But the smile he saw curving Veronica's mouth was a welcome sight, even if it was at his expense.
* * *
Scarlett couldn't help glancing over the pass-through…again. The woman sitting next to Ian was likely Ben's mother, the woman she was supposed to help. Ian was right—she looked fragile and weary to her bones. She was a widow, her life was hard and Scarlett should feel sorry for her. She did, of course she did. She wanted to help, and she would.
Still…the woman had so much. She sat there, surrounded by family and friends, constantly sought out by other patrons who clearly admired her and were fond of her, and Ian hovered over her so protectively…
It was wrong to want to be in her place. It was.
But a terrible piece of Scarlett would have traded with her in a heartbeat. However much that woman had lost, she knew where she belonged. Knew she wasn't alone—
Scarlett ripped her attention away and focused on the meal she was plating.
With shaking hands.
She set the plate down for a second while she struggled to breathe past the ache that choked her. How can you envy her? You are horrible. Mean and unkind.
"You okay?" came a familiar voice from far too close.
She jolted. Opened her eyes and realized Ian was right beside her. She glanced up at him, then quickly away, focusing for dear life on her plate before her.
He took it from her hand and set it on the pass-through. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing." She cleared her throat. "I'm busy and you're in my—"
"—kitchen. I know. Can you spare a minute?"
"I'm really jammed, Ian."
One long finger touched her chin, turned her face toward him. "Can I help?"
His warm brown eyes made her want to fall, to lean into his strength.
So she stepped away. "Not unless you've learned how to cook since I saw you this morning," she said briskly.
"I'd like you to meet someone. Jeanette says things are slowing down. Just for a second?"
She glanced over at the table where one girl had crawled into her mother's lap and Ian's father was leaning close as they spoke and—
She didn't want to. She was always on the outside looking in. Going over there wouldn't change that. "She's important to you."
"She is," he agreed. "Her husband was my best friend except for Jackson. We all grew up together."
"You're good with her kids."
He shrugged. "I try to be. He would have wanted me to take care of them."
She risked a quick glance. He'd make an amazing father, a devoted husband. "She's very pretty." Veronica Butler looked the way Scarlett had grown up wanting to, all doll-pretty blond hair and china blue eyes.
"She's too damn skinny. She needs about a week in bed and someone to feed her up."
"So you're elected? Or self-appointed? Or is that all you want?"
His brows snapped together. "What does that mean?"
She was way over the line. She didn't know this place or these people. She wouldn't be around long enough to change that. Didn't want to be.
"Give me five minutes," she said and reached for the last ticket on the wheel.
He hesitated, and she could feel his gaze on her. She didn't like anyone looking too close. "I don't need an audience," she snapped. "I'll get there when I can." She risked a quick glance, and she could almost see that brain calculating. "Shoo." She motioned the same with her hands.
Still he hesitated. "You're not obligated to do anything. You're a free agent."
Yes. She was. And she liked it that way.
Mostly.
She exhaled in a gust. "I'm sorry. It's been a long day, that's all." Or all she would confide. "I do want to help, and I'd like to meet her. Just…five minutes, okay?"
He reached toward her as though he wanted to touch her. In comfort? In apology?
She didn't know. And he wasn't hers—he was clearly attached to that woman in the other room. If that didn't work out, there was always Jeanette. There was nothing between herself and him, couldn't be even if he wanted it.
But she missed touching. Missed human contact. Her mother had been free with affectionate gestures like a stroke of her hair or a cradling of her cheek, the quick hug for no reason. Here she was the outsider, and that's how it had to be, but…
His hand was back at his side, but his eyes were still asking questions.
"Beat it, okay? Or I'll never get done."
His reluctance to leave her was obvious, but she also understood its cause. The picture of him that was beginning to form was a man who accepted responsibility without being asked, who took charge in a crisis, the man everyone knew would be there for them.
She didn't want to be another of his burdens.
