A Cowboy At Heart. Angel Smits
down at her. “What are you doing?”
“I’m—uhm—looking for my—uh, bracelet.”
“For what?”
She didn’t meet his eyes, which told him she was lying. He crossed his arms over his chest and waited for her to answer.
She stood there, her hands on her hips, glaring at him. She actually tapped her foot. “You know—a piece of jewelry that fits around your wrist?”
“Not funny.” He leaned toward her, hoping his glare intensified enough to make her take him seriously. “Ever hear of asking if someone found it? Maybe it’s inside and not in some smelly Dumpster.”
The lie flashed in her eyes. “Oh, did you find it?” she asked, gripping his arms. She was laying it on a little thick.
“Well, no, but—” Of course he hadn’t.
“Why did you get my hopes up?”
“I just suggested it.” What was wrong with this woman? “But you didn’t even ask.”
She rolled her eyes and turned back to the Dumpster. “Don’t let me bother you.” She waved toward the still-open door. “I’m sure you have customers.”
He did, but leaving her out here to get hurt wasn’t a good idea.
Maybe his cynicism was clouding his judgment. Maybe she was telling the truth. Why was a bracelet so important to her? Was it valuable? Sentimental value? “Surely you can get another bracelet.”
She spun on her heel, glaring at him. “Spoken like a person who has money to burn.”
“I don’t have money to burn. But it’s just a bracelet.”
“Just a bracelet?” Her voice went up a good octave. “It’s the only one I have, and the only one I’m likely to have. I need it.”
“Why?”
She hesitated. “Because—” She swallowed and didn’t meet his gaze again. “I planned to, uh, pawn it. Yeah, that’s it.”
He looked a little closer and even in the shadows of the alley he saw the stress in her eyes. “You an addict?”
She glared at him.
“You drink?” He thought about the waitress who’d just called in “sick.” Which reminded him that he needed to get back in and start making orders.
“No,” she denied. “Though a glass of wine now and then with dinner is awfully nice.” There was a wistful note in her voice.
“If it’s money you want, maybe I can help you out. You know how to waitress? Cook?”
He’d startled her, he could tell. “What do you mean?”
“I run this bar. My cook is missing, and my waitress just called in sick. I can’t do it all by myself. You want a job? I’ll give you a shot.”
“Are you crazy?”
“Sometimes, I seriously think so.” He sighed. “I need the help. You in?” He waited while she thought about it. He wanted to push her, wanted to just grab her and drag her into the kitchen. But he just waited.
“I can cook. How hard is it to be a waitress?”
He reached out and curled his hand around her wrist. “You’re hired. Let’s go.”
WHO WAS THIS GUY? Lisa looked at him first, and then around the bar with interest. She hadn’t been here in a while. It was old, with pictures of skiers up on the walls, along with beer signs and advertisements for local events. Wood covered the walls, the floor, and a long, polished hunk of it made up the bar top. Only a couple of tables were occupied, and none of the people seemed interested in anything but their own conversations.
“So, if I’m working for you, who are you?” she asked, coming to a stop at the outer side of the bar.
“Guess it would be fair to introduce myself.” He smiled and extended a hand to her. “Trey Haymaker, bartender and manager here.” She took his hand. She noticed the calluses on his palms and the firm grip of his hand.
He was tall, though part of that was the raised floor behind the bar. Like everyone else here, where ski slopes dominated the town, his face had a windburned hue to it, and his dark blond hair was tousled from that same wind. When he smiled, it was warm enough, but his eyes didn’t hold that same warmth. Welcome, but distant.
“I should let you know,” she continued. “I’ve never waitressed before. Not really. I’ve worked events, but nothing like this.” She needed to be honest with him, and herself.
“I didn’t think you had.” One of the customers at a table across the room waved at him and he moved to talk to them. Nodding, he returned and started fixing drinks. “All I need is someone to do just what I did. Go to the table, ask what they want and give me the information. I’ll fill the order and you can carry it back out. Simple.”
She could do that. “Do you want me to take payment?”
He nodded. “If you can.”
“I can.” She’d done plenty of that in both her college days working retail and definitely working with invoices for Marco.
“Good.” He nodded. “Here’s an apron. Sink’s in back to wash up. Then you can deliver that to the table on the left.” He slid a round tray with three drinks made and ready to taste toward her.
“Okay, here goes nothing.” She laughed, and smiled at him. He didn’t smile back, but he didn’t frown, either. That was a good sign, right?
For the next two hours, they developed a rhythm. Orders, making drinks or food, serving. She couldn’t say she loved it, but the tips were nice, and it was a job. A temporary job, she reminded herself, that would give her money while she waited for her grandfather to return, or she found something else.
“I’ll show you how to close down tomorrow night, if you’re planning to come back,” Trey said once the last customer had gone and the door was locked.
“Why wouldn’t I come back?”
He laughed, and it was the first time she’d heard him do that. “Not everyone does.” He walked behind the bar and hit a button on the cash register. He started counting the money. “You got a place to stay?” He asked it nonchalantly, not even looking up from his task.
“Uh, yeah.” That seemed like a strange question. “Why would you think I didn’t?”
This time he did look up. “Well, I did meet you rummaging around in the trash.”
True. She frowned. “No. I’ve got a place to stay.” Two to be specific. She almost told him that, then remembered her earlier decision to be more like Trudy. To be less open and trusting.
He wasn’t local, since she didn’t know him, and there was a hint of a Southern accent in his voice. “You’re not originally from here, are you?” she asked before she thought twice about it.
He glanced up again. “Nope, but I’m here now.”
That wasn’t much of an answer, and it didn’t take long to realize she wasn’t going to get much more. He was clearly a private man. Every other time she’d tried to chat with him tonight, he’d answered just as succinctly. No elaboration, no explanation and no effort to get to know her.
The red flags that filled her mind were worth paying attention to. She’d had enough experience already with people who weren’t open and honest with her. She’d do well to remember that.
The next morning when her phone alarm went off, Lisa smacked it to silence the noise. She’d forgotten