If you were my man

by Unknown

  Continuing to circulate, she forced the man from her mind. Fontaine prided itself on offering exemplary food and service in a friendly atmosphere.

  She spotted four regulars at a table on the patio and returned their wave. The two couples were in their seventies and had been coming since her late husband, Martin, founded the restaurant in 1986.

  Fontaine was the only thing she should be thinking of. Martin had taught her everything he knew about the restaurant that had been his life’s work. She continued to learn after his death.

  It was her duty and her pleasure not only to keep the restaurant open, but to see it prosper and thrive. He had entrusted her with his legacy, and she didn’t plan on letting him down.

  A man, no matter how attractive, wasn’t going to get in the way. She’d seen firsthand with her weak and gullible mother and sisters how a lying, deceitful man could ruin your life. There were good ones like Martin and Jake, the bartender, but finding one was the problem. She had no interest in searching.

  Nathalyia started back to her office. She wanted to look over the work schedule. Her assistant manager made the schedule, but occasionally Nathalyia checked it afterward. Martin had taught her to hire competent people, but it never hurt for them to be aware that the owner did spot-checks.

  She stopped at the end of the bar near the take-out station and casually glanced toward the man’s table. Their gazes met. The sizzling sensation she’d been trying to ignore zipped though her again. Quickly she looked away.

  It must have taken her at least thirty minutes to circulate, yet he had watched her all that time. He hadn’t even pretended not to.

  “You all right?” Jake asked.

  Nathalyia barely kept from jumping. Keeping a pleasant expression on her face, she met the concerned gaze of the bartender. Jake Sergeant had worked at Fontaine longer than anyone else, including her.

  Jake was a good man, but a serious one. Nathalyia was sure it had something to do with his tour of duty in the armed services and the resulting scar on his face. He had the wide shoulders and muscled body of an athlete and a bald head that suited his direct, no-nonsense manner. He had always been her husband’s righthand man, and since Martin had been gone, she’d learned she could depend on Jake as well.

  “Fine,” she finally answered.

  Jake glanced toward the table where Rafael sat, then stared at her. She fought the urge to fidget. Pulling a chilled bottle of Ty Nant from beneath the counter, he placed the bottle of water on a napkin.

  “Thanks.” Picking up the bottle from the gleaming counter, she headed to her office. She had work to do.

  Men had come out of the woodwork after Martin died. A few might have been interested solely in her, but most had seen dollar signs. Too many men were users, and she wasn’t interested in finding one who wasn’t. She was happy with the life she had.

  The last customers were shown to the door a little after one o’clock Saturday morning. If possible, Nathalyia always came out to bid the last guest good night or to gently encourage those lingering to go home. Tonight it was a group celebrating a birthday. She followed another tradition by stopping at the bar to talk with Jake and Clarice.

  “Looks like our Nathalyia has another admirer,” Clarice stated, a wide grin on her attractive freckled face. “He wasn’t able to take his eyes off you.”

  Nathalyia fought the urge to avoid Clarice’s teasing gaze. “Some men are rude.”

  “Determined,” Clarice said, propping a rounded hip on the barstool. “Just tell me how you could have turned down such a mouthwatering specimen of manhood?”

  “How did you know?” Nathalyia asked, surprised.

  Clarice grinned, quick and easy. “The men at his table kept ribbing him. The thing is, he didn’t seem to mind. He just kept staring in the direction he’d last seen you when you went to your office.”

  “I’m not interested,” Nathalyia said, reaching for the bottle of water a silent Jake had placed on the bar. So she’d felt something hot and smoldering just looking into his eyes. So what?

  Clarice slid off the stool and placed her hands on her ample hips. “That man was a walking, talking hottie. If he had asked me out, I might have had to ask Jake to forget his promise to lock me up if I even thought of dating again.” Wrinkling her nose, she sighed dramatically. “I’m off men.”

  “And I don’t have time for them,” Nathalyia said firmly.

