Rodeo Baby

Chelsea scowled. “You’re only a waitress. You can’t talk to me like that.”

“When you are rude to me, I can respond in any way I please. If you don’t like it, you can leave. Are you going to eat your meal or should I take it away?”

“I’ll eat.” Sam detected grudging respect in Chelsea’s tone.

The waitress straightened away from the table. “Take the silver spoon out of your mouth first so you don’t choke.”

A grudging smile bloomed on Chelsea’s face.

How did the woman know they had money? To fit in, Sam had dressed down in denim and a plaid shirt, along with cowboy boots and hat.

Chelsea wore black punk. What about them said money? Nothing, as far as he could tell. He had to be more careful. The woman’s intuition disturbed him and he struck out at her.

“I asked you to load her burger with onions.” He hadn’t really wanted the waitress to, but Chelsea had many lessons to learn and Sam had no patience left for teaching them. Every stop on this ill-conceived trip, every mile of highway traveled across country and every single black inch of asphalt navigated had been littered with heartache for both of them. When all roads had steep uphill pitches, all you wanted was to roll backward and give up.

He wished he could turn back time and start over with his daughter.

Violet flipped her violet gaze on Sam. “Do you want her to eat or not?”

“At this point, I don’t much care,” he groused. Tired, hungry and out of patience, he wished he was back home in Manhattan where he belonged.

“Mom says I shouldn’t eat too much,” his child piped up. “She says I’m too fat.”

“You’re not fat!” Sam hadn’t meant to raise his voice, but Tiffany’s complaints about Chelsea had worn him thin. “You’re perfect, okay?”

“You should eat, kid.” The waitress smelled like fried food and roses.

Sam held his breath. Nobody called Chelsea a kid and got away with it. On her young, chubby face, thunder started to build.

Then Violet added, “It takes a lot of calories to feed that much ’tude.”

Chelsea burst out laughing, stunning Sam. His daughter, who hadn’t laughed in months, who hadn’t given him a genuine smile in twice that long, picked up her burger and happily bit into it.

Violet sauntered away while Sam envisioned himself getting down on his knees and kissing her feet...and every inch of her calves. She had great calves, strong but feminine.

She returned with their drinks.

“Has anyone ever mentioned that your name matches your eyes?” They were gorgeous.

“Nope. Not once. That’s a new one.” She slapped cream and sugar onto the table in front of him.

His jaw hardened. She had no right to treat him badly. It was just mild harmless flirtation. “You’ve got a lot of attitude.” He didn’t like sarcasm. Didn’t like people treating him badly. Back home—

Well, he wasn’t back home, was he?

“Let me speak to the manager,” he ordered.

“That would be me.”

“Okay, then. Is the owner in?”

She tapped one red-tipped fingernail against her chin. “Let me think. Yes. That would also be me.”

Chelsea giggled.

Good Lord. Two against one. “You don’t know much about business and good customer service, do you?”

He’d meant to put her in her place, but she turned to the customers in the large room and called out, “Does anyone have trouble with how I run my business?”

One and all shook their heads no.

Damn. He hadn’t meant to draw attention.

“Do I give good customer service or not?”

“Good service, Vy,” the old guy two tables down yelled. “Love the mashed potatoes. What did you say you put in them?”

“Garlic, Lester. That’s why they’re called garlic mashed potatoes.”

“Makes sense.” Lester nodded. “Like ’em. Refill my coffee when you get a minute?”

“Sure thing. I’ll get right on it as soon as I can get away from this table.”

Heat in Sam’s cheeks burned. His daughter watched him with a mocking smile. The townspeople watched him curiously. Great. He’d wanted to avoid drawing attention to himself, but here he was center stage because of this bad-tempered woman.

She presented her back to him and walked away.

“All I did was be nice to her,” he mumbled while he doctored his coffee.

“You gave her your fake, cheesy grin, Dad. You were flirting with her badly.”

He pinned his daughter with a hard glare. “What do you know about flirting?”

She rolled her eyes. Sick of the action, he pulled out of his pocket a small change purse he’d picked up at a souvenir shop on the way. “You rolled your eyes. Pay up.”

“Daaad.”

“Pay up.” He held out the purse. “Now.”

She took a quarter out of her pink knapsack and dropped it into the change purse.

“It’s getting heavy,” he remarked.

“You’re mean to take money away from your daughter. I’m only thirteen years old!”

“Thirteen going on twenty. Your mother gave you all kinds of money before we left. I give you a good allowance. You ain’t starving, kid.”

“Aren’t. It’s aren’t starving. Just because we’re in this tiny town doesn’t mean you have to speak like the locals.”