by Eve Gaddy
“Why not? You said you thought I was robbing you.”
He took the almost empty bowl and set it in the sink. “I changed my mind.” Leaning back against the counter, he crossed his arms over his chest. “So, what are you running away from, Anne?”
In the half shadows he looked large and menacing. She felt a tinge of fear but did her best to ignore it. “How did you know my name?”
He held up her wallet. “I checked your ID when you were passed out.”
Anger flared. She got up to snatch it from him but a wave of coughing swept her and she had to sit down and wait for it to subside. “You had no right to go through my things.” Everything she had, and it was pitifully little, was in that backpack.
He tossed it to her. “Sure I did. I found you breaking into my place, intent on robbery for all I knew. On top of that, you look like a kid. I don’t harbor runaways.”
“I’m not a kid. If you saw my ID you know I’m over twenty-one.” She had a moment of panic before she remembered her license was still in her maiden name.
“So it says. I’m a bartender. I’ve seen my share of fake IDs.”
“It’s not fake.” She closed her eyes in despair. If he called the cops, they would have to file a report. Something traceable, the last thing she needed. Hadn’t enough things gone wrong? Why did she have to pick Dudley Do-Right’s place to break into?
“I didn’t say it was.” He smiled when she stared at him. “You look younger, but—” He shrugged. “I believe you’re twenty-five, Anne. And I’m also sure you’re running away from something.”
“Don’t call me that.” She never wanted to hear the name Anne again. Anne had died that night in Houston. She wasn’t that same woman, would never be again. “Call me Delilah.” Her mother’s nickname for her.
“All right. If you want my help, Delilah, you need to come clean.”
Come clean? No way in hell. “What does your wife think about you dragging strangers into your home?”
He sat down, getting comfortable in the seat next to hers. “Nice try. I don’t have a wife. Besides, we aren’t talking about me. We’re talking about you. Who are you running from, Delilah?”
She didn’t answer.
He leaned forward, his gaze never leaving her face. “Husband? Boyfriend?”
No way would she answer that question. The longer she remained silent, the grimmer he looked.
“The law?”
“Not the law. I swear.” She resisted the urge to cross her fingers. For all she knew, the Houston cops were looking for her right now. But she didn’t think so, or she wouldn’t have gotten this far. Besides, she refused to believe she’d killed Avery when she’d pushed him down the stairs. She gulped, remembering. He’d been so still. Awfully still. But no, he was too evil to die so easily.
Her host didn’t speak, he only waited. She tried distraction again. “What’s your name?”
“Cam. Cameron Randolph.”
“Delilah St. John,” she said, and offered a hand. Delilah, she thought, liking the sound of it. It felt comforting. She could almost hear her mother saying the name, her voice full of love.
He shook hands, holding on a little longer than necessary and staring at her intently. “People tell me their problems all the time. I’m a good listener. Is it so bad you can’t talk about it?”
God, he sounded so sympathetic. But she’d fallen for that before and it had been a disaster. Still, there were nice people left in the world, even if she hadn’t run across any lately.
But this man had taken her in, given her food and shelter. Even when he’d believed she was a thief, he hadn’t called in the cops. She owed him some explanation, but the truth was out of the question.
“Yes,” she whispered.
“Yes, it’s that bad?”
Throat tight, she nodded, fearing his response. “Are you going to throw me out? Or call the cops?” She coughed again and damned her luck for getting sick right now.
He shook his head. “Nope. I’m going to give you my spare bed and some cough medicine. We’ll talk more in the morning, when you’re feeling better.”
Just like that? Who was this guy, besides too good to be true? “Why? I could be—-anybody. I could be a con artist waiting to rob you blind.”
“You could be, but I don’t think you are.” He got up and stood beside her. When he reached for her she flinched, unable to help the automatic response. His fingers touched her jaw. Then her neck, very gently sliding over the bruises. “Who hurt you, Delilah? Your husband?”
