Читать книгу A Man to Rely On - Cindi Myers - Страница 12

M ARISOL REPORTED for her first day of work at the Bluebonnet Café as jittery as someone who’d downed three cups of coffee, though she’d stuck to herbal tea at breakfast. She hadn’t had a real job since a stint at McDonald’s as a teenager, but she was determined to do her best.

Mary greeted her with a firm hello and handed her a black apron and an order pad. “We do things the old-fashioned way here,” she explained as she led Marisol toward the kitchen. “Write the order down and give a copy to the cook.” She introduced Marisol to the cook, Frank, and the other waitress, Paula.

“Just holler if you need help with anything,” Paula, a diminutive blonde who wore bright pink lipstick, offered. “You’ll get the hang of it in no time.”

As it turned out, the worst part was not remembering which table ordered what, or even carrying the heavy trays without dropping them. The worst part was forcing herself to ignore the stares and whispers when diners realized who she was.

“What in the world are you doing working here?” a burly man with a luxuriant gray moustache asked as she refilled his coffee cup. “I thought I read Lamar Dixon had more money than God.”

“Maybe he did,” she said calmly. “But he pissed it all away.”

That surprised a laugh from the man. Marisol turned and walked on shaking legs to replace the coffeepot on the burner.

“How’s it going?” Paula asked, joining Marisol.

“Okay,” Marisol said. Most people had been polite, and she’d pocketed fifteen dollars in tips in her first two hours. Not bad considering most people only wanted coffee and one of Mary’s oversize cinnamon rolls.

“Business is up this morning,” Mary said as she passed on her way into the kitchen. “I reckon everyone wants to get a look at you.” She nodded to Marisol.

Marisol flushed. Paula patted her arm. “Don’t worry. The novelty will wear off in a few days and you’ll be as invisible as I am.”

Paula left to take the order from a table of truck drivers, who grinned and flirted. So much for being invisible. Marisol took a deep breath and went to clear the table the moustached man had vacated. He’d left a five-dollar tip. She stared at the bill, angry at the pity the gesture implied, furious with herself for revealing the desperateness of her situation to a stranger. Next time someone had the nerve to ask what she was doing here, she’d be glib, and tell them she was rehearsing for a starring role in a movie about a waitress—or thinking about writing a book.

She pocketed the bill with her other tips and moved on to the next table, three women who stared at her with open curiosity, but said not a word.

By lunchtime, Marisol’s feet and legs hurt from standing so long, but she felt more comfortable taking orders and was congratulating herself on mastering the knack of carrying a loaded tray of food. On Paula’s advice, she’d made more of an effort to smile. Not only did it improve her disposition, it had the added bonus of unsettling those who gawked the most. They apparently hadn’t expected an accused murderess to be so friendly.

A flutter of nerves struck her anew when Scott Redmond came into the café with his father. The sharp physical attraction she’d felt for him yesterday had caught her by surprise. After so many months of being forced to bury every emotion, such frank desire made her feel almost giddy with relief and wonder. That living, lusting, female part of her hadn’t died along with Lamar. It had only been hiding, waiting for the right moment—or the right man?—to reappear.

The question remained as to what she would do about it. The thought of a solely physical affair, with no strings attached and no promises for the future, held all the appeal of forbidden fantasy. But she had Toni—and Scott himself—to consider. As much as she longed to be selfish for once, practicality and a cursed sense of responsibility interfered.

The two men sat at one of the booths assigned to her, and greeted her with warm smiles. “How’s your first day going?” Jay asked.

“I think I’m getting the hang of it,” Marisol said.

“She’s doing great.” Mary came up behind her and put one hand on Marisol’s shoulder. “I think I might let her stay.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Scott said. His gaze met and held hers for a beat too long. Her heart thudded in her chest like a wild bird, proving she hadn’t imagined the attraction between them.

He was the first to look away. He picked up the menu and studied it, then said, “I’ll have a burger and a glass of iced tea.”

“Give me the Reuben,” Jay said. “And a Diet Coke.”

She hurried from the booth to turn in their orders, aware of his gaze on her as she crossed the room. He’d watched her yesterday, too, checking her out as she fixed their tea. Clearly, he liked what he saw, just as she appreciated his broad shoulders and slim hips, the wiriness that was in direct contrast to Lamar’s height and muscular bulk.

She collected chicken-fried steak dinners for a quartet of construction workers and started across the room, veering around a young man who’d inexplicably stopped in the middle of the room. She’d almost reached the table when a bright light blinded her, followed quickly by a second flash, and the unmistakable click of a camera shutter. A woman squealed. The young man who’d been stopped shoved a small tape recorder in front of her face. “Mrs. Dixon, what can you tell us about your new job here at the Bluebonnet Café?”

The tray slipped from Marisol’s hands, chicken-fried steak, mashed potatoes and green beans flying. The camera flashed again and she ducked, shielding her face, while voices rose around her.

“Out! Out of here before I call the police!” Mary shouted at the reporter and photographer, who ignored her, continuing to take pictures and shout questions at Marisol.

Paula rushed over and began cleaning up the spilled food, while the construction workers complained loudly about Marisol’s clumsiness and their ruined dinners. Mary continued to shout at the two intruders.

Panic and anger choking her, Marisol tore off the apron and flung it and her order pad onto the counter. She had to get out of here, lay low somewhere until things calmed down. She darted for the door, only to find her exit blocked by the reporter, who grinned and extended the microphone. “Is it true you’re originally from Cedar Switch, Mrs. Dixon? What do the people here think of your notoriety?”

