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“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.”
Leighanna dropped the sleeve with an indignant huff and stooped to turn the chair upright. Shoving it under the table with a little more force than necessary, she started snatching shakers from the centers of the tables. By the time she’d gathered them all, she’d calmed somewhat. She tried to lift the tray...and realized too late that she’d overloaded it.
She stole a glance at the bar and saw Hank watching her. She could tell by the measuring look in his eyes that this was all some kind of ridiculous test, and he was just waiting for her to fail. Determined to prove that she could handle the job, she set her jaw and lifted the tray. Straining under its weight, she staggered across the room, then had to hitch the tray’s edge against her breasts for added leverage to raise it high enough to shove it onto the bar’s high, scarred surface.
“Better be careful,” Hank warned from the other side. “Or you’ll smash what little bit God blessed you with.”
Leighanna dropped the tray to the bar, her cheeks flaming, while salt and pepper shakers rolled crazily across its surface. Grabbing one before it toppled over the edge, she slammed it back down on the tray. “How much or how little God blessed me with is certainly no concern of yours,” she said indignantly.
Hank arched a brow, his gaze dropping to her breasts. “No, but I’ve got eyes,” he said, and grinned wickedly as he looked back up at her.
“Well, you can just keep your eyes to yourself,” she snapped, and marched behind the bar. Not wanting to ask the aggravating man where he kept his supplies, she searched beneath the counter until she found the commercial-size containers of salt and pepper. Dragging them out to the bar, she started refilling the shakers.
Hank decided that this new waitress of his looked pretty cute when her feathers were all ruffled. Unable to resist ruffling them a little more, he eased up beside her, not close enough to touch, just close enough to let her know he was there. He heard her huff of breath and bit back a grin as he picked up a salt shaker and slowly unscrewed its top.
“No need to get your panties in a twist,” he said mildly. “Some men like women with small breasts...I just don’t happen to be one of them.”
“Thank heaven for that,” she muttered under her breath.
Acting as if he hadn’t heard her, he poured salt into the shaker. “But some of the men who’ll be coming in tonight aren’t as selective as me. You might consider buttoning that blouse of yours up a little higher. You wouldn’t want them to think you’re advertising...unless you are, of course.”
Frowning, Leighanna dipped her chin to look down at her blouse. Her eyes flew wide when she saw that the tray had pulled one of the buttons from its hole, exposing a generous view of a lace covered breast, a view she knew Hank had already taken advantage of. Quickly she grabbed the plackets together and forced the button back into place. “Thank you,” she murmured in embarrassment, unable to look Hank in the eye.
Hank just chuckled and screwed the lid back on the shaker. “Don’t mention it.”
Leighanna was sure that he was doing it purposefully, just to fluster her, because everywhere she turned he was there, in her way, all but breathing down her neck.
“Don’t you have anything to do?” she finally asked in frustration as she pushed a knife through a plump, red tomato.
He just grinned. “Am I bothering you?”
Juice dripped from her fingers as she tossed the thinly sliced tomato into the bin...and their shoulders bumped...again. “Yes,” she said, and dug her shoulder into his and gave him an impatient shove.
“What am I doing that’s bothering you?”
“You‘re—you’re—”
“What?” he prodded.
Fighting for patience, she rested her wrists on the cutting board and turned, angling her body just enough to frown at him. But looking at him was a mistake. His eyes were filled with mischief, and his mouth was quirked in that teasing grin he’d worn ever since he’d warned her about her blouse.
Scowling, she twisted back around and grabbed an onion. “You’re in my way,” she muttered and slashed the knife through the onion, cutting it in half and sending its sharp aroma spiraling beneath her nose.
“Really?” he asked innocently and purposefully pressed his shoulder against hers again. “I don’t mean to be. I’m just watching to make sure you know what you’re doing.”