  “I know,” Clarice said, blowing out a breath. “I admire you for your strong will. It gives me hope to hang on. It’s been six long months since my last disastrous date. A record for me, and a long dry spell.” She tossed a sexy smile at Jake. “I might jump you.”

  He grunted and continued tabulating the liquor. Clarice folded her arms under her generous breasts and made a face at Jake. “It’s a good thing I don’t take offense easily.”

  Used to their bantering, Nathalyia continued on her final inspection of the restaurant after all the customers had left, just as Martin had taught her. He’d started the restaurant with a bank loan, his Creole grandmother’s secret spice recipes, and faith. He’d succeeded, as he’d known he would.

  With no close family, he’d entrusted Fontaine to her. She wished there could have been a child, but that had been impossible. Sometimes, she felt as if she had let down the first person who had loved her unconditionally.

  Almost immediately, she could hear him say, “You saved me in more ways than you will ever imagine. You gave me peace. That’s all a man can ever hope for.”

  Stopping at the big picture window, Nathalyia gazed out at the Atlantic Ocean. Loneliness settled around her. The staff and people on the beach would go home with or to someone; she’d go home to an elegantly decorated but completely empty house.

  Her arms wrapped around her stomach. Martin, ever mindful of her, ever loving, had secretly purchased the three-story house for her. She hadn’t known of its existence until his will was read. He hadn’t wanted her to be saddened by remaining in the house they’d shared. He had been a wonderful man. The years had dulled the ache of his leaving, but also made her loneliness more acute.

  Chastising herself, she turned away. She shouldn’t want more. She was financially secure, had a job she loved, and good friends. She’d come a long way from the cramped two-bedroom apartment she grew up in with her greedy, grasping mother and her two older sisters. Never in her wildest dreams had she ever allowed herself to imagine she’d have so much. She should be satisfied.

  Suddenly she thought of the mystery man who had asked her out. His voice had been seductive and cloaked in velvet. Since she didn’t recall ever seeing him before, she probably wouldn’t see him again. Why wasn’t she relieved?

  “She’s lonely,” Clarice said softly.

  “She’s just having her quiet time like she always does, just like her and Martin used to do after closing,” Jake told her without stopping restocking the bar.

  Clarice, standing beside him, wanted to punch him. However, considering Jake’s massive shoulders and muscled body, she’d probably hurt herself more than him. “How can you say that? Just look at her.”

  Jake threw a quick glance at Nathalyia, then at Clarice, before continuing. “We need to finish this.”

  “Is work all you ever think about?” she asked, staring at his shiny bald head, slick as the polished brass on the footrail of the bar.

  She’d always thought men with shaved heads were wired or trying to hide the fact that they were going bald. Jake had changed her mind. He was solid—in more than body mass. He was comfortable with who he was. His shaved head was just an extension of his days in the army. So was the three-inch scar on his left cheek.

  “It’s better than interfering in other people’s business,” he finally said.

  Strange words for a bartender, but not for Jake. He never gave advice, just listened to the customers—which, more often than not, was what the other person needed. “It’s not interfering, it’s concern,” Clarice clarified. “Martin has been gon
e over three years. Perhaps it’s time for her to think about dating.”

  “Stay out of it, Clarice,” Jake told her, stopping to stare at her.

  Since Jake often used that firm tone with her, his blue eyes piercing her, she let it glide right off. “The guy from tonight maybe.”

  “It takes longer for some women,” he said.

  Her eyebrow shot up. “You wouldn’t be aiming that remark at me, would you?”

  “If I have something to say to you, Clarice, I’ll say it,” he told her, holding her gaze.

  “See that you do,” she said, letting go of the mild hurt that he thought less of her because, until lately, she had been one of those women who wasn’t happy unless she had a man in her bed.

  It wasn’t her fault—exactly—that the men she fell for were the scum of the earth. If a man had a sob story and was reasonably good-looking, they somehow found their way into her life, where she tried to fix them, help them.

  It always ended with her getting the shaft. One of those occasions had actually turned out for the best because she’d ended up working at Fontaine.