“I think if you don’t move out of the way and stop blocking the door, I’ll make you move.”

Marisol hadn’t thought of Scott as an imposing man before, but there was definite menace in his posture now as he glowered at the reporter.

“Better do as he says,” Jay spoke from just behind his son.

The reporter glanced from one man to the other, then decided retreat was in order. With a sweeping bow, he indicated the door was clear.

Scott put one arm around Marisol and guided her down the sidewalk. “I didn’t see your car in the lot or on the street. Did you walk?”

“I shouldn’t leave,” she said. “If there’s somewhere I could hide for a few minutes…” She looked back toward the café as the photographer and the reporter exited.

“If you go back, so will they,” Jay said. “We’ll drive you home.”

As they rounded the corner to the small parking lot behind the café, the camera flashed again. Scott lunged at the photographer, who laughed, then dove into a waiting car, which sped away.

“Sorry about that,” Scott said as he helped Marisol into the back seat of a blue sedan, then climbed in after her. Jay took the driver’s seat and drove slowly toward Marisol’s house, circling the block a few times, looking for suspicious vehicles or persons, before pulling into her driveway.

“Maybe I should go back,” Marisol said. She hated running away, like a coward. “I should have stood up to them.”

“What would that have done but give them more pictures, and words they could misquote?” Scott asked. His face was flushed, his eyes dark with anger. Part of her wanted to throw her arms around him, to let him hold her and be the rescuer to her damsel in distress.

Except that she was through with men rescuing her. No man who was supposed to protect had ever done her any favors. And no good would come of letting Scott think she needed taking care of. “I’ll be fine now,” she said. She started to open the door and climb out of the car, but Scott’s hand on her arm stopped her.

“Are you going to be okay?” he asked. “Do you want us to stay with you a while?”

“I’ll be okay.” She scanned the front yard and the street, but they were empty. “It doesn’t look like they’ve found this place. At least not yet.”

“Who were they?” Scott asked. “Do you know them?”

She shook her head. “They’re probably from some gossip rag.” She smoothed the front of her skirt. “I was hoping they wouldn’t find me here in Cedar Switch.”

“Was this what it was like for you in Houston?” Scott’s face reflected his horror at the idea. “With people like that hounding you?”

“Pretty much. From the time I was released on bail until the trial ended and Toni and I left to come here there was always at least one group, sometimes more, parked in front of my house. They trailed me everywhere. We managed to avoid being followed here by leaving in the middle of the night and driving through back streets to lose the one car that tried to come after us.”

“I’ll call the police chief and ask him to keep an eye on your place,” Jay said. “Chase away anybody who’s loitering.”

“Thank you, but you can’t keep them out of public places,” she said. “They know their legal rights.” The horror of the scene in the café was beginning to set in—that first blinding flash, the flying tray of food. “Mary will never let me come back to work now,” she said.

“I’ll talk to her,” Scott said. “It’s not your fault—”

“No.” She gripped his arm, silencing him. “I don’t need you to fight my battles for me. I’m not helpless.”

He started to protest, then apparently thought better of it. “What will you do?”

“I don’t know. I’ll think of something.” She opened the door and climbed out of the car. He didn’t try to stop her this time, though she could feel his eyes on her as she unlocked the front door.

Inside, she locked the door and leaned back against it. What little peace she’d enjoyed since leaving Houston had been shattered. She could only imagine the headlines that would accompany the pictures those two lowlifes had taken: Accused murderess reduced to slinging hash in small town café. Or maybe Billionaire’s widow forced into menial labor. The pictures and stories would make the rounds of all the Junior Leaguers who had once welcomed her as one of their own. They’d shake their heads and click their tongues and tell each other how they had always suspected Marisol was not really “their kind of people” and this only confirmed it. Worse, how long would it be before those two men, or others like them, zeroed in on this house? How long would she and Toni have to barricade themselves inside before a more interesting scandal distracted her pursuers?

Toni. The thought of her daughter spurred her to action. She needed to telephone the school and ask them to have Toni wait in the office for her mother to collect her after school. Under no circumstances was she to go outside, and the school should be on the lookout for any suspicious characters hanging around the campus, especially anyone with a camera.

Toni would hate being singled out this way, especially on her first day. And she would, as usual, blame her suffering on her mother.

For her part, Marisol laid the blame firmly on Lamar, though fat lot of good that did, considering he was dead. What remaining love she’d had for the man upon his death had been leeched out of her by the ugly revelations of the trial and the suffering his mistakes and bad habits had brought on her and on Toni. The part of her heart that had once belonged to her handsome husband was now empty and cold. She wasn’t sure she had the strength to risk ever trusting a man again.

Which made her reaction to Scott that much more suspect. Maybe her sudden desire for him fell into the same category as nervous laughter at funerals and the sensation of wanting to jump when standing on the balcony of a tall building—involuntary, misplaced emotions or misfiring synapses. In a way it was comforting to realize her body was still capable of feeling attracted to a man. And Scott was, after all, good-looking and charming.

But it would be a long time before her mind was ready to let a man into her life. And when it happened, it would be somewhere a long way from Cedar Switch, Texas. Her time here was merely an interlude while she regrouped, refreshed her finances and prepared herself for a new life, one far removed from either her glamorous days in Houston, or a childhood here in the sticks she’d spent twenty years working to forget.