by Jill Shalvis
What she couldn’t handle was everything else.
“I suppose,” Dora said, “that you prefer those pudgy, suit-wearing, smart-talking city boys who don’t know the back of a horse from their own—Oh, never mind. The sheriff isn’t into women like you anyway. He’ll look his fill and get over it. There’s still hope for me.” Dora primped up her already huge hair and sent Holly a nasty grin. “Don’t you think?”
“What I think is, you’re validating my inherent mistrust of everyone in Little Paradise.”
Dora laughed. “Feel free to vacate.”
“Gee, this is such a friendly town. Imagine, I thought I’d have trouble making friends.”
Dora had the good grace to smile sheepishly at that. “I’m sorry. I’m really not usually so rude to customers.”
“Well, aren’t I special?”
“It’s just that the Nirvana is a town landmark, you know? And honestly, even you have to admit, you’ve pretty much ruined it all in one day.”
The unfairness of that reared up and bit Holly, making being nice back all but impossible. “I didn’t ruin it all by myself. You people helped by being as inhospitable and ungiving as possible. I could use some help here.”
Holly couldn’t believe that those last words popped out of her mouth. She’d never in her life asked another soul for help. She certainly hadn’t meant to start now.
“Really?” Dora looked intrigued. “You don’t look like a woman who needs help from anyone, you look pretty self-sufficient to me.”
That was quite possibly one of the biggest compliments she’d ever had, not that she was about to admit it. “I’m capable, thank you very much. But you don’t, by any chance, know someone who wants the job of chef or waitress?”
“Working for you?”
“Well, yeah.”
Dora feigned disinterest, took Holly’s money and gave her change.
Holly thought that was the end of that, until Dora stopped her from leaving. “How much are you going to pay?” she asked.
“Can you cook?”
“Better than you.”
“Come prove it.” Holly knew she didn’t sound like a warm, fuzzy boss, but she didn’t trust anyone in this town farther than she could frown at them. “Wow me. Then we’ll talk pay.”
Dora sized her up for a long moment. “You’re not exactly Miss Merry Sunshine. Are you mean to your employees?”
“Mean? No. Tough? Yes.”
“I can handle tough. How about fair?”
“Yes.” Or so she hoped. She hadn’t gotten a good look at the café’s finances yet. Hell, she hadn’t done anything yet but sink. But she looked at Dora and willed her to want it, even as she pretended not to care one way or the other. “Makes no difference to me, if you want to bag groceries all your life. But if you’re interested in more, in the freedom of cooking what you like when you like it, well then…” With that hopefully enticing speech, Holly grabbed her bag and walked out of the store.
The café was still empty. Just as it’d been since she’d spilled, growled and cooked every single person away.
But she was convinced she could fix this. She could. And she could do it before her parents found out.
She hoped.
Since she was entirely by herself—what else was new?—and she couldn’t count on Dora taking the bait, she placed a nice, big, friendly sign in the window, announcing that she needed a chef and a waitress.
Plenty of people stopped to look at the sign, some pointed and smiled, some even laughed, but no one, no one, stopped and inquired within.
And the café remained stubbornly empty, despite the fact she’d cooked up the instant oatmeal for breakfast. It’d been easier than she thought, too.
Until it went cold and turned into cement.
Even Harry wouldn’t touch it.
Disgusted, Holly went to the front door and checked it, thinking maybe she’d left it locked.
As she opened it, a mangy, ragged mutt walked right in and sat. Half of one ear was gone, his fur was matted and dirty, and yet he walked in like he owned the place.
“Oh, no,” she said to him. Her. It. Whatever. “I’ve already inherited a nasty cat. You just take yourself right on back outside, this isn’t a charity stop.”
The dog cocked his head and panted as if he hadn’t had water in five days. Dammit. “Okay, just one little sip of water, then you’re outta here. Do you hear me? I’ve got bigger problems than you.”
