Devin-2

Devin

~The Grant Brothers Series~

By

Kathi S. Barton

World Castle Publishing

http://www.worldcastlepublishing.com

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used factiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locations, organizations, or person, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

World Castle Publishing

Pensacola, Florida

Copyright © by Kathi S. Barton 2011

ISBN: 9781937085841

Library of Congress Catalogue Number 2011931977

First Edition World Castle Publishing July 15, 2011

http://www.worldcastlepublishing.com

License Notes

This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you respecting the hard work of this author.

Cover Artist: Karen Fuller

Editor: Brieanna Robertson

This book I dedicate to the women in my life - Daniy, Dale, and Wendy. I love you all very much. Also, I know too damned much about your sex lives. Next time you want to share, please remember these three little letters: TMI.

Also to Brieanna Robertson, my editor extraordinaire. You’re great at editing and your wonderful funny comments have been so much fun. I’m so excited to be working with someone who ‘gets’ me. Thanks for making both Nickolas and Devin readable.

You’re the best.

And finally to Karen Fuller, Owner of World Castle Publishing. You took a chance with me and my books. I will forever be grateful to you. I know that we will have a long and wonderfully fulfilling relationship.

Kathi S. Barton

~Chapter 1~

Ronnie Frey pulled out her books and sat them on one of the tables in the back of Bob’s Diner where she worked. It was just after three o'clock in the morning and she hoped that no one else would be in the diner tonight. Well, except for the cops who came by for a cup of fresh coffee and to check up on her.

They seemed to think she needed someone to look over her, and she generally let them.

When the SUV pulled up outside at a little after four, she frowned. Walking over to the coffee maker, she pushed the button to start a new pot. When the bell chimed over the door, she turned to look at the newcomers and her heart skipped several beats before she trusted herself to speak.

Four of the most gorgeous men she had ever seen walked in playing and jabbing at the one who was, by far, the most beautiful man she had ever seen.

Christ
, she thought. Why did every beautiful man have to be gay, and why did four of them have to descend on her at once? It was enough to make a woman want to give up on ever finding true love and join a nunnery. Shaking herself mentally on that morose thought, she turned to the men and smiled.

"Have a seat anywhere. I’ll be right with you. Coffee will be about three more minutes," she told them when they paused in their laughter to look at her.

They picked a booth about midway back and sat two by two. Ronnie took them their glasses of water and silverware and walked away. They had not picked up their menus yet, so she went back to her book and marked her page.

When she was finished, the pot had finished brewing the coffee, so snagging four cups and the pot, she went over to the table.

"Coffee? The cream is fresh. I'll bring it to you if you need it. Have you decided what you want yet?" She sat the pot on the table behind her, pulled out her pad and pen and looked at them expectantly.

The one they had been teasing looked at her with what seemed to her like anger. Ronnie was surprised by it, but said nothing as she waited. She knew she didn’t know him. Ronnie was certain of that. She’d remember a man who looked like him.

"Well, I’m not sure, Ronnie,” he said as he looked pointedly at her name tag.

“We usually get something to tell us what our choices are before someone comes around to take our order. Most waitresses bring menus before she tries to find out what we want to eat. Maybe you're new to this, but that's usually how it's done."

She looked at him and wanted to hit him, but knew that she could not. But her temper got the better of her mouth and she let it have free rein. Sometimes, that was just as lethal.

"Well, stupid old me. Let me get them for you." She pushed her pad and pen back into her pocket, leaned over him and the other man across from him, and plucked the menus out of the holder on the table. Making a huge production of it, she handed each man their menu and gave the man who had spoken his last.

"I don't know why I thought you'd look before you stuck your foot in your mouth, sir. But, hey, that's the way it's usually done around here." She picked up the pot and turned to leave with a muttered "jackass" under her breath.

There was a sudden bark of laughter from the table as she headed to the kitchen after depositing the pot at the coffee maker. They must have heard her, not that she had been trying to be that quiet, but still...her hands shook as she stood there in front of the stove.

