A Little Texas Two-Step

Leighanna sucked in a sharp breath, fisting her hands in the fabric of his shirt as her knees turned the consistency of wet noodles. Now she understood why Harley had said most women would kill to have Hank pay attention to them. The man was a master at seduction.

She could feel herself weakening, falling deeper and deeper under his spell as his tongue and lips teased. “Please,” she begged, her voice little more than a whimper.

“Please, what?” he murmured huskily.

But before she could ask him to stop, his mouth slipped to cover hers. Leighanna almost wept at the feel of those lips on hers. Strong and commanding, they moved against hers in a most satisfying way, while his thumbs stroked persuasively at her lower ribs.

She knew she was weak, spineless, susceptible when confronted with a man’s seductive charm. Her years with Roger had certainly proven that.

How many times had Roger come to her, whispering sweet nothings in her ear and cuddling up to her while he tried to wheedle money out of her? She’d always been a sucker for affection. Raised by a father who didn’t have a clue about the needs of a young girl, she’d never received any. Roger had known her weakness, knew just the right buttons to push to get what he wanted from her.

The thought of Roger’s manipulations dragged her from beneath Hank’s spell. She set her jaw and firmed her lips beneath his. He might not want money from her as Roger had, but he wanted something. That was obvious in the seductive prodding of his tongue against her lips...and she wouldn’t, no matter how strong the temptation to remain in his arms, allow herself to fall prey to a man’s charm again.

Lifting her foot, she brought it down hard across his instep. He released her with a yelp of pain and hopped around on one foot while he cradled in his hands the one she’d stomped.

“Why in the hell’d you do that for?” he asked incredulously. “You could’ve broken my damn foot!”

Leighanna folded her arms beneath her breasts. “You’re lucky I didn’t aim a little higher.”

Hank’s eyes widened in surprise while his grip on his foot loosened. “Why, you little hellcat,” he murmured.

He couldn’t have called her anything that would have pleased her more. Leighanna Farrow would never again be any man’s doormat! She snatched up the bucket. “If you’re smart, you’ll remember that before you try to make another pass at me.” She jerked open the door. “Get the stool,” she ordered firmly, pointing a stiff finger at the stool beneath the window. “We’ve got work to do.”

Hank’s chest swelled in anger. “I think you’re forgetting who’s the boss around here.”

Leighanna refused to bend under his threatening look. She’d done enough bending in her life. “No, I haven’t forgotten, but it appears one of us needs to keep an eye on the business. You obviously don’t care.” With that she stepped through the door with a deliberate toss of her blond hair and let the door slam closed behind her.

Didn’t care about his business! Hank snatched up the stool and jerked open the door, following her into the bar. “And just exactly what is that supposed to mean?” he asked, slamming the stool down on four legs as he stomped after her toward the kitchen.

Leighanna calmly tipped over the bucket and emptied its contents down the drain. “Exactly what I said. You don’t care about your business.”

“That’s a damn lie!”

She set the bucket on the floor by the sink and brushed past him on her way to the bar. “It isn’t. If you did, you’d take better care of the place.”

Hank followed her. “I take care of my business!”

She wheeled, and he fell back a step to keep from slamming into her. “Do you?” she asked, arching a neatly shaped brow.

“Well, hell, yes!”

“Then why are you letting this place fall down around you?”

Hank looked at her in dismay. “It’s not falling down!”

“Sure it is.” She stepped to the wall and tapped a manicured nail at a spot of chipped plaster. “This for instance. How long has this been this way?”

Hank frowned. “The walls look the same as when I bought the place.”

“And how long has that been?”

“Six years.”

She dipped her chin and looked at him from beneath her eyebrows, the smirk on her mouth telling him that his answer only proved her point.

“Well, I sure as hell don’t hear my customers complaining,” he said defensively.

“That’s because they don’t have a choice. Yours is the only bar in town. But if another opened,” she quickly added, before he could interrupt, “which is a strong possibility with all the people who keep swarming through Temptation, then you might very well lose your customers.”

Her statement momentarily stripped Hank’s tongue of the scathing remark he’d been about to make. He’d never thought about the possibility of competition. The End of the Road had been the only bar in Temptation for as long as he could remember.

Before he could gather his wits enough to respond, the door opened and Cody Fipes, Temptation’s sheriff, strolled in.

“Hey!” Cody called, hooking a thumb over his shoulder. “Who cleaned the windows? Had to put on my sunglasses to kill the glare.”

Leighanna turned to Hank, folding her arms beneath her breasts. “See?” she said, smiling sweetly. “Someone did notice.”

It rankled more than Hank wanted to admit, but Cody wasn’t the only one who commented on the clean windows that night at the bar. Even old Will Miller, Temptation’s one-and-only barber and the crankiest SOB in town, noticed the change and even found a smile for Leighanna when he’d learned she was responsible for the work.

Hank bit back an oath. Wasn’t nothin’ wrong with the looks of The End of the Road, he told himself as he scooped coins from the cash register drawer onto his open palm. Hell, business was good, always had been, and nobody’d ever complained about the appearance of the place before...at least not before Leighanna had taken it upon herself to clean those damned windows.

It was all her fault, he told himself as he started sorting the coins into piles by denomination. He’d never thought twice about what his bar looked like. He’d been too damn busy serving drinks and slapping hamburgers on a grill to pay it any mind...at least not until Leighanna had shot off her sassy mouth.

But as a result of her comments, earlier, when the sunshine had been gleaming through those windows she’d cleaned, the plaster on the old interior walls had appeared to him a little more crusty and duller than they had before. Even the mirror behind the bar seemed intent on rubbing Hank’s nose in his neglect by reflecting the chipped plaster back at him when his back was turned to the open room.

Angrily, he scraped a handful of quarters into his hand to count. “What else do you think is wrong with the place?” he muttered disagreeably.

Startled by the unexpected question, Leighanna straightened from her mopping and used her wrist to push her hair from her face as she turned to look at him. His head was bent over the coins, but she could tell by the way one side of his mouth curled down that he was still irritated by all the attention the clean windows had drawn.

And that is just too bad, she thought peevislaly. Because she was right. He had neglected the building.

“The eaves need painting, the doors need revarnishing and it wouldn’t hurt to freshen up the sign.” She started to mention the pots of geraniums, but decided she’d better not push her luck. “And that’s just on the outside,” she said before going back to her mopping.

His head snapped up. “And what’s wrong with the inside? Other than the plaster,” he quickly added before she could rub his nose in that again.

Leighanna sighed and drew the mop up, folding her hands over the top of its handle. “Well, for starters, the tabletops are a disgrace. They’ve been scrubbed so much there is nothing left of their finish but raw wood. It’s all but impossible to get the stains off them.”

He hunched his shoulders defensively. “I can’t afford to replace every damn table in the place.”

“You wouldn’t have to. You could either refinish them, or maybe even use tablecloths to cover them. A bit of color certainly wouldn’t hurt.”

“Tablecloths!” He snorted and slapped a ten dollar stack of quarters onto the bar. “If you had your way, you’d turn this place into a damn tearoom.”

“Tables in a tearoom are covered with linen and lace. I was thinking more in the line of checkered oilcloths.”

Hank cocked his head to look at her in disgust. “Checkered?”

“Yes,” she said, hoping she could hold his interest long enough to convince him. “Preferably red and white. It would carry out your country motif.”