“Yeah, I’m going to have to pass on that charming offer,” she said firmly.
“Come on. We can just make out, if you want.”
The very thought made her glad she hadn’t eaten anything since lunchtime. “No, thanks. Let go, Core.”
Instead, he tightened his grip and leaned his head down to her ear and whispered a filthy suggestion. She decided she didn’t have any sympathy left for Corey and hoped like hell his wife had taken every penny of whatever the Angel of Hope had given the family when she made her way out of Dodge.
“Let go. Now,” she said firmly but Corey ignored her.
Nobody else at the bar seemed to have noticed her predicament, probably assuming it was just a warm chat between old friends. She was trying to figure out whether he would even feel a sharp elbow shoved into his slight beer belly or if she would have to knee him hard where it counted when another voice intruded.
“The lady said no, I believe.”
She shifted her gaze and knew she shouldn’t be so glad to see Sam Delgado standing next to them in all his rough-edged, ex-Army Ranger glory.
She totally had this and didn’t need rescuing, but it was still really, really nice of Sam to step in.
Corey turned his red-rimmed eyes in Sam’s direction. “Mind your own business, asshole,” he slurred.
Sam’s expression didn’t change. She might have thought it almost apologetic, if she didn’t glimpse the hard steel in those dark eyes.
“Technically, this is my business. I’m afraid Ms. McKnight is my date.”
Something in Sam’s tone, his massive size or his deceptively casual stance seemed to pierce Corey’s alcoholic stupor. It was fascinating to watch his bluster trickle away like beer out of a cracked bottle.
He pulled his arm away. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “I didn’t mean anything. Alex and I are old friends, aren’t we, Al?”
She said nothing but Corey didn’t seem to need a response—or maybe was grateful she didn’t offer one.
“Talk to you later,” he mumbled and ambled away with his drink.
Not the most auspicious beginning for their evening together. How was she supposed to put things back on a fun, casual footing now after he rescued her from being pawed by a drunk and disorderly high school classmate?
“Sorry I’m late,” Sam said. He didn’t offer any explanation other than that and she had the odd feeling he was troubled about something.
“No problem. You’re here now. That’s the important thing.”
Oops. That came out more flirtatious than she intended. Apparently it was a hard habit to break.
He looked around The Speckled Lizard, with its high tin-stamped ceilings, the long, gleaming bar and the dark-paneled woodwork carved in elaborate designs.
“Any chance the grill is still open? I haven’t had time for dinner.”
The nurturer in her wanted to take him home and cook something delicious for him, but that sort of offer would almost certainly be misconstrued.
She was hungry, too, she suddenly realized. One of life’s little ironies, that she spent all night cooking for others and sometimes didn’t take time to eat, herself.
She glanced at the clock. “The grill here stays open for ten more minutes. I happen to know the cook, though, and I bet we can persuade her to keep it warm a bit longer. They have really excellent burgers. You can have beef, bison or beefalo if you want.”
“Beefalo? Is that anything like a jackalope?”
She laughed. “Nope. Cross between bison and beef. It’s actually quite good.”
“Think I’ll stick with beef, if it’s all the same to you.”
“Give me a couple minutes and I’ll get you fixed up.”
She headed back to the kitchen, waving to Pat as she went, then found the irascible Francesca Beltran in the small galley kitchen, all three-hundred pounds of her.
“Hey, Frankie.”
“What you doing in my kitchen, baby girl?” She was so round, her only wrinkles were around her eyes.
Alex grinned. “Got me a friend who’s hungry. I know you’re probably ready to wrap things up. Any chance you’d let me throw on an apron and burn us up a couple burgers?”
She narrowed raisin-black eyes. “I was just about to clean the grill.”
“He’s really hungry, Frank. Come on. Please? He’s been working hard all day building my kitchen at the new restaurant. If I can’t cook for him here, I’ll have to take him to my place to feed him and who knows what will happen then? I can’t do that. You know I’m a nice girl.”
Frankie’s deep, full-bodied laugh always made her smile.
“Yeah, yeah. Okay. Make it fast.”
She grinned and kissed the woman’s cheek, threw a spare apron over her clothes, washed her hands and went to work.
Ten minutes later, the result was two perfectly cooked burgers, spiced just right and the buns toasted. Frankie deigned to drag them through the garden for her—one of her favorite diner slang terms for topping it with condiments—and even added some of The Speckled Lizard’s signature crisp, fresh-cut fries.
She carried them out and found Sam sitting at a quiet booth, a bottle of one of the local brews open in front of him.
“Sorry about the wait. I had to sweet-talk the cook. She can be a little territorial about her grill.”
“You cooked this?”
She knew she shouldn’t find such satisfaction from the surprise and, yes, delight in his eyes. “Frankie’s great, don’t get me wrong, but I have my own preference when it comes to my burgers.”
“I really didn’t mean to put you to work.”
She slid into the booth across from him and picked up her napkin. “I was hungry, too, as you can see. Anyway, I like to feed people. It’s kind of a thing with me.”