The onion’s odor was strong, burning her nose and filling her eyes with tears, but it was the heat from his body where their shoulders touched that she was most aware of. “I know what I’m doing,” she replied, sniffing. “Any fool can slice vegetables.” She lifted her hand to swipe a tear from her eye.
Hank caught her wrist in the width of one wide hand. Startled, she glanced up at him.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” he warned. “You’re liable to get onion juice in your eye, and it’ll make it sting that much more.” He caught up a towel. “Here, let me.” He dabbed at the tears beneath her eyes, his touch gentle, his knuckles rough where they scraped against her cheek...and Leighanna wondered what he was up to. He’d already made it clear that he didn’t want her in his bar, which made her suspicious of his kindness now.
He took his good easy time blotting her tears, then bent his knees and put his face level with hers. “How’s that?”
She’d purposely avoided making eye contact with him all afternoon, but with him this close, she could do little else. The eyes that met hers were a dark brown, almost black, and his mouth less than a breath away. His features were almost too perfect, his forehead wide, his jaw square and shadowed, his cheekbones carved if by a sculptor’s knife. His hair, thick and black, just brushed his collar and seemed to cry for a woman’s hands. That he was aware of his sexual appeal was obvious in the cocky slant of his lips and the teasing glint in his eye.
Leighanna had known another man whose sex appeal equaled Hank’s...and was still paying the price for falling prey to his charm. Determined not to fall again, she twisted back around and sniffed again. “Better, thank you.”
Hank’s grin broadened into a smile. “Good. I like to keep my employees satisfied.”
“I’ll just bet you do,” she muttered under her breath.
Hank watched Leighanna from his spot behind the bar and grudgingly admitted that he might just have been wrong about her ability to handle this job. She sashayed between the tables, a tray propped on her open palm, smiling while she set mugs of beer in front of his customers. She made change, toted food, wiped up spills...and dodged the occasional straying hand.
He chuckled as he watched old Jack Barlow sneak an arm around her waist. Smooth as silk, she removed his hand, smiling sweetly enough not to offend the man before she headed back to the bar.
She shoved the empty tray onto the bar and sagged against it, mopping her damp brow with the back of her hand. At some point during the evening, she’d rolled her billowy sleeves to her elbows, revealing slender arms and even slimmer wrists. Her fingers were long and delicate and her almond-shaped nails were painted a light pink, almost the exact same shade as her blouse. A ketchup stain just above her right breast blotted the blouse’s once perfect pink color.
“Two beers and a whiskey chaser,” she said, raising her voice to be heard over the blaring jukebox.
Hank couldn’t help but notice the weary slump of her shoulders. He stuck two frosted mugs under the tap. “Tired?” he asked.
Leighanna immediately straightened, not wanting to admit to her exhaustion. “No. Just hot.”
Hank nodded sagely. “Yep. It’s hot all right.” He set the mugs on her tray and picked up a bottle of Jack Daniels. “You can take a break, if you want. I can keep an eye on things for a few minutes.”
A break sounded wonderful after being on her feet for over six hours, but Leighanna quickly shook her head. She was determined not to give him any reason to doubt her abilities to handle the job. “No, I’m fine.” She glanced at the clock behind the bar. “We’ll be closing in less than an hour, anyway. I can wait until then.”
Hank glanced at the clock, too, before adding the jigger of whiskey to the tray. “Your call, but remember we’ll still have some work to do after they all clear out.”
Leighanna stifled a groan, thinking of the toilets that would need scrubbing and the floor that would need mopping. She forced a perky smile. “Don’t worry. I can handle it.”
“Hey, Hank!” a man called from a corner of the room.
“Yo, what’cha need?” Hank called back.
“Has that little barrel racer from over Marble Falls way been back?”
Hank’s chest swelled, and a gleam of what Leighanna could only describe as cockiness shown in his eyes.
“You mean Betty Jo?” Hank asked, trying hard not to smile as he curved his hands through the air, tracing a rather top-heavy hourglass shape.
The guy tossed back his head and laughed. “Yeah, that’s the one.”
