Randall Riches. Judy Christenberry

      Contents

      Chapter One

      Chapter Two

      Chapter Three

      Chapter Four

      Chapter Five

      Chapter Six

      Chapter Seven

      Chapter Eight

      Chapter Nine

      Chapter Ten

      Chapter Eleven

      Chapter Twelve

      Chapter Thirteen

      Chapter Fourteen

      Chapter Fifteen

      Chapter Sixteen

      Epilogue

      Chapter One

      Samantha Jeffers looked up as a rowdy bunch of cowboys piled out of the big booth. She’d waited on them, ignoring their flirting and serving them quickly and efficiently. She hoped they left a good tip, but probably not. The Hot Skillet wasn’t exactly a high-class restaurant. But it did good business, especially when the rodeo was in town. She’d heard the winter traffic was good in this part of Arizona during ski season, but she’d gotten here right at the end of February, as the lifts were just shutting down.

      As soon as the men were out the door, she went over to clear the big booth…and discovered the cowboys had left one of their friends behind. The man was slumped down, his face pale.

      “Are you all right?” she asked.

      Slowly, as if his lids were too heavy, he opened his eyes. “Yeah, sure,” he muttered and closed his eyes again.

      “Mister, the boss won’t let you tie up this booth to sleep off your hangover.” She wasn’t trying to be mean, just stating the facts.

      He opened his eyes again and sat straighter. The movement caused him to wince.

      “Are you hurt?”

      “Uh, maybe.”

      “Sam?” her boss called from behind the counter. “You gettin’ that booth ready? There’s a large party comin’ in.”

      “I still have a customer,” she turned and called over her shoulder.

      “He orderin’ anything?”

      “Mister, you’ll have to order something,” she whispered, “or he’ll throw you out for sure.”

      “I can’t,” he growled.

      “Look, I’ll cover the cost, but—”

      “No. I think I have to go to the hospital.”

      Samantha frowned. “Mister, our food’s not that bad.” Her poor joke got a half smile out of him, which impressed Sam. He was obviously in pain. “Want me to call an ambulance?”

      “No! I don’t want anyone to know. My truck’s here. I don’t suppose you could drive me?”

      Checking her watch, Sam realized she had fifteen more minutes of her regular shift, but she’d come in four hours early, at 6:00 a.m. this morning, as a favor for Brad, her boss. He should be able to spare her for fifteen minutes. “Wait a minute. I’ll see.”

      She put down the big tray she’d carried to the table and crossed to the counter. “Brad, I need to leave fifteen minutes early.”

      He didn’t look at her, a sure sign he was unhappy. She’d been here a little over a month and had learned to read his moods early. “Not ’til your shift’s over.”

      “Brad, I started at six this morning as a favor. Seems to me you could reciprocate.”

      “Don’t use them big words on me!”

      “You know what I mean. Anyway, it’s not for me. That cowboy’s sick. I’m going to drive him to the hospital.”

      “You mean you’re gonna get in his bed. Don’t lie to me!”

      “Brad, that’s none of your business. I do my job and I’ve done more than my share today. I’m going.”

      She turned away and he yelled, “If you leave, don’t come back!”

      She sank her teeth into her bottom lip and made a quick decision. She didn’t like working here even if the tips were decent. And Brad had been trying to get a little too familiar lately. “Fine,” she said calmly. “I’ll clear out my locker.”

      RICH RANDALL FROWNED as he realized what had just happened. The waitress had just been fired because he’d asked for her help.

      Now he regretted his ridiculous pride for not asking his friends, well, his semifriends, for help. He hadn’t thought about the waitress’s situation. She’d ignored all the horsing around of the guys while she’d waited on them. Hal had won the bronc riding at the rodeo. Rich had come in second to Jay in the bull riding competition. The whole group had been celebrating most of the day.

      Before he could consider his choices, the waitress, pretty in a quiet way, came out from behind the counter, carrying a big pouch purse over one shoulder and a sweater over her arm. “Ready?” she asked cheerfully.

      “Look, I don’t want to cost you your job. We can call an ambulance.”

      “No need. Is your truck automatic or stick?”

      “Are you sure?” he asked, trying to ignore the pain in his ankle and read her expression.

      “I’m sure. Can you walk out of here?”

      He’d make it up to her somehow he thought—when the pain eased. “Yeah, I think so.”

      She slid the table back, giving him room and then, as he stood, slid an arm around his waist. “Is it your leg?”

      “My ankle. I—I must’ve sprained it.”

      “Which leg?”

      “The right one. That’s why I can’t drive my truck,” he said, still standing on his left leg, knowing when he shifted weight to the right one, he was going to be in even more pain.

      “Let me get on the other side. Lean on me.”

      She had a slender build. Even at five foot six, which was what he guessed her height to be, she couldn’t weight more than 110 pounds.

      As if she read his mind, she said, “I’m stronger than I look. Come on. I want to get out of here before Brad loses his temper.”

      “He hasn’t lost it yet?” Rich asked, thinking her sangfroid impressive.

      She didn’t say anything, but she started him moving.

      The first time he put his weight on the right foot, he almost sank to the floor.

      She straightened him up again and said, “I suggest you hop. Won’t look too impressive, but that way we can get you out of here without you fainting.”

      Awkwardly,