As a relatively self-aware woman, she didn’t need months of psychotherapy to explore the reason. When she was a girl, she had loved cooking for her whole family but especially for her dad. As the youngest girl, she had been the proverbial apple of her father’s eye. They had bonded over grilled cheese sandwiches and pancakes at first and as she’d gotten older, she had expanded her repertoire and tried new things, always to gratifying raves from her father.
She had figured out a long time ago that she was compelled to feed people in some vain hope of making them love her enough to stay this time.
Not that she wanted Sam Delgado to stay anywhere. Sometimes a meal was simply a meal, right?
He took a bite of the burger and an expression of pure bliss crossed those rugged features. “I do believe that just might be the most delicious thing I’ve ever tasted.”
She laughed, pushing away all thoughts of her childhood. “Oh, you poor man. If that’s the case, I have so much to teach you.”
The burger was good, she had to admit, with the bun toasted just right, the flavors of meat and good sauce harmonizing together perfectly.
He took a few more bites, concentrating all his attention to the meal. She didn’t mind. She did love a man who knew how to enjoy his food.
Finally he set the second half of the burger down as if he wanted to prolong the pleasure and wiped at his mouth. “So, Alexandra, what do you do in Hope’s Crossing besides cook very delicious burgers?”
Very few people called her Alexandra anymore. In school, all her teachers had used the full version of her name, as well as the principal, with whom she had been entirely too well acquainted.
Then later Marco had also used her given name, during their time together. In his heavily accented English, her name had sounded exotic and extravagant.
To everyone else, from her family to her wide circle of friends to the men she dated, she had been just plain Alex as long as she could remember, though her mother still sometimes went for Alexandra Renee when she was exasperated with her.
She liked the way Sam said her name and decided not to correct him.
Cooking was who she was, what she did, so it took her a moment to figure out how to answer him
.
“I like to cross-country ski and snowboard,” she finally said. “I just bought my first house a few months ago and I’ve been fixing it up the way I like it. Nothing of the scale you do, of course, just new paint, furniture, that kind of thing.”
“What about in the summer?”
Did he really want to know about her or was he simply being polite, laying the groundwork for what he hoped might eventually be a seduction? It was always a hard call on a first date. Not that this was a date, she reminded herself firmly.
“I hike. Mountain bike. Garden. Hang out with my family and friends.”
“Your family lives close, then?”
“Just about all of them. I come from a pretty big family. Six kids. My mother and four of us children still live here in Hope’s Crossing. Two of my sisters live out of state, one in California and one in Utah.”
“Wow. Six kids. Seriously? That must have been crazy. I can’t even imagine having that kind of family.”
“It has its moments. Some bad but most of them good. We McKnights are all pretty close. Amazingly, we all get along. Except Riley, the only brother. He can still be a pest sometimes. It doesn’t help that now he’s a pest with a badge.”
“Right. You mentioned he was the police chief.”
It took her a minute to remember she had threatened him with calling her brother when she thought Sam was breaking into the restaurant the day before. Heat soaked her cheeks and she really hoped she wasn’t blushing. She never blushed.
“What about you?” she asked, to distract him from remembering what an idiot she had been. “Do you come from a big family?”
“One brother, that’s it. He lives in Denver with his wife and kids. That’s where my s...” His voice trailed off. “My stuff is. I’m between places.”
She had the distinct impression he meant to say something else. What? She had a zero-tolerance policy for deception in a man.
“So how long have you been out of the Rangers?”
“Three years.”
Now, there was a verbose answer. Did his clipped tone indicate a hot button?
“What did you do for the Rangers?”
He took another bite of the burger and a drink of beer before answering. “Oh, the usual. Kick butt, take names, general mayhem.”
He spoke in that same clipped tone, but she saw a little muscle quirk at the edge of his mouth as if he were working to hold back a smile.
She really liked Sam Delgado.
Too bad.
“General mayhem, hmm. I imagine building my kitchen must seem fairly tame to a guy like you, then.”
“Not really. You’d be surprised how satisfying it can be to set those stainless-steel countertops exactly how the customer, in this case you, envisioned.”
No trace of sarcasm or irony there. He was dead serious, she realized. She very much respected a man who enjoyed his work.
“Why did you leave the Rangers?” she persisted. The routes people took in their lives to bring them to a certain point in time endlessly fascinated her.
“Didn’t really have a choice at the time.” Again, the clipped tone.
“Conscientious objector or dishonorable discharge?”
He laughed roughly. “Anybody ever tell you you’ve got some cheek?”
“So my family says.” She had always been the sassy, smart-mouthed sister. Since she didn’t feel as if she could compete in looks or brains with four older sisters, she had found her own way to stand out.
After their father left, that had been one more way to manage the pain.
“So why did you leave the Rangers? Judging by your ink, you were a loyal soldier. I figure somebody who cares enough about a particular branch of the military to make it a permanent part of his body ought to stick with it as long as he can.”
He sighed. “You’re not going to let up, are you?”
“Would you like me to?”
He gave her a long look and appeared to be choosing his words as carefully as she picked over the fresh fish selection from her suppliers.
“I left the Rangers after my wife was diagnosed with stage-four breast cancer.”
And there was the problem with being a smart-mouth. Sometimes you missed important signals and ended up feeling like a jerk.
