One Foot in the Grave: Carly Moore #3

by Denise Grover Swank

  “Wellll…” I drawled, trying to figure out how to discourage him without pissing him off.

  “I can show you now,” he said, pushing me back several feet. Before I could react, he had me pinned against the wall in the hallway to Max’s office, completely out of sight of everyone. The only way I’d be seen was if Ruth came back to the order counter.

  This was unexpected, and I fought every instinct to shove him off me. “Blake, honey,” I said in a light tone, giving him a little shove. “I’m workin’.”

  “This will only take a minute.” He leaned his left forearm across my chest, restraining me against the wall, while he reached for his pants. He pressed all of his weight into my chest, making it difficult for me to breathe.

  “Blake, let go of me.” I used more force this time as I unsuccessfully tried to pry his arm away.

  His free hand was between our bodies, fumbling with his jeans.

  Panic washed through me, and I had a momentary inner war over how to handle this—his hand would absorb the blow of my knee to his groin and my arms were pinned, which meant I couldn’t reach up and claw his face.

  The next thing I knew, his weight was gone, and a large figure was slamming his fist into Blake’s face.

  Blake flew backward and landed on his ass in front of Max’s closed office door, staring up in surprise and then anger. He started to get up, but the man next to me growled, “Stay down.”

  I turned in surprise to see…Wyatt.

  Chapter Three

  Wyatt glared at the man, his hands fisted at his sides.

  “What the hell is goin’ on?” Marco called out behind me.

  I turned to him, still in shock over what had just transpired, and embarrassed to be in the middle of it.

  “I caught this asshole tryin’ to force himself on Carly,” Wyatt growled. Then he turned his murderous gaze on Marco. “Where the hell were you?”

  “Me?” Marco shot back, his anger rising.

  “Stop it!” I protested.

  “I could have you arrested,” Blake shouted, unsuccessfully trying to get to his feet.

  “You’re the one about to be arrested,” Wyatt shot back. “For attempted rape.”

  Was he out of his mind? The last thing I wanted was to attract attention. I’d gotten lucky several months back, after the whole Carson Purdy debacle.

  “Rape?” Blake shouted in indignation. “I wasn’t tryin’ to rape her! I was trying to show her the pictures of the bones on my phone!” He pulled his phone out of his pocket and held it up as proof.

  “You expect me to believe that cockamamie bullshit?” Wyatt sneered.

  “Wyatt,” I said in an exhausted sigh, “just let it go.”

  “Let it go?” he demanded.

  I held his gaze, shocked to see the fury on his face. “Let it go,” I repeated, quieter this time.

  “Come on, Carly.” Marco reached out to me and I took his hand, on the verge of breaking down. “Let’s go out back and get some air.”

  I nodded as his fingers wrapped around mine and he tugged me to the back door. He shot a look to Wyatt. “Shouldn’t you be gettin’ back to the bar?”

  I didn’t get a chance to see Wyatt’s face, but he stormed off to the dining area while Marco led me out back.

  The cool air hit my skin and I pulled my hand from Marco’s. He started to give me a hug, but I pushed him back. “I can’t have anyone touchin’ me right now.”

  He slowly lifted his hands. “Okay,” he said softly. “Tell me what you need.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “That’s okay,” he said, walking over to my car. “How about we just sit for a moment?”

  “Okay.” I felt foolish over being this shaken up. I was used to dealing with a rough crowd and I rarely got upset, but this one clung to me.

  Marco sat on the lid of my trunk, and I leaned my butt against it, staring at the brick wall of the rear of Max’s Tavern.

  “What did Wyatt walk in on?” Marco asked. “What made him think you were about to be raped?”

  I brushed stray hairs from my forehead, glad my back was to him. “I think it looked pretty bad. I wasn’t sure of his intentions, so Wyatt’s accusation didn’t come out of left field. Blake had me pinned to the wall with his arm across my chest, his body leaning into mine, and he was fumbling with his pants.”

  “Jesus, Carly…” Marco said in horror and disgust. “Do you really believe he was trying to show you some photos?”

