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“And there’s not a traffic jam in sight,” Mary Claire finished for her. “Heaven, isn’t it?”
“What’s heaven?”
Mary Claire and Leighanna both looked up to see Harley, Mary Claire’s fiancé, strolling down the brick walk toward them. Leighanna could see the love in the main’s eyes as he looked at Mary Claire and felt just the tiniest stab of envy. She’d met Harley on her first visit to Temptation and had immediately liked the man. Beyond the fact that he was drop-dead handsome, he seemed to adore Mary Claire and her children, and that alone was enough to win Leighanna’s approval of him.
Smiling, Mary Claire lifted her face for Harley’s kiss. “Temptation.” She patted the spot next to her on the step. “Join us. Leighanna was just singing the praises of her new home.”
Harley chuckled as he dropped down beside Mary Claire. “Tough night at work?” he asked, gesturing to the pan of water where Leighanna soaked.
Leighanna frowned. “In more ways than one.”
Mary Claire bit back a smile. “I think your friend Hank made a bad impression with Leighanna.”
Harley reared back, looking at Leighanna in surprise. “Hank?”
“Yes, Hank,” Leighanna said sourly. “Do you know that he had the audacity to ask me to kiss him?”
“Did you?” Harley and Mary Claire asked at the same time.
Leighanna reared back, looking at them in surprise. “Well, of course I didn’t! The man’s a lecher!”
Mary Claire bit back a smile and Harley nearly choked on a laugh, but both remained silent.
“Well, he is!” Leighanna cried indignantly. “Every time I turned around, he was there, touching me or brushing up against me.” She shuddered, remembering.
“Most women would kill to have Hank pay ’em that much attention,” Harley offered quietly.
Leighanna rolled her eyes. “Well, as far as I’m concerned, they can have him. The man has a one-track mind. Sex!”
Leighanna tried the door and found it unlocked. “Hank?” she called hesitantly as she pushed open the door. “Are you here?” When he didn’t answer, she hesitated a moment, then with a shrug, stepped inside and closed the door behind her.
Heading straight for the bar, she tossed her purse behind it and grabbed a clean towel to tuck into her jeans. If she’d learned anything from her first night at work, it was the proper apparel for a waitress in a place like The End of the Road. Today she’d worn jeans and a washable cotton shirt. She’d already ruined one silk blouse at The End of the Road and wasn’t anxious to sacrifice another.
She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror behind the bar and fought back a shudder. Always a woman who took pride in her appearance, her current state of dress was somewhat depressing. As the manager of the clothing boutique in Houston, the image she had projected had been important. Since the owners of the boutique had included a generous discount on all the clothes she purchased there, doing so had been easy.
Glancing down at her feet, she frowned. The running shoes were certainly not a fashion statement, that was for sure, but hopefully, with their help, she wouldn’t need to soak her feet again.
With a sigh, she glanced at the clock behind the bar...and smiled. Four-thirty. She’d purposefully arrived early, just to spite Hank. Too bad he wasn’t around so that she could gloat.
Humming softly, she dragged the chairs from the tables, then refilled the salt and pepper shakers, just as she’d done the night before. When Hank still hadn’t appeared by the time she’d finished, she glanced around, trying to decide what she should do next. One look at the filthy front windows gave her the answer she needed. Taking the bucket, she filled it with water and a heavy dose of vinegar, grabbed a couple of clean rags and headed for the front door.
Once outside, she parked the bucket beneath a window and stepped back, folding her arms beneath her breasts as she studied the building. The structure itself was old. probably built more than fifty years before, and was constructed of native limestone. Only two windows faced the front of the narrow structure, but the double doors situated between them each sported a glass. A faded sign stretched above the door. The End of the Road, she silently read.
It was certainly that, she admitted, glancing around at its remote location. Situated at the edge of town, the building stood over two hundred feet from the main road. Fronted by a gravel parking lot, and protected on three sides by thick stands of cedar, the bar seemed to have sprouted from the rocky ground itself. Thick clumps of cactus cropped up here and there along the fence line bordering the parking lot, and a tangle of weeds and vines grew in the narrow strip of ground between the gravel lot and the building itself.
