by Angel Smits
The lot was nearly empty this late at night, making parking easier—which was a good thing. Tonight, he’d sleep so tomorrow he’d be clearheaded. Maybe he’d go to the street fair to see if the T-shirt vendor was back. After that, he’d find Dewey.
His plans in place, Morgan climbed down from the cab. Rain landed cold on the back of his neck. That woke him up. A to-go order would be a good idea.
Halfway across the pavement, Morgan stopped. Through the glass panes in front, he saw her. There, behind the long counter, Tara frowned at the computer terminal that served as her cash register.
For a long minute, Morgan barely noticed the rain, watching her and wishing things were different. Wishing he was a different man. Wishing...
He cursed. If he were that different man, he would have kept on driving instead of taking the turnoff and driving here. He’d have found another parking place. Any other parking place. The shoulder of the road even. If he were a different man, he’d leave her alone.
But he wasn’t that good a man. He started walking, then pushed open the diner’s door, intending to savor the smile she gave, letting himself pretend it was for him, not the one she automatically graced every customer with.
* * *
THE DINER WAS QUIET. Not surprising, since it was nearly midnight. There wasn’t much life in town after 10:00 p.m., but there was a late crowd that came in when the bars closed. Daisy had said she made a nice chunk of change with the late crowd.
Tara wasn’t sure it was worth it. The two hours of dead time before the bars closed wasn’t bringing in much traffic. At least she had caught up on the small tasks that got lost in the busy day—like rolling silverware in napkins. And checking on the computer the staff kept complaining about.
The soft squeal of the door opening sent a shiver up her spine. She tried not to worry about who might come in this late at night. Wade was working, but he sneaked out to the alley to grab a smoke whenever it was dead. No one was in the place right now. She was alone—
Except for Morgan in the doorway.
He froze, as if he was just as surprised to see her there as she was him. Or reluctant to face her. What was he doing sneaking in? And yes, he had the look of a man sneaking in.
“Oh, hey.” He spoke softly, the growl in his voice deep as if he’d been quiet for too long. She got the impression he was considering turning around. He probably hadn’t expected to see her here. Of course, she wasn’t supposed to be here, but Wendy had gone home sick.
Tara would have suspected Wendy of trying to set her up with the man—as she kept threatening to do—if he hadn’t been gone for several days and she hadn’t seen how green Wendy looked before she left. Tara really needed to find time to talk to Wendy about Morgan and just how unavailable he was.
Tara put on her best hostess smile and grabbed a menu from the freshly cleaned stack. She focused on keeping it businesslike and professional—distant. “Booth or table?” she asked.
Morgan looked like he was resisting the urge to roll his eyes. “I’ll sit at the counter. Like usual.” He headed past her, taking the menu from her. He slapped it down in front of his seat. “I’ll take coffee.” He didn’t look up, but sat and stared at the list of choices he’d looked intently at dozens of times before.
“Our special tonight is beef stew and homemade biscuits. Dessert is apple caramel cake.” Tara waved her hand over the menu, pointing at the laminated pictures like she did for all new customers. “Our pastry chef just finished a fresh cake.”
Morgan glared at her. “Aren’t you the pastry chef?” he asked.
He knew what she was up to. She bit back her flippant comment about paybacks.
She pulled away, leaving him to make up his mind as she would any other customer. No staying to chat, no suggesting choices. None of that. She filled the coffee cup and set it in front of him with one of the freshly rolled sets of silverware. She knew he didn’t take cream in his coffee, but she set one of her cute little silver pitchers in front of him anyway. “Just in case you’d like some.” She walked away.
“Tara.” His voice came out in a warning.
She tried not to sigh at the sound of her name on his lips, those lips that had... No, she would not think about that. She would not let him get into her head. She kept walking, moving into the kitchen, away from him. Leaning against the wall, she heaved a heavy sigh.
Maybe if she stayed here long enough, he’d get tired of waiting and go away. Or maybe not. He wasn’t the kind to give up on anything. She shivered again. And this time, she refused to analyze why.
Maybe she should have turned the Open sign off. Pushing away from the wall, Tara forced herself to go through the swinging doors. She was not letting his presence intimidate her. Pulling her order pad from her pocket and her pencil from behind her ear, she headed toward him.
“Have you made up your mind?” She plastered a smile on her lips. The impact of his gaze made her heart stumble a little.
“Who’s cooking?” he asked.
“Uh...Wade is. Why?” Then she remembered she was supposed to be keeping her distance, not treating him like she knew him well or as if he knew this place nearly as well as she did. She cleared her throat to get herself on track. “All our items are made by our cook staff to the same recipes.” She’d been striving for consistency but hadn’t quite made it yet.
“Then I’ll take a bowl of the stew with an extra biscuit.”
She scribbled on the notepad, fairly certain she’d never be able to read her handwriting. Thankfully, she wouldn’t have to. “The special comes with the cake. Would you like that, too?”
“Yeah.” He leaned forward on the counter, putting the menu behind the napkin holder, and Tara had to force herself to not step back.
“’Course, if you were cooking...” He paused for a long minute until she looked at him. “I’d take something...hotter.”