  “Maybe,” I said. “He’s been talkin’ about those damn bones all night, and he’s had more drinks than I could count, which might be why he was leaning into me. He could barely stand upright.”

  “Why’d you keep servin’ him?” he asked with a hint of reprimand.

  “Hey!” I glanced over my shoulder at him. “I wasn’t the one servin’ him. He was in Ruth’s section, but truth be told, all his friends kept buyin’ him drinks, so she probably had no idea how many he’d had.”

  He held up his hands in surrender. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

  I gave him a sharp nod and turned back to face the wall. We were quiet for a few moments, the world completely silent. That was one of the things I loved about Drum, the quiet. It gave me room to think, although sometimes that was as much a curse as a blessing.

  “You know what’s funny?” I asked softly. “How everyone scrambles to find an excuse to take the burden of guilt off the person accused of rape. What was she wearing? Was she comin’ on to him? Was he drunk?”

  “Jesus, Carly,” Marco protested. “That’s not what I meant.”

  I turned back to face him. “Are you sure about that?”

  He stared at me, his eyes wide and his mouth open, but I was done with this discussion. I’d gotten what I needed out here.

  My fear was gone. I’d replaced it with anger.

  Wyatt was behind the bar when I walked back in. He shot me a worried look, but I ignored him.

  Blake’s friend was helping him stagger out the front door.

  “What in the hell happened?” Ruth asked, her gaze darting from Wyatt to Blake. “That customer came out sporting a black eye, and Wyatt’s icing his hand. The guy was mumbling something about suing for false accusations of rape, and you and Marco were nowhere to be seen.” She sounded pissed, but I could hear the razor’s edge of anxiety in her voice.

  I shook my head. “I’m fine. I think it was a huge misunderstanding.”

  “So he wasn’t tryin’ to rape you?” Worry filled her eyes as she looked me up and down.

  I gave her a tight smile. I could brush this off, but she deserved to know the truth, so I gave her the fifteen-second version of what had happened, including Wyatt punching him and Marco taking me out back to catch my breath.

  “So you’re not sure whether he was plannin’ to rape you or not?”

  “I’m not sure enough to press charges.”

  “Like you would even if he’d completed the evil deed,” she said in disgust, but it was directed at the door Blake had just walked through. “Asshole.”

  I wasn’t sure what she meant (about me—the asshole remark was pretty clear), but it could have been any number of things. That a waitress pressing charges against a customer could be bad for business. That men got away with things like this all the time. Or that we’d follow the unspoken creed of the townsfolk of Drum—they took care of their own, which Max always took one step further with the employees of the tavern. He called us family and he didn’t tolerate people hurting his family.

  Oh, Lord. Would they seek their own vigilante justice?

  “Ruth. For all I know he was reaching for his phone. You have to let this go.”

  She simply lifted her brow, her mouth pinched into a tight line, a look my mother used to give me when I was in trouble and she wasn’t ready to talk about it yet. The thought filled me with an unexpected melancholy.

  Eye on the prize, Carly. Take down Bart Drummond, then move on to your father, the bastard who killed your
mother and plans to kill you.

  My concern about Max and Ruth grabbing pitchforks and running out the door was unwarranted since there wasn’t much either of them could do at the moment. Blake was gone, and we were all too busy working for anyone to go after him. His sorry hide would be safe enough until closing time.

  Marco entered through the back, taking his seat at the bar, and I kept my head down, trying to get through the rest of the night.

  Around eleven, Marco was still sitting at the bar, so I sidled up to him after I dropped off a drink order. “What are you still doin’ here? It’s past your bedtime.”

  He gave me an incredulous look. “You really think I’m gonna just go home after the way we left things out back?”

  Sighing, I sank into the edge of the counter. “Marco. It’s late, and you need your beauty sleep.” I gave him an ornery smile. “I can’t have you being so tired you get shot again.”

  His face softened. “I don’t think it’s exhaustion you have to worry about. More likely I’d be distracted by the worry that I lost my best friend.”