CHAPTER TWELVE
She lingered as long as she could, hoping they would leave. Knowing it was foolish. That she was no coward. Hadn't she met strangers all her life? Wasn't she good at it?
So why was this different? What was she waiting for?
Do it. She started to take off her apron, but hesitated. Keeping it on made her situation clear, gave her an excuse to escape. "Brenda, come get me in a couple of minutes, okay? "
"Me?"
"You."
"Why?" The girl's forehead wrinkled, but immediately she began apologizing. "It's none of my business."
"It is." She sighed. "I'm being a coward."
"You?"
Scarlett shook her head. "It's ridiculous. " She started forward, then hesitated. "No more than five minutes, are we clear?" She didn't wait for Brenda's answer but forced herself to move.
Ian's dad spotted her first. "Well, there she is—good groceries again this evening, little girl."
She really liked Ian's dad. "Hi, Mr. McLaren. Glad you enjoyed it. Hello, Ben."
Ben's cheeks reddened. "Hi, Ms. Ross."
"Scarlett, please." She glanced at the girl next to Ben. "Hello, there. Are you Ben's sister?" She cast her gaze toward the other girl. "Wow. You really are twins, aren't you?"
The little girls giggled. "I'm Abby and that's Beth," said the one on the other side of their mother.
Scarlett glanced back and forth, looking for anything to tell them apart. "Ah, now I see it." She pointed to the quiet one, Beth. "Your left ear is a quarter inch lower, right?"
The girls giggled.
Their mother spoke. "Hello, Scarlett. I'm Veronica. You are a blessing to Ruby, taking over like this. I know she must be grateful."
Well, crap. She was nice. But of course Hot Cowboy would insist on falling for someone perfect. "I still can't get over finding out that I have a grandmother," she admitted.
"She has to be over the moon herself. All these years, she's prayed for Georgia to come home, and now…"
"I loved my mom." She knew there was warning in her voice.
"Of course you did. I'm sorry for your loss."
Scarlett settled her ruffled feathers. "I'm sorry for yours."
Veronica's eyes went soft and painfully sad. "Thank you." She took Scarlett's hand and squeezed.
Great. Now she couldn't hate the woman for being a perfect angel. Scarlett squeezed back before pulling her hand away. "I'd better…" She nodded her head toward the kitchen.
"I know you must not get much time to yourself, but would you come see my flowers one day?" Veronica smiled ruefully. "I can't leave often myself."
The Hot Cowboy didn't matter, Scarlett discovered. She could like this woman. Could see that she'd make a good friend, but—
"If I can, I'd like that. I won't be here long."
Veronica frowned. "But Ruby—"
Just then the door burst open. A man entered, and the people at the table visibly tensed. Scarlett glanced at Ian, whose jaw hardened.
Who was this guy? He wasn't as tall as Ian, but he was big and beefy. He wore a cowboy hat, like so many others and—
He had a gun on his hip. A badge pinned to his shirt.
She took an involuntary step back. Had he been sent af
ter her? How had anyone found her?
His gaze scanned the room until he spotted Ian and began stalking toward them. The twins leaned into their mother, and Ben shrank in his chair. Ian stepped forward as if to protect them all.
Veronica squeezed the girls' shoulders, then rose. "Tank, how are you?"
He took in the inhabitants of the table, his gaze stopping at Scarlett with a frown. "Who are you?"
Ian started forward, but Veronica put herself between them. "She's Ruby's granddaughter, Tank. Isn't that wonderful?"
His startled gaze shifted back to Scarlett. "Ruby doesn't have a granddaughter."
He was a bully, that much was easy to figure. Scarlett had faced down bullies all her life. You couldn't let them see you were scared. She moved around the table. "I didn't know I had a grandmother, either, until recently. I'm Scarlett Ross…Sheriff?" She held out a hand.
"Deputy Sheriff Patton," he said, and his gaze raked her.