His voice was deep and gravelly, yet soft—and she was almost sure he wasn’t talking about food. She stared at him, met the heat in his stare, then finally looked away. She stepped backward.
“I can make you whatever you’d like.” Why was she giving him special treatment? She wouldn’t do that for anyone else, would she?
No, she was just giving good customer service, she assured herself.
Their gazes clashed again, and the world telescoped in to just them. Just him. Right there...inches away.
Tara turned away and was surprised, and shocked, when his rough hand closed gently around her wrist.
“What do you want?” Was he talking about food again? She took a step away, and he let her go.
“We can’t have this conversation.”
He was silent as if figuring out what to say next. “I’m sorry, Tara. I don’t know what else to say.”
“And I accept your apology. There’s nothing else to say, you’re right.” Tara turned toward the kitchen. “I’ll, uh, get started on your order.”
“I’m sorry if my being here bothers you.” He sounded disappointed. Sad. His voice slid over her nerve endings.
“It doesn’t,” she lied, because it did. It bothered her that he was the first man who’d attracted her in months, the first person who’d seemed to understand her in ages—if ever. And that attraction was returned. She knew it. He’d admitted it. He’d kissed her, for heaven’s sake.
He, however, had commitments that she wasn’t willing to ignore.
But the way he made her feel—like she was more alive, and warm, the sense of mattering to someone—made her want to—oh, how she wanted to...
Tara scurried into the kitchen. Leaning against the doorframe, trying to catch her breath, she prayed her heart would stop pounding.
Shoving her muddled thoughts aside, she headed to the stove. She’d start the order. The sooner she fed Morgan, the sooner he’d go away and leave her in pe
ace.
Wade came in the back door just then, and she breathed a sigh of relief. She gave him the order. Now she was the one needing the break. The coolness outside beckoned, and she stepped through the back door.
* * *
MORGAN KNEW TARA was trying to ignore him. Not that he blamed her. She didn’t return from the kitchen until his order was ready to deliver.
Two young men had come in while she was in the kitchen. They’d seated themselves at a booth near one end of the counter. Laughing and joking, they reminded Morgan of how he and Jack used to be. Back before they’d had to grow up.
Tara silently put Morgan’s plate in front of him, then headed to the men’s table, a coffeepot in one hand, her order pad in the other. Morgan knew better than to try to resist watching her. The entire restaurant was reflected in the chrome above his head. What the hell? He’d enjoy what he could.
“What can I get you, gentlemen?” She set the coffeepot on the table and pulled the pencil from her falling-down ponytail.
“Well, well, well.” One man leaned forward. “How ’bout you sit down and keep us company, pretty lady?”
Morgan didn’t roll his eyes. Much. Still, his attention riveted on the man.
“I don’t think so.” She stood there, poised and not at all ruffled.
“Come on, sweetheart.” The other man leaned forward and Morgan saw his hand move toward her. He also saw her swiftly grab the coffeepot.
“These things aren’t so expensive that I’d mind buying a new one,” she said softly, lifting the pot. “Might fit just fine on your head.” She smiled while she said it.
Too bad the lunkheads weren’t smart enough to see she wasn’t kidding. They laughed like the hyenas they were. “You don’t look like the type to like it rough, honey,” the first man said. “But we can oblige.”
That was too much for Morgan. Slowly, he pivoted on the stool and aimed a glare at the men. He didn’t move any more than that, and Tara didn’t see him as her back was to him. At first, the two men didn’t notice him, either. Finally, the first man looked at him, then away, then hastily returned his gaze to Morgan.
He saw the man swallow hard. He smacked his friend, then pointed at Morgan. The second man turned. Together, they stared. One man’s face washed white.
Tara saw the gesture and turned to see what he was pointing at. She glared at Morgan.
Morgan grinned. He couldn’t help it. She looked so cute frowning at him, though she’d probably just as soon put the coffeepot over his head as the idiot’s.
Slowly, Morgan spun and returned to his meal. He still watched them in the reflection. The men solemnly ordered their food and talked quietly when she left their table.
“That wasn’t necessary.”
Morgan hadn’t heard her come up behind him. She was so close. He should have noticed her scent or heat or something. He certainly did now, and he had to fight the urge to reach for her.
“Maybe. Maybe not.” He continued eating, not looking at her. The stew was really good.
“But thank you,” she whispered before walking toward the kitchen.
He watched the swinging doors close behind her. “You’re welcome.”
Morgan guessed Tara was going to avoid him until he left. He wasn’t sure what he should do about it.
* * *
TARA WAS DETERMINED to stay busy and distracted until Morgan returned to his truck. Not like she didn’t have plenty to do. She glared at the computer screen that resembled an old test pattern jiggling across the screen. The guy on the phone earlier today had said something about a video card. He’d used the word new. More money was all she heard, and she didn’t have any of that.
The waitstaff used this computer, and the one out front, to input and collect the payments. They needed it every day. She needed it fixed before the breakfast rush.
“Maybe just give it a smack on the side,” Wade said through the pass-through widow. “That’s what we used to do when I was a kid and the TV looked like that.”