  I reached up to touch his cheek. “We had a disagreement. We’ve had plenty before, and somehow we’ve gotten over every single one.”

  “This one is different,” he whispered, his gaze holding mine. “You think I was excusing what that fucker did.”

  I pulled back, shaking my head. “No. I know you weren’t. I was just trying to make you think about how you were framing the question.” Leaning over, I kissed his forehead. “Go home. Get some sleep and rest easy that we’re fine. Okay?”

  His mouth stretched into a grim look. “I can’t. Max called an employee meeting for after the bar closes in an hour.”

  My brow wrinkled. “An employee meeting? Since when? I haven’t heard about this, and besides, you’re not even an employee.”

  “Max called it after Wyatt came out with busted knuckles. And you’ll find out the rest after the bar closes.”

  “Order up,” Wyatt called out, giving me a dark look.

  Why was he still here, anyway?

  The crowd started to thin, finally, but if I were the foreman at the construction site, I’d be concerned about all the men showing up to work with hangovers. It wasn’t my place to worry, though, and the tavern was making money hand over fist. Despite Max’s earlier concern about serving a worker a beer for lunch, he seemed totally on board with their nighttime shenanigans.

  Max had to kick a few stragglers out, and after he locked up, he stood next to an empty table. “Everyone head on over, and we’ll get started.”

  Tiny emerged from the kitchen in back. Wyatt circled the corner of the bar, but instead of leaving, he walked over to the table.

  I was about to ask Max why Wyatt was coming to an employee meeting, but then I realized he was supposed to be there. Max must have hired him to help with the expanded crowd. The real question was what Marco was still doing here.

  Wyatt took a seat at the table Max was standing in front of, but I sat at that table behind Wyatt. Marco sat across from me, with Ruth between us. Tiny took a seat at the table with Wyatt, while Max stayed standing.

  “As y’all have noticed, we’re busier than a snow cone salesman in a heat wave, so there are going to be a few changes. First off, Wyatt has agreed to work nights and weekends to help behind the bar.”

  Ruth crossed her arms over her chest. “Is he too good to wait tables with Carly and me? That’s where we need the real help. You know Bingham won’t let Lula help out much longer, and after what happened to Carly tonight…”

  My face reddened at the reminder, but I was struck with the fact that she’d insisted we could handle it ourselves just hours earlier.

  “Well,” she continued. “Let’s just say Bingham wouldn’t have been as magnanimous as Wyatt if it happened to Lula.”

  Max’s face blanched as he realized she was right.

  “I’m not above waitin’ tables,” Wyatt said with an expressionless face. “I’ll be happy to help wherever I’m needed.”

  “You ever waited tables before?” Ruth asked.

  “I have a bit of experience,” he challenged.

  She shook her head in disgust.

  Max’s jaw tightened. “I’m gonna get you and Carly more help. And you’re right about Lula. I doubt Bingham will let her help out much longer, although we all know the lunch crowd is tamer than the evening. But for now, Wyatt will help out wherever we need him. And after what happened to Carly, I’ve made another hire. Marco’s gonna be workin’ security in the evenings.”

  “Security?” I asked in surprise.

  I turned to Ruth, expecting her to protest, but she quirked a brow. “What? I think it’s a great idea.”

  “You’re against it?” Marco asked.

  “Bigger bars have them,” Max countered before I could answer. “Tiny and I have historically acted as security, which has worked out so far, but now there are too many men coming in. Too many that don’t know or follow the rules.”

  “I’m not protesting,” I said. “It just seems like a lot for him. He’s working all day, then coming here every night?”

  “Hey,” Wyatt said. “What about me?”

  I frowned. What about him, indeed. How would he and Marco get along? I rolled my eyes. “I’m sure it will be a lot for you too,” I said grudgingly.

  “Gee, thanks,” he grumped.

  “This starts tomorrow night,” Max said. “And like I mentioned, I’ll work on finding a replacement or two for Lula.”

  “Then are we done?” Ruth asked. “I still need to count tips and get home for some much-needed sleep.”

