah, it was.”

She grinned with him. “Okay, it was.”

“I know this place looks spooky in this storm, but it’s actually a well-kept building. And the inside is great. You’ll be comfortable.”

“Have you ever stayed here?”

“Well, no. I have a house in town. But trust me. Kristina Harrison has great taste. And she’s a nice person. You’ll be fine.”

“Okay.”

“Stay here. I’ll help you.” He was halfway around the front of the truck when the passenger door opened and Arden hopped out. A splash was followed by a squeal.

“I know. I know. Don’t say it.” She laughed as she stepped onto the curb. “I just thought I could get out and save you the trouble.”

He shook his head. How much trouble could it be to help her out of his truck and carry her across a few puddles? Apparently, she’d rather do that crazy hop-tiptoe step through several inches of cold water than wait for his assistance. He understood the need to be independent since he liked to do things for himself as well, so he resisted the urge to sweep her into his arms and carry her to the stairs, even though it meant getting drenched again. He did stay close by, ready to catch her if she stumbled.

She finally slip-slid her way to the stairs and grabbed a railing. Letting out a breath, he climbed the steps beside her, eager to reach the porch and get them both out of the driving rain. He rang the doorbell and in less than a minute the glass door swung open.

“Goodness. Get in here before you catch pneumonia,” Kristina said, motioning for them to enter.

“Thanks.” Brandon stepped aside to let Arden go before him.

* * *

Arden didn’t need to be told twice. She stepped inside the door held open by a pretty woman who looked to be in her midtwenties. Brandon closed the door behind them and made the introductions.