As if he understood, and smelled a sucker while he was at it, he lay down and…smiled. She would have sworn he did!
Muttering to herself, Holly went into the kitchen and rustled up a bowl of water. Backing through the double doors, carrying the bowl, she said, “And don’t take this wrong, but man, you need a bath.”
“Care to scrub my back while I’m in it?”
Oh, perfect. Riley McMann. He was back, and though she hadn’t turned around yet, hadn’t set her eyes on his tall, leanly muscled body, hadn’t looked into his deep-brown, laughing eyes, her knees wobbled anyway.
Self-consciously, she turned to face him, holding the bowl of water and feeling ridiculously stupid.
“You didn’t seem like the stray type,” he murmured, taking the bowl from her and setting it before the dog.
“I’m not.” But she watched the scrawny dog lap at the water gratefully and felt her heart tug.
“Or a people one.”
“Why don’t you go back to your job?” she suggested. “And while you’re at it, rescue me from this dog.”
She wanted the dog out because there was something about the way his stomach was practically hollow, the way he seemed so happy to have been allowed to remain inside, with her, that really got to a person.
No. No, she was absolutely not sympathizing with this dog simply because they were both loners. “And do it quick before he scares off any more customers,” she added.
“Yeah, it’s the dog scaring off the customers,” Riley said softly, his gaze never leaving hers, the look in it telling Holly he saw so much more than she wanted him to.
“I need to get lunch going.”
“For who?”
Good point. “Look, can you take the dog away or what?”
“Why don’t you just put out a sign that says, Eat At Nirvana, The Place That Runs Customers Off, And Dogs, Too.”
She stared at him, baffled by the complexities of small-town living. “You’re telling me that kicking this dog out is going to be bad for my business?”
“Princess, you’re bad for business. But the dog, he could be good. It could show people you do have a…softer side.”
“I don’t want to show any softer side.”
But he’d given her an idea, and energized, she grabbed another piece of paper and scribbled:
Free Dinner Tomorrow With Your Receipt From Today. Come Try Our New Family-Style Dinner.
She taped the note to the window, right next to the Help Wanted ad. Beaming, she looked at Riley. “With the dynamics of the gossip mill in this town, I’ll be full of customers in less than ten minutes. They won’t be able to help themselves, they’re far too curious—and cheap—to ignore this.”
“What’s family style?”
“I’ll serve one main dish, the same to everyone.”
He nodded, looking impressed. “Clever. Now all you need is one little thing.”
“What’s that?”
“Food. Good food.”
She was halfway to the kitchen. She’d really intended to ignore him, but something in his tone caught her, something she couldn’t ignore. After all, she knew why she didn’t like him. He was too sure of himself, too laid-back, too country, too…utterly, wildly, absolutely male for her.
But what she didn’t know was… “Why don’t you like me?”
Her question surprised both of them. He didn’t try to deny it, or offer empty platitudes, which oddly enough only increased her need to know.
“What I feel doesn’t matter,” he said finally.
&nb
sp; It shouldn’t, but it did.
“It’s not as if you’re going to stick around,” he added.
Oh, but that cut, and cut deep. Too many people in her life had thought that about her, and okay, yes, maybe up until this point in her life, she’d lived up to that by constantly being on the move, but dammit not this time. Not anymore.
For once, just for once, she wanted someone to believe in her, to encourage her. But it wouldn’t be this man, and no way would she let him see how he’d hurt her feelings. “You don’t know me,” she said quietly.
“I know enough.”
And he knew her “type.” Or so he thought. Well, too bad; Holly Stone didn’t belong to a type. “I’m not leaving until my job here is done, if it’s any of your business. The place is going to sell sooner or later, and when it does, I’ll go, but not before. I made a promise.”
“Do you always follow through with your promises?”
He seemed doubtful, which only stirred her temper all the more. “Why are you here, Sheriff? I didn’t call you, you’re obviously not here to eat, so tell me. Why do you keep showing up?”