The place could use a face-lift in the worst sort of way, she thought, frowning. The eaves needed painting, the front doors could definitely use a new coat of varnish, and those weeds should be replaced with a strip of hedge. A spot or two of color wouldn’t hurt, either, she mused, thinking a pot of geraniums at either side of the entrance would certainly add charm. And charm would bring in more customers, increasing the bar’s business, and hopefully her tips.
Sighing, Leighanna stooped and picked up a rag. She knew without asking that even if she found the courage to suggest the improvements to Hank, he’d never implement them. The man obviously had a problem accepting change. His comments to her about all the strangers who’d flocked to Temptation proved that.
Sighing again, Leighanna dipped the rag into the bucket. Washing the windows wouldn’t help the bar’s appearance much, but at least it was a start. Besides, she told herself, it would pass the time while she waited for Hank to show up, and maybe even impress him with her resourcefulness.
Enjoying the feel of the sun on her back, she put her hand in motion on the door’s window and her elbow behind her work. When she’d cleaned them both, she went back inside and dragged out a bar stool to stand on in order to reach the high windows that flanked the doors.
Leighanna finished the first and stepped down to admire her work. The transformation was staggering. The window gleamed like new glass, catching the sun’s rays and reflecting it back. Motivated by her accomplishment, she dragged the bucket and stool beneath the second window.
Just as she made the last satisfying swipe, she heard tires spitting gravel behind her and glanced over her shoulder to see a truck speeding across the lot straight for her. Her movement made the tall stool rock beneath her, and she slapped a hand against the window to brace herself.
The truck slid to a stop, shooting up a cloud of white dust, and Leighanna frowned, thinking of the windows she’d just cleaned. Hank swung down from the truck and charged for her, his face twisted in a scowl.
“What in the hell do you think you’re doing?” he asked, grinding to a stop at the side of her stool.
“I’m cleaning the windows,” she said, surprised by his anger.
He grabbed her by the waist and hauled her down. Caught off guard, Leighanna planted her hands against his chest to keep from crumpling when her feet slammed against solid ground.
“I didn’t ask you to clean the damn windows,” he snarled.
His mouth was set in a thin tight line, his eyes dark and threatening. For the life of her, Leighanna couldn’t imagine what she’d done to anger him so.
“No, you didn’t,” she said nervously. “But you weren’t here and I’d already done everything else and the windows needed cleaning, so I cleaned them.”
His jaw tightened and a muscle twitched beneath his eye. When his fingers continued to cut into her waist, she decided she’d had enough of his rotten attitude. “If you don’t mind,” she said, and gave his chest a shove. “I’d appreciate it if you’d let me go.”
His fingers cut a little deeper and his eyes narrowed to dangerous slits. “And what if I do mind?” he asked.
Leighanna’s eyes Hipped wide. Hank saw the fear in them, and it shamed him to think he had put it there. He’d never frightened a woman before, had never used force on one, either, for that matter, had never needed to. But there was something about this woman that seemed to bring out the worst in him.
“It doesn’t matter if you mind or not,” she cried indignantly, “because I do!” She pushed a little more insistently. “Now let me go, I’ve got work to do before customers start arriving.”
But Hank wasn’t ready to let her go just yet. He hadn’t expected her to show up for work again, not after what he’d put her through the night before. Then to find her there, swaying like a suction cup, dashboard ornament on that damn rickety stool, washing windows...well, it had just about given him a heart attack. All he could think about was that fragile body of hers lying in a crumpled heap on the ground, those delicate bones shattered beyond repair, and not a soul within a three-mile radius of the bar to hear her calls for help.
Knowing that she was safe didn’t loosen his hold on her, though, for now with her close like this, with her womanly scent teasing his senses and the feel of her soft flesh curving beneath his palms, the fear slowly subsided, leaving in its place nothing but a keen awareness.
“There’s time, yet,” he murmured, and enjoyed watching the indignant thrust of her chin. He forced himself to soften his hold on her until his hands merely rested in the curve of her waist. He dipped his face a hair lower, just close enough to warm her lips with his breath. “You’ve got dirt on your cheek,” he said, his voice husky.
Leighanna immediately lifted a fist to her cheek and scrubbed. “Where?”