“Nah, haven’t seen her,” Hank replied. “But she’ll be back,” he added, shooting the man a knowing wink. “They always do.”
Leighanna snatched the tray from the bar and rolled her eyes as she turned away to deliver the drinks. “Men,” she muttered under her breath.
Leighanna dropped the toilet brush into the bucket, then used her wrist to push her hair from her face. Lord, but she was tired. Her feet felt as if they were swollen twice their size, the leather bands of her sandals cutting viciously across her instep, and her calf muscles ached from all the walking...and she still had the floor to mop.
Groaning, she snagged the bucket’s handle and limped from the bathroom and back out into the bar. Hank stood at the cash register, his lips moving silently as he slowly counted the night’s proceeds. He glanced up, his gaze hitting hers and holding just long enough to make her want to squirm, before he nonchalantly went back to his counting.
The clock behind him read 12:45.
Stifling a moan, Leighanna trudged to the small kitchen and mixed up mop water, then hauled the bucket and mop back out front. With a scowl at Hank who hadn’t done anything in the last half hour more strenuous than lift a handful of change from the cash drawer, she slapped the mop to the floor and began scrubbing. Back and forth, round and round, she swished the mop across the floor, the ache in her back growing until it was all she could do not to cry.
By the time she’d made her way back to the bar, the clock read 1:15. She’d put in over eight hours and it felt like eighteen. With no strength left in her arms, she dragged the bucket back to the kitchen and dumped the murky water down the drain.
Tugging the towel from her waist, she tossed it onto the bar, then ducked under it to retrieve her purse. “I’ll be going now.”
“Would you do me a favor before you leave?”
Already headed for the door, Leighanna stopped and wearily turned. “What?”
Hank gestured to the money stacked on the bar, then scratched his head. “I can’t make the totals match. Would you mind recounting the money for me while I run the tickets again? It shouldn’t take you more than a minute or two.”
She doubted that, since he’d been counting the money the entire time she’d been scrubbing toilets and mopping floors. But it wouldn’t hurt to prove to him that she could do more than scullery work. She tossed her purse onto the bar, climbed up onto a stool in front of it and grabbed a stack of bills. She quickly separated them into stacks of ones, fives, tens and twenties, then began to count, recording the totals of each stack on the back of an order blank.
Unaware that Hank had even moved, she suddenly realized that he had rounded the bar and stood beside her, his head tipped close to hers. She craned her neck to look at him. “What are you doing?” she asked, frowning.
He grinned. “Watching you.”
“Well, don’t!” she huffed impatiently, and snatched up another stack of bills.
“Why? Do I make you nervous?”
“Yes!” she said, and went back to her counting.
His nose bumped her neck and nuzzled. “You sure do smell nice.”
She tried her best to ignore him, even managed to continue to slap down bills, silently counting, but heat raced through her as his nose traced the curve of her neck.
“What scent is that you’re wearing?”
She dropped the money to the counter. “Do you want me to count this money, or not?” she asked in frustration.
“I think I’d rather you kissed me.”
Her eyes widened and she jumped to her feet. “Kiss you!” she repeated, incensed that he would suggest such a thing.
“Yeah, you know. Press your lips against mine.”
Leighanna snatched her purse from the counter and slung its strap across her shoulder. She stabbed a finger at his chest. “Let’s get one thing straight, buster. You hired me to work as a waitress, not to service your more basic needs!”
Hank hooked his hands at his hips and whistled low through his teeth as he rocked back on the heels of his boots. “Man, oh man, but you sure are pretty when you’re riled.” Leaning forward, he crooked a finger and pressed its knuckle beneath her chin, forcing her face up to his. “But, honey, we need to get one more thing straight. Us kissing has absolutely nothing to do with you working for me. It’s inevitable, that’s all.” He let his hand drop and shot her a wink. “But I’m a patient man.”