She didn't like the expression in his eyes one bit, but she didn't want to give him any reason to take an interest in her, so she shook his hand. "Pleased to meet you. Are you here for dinner? The special tonight is pork chops with mashed potatoes and gravy." Ruby had a rotating list of specials Jeanette swore the townspeople expected.
"It's not Thursday." He frowned.
"She's from New York, Tank," Jeanette sneered from behind her. "By way of Paris, France."
Yeah, Jeanette was not going to be her friend. Not that it was any surprise.
"What's the Friday special?" she asked Jeanette.
"Catfish."
"I see. Fried, I suppose?"
"No other way to fix it."
Scarlett glanced around her. "It's not Ruby's fault that you were disappointed," she said to the room in general.
"Nobody here is disappointed." Ian's voice was iron.
"Not one bit," echoed his dad.
"I liked the mashed potatoes," piped up one of the twins.
"Me, too," Ben said with belligerence in his voice.
The deputy flushed. Glared at Ian. "You get that damn pasture fence fixed yet?"
"Don't swear around my children," Veronica said.
"Don't you—" Tank's hand fisted.
Ian's muscles coiled, and Scarlett could see the punch coming. The air was thick with suppressed violence.
She stepped forward. "Deputy, I would be happy to make you some catfish if that's what you'd prefer. Or would you like to try the pork chops?" With one hand on his elbow, she urged him toward the counter.
He resisted, and he was twice her size, but he wasn't the first hothead she'd dealt with. She kept up her patter. "I've done a good job with Ruby's biscuits, if I do say so myself, and there's peach cobbler for dessert. Would you care for iced tea or…?"
He narrowed his eyes as though she were a gnat he'd like to squash, but she also noted curiosity there.
She smiled brightly as she went around the counter and handed him a rolled-up napkin with silverware inside. "Or I've made a fairly decadent chocolate cake you might want to try." She'd learned long ago that her will could overcome the limitations of her size. "Pork chops or catfish? Or would you like to look at the menu?"
He exhaled and finally settled on the stool. "Pork chops is fine. And iced tea."
"Excellent. I'll get your order started and—" She glanced at Brenda, but the girl was almost literally shrinking into the woodwork. "Jeanette, would you please get Deputy Patton some iced tea?"
As she made her way to the kitchen, she glanced at Ian and willed him to take his party and leave, but clearly he was spoiling for a fight himself.
In the end, however, his concern for Veronica and her brood overrode the rest.
She nodded at him as they rose to go, then gave Veronica and her bunch a smile.
And went back to cook.
Crisis averted.
* * *
It was late by the time Ian had escorted Veronica and her brood home, then gotten his dad settled. He had to be up early, as always. He should be in bed himself.
Instead he paced. Stared out across the front porch at the winter moonlight.
She wasn't staying. They were light years apart in virtually everything. She was bossy and had a temper, to boot. She had traveled that world he would never see.
But she was a burn in his belly. He liked her spirit. He liked her looks.
He wanted his hands on her in the worst way.
He glanced at the clock. She would likely still be there, closing down.
Morning would come early. There was a front coming in later in the day, with a freeze expected. He had preparations to make, a to-do list a mile long…
Screw it.
He yanked the keys from his pocket, thought a second about telling his dad he was leaving—
He was thirty-five years old. He didn't have a curfew.
Blue wanted to follow. "No, buddy. Only one fool per mission." He held his palm out. "Stay."
Blue settled but his ears were still perked up, watching Ian as he left.
* * *
Scarlett had sent everyone home, Jeanette grumbling as if Scarlett would abscond with the silver if left unsupervised.
Like the thin, worn flatware possessed even the faintest trace of precious metal inside.
She had needed to be alone. Too many strangers, too much emotion…she needed some space from everything. She was about ten seconds from throwing down the towel, literally, and racing out the door.
She could do it. She had a spare tire again, courtesy of Ian.
When did the man ever get his own work done, after taking care of half the known universe?
She didn't care. It didn't matter. In a day or two Ruby would be better, and she would go—
A sound outside.
She was all alone. In a strange town.
