Blame It On Babies. Kristine Rolofson

      2

      “YOU’RE NOT DRIVING, ARE YOU?”

      Jess shook his head at the bartender. “Walkin’,” was his reply. He would walk to his truck and sleep in the cab. Wouldn’t be the first time, though those days were years ago. In his misspent youth.

      Those were the days. Now, at thirty-seven, he couldn’t drink much whiskey—or anything else alcoholic for that matter—without hurting himself. It was hardly worth it, but today’s wedding preceded by yesterday’s divorce were events worth trying to forget.

      He set down his last empty glass and, stepping over the bodies of a couple of cowboys who couldn’t hold their liquor, managed to exit the tent without embarrassing himself by falling flat on his face. Most everyone had gone home—or on to the bars to finish what they’d started. Even the musicians were packing up, and over in the far corner of the park, lights highlighted the removal of Texas Tom’s traveling barbecue feast.

      Jess thought he’d parked somewhere over there, but he wasn’t sure. He remembered passing the Grange on his way in, so he figured he was heading in the right direction if he walked toward the lights. As he got closer, he was surprised to see that pretty little waitress rifling through the garbage like a starving dog.

      “Honey,” he drawled, keeping his voice low so he wouldn’t scare her. She jumped anyway, then turned around and stared at him.

      “What?”

      “Honey,” he tried again, reaching for the wallet in his back pocket. “You sure as hell shouldn’t be in this pre-pre-predicament.” He pulled a couple of twenties out of his wallet and handed them to her.

      “What are you doing?” She didn’t look too happy to take the money. In fact, she tried to stuff it back into his palm. And succeeded, too, before she took a step backward.

      “Buy yourself a decent meal,” he said, holding out the bills again. “Decent meals,” he said, correcting himself. With forty dollars she ought to be able to eat for three days, if she was careful. “No reason to go through garbage for something to eat. Doesn’t that cheap bas—Texas Tom give you supper?”

      He thought she was going to laugh, but he couldn’t see her face too well now that she’d stepped away from the lantern. He’d caught a glimpse of big blue eyes and a set of lips that were made for—well, just about anything a man could think of, he figured.

      “I’m looking for forks,” she said. “And I’m not hungry, thank you.”

      “Forks,” he repeated, hoping he sounded sober. He’d gotten a little dizzy a second ago when she’d smiled. “What for?”

      “Texas Tom is counting the silverware.” She retied the garbage bag and set it off to one side with two others. “I have to see if any of his precious forks got thrown out before I can go home.”

      “Or he’ll dock your pay?”

      “Probably.” She reached for another bag and then shook her head. “I’m done. I found two of them.” She pulled them out of her apron pocket to show him. “I guess I’ve done my duty.”

      “Maybe some more will turn up in the grass tomorrow,” he said, hoping to be helpful. He wasn’t so drunk that he couldn’t be helpful, after all. And the woman was so damn pretty.

      “Yes.” She gazed up at him, real friendly and nice. Almost as if she knew him, but Jess didn’t think so. A man would remember her, that he was certain of. “You’re Jess Sheridan, aren’t you?”

      “Yes, ma’am.” So she did know him, or at least knew who he was. Most folks in town did. He went to take off his Stetson, but realized he was bareheaded. Damn. That hat had cost him a bundle six months ago. And it was probably stomped flat in the beer tent now.

      “You’ve had a lot to drink,” she said. “Where are you going?”

      “To sleep it off, ma’am. In my truck.” He pointed to where he hoped his truck was parked. “Somewhere over there.”

      “Can you find your truck?”

      He didn’t want to lie to the woman, but then again, a man had his pride. “Yep. No problem.”

      “Lorna! You wanna stop flirtin’ with drunks and start countin’ my damn forks like I’m paying you to do?” A short bald guy, built like an Angus bull, came roaring up to the waitress and stopped just short of crashing into her. Jess wasn’t so far gone that he didn’t see the man’s gaze drop to the little lady’s chest.

      “Who you calling a drunk?” Jess straightened to his full height, which he knew was damn impressive, even in Texas, and glared at the screaming lecher.

      “Never mind,” the waitress said, and she handed the man the forks. “Here. That’s all I found, Tom. And now I’m going home.”

      “Not so fast, missy,” the man said, shaking the forks at her. “We’re not done here.”

      The woman put her hands on her hips. “I’ve been either basting, chopping, grilling, serving, carrying, cleaning, washing or going through garbage since nine this morning. The place is cleaned up, the day is over and I want my money and I want to go home and go to bed. Now.”

      Jess stared at her. He’d missed a few of the words, but he got the general idea. The little lady was tired.

      “Bed?” Texas Tom grinned at her, but it wasn’t a real nice expression. “I’ll tuck you in, Lorna, if that’s what you want.”

      “I want today’s pay. Eight dollars an hour, plus tips.” She wasn’t about to back down, something that didn’t surprise Jess. When a woman put her hands on her hips like that and started talking, it meant a man better listen. Or run for his life.

      Tom glanced at Jess and took his life in his hands. “Get lost, cowboy. Lorna and me have business to take care of.”

      “Nope. I’m staying right here.” Jess wished he hadn’t had that last glass of Jack Daniels. “I think you’d better give the lady what she wants.”

      “You do, huh?” Tom reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a thick wad of bills. He counted out several and handed them to the waitress. “Hundred bucks plus fifty for the tip. Happy now?”

      “Yes.” The money disappeared into her apron pocket and her shoulders sagged with relief. “Good night,” she said to Jess, and took a step backward.

      “’Night,” Jess answered, realizing he couldn’t put off the search for his truck any longer. Besides, he was starting to get hungry. If he couldn’t find his truck maybe he could find the café and get some sustenance. He’d moved out of the circle of light when he heard Texas Tom’s voice again.

      “Not so fast, babe,” the BBQ King said, stepping closer. He lowered his voice, but Jess had hearing like a fox. “There’s more where that came from, if you know what I mean. A woman like you could play her cards right and wake up with