Hank poked the key into the front door and turned it, glancing, as he did, out the window into the darkness beyond. Leighanna limped across the gravel parking lot, her shoulders stooped, as she headed for a shadowed car parked at the far end. He wanted to laugh at her sorry state, but couldn’t quite work up the enthusiasm required for the task.
He supposed he should feel guilty for working her so hard, especially considering he’d shoved more than half his workload onto her slim shoulders...but he didn’t. Hell, she was the one who’d wanted the job, he told himself, all but forcing him to hire her when he knew damn good and well she didn’t have any business working in a place like The End of the Road.
His eyes went unerringly to the gentle sway of her hips. Even tired, the woman knew how to move. He blew out a slow breath. He didn’t want to be attracted to her. Didn’t even know why’d he’d bothered to tease her. He supposed it was just a natural reflex. Her being a woman, and all, and him being...well, him being just Hank.
A grin slowly built on his face. And Hank did love women. The feel of them, the taste of them, the feminine smell of them. Hell, he just liked women. And the fact that this one didn’t seem interested in him only increased the challenge. For, as much as he liked women, Hank liked a challenge.
While he continued to watch, she opened the door to her car. The accompanying screech of metal made him wince. Squinting against the darkness, Hank looked at the car. It was a junker. Even from a distance, he could see that the windshield was cracked, the front bumper was missing, and the car’s body had more rust than paint.
He heard the engine turn with a dragging waaaa, waaa, waaa before it finally sparked to life, smoke pouring from the tailpipe at the rear. The headlights popped on, one a little brighter than the other, and he listened to the grinding of gears before the car finally chugged off.
What is a classy lady like her doing, driving a piece of crap like that? he wondered. Better yet, he asked himself, what was a classy lady like her doing in a two-bit town like Temptation?
Shaking his head, he pulled down the shade and headed for his room at the rear of the bar. Didn’t matter why she was in Temptation, he told himself. She wouldn’t be back at The End of the Road. Not after what he’d put her through tonight.
Two
“I swear, the man thinks he’s God’s gift to women!”
Mary Claire couldn’t help but laugh as she set a pan of hot, steaming water on the stoop at Leighanna’s feet. “From what I hear, he is.”
Leighanna scowled, remembering the barrel racer mentioned the night before, and levered a heaping tablespoon of Epsom salts into the pan of hot water and stirred. She didn’t want to ask, but couldn’t resist. “What have you heard?”
Mary Claire sat down on the porch beside Leighanna and propped a bowl of peas on her lap. “Nothing specific, really. Just that he has quite a way with the women.”
“He could have fooled me,” Leighanna said dryly. She eased her swollen feet into the hot water and had to bite her lower lip to keep from crying.
Chuckling, Mary Claire patted her arm. “They’ll feel better after you’ve soaked them for a while.” She picked up a pea pod and broke off its end. “Did you make much in tips last night?”
“A little over forty dollars.”
“That’s good, isn’t it?”
“I suppose. But it doesn’t come anywhere near matching the salary I made as manager of the boutique.” She threw up a hand, stopping Mary Claire before she could even offer. “And, no, I won’t accept a loan from you.”
Mary Claire pressed her lips together and went back to her shelling. “I still don’t understand why you got stuck with all of Roger’s debt.”
Leighanna heaved a sigh. “Because we were married. Because the debts were in both our names. Because Texas is a community property state. And because Roger is a jerk and refuses to pay them.”
“Couldn’t you just declare bankruptcy?”
“I could...but I won’t. It’s bad enough that I have to suffer because of Roger’s shortcomings. I won’t allow anyone else to suffer, too.”
“So, you’re just going to work your fingers to the bone until they’re all paid off?”
“If it takes that. But the bonus at the end is that my name will be clear and my credit standing will be good again. That makes all the hard work worthwhile.”
Not wanting to think about her debts anymore, it was much too pretty a day for such morbid thoughts, Leighanna closed her eyes and lifted her face to the sun. “I see why you love it here so much. The air is clean, the sky is clear—”