She remembered him telling her the only Mrs. Delgado was his brother’s wife. She believed him, so either his wife had gone into remission and divorced him or she had lost her battle. Alex was afraid it was the latter.
“I’m sorry.”
He shoved away from the table, long fingers loosely clasped around the neck of his brew. “That was delicious. Let’s go play some pool.”
He obviously didn’t want to talk about his late wife. It was one thing to flirt with a player who had no more interest in anything long-term than she did. It was something else entirely when the man was a grieving widower whose pain was so raw he couldn’t even talk about it.
She grabbed her mineral water and followed him to an empty pool table. The Lizard had four billiard tables, two of them currently in use.
To reach the table where Sam was now setting up, she had to pass a group of college-age guys—mountain biking tourists, if she had to guess. With them was one woman wearing a skintight pair of pegged jeans and a white halter top that was completely inappropriate for a Rocky Mountain spring night.
She laughed suddenly, overloud and overfriendly, and playfully punched one of the young studs on the shoulder.
Only when Alex had nearly reached Sam’s table did she happen to glance at the woman from an angle where she could see her face, and a shock of recognition just about made her stumble.
Of all the people in town she might have expected to find flirting and half-drunk at The Speckled Lizard, Genevieve Beaumont would have come in dead last. Even behind Katherine Thorne.
“Hey, Genevieve.”
The younger woman shifted her gaze, and her eyes widened. “Alex.” She gave a noticeable sniff and turned back to her boy toys.
Bitch.
On some level she had sympathy for Gen Beaumont, who had been through some definite emotional turmoil the past year. She also would freely admit to a healthy degree of respect for at least one of Gen’s decisions to break off her engagement a year ago when she found out her fiancé impregnated Alex’s niece Sage.
But Gen had taken her anger at her fiancé and turned it into definite antipathy toward all things McKnight, as if the whole family was responsible for the man’s decision to screw around with a vulnerable young woman.
Sage was doing well now, busy at school studying to be an architect like her father, Jack, but Alex had deep sympathy for what she had endured with her unexpected pregnancy. She had planned to put the baby up for adoption but, in the end, Maura and Jack had adopted the baby and were raising Henry as their own son instead of their grandson. On the surface, it might look as if everything had worked out for all parties concerned. That pretty picture tended to gloss over all the complicated snarls of emotions.
She pushed away her family dramas and any concern for Genevieve Beaumont and the old tendrils of pain, and grabbed a cue off the rack on the wall.
“You want to break?” Sam asked her.
“Sure. I’ll warn you, I haven’t played in a long time. I’m afraid I won’t be able to give you much of a game.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’m pretty rusty, too.”
An hour and three games later, he won two out of three, but just barely.
“Not much of a game.” He snorted. “I haven’t had to work that hard for a win since basic training, when I came up against a guy who hustled new recruits for fun.”
She smiled. “We had a pool table in the basement when I was growing up. My dad, brother and I used to play for matchsticks. At last count, I think Riley owed me about eight hundred thousand. One of these days, I might have to collect.”
“Why do I feel like I’ve just been scammed?”
She smiled. “You won, didn’t you?”
<
br /> “Barely.”
“I wasn’t lying when I said I hadn’t played in a while. But I guess it’s like so many other things. Once you take those first strokes, it all comes flowing back.”
He cleared his throat and she couldn’t hold in a smile at the sudden glazed look in his eyes. Was he, like her, thinking about something else completely? “Do you want to go for best of five?”
A loud burst of laughter from Genevieve’s group drew both their attention. While she and Sam had been playing, a couple others had joined Gen’s crowd. On the other occupied table, two rough-edged guys were arguing heatedly about a move. A couple danced nearby to an up-tempo country song playing on the jukebox.
Sometimes the loud, hard-partying scene at The Speckled Lizard grated on her nerves, especially after a long night at the restaurant. The only problem was, during the off-season, the after-hours nightlife in Hope’s Crossing was basically nonexistent, other than a few fast-food joints that stayed open 24/7.
She could always call it a night but she selfishly didn’t want to. She liked Sam. The way he moved, the way he smelled, the way he played pool. It had been a long time since she had met someone so intriguing.
“How do you feel about taking a little walk?” she asked on impulse.
He blinked at her, cue in hand. “Now? It’s past eleven. The whole town is closed down, in case you didn’t notice.”
“Why not? It’s a beautiful evening. These kind of mild spring nights are something of a miracle here in the high mountains.”
Don’t say no, she thought. The idea of going back to her house by herself tonight depressed her more than it should. Not that she had any intention of taking Sam there, but she definitely wanted to spend a little more time with him. This was a nice compromise.
“We don’t have to,” she added. “I only thought maybe you might like a quick guided tour of Hope’s Crossing, being new in town and all.”
He leaned a hip against the edge of the pool table, all those rangy ex-army muscles in delectable view.
Maybe inviting him out for a walk wasn’t the smartest idea she’d ever had, when she had to keep reminding herself he was the contractor at the restaurant and she couldn’t afford to mess things up now that her dream was within reach.
Currant Creek Valley Page 4
