She's Gotta Be Mine (13 page)

Availability for what? The suspense raised her pulse rate. “I have to get back to work.”

“Name’s Tyler Braxton,” he said as she rose. “But you can call me
Brax
. Everyone does.”

“Nice to meet you,
Brax
.”

“You can call on me, Bobbie, any time you’d like.”

Hmm, big, blond, blue-eyed sheriff or dark-eyed, dark-haired, devilish serial killer. A veritable smorgasbord for such a small town. She’d be willing to bet, though, that the sheriff wasn’t a sentimental guy. He’d probably never even heard of
Laura
, let alone watched the movie.

“One more thing, Bobbie.”

She tipped her head.

“Just make sure you don’t murder your ex in my county. I’d really hate to have to put you in jail.”

* * * * *

Bobbie hadn’t come to his house last night. Three nights in a row, she’d bellied up to his porch, but last night, not so much as a boo. And yesterday, she’d served the Sheriff his breakfast and sat with him while he ate—that info gleaned from a trip to
Sylvestor’s
to get the rest of the items he needed for the toilet restoration project.

Not that Nick gave a flying freaking rat’s ass. It was merely curiosity. In fact, it’d be a good thing if
Brax
took her off his hands and his porch.

That’s the only reason he’d ventured down to The Cooked Goose. Curiosity.

Shit. Why bother denying the truth? She’d left her pasta bowl behind, and he felt obligated to return it.

Double shit. All right, already, the real truth. He couldn’t stand the idea of Bobbie being anyone’s quarry. He should probably warn her about Kent’s bet.

So here
he
was, the one bellying up to The Cooked Goose, choosing the middle of the afternoon in order to make the smallest possible spectacle of himself. Truly pathetic.

He opened the door. Silence descended like the curtain going down on the first act of a bad play,
The Life of Nick Angel
.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t Nick Angel? I think I’m going to have a heart attack.” Mavis Morgan grabbed her scrawny chest.

He should have known she wouldn’t let him in without a scene. Only four or five tables were occupied at this hour, late for lunch, early for dinner, no
Brax
, no
Jimbo
.

The diner was
Jimbo’s
territory. Cookie might be a Venus flytrap, but a man had to take responsibility for letting himself get trapped. So, Nick solicitously avoided
Jimbo’s
favorite joint. Until Bobbie came to town.

All eyes—except the big guy at the counter slurping his soup—focused on him, some avid, some terrified, as if they expected him to whip out an Uzi right then and there.

Behind the counter, Bobbie started a new pot of coffee brewing. God, she looked hot in that uniform. He couldn’t take his eyes off her butt. Then, when she turned, her breasts caught him, held his gaze.

“Must be something new on the menu you’ve heard about.” Mavis’s sly gaze moved from him to Bobbie.

He mentally shook himself. “Just a hankering for that sludge you call coffee, Mavis.”

“Have a seat over...let’s see, over there.” She pointed to a spot in the back, isolated from the rest by empty booths and vacant tables. “Bobbie, why don’t you get him his sludge?”

His shoes pounded the linoleum in the relative silence. Sliding into the booth, he watched Bobbie’s progress.

Armed with a white mug, wearing black tennis shoes and black nylons, she made his mouth water. What the hell was it about her? She wasn’t pretty in any standard way. Her red hair was a tad too short. Yet something in her green eyes reeled him in, a twinkle. And her mouth, that was real pretty, lusciously red.

That hint of a smile, though, made him distinctly uneasy. As if she could see right inside him to find secrets no one else did.

She set the mug of steaming coffee on the table along with a couple of tubs of cream, then stuck out her pelvis to facilitate pulling a pad from her apron.

“You sure know how to make an entrance,” she said, pencil poised.

“All I did was walk in.”

“That’s what I’m talking about.”

Whispers and low voices began to fill the room again. Ceramic plates chattered from the kitchen. A basket of French Fries hissed in hot grease.

Pointing at his closed menu, she asked, “You want something to eat?”

Just her. “No.”

“You only came in for the coffee?”

He dumped two creams in before answering. “No.” Unable to raise his eyes beyond the level of her plump, perfect breasts, he stirred. And stirred. “I just dropped by about your pasta bowl. You forgot it the other night.”

She doodled on the pad. “You could have left it on my porch.”

“Someone might have stolen it.”