From the hours of three in the morning until seven-thirty when the breakfast crowd started coming in, Ronnie was the only one in the restaurant. She waited on anyone who ventured in and then cooked whatever they wanted. Usually, it was just coffee, but on occasion, she had to cook something.

When she felt she had a rein on her temper again, she went back to the men at the table.

"You ready to order?" Her voice was clipped, but at this point, she did not care.

The guy in the back smiled at her and ordered. "I'll have the Trucker’s Special, eggs over easy and wheat toast. I would also like orange juice, please large." He had a smile that would melt most women’s hearts. Too bad the man with him did not own one—a heart or a smile.

"How you want your steak, sir? And OJ is included, or you can have grapefruit juice. I have them both."

"OJ, thanks. And can the cook do Pittsburg rare? If so, that's what I want."

Nodding, she watched as he tucked his menu back in the holder and then the next guy ordered the same, including the steak. The third guy wanted his eggs scrambled and his steak just plain rare and he took the rest of the menus and put them away as well. That left the jerk. Everyone turned to look at him.

"If I order something, are you going to have the cook spit in my food, or are you going to drop it on the floor first?" She was sure he was just as mad at her as she was at him, but frankly, she did not care. She was pissed.

"You'll never know, will you? What do you want? Or were you waiting for me to turn the pages for you? Or do the waitresses where you come from just read your tiny mind for you and order everything just perfectly?"

The men with him laughed again and she flushed. It was not like her to be nasty to a customer, but he had rubbed her the wrong way.

"Christ, you always this nice to people who tip you, or is it just me? I'll take the Trucker’s Special, Pittsburg rare, over easy, wheat toast and OJ."

She did not answer. She was afraid of what might spill from her lips. It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him off, and then throw him out, but she needed this job. She could study as long as the customers received good service, plus it paid for some of the outrageous prices of her law books.

Going to the table again, she topped off their cups and freshened their waters. Leaning down to the jerk, she whispered in his ear, "Its all you, baby,"

and went to the kitchen. His hiss of breath was all she heard as the door closed behind her, the arrogant bastard.

It took her fifteen minutes to fix the breakfasts and she was pilling it onto a tray when the bell rang, signaling the door opening. Great, she thought. They were leaving without paying. Tommy Bob, the owner with his mother, was going to be pissed. She was relieved when she heard Officer Roger Timpkin shout it was him, not to hurry. She finished putting the platters on the tray and picked it up, grabbing a tray jack on her way out the door.

Coming through the door, she noticed that Roger was at the counter drinking his usual cup of coffee, and he and the men were talking. She did not bother with what they were saying. She was too busy trying to balance the tray of food, juices, and other things to care.

She set the tray down and passed out their food, setting it before them.

Pulling a bottle of catsup and steak sauce from her back jean pockets, she set them on the table and went to get the coffee pot. Ronnie noticed that Roger had started a new pot and took the old one to the men with a pot of butter and one of honey.

"Everything all right? There are fresh biscuits ready to come out in about six minutes, and I'll bring them out. If you all don't need anything, I'll be over there."

She pointed to the back of the restaurant and went back to her books after setting the timer close to her.

When the timer rang, she pulled the hot bread from the oven and, putting a baker’s dozen in a basket, dropped it off at the table with another round of juice and coffee. She topped off Roger’s cup and sat back down. She was never much for small talk with customers and, other than asking if they needed anything else, she did not say much. Ronnie hated to be bothered when she went out, so tried to do the same for her customers.

Sometimes she got caught up in her reading and had learned to set a timer while studying for ten minute intervals when someone was in the restaurant.

Roger sitting down across from her had her look up in surprise. He looked at her strangely then glanced back at the four men.

"Want me to hang out for a while? Never seen them men before—don't trust them. They're from the city and could mean trouble for you."

Ronnie sighed. It had been like this since she was a teenager and, working here, everyone thought she was frail and helpless. She was hardly either. At five feet ten inches, she towered over most men she knew and she held a black belt in karate. Then there was the gun strapped to her ankle and the other in her book bag. She carried a concealed weapons license and was a marksman on the firing rang. Few people messed with her when they found out she did not have the temperament for stupidity and was armed to boot.