Anyone could—
Abruptly Scarlett was catapulted back into that night when her apartment was invaded, a meaty hand slapped over her mouth as she lay in her bed—
She grabbed for the nearest knife, her heart thudding.
The back door opened.
She edged into the shadows.
* * *
"I have a knife," Ian heard. The voice was nearly feral.
What the hell?
She was a city girl, he reminded himself. Probably geared for muggers. "Scarlett? It's only me." He stepped into the light, swiveled to see her but couldn't.
"Ian?"
"Yes. Where are you?" There. At last he spotted her outline, tucked in behind the prep area. "Are you okay?" As he neared, he could see that she wasn't. She was nearly panting, and her face had lost all color. "What happened? Did somebody—" His jaw went rigid. "Did Tank—" I will kill that bastard.
"Tank?" She seemed not to know the name. Her pupils were huge, and she was trembling.
"Here." Gingerly he plucked the wicked big knife from her hand and set it aside, then drew her closer. "You're okay," he soothed as he wrapped her up in his arms. "You're all right."
Still she trembled, so stiff she could break.
He bent his head and laid his cheek on her hair, rocking her gently. "You're safe," he murmured. "No one's going to hurt you."
She shuddered.
Then she grabbed onto him like a drowning victim. Slid her arms around his waist and fisted the back of his shirt in her small hands, plastering her body against his. "Ian?"
He'd never imagined hearing this spitfire sound so frightened. So lost. He tucked her into him yet tighter still, caught in the grip of fierce protectiveness, a violent urge to fight off anyone or anything that threatened her. "Hush, now," he soothed. "You're safe. I've got you."
Explanations would have to wait. Whoever had scared her like this, though…a low growl rose in his throat.
Then she lifted her face to him, that face that had somehow crept under his skin when he wasn't looking—
Her eyes were huge and dark and lonely.
And he was lost.
"Scarlett…" He cradl
ed her cheek in one hand and lowered his mouth to hers, at first brushing his lips gently over hers, only a benediction, a comfort.
Then she rose to her toes and opened her mouth under his. Let her tongue graze the inner edges of his lips.
With a growl he lifted her off the floor and melted into her the way she was yielding herself to him. Her kiss tasted of desperate need, of crackling flames that set fire to the tinder of the desire he'd been banking ever since his first sight of her.
He pulled her more tightly into him, and she climbed his body, her legs parting to wrap his waist, bringing the heat of her against his aching, raging erection.
He went blind with the hunger he'd ruthlessly stifled since he'd first encountered a tiny virago, a smart-mouthed city girl who would—
Leave. As his mother had.
For a second he faltered, but she slid her fingers up his chest and over his shoulders to plunge them into his hair while her mouth did unspeakably amazing things to his.
He shoved one hand under her shirttail—
Only to encounter the tight cinch of her apron.
Apron. They were in Ruby's kitchen, for God's sake. The cafe was closed, but the doors were never locked.
Anyone could walk in.
Was he planning to take her on the prep table, then? Or maybe splay her over one of Ruby's dining tables? The image clawed at him, Scarlett, her riot of black hair around her like a nimbus, the body he was desperate to see, to touch…
Abruptly she scrambled down. Backed away, out of reach. "What was that?" she demanded.
"Darlin', you know exactly what that was." He took a step toward her.
"Stop right there." But her chest was heaving, and her lips were wet from his tongue.
"I don't think so."
"I'll—I'll—"
"What? Pull a knife on me?"
Her expression morphed into fear again.
He was appalled. He had never harmed a woman in his life. Never would. "Who made you afraid?" he asked gently.
Her face went vulnerable for a moment, then she shook her head. "No one. I'm fine."
"Scarlett," he warned. "Now is not the time to lie to me. Who are you so scared of? I won't let them hurt you, you know."
Her head cocked as she considered him. "You can't—" She broke off. "I'm fine."
Texas Roots: The Gallaghers of Sweetgrass Springs Page 13