She shook her head, squeezing her eyes shut to block the memories, glad she’d taken off the rings the instant she left his house. “I’m not—married,” she said hesitantly.
Was it a lie if she wished desperately that it were true? She’d have divorced Avery if it had been possible. But it was hard to divorce a man who kept you a prisoner. That didn’t matter now, though. Not if he was dead. And if he was still alive…he’d be looking for her. Next time she might not get away.
Cam didn’t press her. He showed her a small, cluttered room with a bed and a dresser, lit a candle for her, then left her. A few minutes later he came back with water, aspirin, cough syrup and a T-shirt for her to sleep in.
Clutching the soft shirt, she resisted the urge to rub it against her face. “Cam? Why are you being so nice to me? You don’t even know me.”
He shrugged. “My good deed for the month. Don’t worry about it. Get some sleep. And be sure to put out the candle before you do.” He started to go, then turned to look at her. “Delilah? In case I’m wrong, there’s no cash in the restaurant and I sleep very lightly.” He left her before she could think of an answer.
She shut the door, feeling as if she were in a dream. She looked for a lock but didn’t find one, and strangely enough, that didn’t bother her. She should have been more wary of him. No one was this nice to a perfect stranger. But she didn’t have the energy or will to fight anymore. Both had drained out of her during the last few weeks.
Being on the run from a killer could do that to a person.
CHAPTER TWO
THE STORM WORSENED overnight. A hurricane hovered out in the Gulf but by the next morning land-fall was predicted in Louisiana, not Texas. Unless the hurricane changed course, they wouldn’t have to board up and evacuate. Given the storm’s severity, Cam didn’t intend to open for lunch and possibly not for dinner either. Which gave him plenty of time to find out what was up with his houseguest.
She was in trouble, that he knew. What kind remained to be seen. Somehow, he didn’t think she’d be trusting him with the truth anytime soon, but he had time. Just now he had nothing but time.
“Hi,” she whispered, coming into the kitchen. She’d brushed her hair and it fell in thick, dark waves to her shoulders. Instead of his sister’s clothes, she wore what she’d had on last night, muddy jeans and a navy sweatshirt. Even the shapeless sweatshirt couldn’t quite disguise the tidy figure. Dressed up she’d be a knockout.
But right now she stood by the door looking young, scared and poised for flight. “Thanks—” she croaked, then cleared her throat and started again. “Thanks for the room and the clothes and everything. I can’t repay you right now but I can send you some money as soon as I get on my feet.”
On her feet? She looked as if a gentle wind would blow her over. Probably still hungry, too. “Sit down and eat something.” He set a bowl, cereal and milk in front of her.
“Thanks, but I don’t—”
“Sit down,” he said in the tone he used on his nieces and nephews when he meant for them to mind.
Eyeing him with resentment, she sat, setting her backpack on the floor beside her. “I’m only doing this because I’m hungry, not because you ordered me to.”
Amused, he smiled at her. “Glad we got that straight. So, have you looked at the weather? You planning on swimming your way out of here?”
Frowning, she glanced out the window at the rain that continued to pour down and beyond,
to the white-capped ocean. “I didn’t think you’d want me here any longer than necessary. I can’t figure out why you took me in.”
Neither could he, exactly. He put a cup of coffee in front of her and sat down with his own. “Curiosity. You still haven’t told me who or what you’re running from, Delilah.”
Her eyes met his, bleak as a winter’s day. “You’re better off not knowing.”
“That depends. If you’re running from the law—”
“I’m not,” she interrupted. “I told you that last night.” She took a sip of coffee and closed her eyes. “Oh, that tastes so good.”
The bruise on her jaw had faded more than the marks on her neck, but both were still visible in the light of morning. Some bastard had tried to choke her and though Cam knew police brutality existed, he didn’t believe any cop had done that to her. But if she was running from an abusive boyfriend, why the hell didn’t she just say so? Why lie about it, or avoid talking about it?
“Do you really know karate?”
