Читать книгу A Little Texas Two-Step - Peggy Moreland, Peggy Moreland - Страница 10

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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.”

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.

A Little Texas Two-Step

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