  “Yeah,” Max said with a frown and a wave of his hand. “In fact, you can leave your tips and I’ll count ’em up for you.”

  She shook her head. “I’ll do it. It’ll only take a few minutes.”

  Max gave me a look that suggested I could leave, but I shook my head and pulled out my money and began to count.

  We’d made a lot more than usual, enough that it took us fifteen minutes to count it. By the time we finished, the guys had stacked all the chairs upside down on the table. Wyatt had begun mopping the floor while Marco and Max conferred about security in the back. Tiny had already cleaned up the kitchen and left.

  I headed to the office with Tiny’s share of the tip money and rapped on the frame of the partially closed door.

  “Max, it’s me. I have Tiny’s tip money.”

  Marco opened the door, leaning over in his chair to do it—the office was that small—and Max nodded to me from behind his desk. Marco held out his hand, and I gave him the stack of money and receipts.

  Max’s gaze leveled with mine. “You okay?”

  “I’m fine,” I said, feeling self-conscious. “But thank you for asking.”

  “You want me to follow you home?” Marco asked, worry in his eyes.

  “Goodness no. I’ll be fine.”

  “If you change your mind…”

  I gave him a warm smile. “I’ll be fine. See you tomorrow.”

  Ruth was waiting for me by the back door, and she sent a glance toward the dining room as we headed out to the parking lot. “How do you feel about Wyatt workin’ here?”

  “It worked out just fine tonight,” I said with a hint of attitude.

  “Good thing he was here to save you.”

  I put a hand on my hip. “For the record, I could have handled him. That guy was drunk off his ass. All I needed to do was sweep his feet out from under him. Wyatt just showed up before I had a chance.”

  “Maybe so…” She gave me a speculative look as we entered the parking lot. “He still has feelings for you, Carly.”

  “And that’s just too doggone bad,” I said. “Because that ship sailed right on out of the harbor and sunk on a sandbar.”

  She cocked her head. “I don’t think you can sink a boat on a sandbar.”

  I waved my hand. “You know what I mean.”

  Pushing out a breath, she said, “And what about Marco work
in’ here?”

  “For the millionth time, we’re just friends.”

  “Y’all looked like more than friends when you were touchin’ his face.”

  I shrugged, both of us coming to a stop as we neared her car. “It’s like I told you. We got closer after he nursed me back to health.”

  “You really expect me to buy that you came down with the flu at the exact time Lula came back? What really happened?”

  She didn’t know the truth about Lula and the Drummonds, and it wasn’t my place to tell her. Nor did I intend to tell her that Bingham had helped me find Greta, Lula’s friend. He’d dispensed his own brand of justice on those men for the wrongs they’d done—and intended to do—to Lula, and I didn’t want to get on his bad side. “I had a really bad case of the flu, and Marco says I nearly died a few times. I don’t have insurance, so he took care of me at his place. I owe him, Ruth.”

  Her eyes narrowed and she studied me closely for several long seconds. “I believe he nursed you back to health and even the nearly dyin’ part, but not for one minute do I believe it was the flu. Something happened to you when you were looking for Lula—like maybe you got shot—and Marco took care of you.”

  I shrugged. Her presumption was close, but I didn’t care to confirm or deny it. “Go home to Franklin, Ruth.”

  She winked. “I’m hornier than a mountain goat in heat, and if I don’t get me some, I’ll wither up and die.”

  I winced. “I could do without the visual, but go on. What are you doin’ standing here talking to me? Go see your man.”

  She laughed and hopped into her car as the back door opened. Wyatt walked out, scanning the parking lot, and his gaze landed on me.

  Steeling my back, I walked over to him. He clearly had something on his mind, and if we were going to be working together, it would be best to get this conversation out of the way.

  “Do you want me to follow you home?” he asked.

  “That guy’s not gonna bother me,” I said. “He’s probably knocking at death’s door with alcohol poisoning.”

  He lowered his voice. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine,” I said, forcing a smile. “Thank you for stepping in. I should have thanked you earlier.”