He shook his head, either unwilling or unable to answer.
“Then why don’t you do us both a favor and go?” She let out a tight smile. “I’ve got a meal to cook.”
Without waiting to see what he did, she turned, intending to make a great, dramatic exit. Only it was cut short when she tripped over the dog, landing sprawled out on the linoleum floor.
Riley was there in a flash, scooping her up. “You okay?” he demanded.
She blinked up at him. She’d lost a heel. Her hair had slipped from its elegant barrette, and her skirt had risen up, exposing more of herself—and her lingerie—than she’d planned on. But even more important, his arms were around her. In fact, she was practically in his lap. No, wait—she was in his lap, and oh my, but he felt big and hard and strong. And warm, very warm. She liked warm.
“Holly?”
Who would have thought he could feel so good?
“Holly!”
“I’m fine,” she said, forcing her thoughts away from the warm and fuzzy, to the realistic fact that she’d just humiliated herself, again. “Let me up.”
As if he didn’t believe her, he looked her over. His gaze didn’t miss anything, not her rioted hair, her probably smudged makeup, the skirt that had risen so high on her thigh she was still giving him a peekaboo hint at her peach lace panties. She yanked at the hem but not before his jaw clenched and his arms tightened. His eyes darkened.
And time stood still.
“You look…different like this,” he said, his voice hoarse.
“Different…how?”
He touched a strand of her hair, then her cheek. His gaze ran slowly over her body, leaving flames licking at her skin everywhere he looked. “Less princesslike,” he murmured. “Way less princesslike.”
Then he was withdrawing his hands from her, standing, backing away, turning toward the door. “Good luck with dinner later,” he said gruffly, and he was gone.
Holly was left sitting there, tingling, uncertain as to what had just happened. But then the dog licked her face—licked her face!—and she screeched, leaping to her feet. “Yuck! Stop it!”
He sat, panting, and cocked his head at her.
“You have breath like a sewer.” She walked to the front door and held it open. “You’re outta here, too.”
But because he looked so…cute, she softened her voice. “Go on now, outside with you.” Those huge, soulful eyes tore at her, but she lifted her chin and pretended not to notice. “Out.”
And just like the sheriff, out he went.
SEVERAL HOURS LATER, Holly was well on her way to having dinner going. She’d run back down to the grocery store—she really needed to get a list going and order properly—and had picked up what she needed. She hoped.
But more thrilling, thanks to her sign, she had customers!
Not many, but there were at least eight people out there, including both Dan, the huge mechanic, and Mindy, the librarian. They were all seated, drinking, waiting for the special of the evening. Now all that was left was for the spaghetti to finish cooking, her sauce to get a bit hotter, and the salad to fully chill.
No one had to know that she’d actually enjoyed making the sauce, though she’d not done anything original, she’d followed the cookbook to the letter. The salad was from a premixed bag, but that had been because she hadn’t had time for anything else. She was so nervous she could hardly see straight.
But she was used to hiding her nerves.
Again, she went out front, checking on drink status, smiling at anyone and everyone who would look at her, and shooing the damn cat off the counter.
Then Mindy pushed up her glasses, stood up and said, “I smell gas.”
Across the room, Dan sniffed loudly and nodded. “Yep, definitely gas.” He looked at Holly and shook his head grimly. “I should have known you were trying to kill me.”
Holly lifted her nose and sniffed…. Oh boy, that was definitely a rotten egg sort of smell, and she couldn’t have messed up the spaghetti sauce that badly, no way.
Besides, she knew from somewhere that they put that horrible smell into natural gas so you could tell when it was…leaking!
She scrambled for the phone, thinking she’d call 911, but Riley was simply right across the street. He’d know what to do. Before she could send someone for him, everyone was screaming and yelling and running for the door.
Two minutes later, Riley came striding in, moving like lightning but looking cool and battle-ready.
