Kiss Me Katie! & Hug Me Holly! (15 page)

Which meant she had to swallow the urge to make for the door, and figure this mess out instead. By herself.

“Everything okay there, princess?”

Damn,
he
was still here. Probably waiting for her to fail, just like her parents. He'd pegged her as a spoiled, stubborn, selfish city girl.

Well, she
was
a spoiled, stubborn, selfish city girl. But she was here, it was done, and she was going to come out on top.

And she wasn't going to let anyone see her struggle to get there, that was for damn sure. With a cool smile in place, she turned and faced Riley McMann.

He stood there looking for all the world as if he'd been born in that tacky apron he'd put on.

“Why are you still wearing that?”

“Someone's got to carry out all that food you're going to be cooking.”

She was going to have to cook. And she could barely boil water. This just got better and better. “I need to hire a chef like yesterday,” she said to herself, considering. “I could place an ad—”

“No go.” Riley smiled sweetly—she was beginning to mistrust that smile—and said, “The local paper comes out only once a week.”

“Let me guess…and today's the day?”

“I've got it spread across my desk as we speak.”

For some reason, his tone and words combined to create an incredibly naughty picture in her head, one of the sheriff standing in his office, looking down at what he had “spread across his desk,” and it wasn't a newspaper, it was…
her.

Okay, clearly she'd been too long without sex.

But now that the picture was in her brain, she couldn't get rid of it. She glanced at him to see if maybe he'd been provocative on purpose, but he only looked at her from those fathomless, innocent eyes.

Only problem was, no man that breathtaking, that sure of himself, that in charge of his emotions, could ever be innocent. In fact, given his looks, charm and personality, plus his authority in Little Paradise, she'd bet that good Sheriff Riley McMann hadn't been innocent for a very, very long
time. He probably had every single woman—if there even were any—falling all over themselves to catch his attention.

They were welcome to him. Holly had put herself out for a man before; she'd even gone to great lengths to keep him. She'd
still
gotten hurt. Numerous times, in fact.

Never again.

The next man in her life, if there was one, would be a man who couldn't get enough of her, who loved everything about her, unconditionally.

The next man in her life would
not
be one Riley McMann.

“You could place an ad for next week,” he said helpfully.

Great, wouldn't that just be nice. An entire week without help. “Terrific. Thanks.” She gave him her best I-could-give-a-damn-everything-is-in-control smiles. “I'll just get started cooking.”

He sent her the smile right back, though he was watching her with a look too personal, too direct, for two complete strangers. “I'll serve your customers coffee, and whatever you manage to wrangle up,” he said.

Neither of them moved. Around them, the air seemed to sizzle, which confused Holly. She'd never felt anything like this. He was just a cowboy,
rough-edged and far too casual for her tastes, and yet already he'd somehow gotten under her skin.

He glanced at his watch. “After that, though, you're on your own. I need to get back to my office by three for a phone call.”

“I'd rather be on my own right now.” Brave words, not such a brave heart, but she meant it. She wouldn't accept help, especially his.

“You're kidding.”

She shook her head and reaching out, untied the ribbon he'd put around his waist. It meant she had to touch him, but she'd touched plenty of men before, so it should be no big deal.

But it was.

The minute her fingers brushed against his belly, her entire body tightened. It was only because he was an exceptionally fine male specimen, she told herself, careful to not meet his mocking gaze as she hung up the apron.

“You're going to refuse my help?” He looked shocked, as if no one had ever turned him down before.

“Yep.”

“Well then, princess—or maybe I should be calling you Ms. Stubborn?”

“Just…go.”

He stood there for another moment, watching her. “You're going to be okay.”

“I always am.”

His lips curved. “Yeah. I guess you'd better get busy.”

He seemed so calm. Of course he did! He wasn't about to cook and serve a room full of strangers!

“Call me if you change your mind.”

And admit she was wrong? Not likely.

He left her alone.