“I’m not smacking my two-thousand-dollar computer,” she snapped.
Wade shook his head and returned to the bowels of the kitchen. Tara sighed. She didn’t have time for this. She was tired and edgy as it was. She refused to think about what—or who—caused that edginess.
She’d have to stop by the office supply store to get some extra order pads—just in case. The old-fashioned paper and pen method didn’t break down.
The swinging doors parted just then, and Morgan stepped through. Hastily, she returned her gaze to the monitor. “You’re not supposed to be back here.”
“Your fan club out there wants to pay their bill.”
“That’s what I’m working on,” she snapped. “I’ll be right out.” She should have known better than to expect him to leave.
“Whoa. Remind me never to tick you off.” He grinned at her. “That look could certainly kill.”
She blew at the few strands of hair that had fallen in her face. “You’ve probably already survived it.” She didn’t look at him, though. She tried several keyboard commands. “It’s this stupid computer.”
“She won’t smack it,” Wade called from the kitchen. “Why don’t you give it a try?”
“You have biscuits to cook,” she called to her short-order cook. She didn’t even listen to his grumbled response.
Morgan stood there grinning. “So, can I get coffee, or do I have to wait for IT to brew it?”
Scowling, she grabbed the carafe from the burner behind the counter and poured him a full-to-the-brim cup. No cream this time. “Here you go.”
The nearly empty restaurant was filled with silence as he stayed there, sipping his coffee, making her conscious of his presence. She kept trying to focus on the computer. Morgan didn’t move away. Slowly, the world around her filtered in—soft murmurs from the table where the men were finishing their meal, the clatter of metal on ceramic drifting out of the kitchen as Wade worked on his magical biscuits, the distant sounds of the passing traffic.
Morgan came to stand beside her. “Stop glaring at it. That won’t help.”
“Are you sure?” She knew he was right, and she was wasting her time, but it frustrated her too much. Giving in was not an option.
“Let me look at it.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“Does this face look like I’m kidding?” He grinned at her.
“Yes.”
“Move over.”
Playfully, Morgan shoved her aside with his shoulder. His broad, solid shoulder. She stepped back, startled by the warmth of his body against her. His hands, wide and flat, looked huge against the tiny keys. But despite their size, they flew over the keyboard.
Suddenly, the screen stopped squiggling and the image she’d been trying to bring into focus—the quaint photo of the restaurant where they stood right now—filled the screen. Clear and as pretty as she’d hoped. Ready to take a new order.
“You did it. I thought it was impossible.” She stepped closer to him and the computer. “That’s perfect. How’d you do that?”
His smile was wide—and smug. “Magic.”
Great, a smart-ass. She sighed. “How’d you know what to do?”
His left eyebrow lifted. “Just because I drive truck doesn’t mean I’m an idiot.” He stepped back, grabbed the coffee cup to take a healthy swig.
“I didn’t say that,” she called after him.
He pushed open one of the doors. “Where’s Wendy anyway?”
“Home sick.” She pulled the neatly printed bill from the printer and smiled. “Why? It’s okay for her to take abuse from those types of moron customers, but not me?” She didn’t bother looking up at him.
“Did I say that?” he growled. “No, I did not. Nor did I mean that.”
“I know.” She followed him, needing to get by but not wanting to step too close to him. “Go sit down, Morgan. Finish your dinner. I have work to do.”
The big man didn’t budge. He was so close that, even over the heat coming from the kitchen, she felt his body’s warmth reaching out to caress her. Morgan faced her, blocking her escape. “Tara—I’m not here to hurt you or ignore you or any of those things. I just want—”
He fell silent. She could only stare. She swayed, her body reaching for him even as her mind screamed that she had to get away from him. “Morgan?”
He didn’t answer.
“What do you want?” she asked. The instant the words left her mouth, she regretted them. Not because of the answer she knew she wouldn’t get, but because of the anguish that filled his face.
“Don’t ask me that,” he said through clenched teeth. “I don’t dare answer.”
“Why?”
“Why? Because I’m—” He swallowed. “I’m this close to not giving a damn about what I’m supposed to do.”
“What are you supposed to do?” Why did she continue to prod him, like picking at a sliver until it came out—except all she did was drive the hurt deeper?
“I’m supposed to be responsible. I’m supposed to behave.” That last word held a note of disdain. “I’m not supposed to want...” He cupped her chin with his palm, dwarfing her jaw with his size. “This,” he whispered. He dragged his thumb across her lips. On reflex, her tongue reached out and followed the path his thumb had taken. Could she taste him there?
Morgan groaned. “Don’t do that.”
“Don’t do what? This?” She turned her head, just barely, just enough to put her lips in the center of his palm. She softly kissed his touch, letting her eyelids drift closed as his heat slipped along the length of her body. He’d leaned into her.
“Tara.”
“Mmm?” Somewhere deep inside her head, she knew she should stop, knew this was wrong, but that voice was so faint it vanished as quickly as it came.
“I’m—”
“Don’t say it.” She put her finger over his lips. “I don’t believe you. You don’t act like your heart belongs to someone. You don’t act like someone who’s tied down.”