And worried as hell until he saw her.
She didn’t want to think about that, didn’t want to wonder why he looked so relieved at the sight of her.
“Out,” he said firmly, grabbing her arm. The image of authority. “We’re evacuating until this is handled.”
“But—”
“For once, princess, listen. Until I figure out what you’ve done, and make sure your very nice-looking rear end is safe in here, you’ll wait outside with everyone else.”
He thought her rear end was nice.
Oh, and that she was a walking disaster zone.
Just another day in the life of Holly Stone.
5
THE GAS LEAK had been caused by a blown pilot in the stove. Easily fixed, thought Riley.
The panic among Café Nirvana’s customers was also easily fixed when Holly offered them drinks on the house.
All Holly’s problems—fixed.
But the image of her after a long day of work—hair adorably messy, lipstick eaten off, sleeves shoved up and a spot of sauce on her hip—wouldn’t leave Riley’s mind.
Not so easily fixed.
What was wrong with him? She was everything he’d never wanted; she was big-city sophistication, she was snooty, manipulating. Stubborn as hell.
And yet he dreamed about her all night; long, haunting, erotic dreams. She wore peach lace, barely there panties, dammit. No wonder he woke up hot, bothered and horny as hell.
At least it was Sunday, his day off.
The physical demands of his ranch chores usually helped him wind down from a long week. They cleared his mind, and being outdoors, whether he was shoveling horse manure or riding hard and fast over the land, cleared his heart and soul, as well.
By midmorning he’d made some overdue repairs to his barn and had mended some fences on the far north side of his property. He was still hot and bothered, but at least it was from hard work this time, and not the mental images of Holly Stone, wearing nothing but those lace panties and a hungry expression.
And her expression had been hungry. Not a physical hunger, but something deeper, something that came uncomfortably close to mirroring his own yearning.
Deciding he needed food to fuel his brain instead of silly, romantic images, he headed toward the house and prayed Maria was still there. He stripped off his dirt-streaked shirt and kicked off his shoes, hoping to get on her good s
ide by not tracking dust into the house. Maybe he could look extra pathetic and squeeze a meal out of her.
He was in luck.
He could hear her in his kitchen, muttering and swearing in Spanish. He could also hear…Holly? Wearer of peach panties?
“I just asked you how you made the gravy so creamy, you don’t have to act like it’s a federal offense not to know,” he heard Holly say in that cool, cultured voice.
Maria’s voice wasn’t so cool. “Why are you here, anyway? The sheriff won’t be happy to see you.”
“How do you know?” Holly asked. “Actually, it could go either way.”
Maria sniffed. “And as for not knowing how to make gravy, it is a crime. How could you not have learned to cook? What is wrong with your mother?”
“She’s…not exactly the cooking type.”
“No? How are you going to catch a man?”
Riley decided now was the time to enter the kitchen, before World War III could break out. He was immediately overcome by the delicious smell of the meal Maria had cooked, by the sight of the two women staring each other down over the steaming stove, and by the fact that he was straining to hear Holly’s answer as to how she was going to catch a man.
Neither woman gave him a second glance. Maria, because she never gave him a second glance—unless he was making a mess or not rinsing his plate.
Holly because…who knew.
But she was studiously avoiding his gaze. Interesting, considering she’d shown up at his house.
“What’s going on?” he asked. “Not that I mind finding two women in my kitchen, especially when there’s food involved.”
“See?” Triumphant, Maria sent Holly a smirk and handed Riley a plate of food. “Ms. Stone was just going to tell me how to catch a man without basic cooking skills.”
Holly looked cool as a cucumber, until she happened to glance at him. Then she gave him a double take that had him looking down at himself, checking for toilet paper on his shoe.
He was still shirtless.
For a moment Holly’s eyes glazed over. Her mouth opened, then carefully closed. And she purposely turned away from him. “Why would I want to catch a man?” she asked Maria, her voice oddly husky.