Alone.

With a stove.

Well, wasn't this just a fine and dandy mess? But with the determination and grit that had gotten her through far worse disasters than this, she got busy.

Busy destroying pan after pan.

W
HAT AN IRONIC
twist of fate. Holly had spent much of her adult life flitting from one job to another, gaining a myriad of experiences that she could use in life, and yet the one thing she needed now—okay, the
two
things—were both something she hadn't a clue about.

Cooking and people skills.

Anything else,
anything,
and she might have been able to wing it. Well, cooking she could learn if she
had
to. After all, they did have a little invention called a cookbook.

But the people skill thing… Being sweet and kind and warm to complete strangers who didn't know her from Eve? Serving them whatever they needed, and doing it with a smile so that they'd want to come back? That involved trust, lots of it, and Holly didn't trust easily. She didn't trust at all.

This was going to be the biggest challenge of her life.

But she wouldn't give up, even if it meant grit
ting her teeth and forcing smiles until her jaw was tired. Whatever the people in Café Nirvana wanted, she would find a way to give them. The business would thrive, the Mendozas would eventually sell it, and her parents would look at her with stars in their eyes.

And she could go home.

Home.

That she didn't really know where home was had her smile faltering there for a moment, but she'd figure that out, too. Soon as she got this serving thing down.

Since Holly had burned just about everything she'd ever attempted to cook, she decided to go with the theory that it was late afternoon by now, and therefore between lunch and dinner, when no food was required.

And what would she do about dinnertime? Well, she'd cross that bridge when she got to it. For now, though, she'd been hiding out in the kitchen long enough. She picked up a pitcher of ice water, pasted a smile on her face and headed out to the lion's den—er, dining area. Show time.

The first thing she did was scan the counter.

Not that she was looking for the tall, rugged and annoyingly handsome sheriff, because she wasn't.

And anyway, he wasn't there. A good thing, because he both distracted and flustered her.

And no one was allowed to live once they'd flustered her.

She was doubly glad she hadn't let him help her because she really hated to be indebted to anyone. Holly Stone made her own way in this world, and she always would.

The tables had practically emptied out, not a positive sign. With her smile still glued in place, she walked to the closet table and nodded to the man who sat there glaring at her.

He weighed 250 pounds minimum, and looked as if he lifted cars for a living. His striped uniform shirt was streaked with grease and the tag on his right collarbone said his name was Dan.

“Hello, Dan,” she said in what she hoped was a pleasant voice. She'd read somewhere people liked to be called by name. She started to fill up his water.

“I wanted food,” he said. “An hour ago.”

“I know,” she said in her nicest voice. “But there's a small problem with that. There won't be any more food served until dinnertime. Not today.”

“What?”
He was not only unpleasantly sur
prised, but angry on top of that. “You're kidding me. What kind of restaurant doesn't serve food?”

This didn't bode well for her tip. She kept pouring, determined to make things okay. “Well, you see—”

She broke off when he let out a high-pitched, very girly scream and stood up, dancing around, flailing his arms, looking like Tinkerbell on steroids.

She'd overfilled his cup. Ice water right in his lap.

Well, darn it, he'd distracted her! She whirled to grab a towel off the counter—and wasn't it ever so wonderful to see that Riley was back, sitting there as if he didn't have a worry in the world.

“Problem?” he asked.

Holly ignored him to rush back to her dancing customer. He had a huge water stain across the front of his pants. “Here.” She tossed the towel at him because she wasn't about to dab at his lap herself.

It hit him in the face.

He stopped bouncing, yanked the towel away from his mouth and glared at her. “You,” he said.

He towered over her, really,
really
unhappy about having ice water poured over his…parts.

“Now, Dan.” Riley stood up, a friendly smile on his face. “It was just an accident.”

Dan didn't respond to that, just gave Holly one of those looks that made her nervous for her own body parts.