She stopped shoveling in cereal for a moment to look at him. “Sort of.”
Skeptical, he waited.
“Okay, I know some self-defense.”
Not enough, apparently, to save her from being choked. “If I was convinced you’re not in trouble with the law I might be able to help you out.”
Starting on her second bowl of cereal, she looked up at him suspiciously. “How?”
Her eyes were blue. A deep, indigo blue a man could drown in. Get a grip, he thought. She’s just a kid. But her eyes weren’t those of a kid.
“Can you wait tables? My newest girl just quit on me and waitresses are hard to come by around here.”
“You’re offering me a job?”
“Yeah. How about it?”
The smile transformed her face from pretty to sucker-punch gorgeous. Don’t even think it, bucko, he told himself. She’s way too young for you.
“I’m the best waitress you’ll ever have.” The smile faded. “But I can’t take the job.”
“Do you have any better prospects?”
She shook her head and got up to take her bowl to the sink. “I can’t be on your payroll. And since you strike me as an honest guy who wouldn’t want any trouble…” She shrugged. “But thanks for the offer. It’s very nice of you.”
He knew what he should do. He should say adios, give her some cash and send her off to be someone else’s headache. But she got to him. She was young, alone, and obviously in trouble, but she was a fighter. She needed a break and for whatever reason, he wanted to give her one.
“I’ll pay you in cash,” he heard himself saying. She stared at him and he added softly, “Trust me.”
“Why should I?” Her eyes narrowed, becoming hard and mistrustful. “Nobody gives something for nothing. If you think I’m going to sleep with you just because you helped me, think again.”
He laughed. “Listen, sugar, you may not be jailbait but you’re way too young for me. All I need is a waitress. Take the job or leave it.”
Her chin lifted and she put out her hand. “I’ll take it. Thanks.”
They shook hands. She had a firm, decisive grip, not a wimpy girl grip like a lot of women had. “You can stay in my spare bedroom. Unless you’ve got any better ideas.” He knew she didn’t.
She lifted a shoulder. “Not so far. I’ll pay you rent,” she said. “It won’t be very long. Just until I can find a place of my own.”
He didn’t bother to tell her that wasn’t going to happen in Aransas City, and for sure not on what he could pay her. She’d find out for herself soon enough. “It’s a deal, then. I’ll show you around later but I won’t open until the storm lets up and we get some power. In the meantime, you should go back to bed. You still sound sick as hell.”
“I’m fine, now that I’m out of the storm.” There went that heartbreaker smile again.
Damn, he was too old to fall for a smile. Too old to fall for her, period. He shook himself mentally. It had been too long since he’d been with a woman. Way too long.
She paused at the door. “Thanks. No, I mean it,” she said when he waved it away. “I really appreciate what you’ve done for me. You won’t regret it.”
Right. He was already cussing himself for being a fool. And not because he thought she was going to rob him. “What about your name?”
“My name?”
“Yeah, your name. Are you going to use the real one or a fake one?”
She blinked at him. “I hadn’t thought of that.”
“How long have you been on the run?”
She didn’t answer for a moment, then shrugging, she gave in. “A little over a week.” Her teeth worried her lip. “I guess I have to change it. Can you call me Delilah Roberts?”
“No problem.” She was still frowning, lost in thought. “You’re new to this, aren’t you?”
“Lying? Yeah.” She nodded jerkily. “I don’t lie very well.”
“No? Funny, most women I know are pros at it.” He would have said all women, except his sisters didn’t lie. They were a damn sight too truthful, if you asked him.
“That’s sad.”
Cam shrugged. “That’s life.” He watched her go and muttered, “What the hell have I gotten myself into?” A particularly loud clap of thunder answered him.
Whatever she called herself, she was damn tempting. And Cam had never been very good at resisting temptation. She’s too young for you, he told himself. Unfortunately, his libido didn’t give a good damn about that. He had a feeling he’d be repeating those words a lot over the next few days.
