A Little Texas Two-Step

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.”