“And with it being such a hot one outside,” Riley continued easily, “I'd think all that cold water would cool you right off, just like a nice swim in a stream. Don't you think, Dan?”

Dan drew in a deep breath before he grimaced at Riley. “Yeah, a cool stream.”

“That's it. Why don't you just sit on back down now and relax?”

“Don't worry, Sheriff.” He shook his head. “I like you too much to cause any trouble here. You can sit back down, too.”

Riley nodded and smiled warmly as he did just that. “Good man, Dan.”

“But I ain't coming back. Not without Marge serving me. She never spilled water on me that made my d—” He broke off and cleared his throat. “I miss her already.”

Holly was just relieved that she was still among the living, and that Dan didn't do anything else but finish drying off before walking out.

Without tipping her.

The entire room had fallen silent, which wasn't
saying much since she had only three other tables with people at them.

Oh, and the grinning sheriff—she couldn't forget him.

Without a word, she went into the kitchen. What an idiot, she told herself. Spilling water like a nervous little ninny. She wasn't nervous!

And she wasn't a ninny! She was Holly Stone, woman with nerves of steel.

Determined, she searched the huge refrigerator and came up with a fresh apple pie—
thank God.
Renewed with hope, she went back out to offer it to her dwindling customer base.

“Looking good,” Riley said as she passed him.

She wondered if he meant the pie or her, but then she figured he must have meant the pie because she was still wearing hot pink over red silk, for God's sake, not to mention she was beginning to sweat.

She looked about as far from good as you could get.

“Uh…Holly?” Riley called out to her. “Holly!”

He spoke earnestly, but knowing he just wanted to rub her failures in, she kept going. With her hands full she couldn't see her feet, and in the aisle
between the counter and the tables, she tripped over a lump that screeched “meow!”

The pie flew through the air and landed on the lap of the woman with the perpetually slipping glasses.

Mindy, the librarian, she told Holly, swiping the pie off her glasses.

She didn't tip when she left, either.

On her hands and knees, Holly scrubbed at the floor, trying not to acknowledge the self-pity threatening to swallow her whole.

Only three feet away from her were the long legs of the sheriff. He still sat, calm as you please, at the counter.

With all her might, she wished she'd spilled the pie on
him.

Harry, who was freshly awoken from his nap, thanks to her, leaped to the counter. Right in front of her, only inches away from Riley's drink, he sat down and began to wash himself.

Oh, perfect. Her customers were dwindling fast, and she had a big, fat, ugly cat sitting on the counter, cleaning his paws.

Disgusted, she stood and tried to shoo him off.

Clearly insulted, Harry leaped again, aiming for the closest table. According to Murphy's Law, this
was naturally one of the few tables actually occupied by a paying guest.

The man there stroked Harry. “Don't worry about that mean woman who hates cats,” he crooned, glaring at Holly.

From behind Holly came something that sounded suspiciously like a laugh. Whirling, she glared at Riley, but he was just sitting there, looking guileless.

She sent him a long look for good measure, but he simply leaned back, stretched his lean, toned body out, put his hands behind his head and winked at her.

The man who Harry had practically attacked was heading for the front door.

“I'm sorry,” she called, but he just lifted a hand and kept going.

He stiffed her, too.

Let's see…she'd probably just cost the café an entire day's wages, all in an hour. Had to be a personal record for failure, and exhausted at just the thought, she sank into the nearest chair.

And sat on Harry.

 

R
ILEY WOKE UP
a hungry man.
Really
hungry.

He hadn't gotten lucky last night. Holly had closed Café Nirvana—his usual dinner haunt—
early. He could have whipped up something in his own kitchen, except for the fact that he really hated to cook. He could run an entire ranch practically by himself. He could patrol a county that had more square miles than he could count. He could bring peace to a room faster than he could blink, with just a smile and some sweet words, and enjoy all of it.

But ask him to so much as boil water for tea and he would find something,
anything,
else to do. Even go hungry.