He caught her hand and forced it back to his chest. “Right here.” He lifted a finger to her cheek and whisked softly, his face drifting closer, then closer still, until it was his lips that brushed her cheek instead of his fingers. His mouth opened and his tongue arced out, sweeping like wet velvet across her cheek.
Leighanna sucked in a sharp breath, fisting her hands in the fabric of his shirt as her knees turned the consistency of wet noodles. Now she understood why Harley had said most women would kill to have Hank pay attention to them. The man was a master at seduction.
She could feel herself weakening, falling deeper and deeper under his spell as his tongue and lips teased. “Please,” she begged, her voice little more than a whimper.
“Please, what?” he murmured huskily.
But before she could ask him to stop, his mouth slipped to cover hers. Leighanna almost wept at the feel of those lips on hers. Strong and commanding, they moved against hers in a most satisfying way, while his thumbs stroked persuasively at her lower ribs.
She knew she was weak, spineless, susceptible when confronted with a man’s seductive charm. Her years with Roger had certainly proven that.
How many times had Roger come to her, whispering sweet nothings in her ear and cuddling up to her while he tried to wheedle money out of her? She’d always been a sucker for affection. Raised by a father who didn’t have a clue about the needs of a young girl, she’d never received any. Roger had known her weakness, knew just the right buttons to push to get what he wanted from her.
The thought of Roger’s manipulations dragged her from beneath Hank’s spell. She set her jaw and firmed her lips beneath his. He might not want money from her as Roger had, but he wanted something. That was obvious in the seductive prodding of his tongue against her lips...and she wouldn’t, no matter how strong the temptation to remain in his arms, allow herself to fall prey to a man’s charm again.
Lifting her foot, she brought it down hard across his instep. He released her with a yelp of pain and hopped around on one foot while he cradled in his hands the one she’d stomped.
“Why in the hell’d you do that for?” he asked incredulously. “You could’ve broken my damn foot!”
Leighanna folded her arms beneath her breasts. “You’re lucky I didn’t aim a little higher.”
Hank’s eyes widened in surprise while his grip on his foot loosened. “Why, you little hellcat,” he murmured.
He couldn’t have called her anything that would have pleased her more. Leighanna Farrow would never again be any man’s doormat! She snatched up the bucket. “If you’re smart, you’ll remember that before you try to make another pass at me.” She jerked open the door. “Get the stool,” she ordered firmly, pointing a stiff finger at the stool beneath the window. “We’ve got work to do.”
Hank’s chest swelled in anger. “I think you’re forgetting who’s the boss around here.”
Leighanna refused to bend under his threatening look. She’d done enough bending in her life. “No, I haven’t forgotten, but it appears one of us needs to keep an eye on the business. You obviously don’t care.” With that she stepped through the door with a deliberate toss of her blond hair and let the door slam closed behind her.
Didn’t care about his business! Hank snatched up the stool and jerked open the door, following her into the bar. “And just exactly what is that supposed to mean?” he asked, slamming the stool down on four legs as he stomped after her toward the kitchen.
Leighanna calmly tipped over the bucket and emptied its contents down the drain. “Exactly what I said. You don’t care about your business.”
“That’s a damn lie!”
She set the bucket on the floor by the sink and brushed past him on her way to the bar. “It isn’t. If you did, you’d take better care of the place.”
Hank followed her. “I take care of my business!”
She wheeled, and he fell back a step to keep from slamming into her. “Do you?” she asked, arching a neatly shaped brow.
“Well, hell, yes!”
“Then why are you letting this place fall down around you?”
Hank looked at her in dismay. “It’s not falling down!”
“Sure it is.” She stepped to the wall and tapped a manicured nail at a spot of chipped plaster. “This for instance. How long has this been this way?”
Hank frowned. “The walls look the same as when I bought the place.”
“And how long has that been?”
“Six years.”
She dipped her chin and looked at him from beneath her eyebrows, the smirk on her mouth telling him that his answer only proved her point.
“Well, I sure as hell don’t hear my customers complaining,” he said defensively.
“That’s because they don’t have a choice. Yours is the only bar in town. But if another opened,” she quickly added, before he could interrupt, “which is a strong possibility with all the people who keep swarming through Temptation, then you might very well lose your customers.”