  Since she’d taken a few psychology courses in college while getting her degree in elementary education, she knew a shrink would say she was searching for acceptance because of her weight and growing up without a father. She’d tell the shrink to take a flying leap.

  “Ernie, tell Mrs. Fontaine it’s time to close,” Jake told his fellow bartender.

  “Sure thing, Jake,” the young man said. He put down the polishing cloth and came out from behind the bar.

  “You usually give her all the time she needs,” Clarice pointed out, her eyes narrowed.

  “She has to get up early tomorrow for the street fair,” he told her, going back to counting the liquor.

  “I’d forgotten about that.” Clarice sighed. “I’m supposed to help her.”

  Jake frowned at her. “See that’s all you do.”

  Clarice grinned. “I’m not making any promises.”

  “Jake says it’s time to close, Mrs. Fontaine.”

  Nathalyia turned at the sound of Ernie’s voice. He’d been with them six months and was working out well. She prided herself on the low turnover at Fontaine. Happy employees often translated into happy customers. “Thank you.”

  After one last look out the window, she started back to the bar. Sending the new hire for her had been Jake’s subtle way of reminding her of who she was, of her responsibility—as if she’d ever forget. He was too sharp to have missed her looking at that man. Jake didn’t have to worry.

  She might be lonely, but she wasn’t stupid. She didn’t have time for a man.

  Saturday morning, Rafael entered his precinct in a good mood. He’d learned during his time as a police officer not to waste a single moment bemoaning life. Bad things happened, so he tried to live each moment to the fullest.

  Rafael had almost lost his brother Patrick two years ago when he’d been shot. It was one of the scariest, most helpless moments he’d ever experienced in his life . . . until his older brother Alec entered a hostage situation to save his now fiancée, Celeste de la Vega, and four other hostages. Rafael knew from experience just how precious life is and let few things affect his happiness.

  That was one reason he planned to pursue Nathalyia and find her weakness. He didn’t doubt he’d find it. She had been smart to turn him down. His line certainly hadn’t been one of his best openings. As the beautiful young owner of Fontaine, men had to be in her face all the time. He just had to come up with a way to show her he wasn’t interested in her money.

  Just in her.

  He’d done a bit of checking—nothing invasive—and learned she owned a home in the exclusive gated community of Navarone Estates and the restaurant outright. Nathalyia Fontaine was a very wealthy woman, though that wasn’t intimidating to him. Although he had nowhere near her fortune, he wasn’t hurting. If a woman cared only about money, he wouldn’t waste his time on her. His gut instinct told him Nathalyia wasn’t like that.

  “Hey, Dunlap. Hate that I missed it last night,” Patrolman Owens called, swinging his hands with a pretend bat. “Ouch.”

  “She cut him off at the knees,” Diaz commented happily.

  “Never thought I’d see the day.” Gibbs put his arm around Rafael’s shoulder and hung his head. “I initiated the bet, but I’m not sure I’ll ever recover.”

  Rafael smiled. The ribbing didn’t bother him. It was simply his turn. “Glad I could provide everyone with some entertainment.”

  Diaz stared at him, then shook his head of curly black hair. “Does nothing ever get to you?”

  “Not if I can help it.”

  “Hold that thought,” the SORT commander, Captain Louis Coats, said. “Our unit has to fill in for the unit working the traffic tie-up on 117.”

  Rafael’s eyebrows lifted. “Doing what?”

  Captain Coats handed Rafael a colorful flyer with balloons running along the sides. His team members crowded around him. He quickly read the flyer. A slow grin spread across his face. “I live to serve.”

  Gibbs snatched the flyer out of Rafael’s hand, then narrowed his eyes. “You can’t be thinking of trying again.”

  “What?” Officer Cannon, the gas expert who had been home with her husband the night before, grabbed the flyer.

  “Well, I’ll be,” Henderson said. “You’ve never lacked self-confidence, so I guess we shouldn’t be surprised.”

  “Am I missing something here?” Captain Coats asked.