Apparently Holly felt the same way, which gave them something in common, an uncomfortable feeling for him. He felt much easier when he didn't like her. She was just playing here, just passing through.

So why couldn't he stop thinking about her?

Hopefully she'd run for the hills—or the nearest city—by now. Yeah. Given her success rate of exactly zero yesterday, she'd probably done just that. The entire town would be grateful.

So would he.

He came into his house after doing some chores and stopped short in the doorway of his kitchen. Standing by the work island was Maria, his housekeeper. In front of her was a breakfast fit for a king, and also a bagged…lunch? His mouth wa
tered at the thought, even as he knew it couldn't be true. Maria didn't like him enough to cook for him,
twice.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, knowing she came only twice a week,
if
she was in the mood, to clean up after him. He wasn't particularly proud of the fact that she was necessary.

But she'd been there just the day before. He knew because he'd had clean sheets, fresh towels and the dishes he'd stacked for the past few days—he kept meaning to get to them but somehow never managed it—had been washed and put back in the cupboard where they belonged.

Maria ignored his question and shoved him into a chair, a considerable feat considering she was barely four feet tall to his six plus. Her wide girth apparently gave her the strength of four men.

Without a word of greeting, or even a smile, she set the plate of delicious-smelling food in front of him. “Eat,” she commanded in heavily accented English. “I do not have all day to clean your dishes.”

No one had to tell him twice. Riley started shoving the most amazing food in his mouth. Omelette smothered in cheese, a mountain of bacon on the side, crispy just the way he liked it, and another mountain of sourdough toast, slathered in butter.

“I've died and gone to heaven,” he said, then moaned around another mouthful. “This is the best food I've ever tasted.”

“You're half-starving, what does a half-starving man know?”

“I know good food,” he promised her. “And this is it.”

“A man who works as hard as you cannot go without eating. That Holly What's-Her-Name is going to be the death of you.”

No doubt. “You've never worried about me before.”

“You had the café before,” Maria pointed out. She slammed a pan into the sink and turned on the water. “What were the Mendozas thinking, letting someone like that take over?” She switched to Spanish then, letting off a rapid-fire monologue Riley couldn't begin to follow.

“Why are you here?” he asked when she'd run out of steam. “Not that I'm complaining,” he added quickly when she glared at him. “I'm grateful for the food, more than you know, but—”

“I heard about the Nirvana shutting down.”

“It's not shutting down, it's just—”

“Not serving food a dog could eat.”

“Well, I think there's a mix-up. I'm sure it'll get resolved.”

“She doesn't know how to cook.”

“Cooking isn't everyone's strong suit.” He flashed her a grin. “Not like you.”

She sniffed, as if not being able to make a meal was the greatest sin a woman could commit. “I know how much you count on that café, and I could not let you go hungry.” This last was spoken gruffly as she removed her apron. “Everyone in town is talking about her. There is a bunch of unhappy, hungry people around.”

“Yeah.”

“She is big city. She does not belong here.”

Riley didn't need the reminder that Holly came from a world entirely different from his, that she was restless, and probably looking for something in Little Paradise that didn't exist outside her imagination.

“She is too beautiful.”

That wasn't a problem for Riley. He loved beautiful women; he loved all women. But he didn't need an attitude-ridden, trouble-causing princess, that was certain.

“Soak your dish, Sheriff, do not leave it all week for me. Enjoy your lunch.”

And with that, she was gone.

Interesting. Maria liked him, she really liked him. But after he indeed soaked his dish, he saw
the note she'd left him by his front door. “Wipe your feet. The sheriff of Little Paradise should not live like a pig.”

Okay, maybe
like
was too strong a word.

 

B
Y THE TIME
Riley pulled up to his office, he was running late. But at least his belly was full. He could last all day on the feast he'd had. Bring on the lost cows, the occasional town drunk, a speeding tourist…he was ready.