“Yeah. Right.” She licked her lips, drawing his gaze from her breasts.

He thought about asking why she hadn’t come over last night. Why was he here, like a nerdy teenager wanting to ask the head cheerleader for a date?

She stopped doodling and stuck pencil and pad back in her apron pocket, jutting her pelvis again. Did she do that in front of everyone? “Well, I should get to work then, if you have everything you want.”

He didn’t. But revealing that was out of the question. His mind swirled around the things he could say to get her to stay.

“Shit, lady, what the hell are you doing?”

Bobbie jumped as the big guy at the counter bellowed. The crash of glass and a yelp followed.

Little Ellie Brooks backed up against the stainless steel
drainboard
. “I’m sorry, Mister, I’m really sorry.”

“You burned me, goddamn it.”

“It
wa
—was an accident.”

“Where’s Mavis?” Bobbie whispered beside Nick.

The big oaf at the counter had come off his stool, shaking his finger at a terrified Ellie. “You stupid cow.”

“Hey, that’s not very nice.” Bobbie’s voice couldn’t have carried beyond Nick’s hearing. “I should do something.”

Nick started to push himself out of the booth. The bastard needed to learn some manners. “I’ll take care of it.” But Bobbie blocked his way. “So move.”

“I can’t just stand here,” she muttered to herself, not even hearing him. Then she pursed her lips, snagged a deep breath, and surged forward, her black
tennies
stomping the floor.

Dammit, didn’t she see how big that guy was?

“Hey, leave her alone. She told you it was an accident.”

Burly Asshole turned on Bobbie when Nick was still several feet away. Shit.

“Butt out, bitch. I’m
gonna
get her fired.”

Bobbie stared, long enough for Nick to make it another three feet, then suddenly she stabbed her finger in the big man’s chest. “Don’t threaten her. Get. Out.”

The guy’s arm pulled back, and his fist bunched. Nick started to dive for him. Only someone grabbed his arm.

“Let her handle it.” Mavis, her voice like steel wool in his ear, her grip a vice.

Nick almost leaped anyway, but then Bobbie’s pencil was suddenly in her hand, dagger-style. “You punch me, and I’ll poke your eye out.”

Something in her tone, in that narrow-eyed look, stopped the man’s arm mid-swing. The big guy crouched, and Bobbie’s nose was right up in his face. “Now, you apologize to Ellie for calling her a cow.”

The man’s Adam’s apple bobbed. He didn’t take his eyes off the pencil in Bobbie’s hand as he muttered out of the corner of his mouth. “Sorry I called you a cow.”

“And accept her apology for spilling the coffee on you.”

“I accept your apology.”

“Good.” Bobbie lowered the pencil dagger. “Now, the meal’s on me, but you get out of here, and don’t come back.”

Burly Asshole sidled around her and pushed through the door, the bell tinkling overhead.

Nick let out the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. The sound of a clap beat against his eardrum. Mavis. Others joined in, until everyone was standing, the clapping deafening despite the relatively few patrons. Or was that his heart pounding right out of his chest?

Ellie, somehow having scampered from behind the counter, hugged Bobbie, throwing her whole body into it.

Not a part of this, Nick took a step back, then two. He might have made it out the door if Bobbie hadn’t turned then. Flushed with excitement, her eyes the brightest of greens, almost a shade not duplicated in nature, she called out, “Fresh coffee for everyone.”

Mavis held onto his arm like an anchor. “Don’t you dare leave now. Take your seat.” Then louder, so that Bobbie could hear, “Don’t forget you owe eight thirty-two for the jerk’s meal.”

“I won’t.” High on adrenaline, Bobbie bounced around the restaurant, wielding the pot she’d started when Nick first walked in. Then she was bouncing back to him, like she had a pogo stick between her legs.

Interesting image, that. Made him think of other things he could put between her legs.

She topped off his cup. “Did you see that? I beat him.”

“He could have broken your jaw.” Not that Nick would have let the guy that close, with or without Mavis hanging on his arm.

She snorted. “But he didn’t. He backed down.”

Nick still wasn’t sure why the man had. “Give me the look you gave him. I couldn’t see it well enough.”

She narrowed her eyes. But he knew that wasn’t the look; it didn’t scare him one damn bit. In fact, it made him hot. “You can’t do it again.”

“I can, too.” She brought her light brows together.

“It’s still not menacing.”