Worth The Wait. Lori Foster
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and I know your scent.”
His brows lifted. “My scent?”
Sitting back with a grumpy sigh, she asked again, “What’d you want?”
Ignoring her mean mood, he said, “Besides you?” He heard her growl and his grin widened. “Why are you in here moping? Late night yesterday?”
“Yes.”
Before he could get jealous over that, she gestured at the scattered papers. “I fired my accountant, the miserable bastard.”
“Why?”
“None of your business. But now the accounts have piled up. I despise paperwork—you know that. I worked on it off and on all day yesterday and a big chunk of today, but I’m still not done.”
God, he loved her twangy voice, the way she drawled her words.
She gathered the papers together into a file and closed it, then stood to tuck it into an old metal file cabinet.
Her office was ancient and Hogan suspected her accountant’s ideas might have been, as well. Hesitating to overstep, or to take on more work, he asked, “Anything I can help with?”
“You already are, darlin’. Your ribs are a huge hit.” Using both hands, she finger-combed her hair into a high ponytail, then secured it with a cloth-covered rubber band that she pulled from her wrist. “I’m even looking into buying a special oven so you can keep it going through the winter months.”
Standing in the doorway, blocking her exit, he asked, “Who said I want to be here in the winter months?”
“You’re not stupid. You know you were born to do this.”
Since he’d recently thought the same thing, he said, “I don’t mind grilling in the snow.”
With a seductive smile teasing her lips, she sidled closer and patted his face. “If you ever decide to give up that stuffy shirt and tie during the week, I’d hire you full-time in a hot minute.” Her warm fingertips trailed down his neck, his chest and away. “Customers would love it, and I bet you’d make more in tips than you do sitting in an office.”
Paying no attention to the job offer, Hogan caught her wrist. “You just love playing with fire, don’t you?”
With her gaze on his mouth, she whispered, “You got those ribs ready yet?”
“I just got here.”
“Best get a move on, then.” She ducked past him.
Sometimes, Hogan thought as he watched her sashay away, Violet deliberately distracted him. Why? If she truly didn’t want to get physical, why taunt him?
He glanced back at that file cabinet and wondered again about her accounting.
An hour later he didn’t have time to think about anything except cooking. The orders were pouring in. Since they weren’t served during the week, it seemed that come Friday night and through the weekend, everyone wanted barbecued ribs. Standing just outside the restaurant, near the side of the building where Violet had added more outdoor seating, Hogan whistled and slathered on more of his special sauce. The heat of the day waned as the sun fell lower in the sky, bleeding over the horizon in shades of crimson, purple and sunflower yellow.
Until coming to Clearbrook, he couldn’t remember ever paying much attention to the sunset. He breathed deep of cooking meat, freshly mowed grass and humid air.
All around him, customers chatted and laughed, some sitting on picnic tables under shade trees, others using the metal tables and chairs under the overhang. After lifting three more racks onto a platter, Hogan rang a bell.
It was Violet, this time, who came to collect them.
Damp tendrils of her fiery hair escaped her ponytail and clung to her temples. Her flushed cheeks made the blue of her eyes even brighter. He’d already noticed the T-shirt she wore with Screwy Louie’s scrawled across her breasts and a pair of khaki shorts with tennis shoes. Now the shirt stuck to her in select places. Eyeing her toned and shapely legs, he couldn’t help thinking—
“We’ve got a real crowd tonight,” she crowed, sounding a little breathless but pleased with the action. “Keep cooking, sugar!”
What did she think he would do? Abandon his station? Giving a theatrical sigh, he said, “Chained to my grill. A man’s work is never done.”
She crossed her arms and cocked a shapely hip against the wall. “There are ladies out front, gossiping about you.”
Hogan quirked a brow while basting sauce over a slab of meat. “All compliments, I hope?”
“Suggestions, actually.”
He waited.
“These ladies want to see you grilling...shirtless.”
The smile came easily. Had her voice sounded a bit hoarse? No doubt from speaking over the rambunctious crowd. “Not sure that’s allowed, is it? There has to be a code or something?”
Her eyes flared. “You would consider it otherwise?”
Shrugging, he said, “I’m not selfish. I’ll do what I can to help your business thrive.”
Violet snorted. “Not selfish, not modest...” Her nose wrinkled. “You have a hairy chest.”
“True enough.” Slanting her a look, he added, “Hairy thighs, too. And on my stomach, there’s this line of—”
“It’s enough that you don’t wear a net on your head. I don’t want to have to worry about chest hair in the sauce.”
She definitely sounded hoarse. “I don’t exactly shed, you know.” He frowned at her and saw she appeared distracted, leaning a hand against a table and drawing a slow breath.
“You okay?” he asked, wondering if the waitress was right about her being ill.
“Exhilarated.” Quickly she straightened, patted his shoulder and took off again, her hands loaded with platters of meat.
For a little while, Hogan wondered about her. But they were too busy for him to dwell on anything but his job. The night droned on, and during small respites, Hogan prepared more ribs for the following day. His process required hours of precooking before the meat ever touched the grill. He worked alone, guarding his secret recipe—what a joke—which required him to hustle back and forth between the rear kitchen area and where the grills were set up.
Colt and his friends sat at a picnic table nearby, drinking tea and devouring burgers. The new girl was indeed cute, and if Hogan was a judge, his son had already won her over.
When Colt introduced him, Hogan felt a familiar, unmistakable pride. Despite the not-too-distant-past turmoil of their lives, Colt was a remarkable young man, and not just physically. He did well in school and he enjoyed helping others. Hogan knew he couldn’t take all the credit for that, but he didn’t want to think about his wife.
Before long, he saw that Colt had his arm around the girl and she rested her head on his shoulder. Hiding his smile, Hogan repeatedly glanced their way.
The move had been tough on Colt, but things were looking up for both of them.
The lingering crowds grew mellow as they neared the midnight hour. It was a few minutes to closing time when Kristy, a waitress, found him cleaning the grills.
“Hey, Hogan, got a minute?”
He glanced at her. She was young, cute and exceptionally friendly. Tonight, though, she looked worried. Aware of Colt watching him, Hogan said, “What’s up?”
“I wasn’t sure who to talk to.”
He closed the grill and cleaned his hands on a dish towel. “Something’s wrong?”
“It’s Violet. I think she’s really sick.”
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