Rich Man, Poor Bride. Linda Goodnight
ask what she meant by “girls like that,” but he was much too focused on the other table. “She shouldn’t have to.”
Before he could think the matter through he was standing next to the waitress glaring down at a twenty-something surfer boy with I-get-what-I-want written all over him. “Is there a problem here?”
The blond man snarled. “Butt out, buddy.”
“Please, Dr. Vargas, don’t concern yourself.” Her soft drawl was laced with tension, her pretty green eyes worried. “Return to your table and I’ll be with you shortly.”
“Not until this guy takes his hands off you.”
“I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t make a scene,” she said firmly. “Everything here is under control.”
“Doesn’t look that way to me.” He speared the surfer boy with a challenging glare. “Hands off. Now.”
The man let go of her arm and scraped his chair back. He was at least six feet tall but looked as soft as an old pillow.
The young woman’s eyes widened in alarm. “Gentlemen, please sit down before the manager is alerted and we disturb other guests. This is a restaurant, not a barroom.”
“That’s right, Vargas. If Ruthie here wants to spend some extra time with me, that’s our business. Right, Ruthie?”
“Mr. Peterson, if you’ll take your seat, we’ll talk again after your meal. Okay?”
The surfer considered her suggestion for a moment, posturing a bit for Diego’s benefit, then he shrugged. “Sure, baby. Why not? Later works better, anyway—if you get my drift.”
Fire still burned inside Diego. He really wanted to punch the insulting little twerp, but Ruthie seemed bent on making peace.
“Dr. Vargas, let me escort you to your table and pour you another glass of wine.”
Reluctantly, Diego turned back toward his table but couldn’t resist a final glare at the other man. Ruthie was at his elbow.
“Please, sir,” she hissed, green eyes wide and anxious. “You’re going to get me fired.”
Incredulous, he stopped and stared at her. “I was trying to help you.”
“I can take care of myself.”
“Didn’t sound that way from where I was sitting.”
“Keeping guests happy is part of my job. If one of them has a few too many cocktails and misbehaves, that’s my problem. I cannot afford to offend a guest.”
Diego couldn’t believe this woman. “You’re making me the heavy?”
“I’m just asking you to please stay out of my business. First you insult me in your suite and now you’re jeopardizing my livelihood.”
“I didn’t order those towels.” The denial sounded petulant, childish.
“Well, somebody did.”
“Then I owe you an apology.”
“Apology accepted. Would you care for an appetizer before dinner?”
Smooth as silk she brushed him off and left him feeling like an idiot for offering his help. Sharmaine was right. Ruthie could take care of herself.
Tension knotted in his neck, he settled back into his chair.
Ruthie topped off his wineglass as if nothing had occurred, but her hand shook the tiniest bit.
When she moved away, Sharmaine pouted. “Really, Diego, you’ve paid more attention to that waitress tonight than you have to me.”
He couldn’t deny the truth. He had been far more attuned to Ruthie than he had to his lovely date. And he could offer no logical explanation for his behavior.
“That, sweet lady, is because the waitress served the prime rib.” Tilting his head, he gave her his most charming and disarming grin. “Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve had prime rib?”
Sharmaine found that amusing. “So,” she said, “the way to a man’s heart really is through his stomach?”
Diego struggled to keep his mind on the conversation and off the most disturbing urge to follow Ruthie into the kitchen and apologize again. Considering Ruthie’s reaction to his offer of help, he was not on her list of all-time favorite males.
“That’s what they say.”
“Oh, pooh. Now I’ll have to learn to cook.”
“Or hire one.”
Sharmaine responded with a throaty chuckle, and Diego knew he’d been forgiven for being less than the perfect dinner partner. To tell the truth, he was hard-pressed to understand himself tonight. He was sitting with a beautiful woman who fit into his social world. A woman who obviously enjoyed men and who would lead him on a merry chase if he would let her. Her game was clear. There was no subterfuge, and his heart was in no danger.
But he couldn’t take his mind, or his eyes, off a certain green-eyed waitress.
Chapter Three
“Ruthie, the craft class needs more hot-glue sticks.” Merry Montrose pushed a package at her. “And afterward drop this off to Miss Parris Hammond in Room 17. She’s been waiting, rather impatiently I must say, for it to arrive. It’s a donation, I think, for the charity auction from some pro football player in Miami. Then take these flowers up to Miss Coleman and tell her Dr. Vargas sent them.”
“Is there a card?” Stomach dipping at the doctor’s name, Ruthie took the package and the flowers. “I saw Miss Coleman heading for the tennis courts about twenty minutes ago.”
“Really?” Merry’s blue eyes flamed with interest. “Was Dr. Vargas with her by any chance?”
“No. She was with another guest.”
“Male or female?”
“Male. Mr. Plinkton, I believe.”
“Drat. Have I chosen wrong again?” The manager mumbled an incomprehensible sentence under her breath. Jabbing at the numbers on her cell phone, she waved Ruthie away impatiently. “Go on, then. Leave the flowers in the room. I’ll have to try something else.”
What in the world was Miss Montrose talking about? She acted as though she had some hand in getting Diego and Sharmaine together. With no real clue to where this conversation was going, Ruthie opted not to ask for clarification. The less she knew of Diego Vargas the better.
“I’ll take these things right up,” she said, and started out of the small office.
“And one more thing, Ruthie,” the older woman called. “You’ll be working at the pub from nine to closing tonight.”
Except for frequent stops to check on Naomi, Ruthie had run constantly from one task to the other all morning. With the tourist season upon them the resort was really hopping. She hated to admit it but her feet and body ached for rest. Though unwilling to turn down the offer of work, she was really too tired to tend bar tonight. She hadn’t been sleeping well lately.
First, there was the constant worry over her mother-in-law and finances. Dr. Attenburg had extended credit at the clinic, but Ruthie had to come up with that money soon. And if that wasn’t enough to ruin a good night’s rest, now her mind was experiencing flights of fancy. After last evening in the Banyan Room, she’d dreamed of Diego Vargas, the kind of dreams that made her blush to remember them. To add to the craziness, she saw the man practically every time she turned a corner on her way to the next job. More than once, as she’d come out of a guest room, the handsome doctor had appeared in the hall or the elevator. Each time she’d scurried away like a timid mouse until she’d come to both dread and yearn for those frequent encounters.
When he’d played rescuer in