Her statement momentarily stripped Hank’s tongue of the scathing remark he’d been about to make. He’d never thought about the possibility of competition. The End of the Road had been the only bar in Temptation for as long as he could remember.
Before he could gather his wits enough to respond, the door opened and Cody Fipes, Temptation’s sheriff, strolled in.
“Hey!” Cody called, hooking a thumb over his shoulder. “Who cleaned the windows? Had to put on my sunglasses to kill the glare.”
Leighanna turned to Hank, folding her arms beneath her breasts. “See?” she said, smiling sweetly. “Someone did notice.”
It rankled more than Hank wanted to admit, but Cody wasn’t the only one who commented on the clean windows that night at the bar. Even old Will Miller, Temptation’s one-and-only barber and the crankiest SOB in town, noticed the change and even found a smile for Leighanna when he’d learned she was responsible for the work.
Hank bit back an oath. Wasn’t nothin’ wrong with the looks of The End of the Road, he told himself as he scooped coins from the cash register drawer onto his open palm. Hell, business was good, always had been, and nobody’d ever complained about the appearance of the place before...at least not before Leighanna had taken it upon herself to clean those damned windows.
It was all her fault, he told himself as he started sorting the coins into piles by denomination. He’d never thought twice about what his bar looked like. He’d been too damn busy serving drinks and slapping hamburgers on a grill to pay it any mind...at least not until Leighanna had shot off her sassy mouth.
But as a result of her comments, earlier, when the sunshine had been gleaming through those windows she’d cleaned, the plaster on the old interior walls had appeared to him a little more crusty and duller than they had before. Even the mirror behind the bar seemed intent on rubbing Hank’s nose in his neglect by reflecting the chipped plaster back at him when his back was turned to the open room.
Angrily, he scraped a handful of quarters into his hand to count. “What else do you think is wrong with the place?” he muttered disagreeably.
Startled by the unexpected question, Leighanna straightened from her mopping and used her wrist to push her hair from her face as she turned to look at him. His head was bent over the coins, but she could tell by the way one side of his mouth curled down that he was still irritated by all the attention the clean windows had drawn.
And that is just too bad, she thought peevislaly. Because she was right. He had neglected the building.
“The eaves need painting, the doors need revarnishing and it wouldn’t hurt to freshen up the sign.” She started to mention the pots of geraniums, but decided she’d better not push her luck. “And that’s just on the outside,” she said before going back to her mopping.
His head snapped up. “And what’s wrong with the inside? Other than the plaster,” he quickly added before she could rub his nose in that again.
Leighanna sighed and drew the mop up, folding her hands over the top of its handle. “Well, for starters, the tabletops are a disgrace. They’ve been scrubbed so much there is nothing left of their finish but raw wood. It’s all but impossible to get the stains off them.”
He hunched his shoulders defensively. “I can’t afford to replace every damn table in the place.”
“You wouldn’t have to. You could either refinish them, or maybe even use tablecloths to cover them. A bit of color certainly wouldn’t hurt.”
“Tablecloths!” He snorted and slapped a ten dollar stack of quarters onto the bar. “If you had your way, you’d turn this place into a damn tearoom.”
“Tables in a tearoom are covered with linen and lace. I was thinking more in the line of checkered oilcloths.”
Hank cocked his head to look at her in disgust. “Checkered?”
“Yes,” she said, hoping she could hold his interest long enough to convince him. “Preferably red and white. It would carry out your country motif.”
“What the hell’s a motif?”
“You know,” she said, fluttering her hand at him. “Theme.”
It was all Hank could do to keep from rolling his eyes. A country motif, for God’s sake! As if he’d actually had a theme in mind when he’d opened The End of the Road for business.
But then he remembered the compliments the clean windows had drawn and Leighanna’s warning that somebody might move into Temptation and open a new bar to compete against him. He’d already heard the rumors about a couple who were moving to town to open a clothing store. For all he knew, someone could very well be planning to open a bar. Hank knew he was stubborn, but he certainly wasn’t a fool.
He levered a pile of dimes into a stack. “I suppose if a person were of a mind,” he muttered, “they could pick up something like that over at Carter’s Mercantile.”
Surprised that he’d even consider her suggestion, Leighanna took a hesitant step toward him. “I could do it for you. In fact, I could measure the tables and cut the cloth myself.”
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