  “Fontaine restaurant is the main sponsor of the charity event today,” Diaz explained with a dimpled grin. “Dunlap struck out with the owner last night.”

  “Dunlap, I don’t have to remind you that when you’re wearing the uniform, it’s police business only, do I?” Commander Coats went strictly by the book.

  “No, sir.” Rafael turned to Stubbs, the driver of the tank, the name they’d given the old bread truck that had been converted to transport the team. “We don’t want to keep the citizens waiting. Let’s roll.”

  TWO

  Nathalyia had been up since six A.M. to ensure the day went flawlessly. She wanted to be there to meet the crew to set up Fontaine’s booth, then have time to check on all the other vendors who had promised to participate in the street fair.

  The street fair was the main fund-raising event for Helping Hands, a charitable organization that gave financial assistance to families with children who had life-threatening illnesses. Martin had founded the nonprofit ten years before they met, after a staff member’s child was diagnosed with sickle-cell anemia.

  The day was turning into one of those perfect sun-kissed days Myrtle Beach was famous for. The early morning breeze had quickly given way to higher temperatures. People who had worn light jackets and sweaters had them tied around their waists. Seeing the large crowd enjoying themselves as they strolled the aisles sampling the various food items, Nathalyia didn’t feel the least bit tired after only a few hours of sleep. There was a ten percent increase in vendors over last year. Attendance was up as well. She felt exhilarated.

  This was one task Martin hadn’t had to ask her to do. She’d taken over the annual fund-raiser for Helping Hands two years before she lost him. Instead of a banquet, she’d suggested a street fair where the children could come and enjoy themselves with clowns, puppet shows, and a petting zoo.

  For the parents and other adults, there was a wide range of free and for-purchase food items, with most or all of the money going to Helping Hands.

  “If the brisk sales keep up, we’re going to sell out of Fontaine’s hot sauce again this year,” Clarice said, arranging more of the slim bottles on the nine-foot-long wooden counter in front of their booth.

  “Good.” Nathalyia checked the progress of the shrimp gumbo being tended to by two of her staff. Part of the draw to get people over was to pass out free food. Martin was fond of saying that if he could get them to taste his food, they’d come back for more. “The hot sauce might be a dol
lar more than at the restaurant, but people feel good about donating that extra dollar to charity.”

  “And there’s the extra bonus of being able to purchase the five-dollar raffle ticket for four dollars,” Clarice said, eyeing the growing number of tickets in a hamper behind them. “Everyone likes a bargain.”

  “Yes, that’s what I’m counting on,” Nathalyia said, moving to help fill up the small plastic containers with gumbo and hand out certificates for one dollar off any food purchase at Fontaine.

  “Hi, Clarice.”

  “Hi, Officer Diaz.” Clarice greeted the policeman with a warm smile and handed him a gumbo sample. “Is your friend from last night here?”

  Ronald scooped up a shrimp, then grinned, showing even white teeth. “Yeah, he’s in my unit. For all the good it will do him.”

  Ronald scooped up a shrimp, then grinned, showing even white teeth. “Yeah, he’s in my unit. For all the good it will do him.”

  Clarice cut a meaningful glance at Nathalyia, who was selling tickets for the raffle. “So he’s the kind to give up easily?”

  Ronald’s speculative gaze went to Nathalyia and frowned. “I’ve known him since we were in the academy together. He can be dogged when he wants something. But this time I don’t think he has a choice.”

  “No guts, no glory, I always say,” Clarice said with a careless shrug. “Fontaine is having a raffle drawing at five. The tickets are five dollars each. The prize is dinner for two and an exclusive tour of the restaurant with the owner. Maybe he’d like to purchase a few? Excuse me, Officer, customers are waiting.”

  Officer Diaz returned from his break to find the line in front of Rafael’s table even longer than when he’d left. Besides giving out information about the department and personal and home safety tips, they handed out officer ID cards with stats and a photo. As usual, Rafael handed out more cards than all of the other team members put together.