WITH THE BRUNT OF THE STORM past and the power restored, the Scarlet Parrot opened at four that afternoon. Even though she must have still felt lousy, Delilah insisted on working. She’d taken some medicine, though, and at least her cough was better. Cam didn’t argue too much, since the cook and Martha Rutherford, his full-time help, were the only employees who showed up. And as usual after a storm, business boomed. Cam wasn’t sure what it was about storms but they seemed to bring all of Aransas City into his place in their wake.
His brother Gabe came in to sit at the bar and pass some time. Cameron slid his usual draft beer in front of him. “You haven’t been around for a while. Have you been on a fishing trip?”
Gabe was a professional fishing-boat captain and spent a lot of time out on the ocean. He had the perpetual tan and near permanent bloodshot eyes that went with working on the water. Just now his eyes were even more bloodshot than usual, and he looked tired. But then, he often did.
Gabe nodded. “Just got back from Port Lavaca for a tournament.”
“How’d it go?”
He frowned and rubbed a hand over his face. “Lousy. But I’ve got another trip planned later in the week. Hopefully it will be better.”
“Good luck,” Cam said, knowing the slow season was fast approaching.
“Thanks.” Gabe glanced around. “What is it about bad weather that has the locals crawling out of the woodwork?”
“Beats me,” Cam said, and grinned. “But I’m not complaining.”
“Who’s the new waitress?” He whistled long and low. “She sure is a looker.”
Cam paused while polishing a glass and frowned at him. “Her name’s Delilah Roberts.”
Gabe raised his eyebrows. “Is she your new flavor of the week?”
“No.” That was what Gabe called the women Cam dated, with some justification, he had to admit. Cam didn’t tend to date anyone for more than a month or two. Better that way, since he didn’t intend to get serious about them. They didn’t seem to mind. None of them were the serious type either.
He set the glass down and picked up another. “Unlike you, I don’t rob the cradle. She’s a kid who’s down on her luck. I’m just helping her out.”
They both turned to look at her as she took some orders across the room. Gabe shook his head and smiled knowingly. “She may be down on her luck but she’s no kid, bro.”
Gabe was sure right abo
ut that. Twenty-five was no kid, even if she did look younger. Luckily someone called him away just then so he didn’t have to listen to Gabe speculate.
A short time later, Martha put in an order and said, “I don’t know where you found that girl, but you need to keep her. She’s the best waitress we’ve had in here since I started working for you.”
“Don’t get your heart set on it. I doubt she’ll stay long.”
Better for him if she didn’t, that was for sure.
“The good ones never do.” She picked up the loaded tray and walked off.
Clearly, Delilah had been a waitress before. She was fast, efficient, and even more than that, she seemed to enjoy it. Cam had employed a number of people who weren’t bad at the job but who wanted to find a different one as quickly as possible. But if she liked being a waitress, then why had she left her last job? And how had she ended up broke, homeless, and running from something? Or someone.
A voice broke through his reverie. “Hey, Cam, how about a refill?”
He drew a beer and set the frosty mug in front of his brother. “Enjoy it while it lasts. That’s it for tonight.” Gabe always stayed with him if he had too much to drink but Cam didn’t need his brother sleeping on the couch when he already had one houseguest.
Gabe paused in mid-sip. “Why? You got a hot date set up for later?”
“Nope.” And probably wouldn’t have for the foreseeable future. “But you’re still not bunking here.”
Another customer called to Cam before Gabe could question him further. After that he was so busy with the bar he didn’t talk to his brother again until closing. Gabe was still parked on the same stool and he looked like he didn’t intend to go anywhere.
Martha and Delilah had finished clean-up and were stacking chairs on the tables across the room, so Cameron began wiping down the bar. “What are you still doing here?” he asked Gabe. “I’m not driving you home.”
“Not a problem.” Gabe held up his nearly empty mug. “I’ve been nursing this one for the last hour. So, if you don’t have a date, what’s up?”
