Saving The Single Dad. Cheryl Harper
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of Sweetwater, so it didn’t surprise her. Charity at Christmastime? The town could pull together for that, but everyday caring for people with real trouble was less common. She’d find the solution to her problems on her own, like she had her whole life.
Being flat broke, stuck in a town that hated her and in serious need of a way out was nothing new.
She’d also take care of Leanne. Always had. Always would.
“Guess everyone’s talking about Leanne,” Christina said as she replayed Leanne’s phone call in her head. In the same spot, Christina might not be in a big rush to come home, either.
Except she couldn’t imagine walking out on her kids. Ever.
“She pops up now and again. Things died down after the de-vorce,” Woody said, hitting the first syllable hard. “Then she disappeared with Beau, and you and her are both topics of convos regular-like.”
“Leanne and Beau aren’t together. It’s a coincidence they left town at the same time.” Christina had no idea if it were true, but Woody could start that rumor circulating and get them some benefit of the doubt.
And it wasn’t the first occasion she’d lied to make the people of Sweetwater let go of a juicy tidbit.
She and Leanne ought to be used to being the subject of speculation. For their whole lives, they’d been the town’s guilty pleasure. They’d grown up in the same place where people with no other options landed. Christina’s father had been in jail, so her mother worked two jobs to pay the bills, leaving Christina in charge, and Leanne’s grandmother finished raising all but one of her absent son’s kids. Climbing on the big school bus of staring children had been easier with Leanne at her back. Being on the outside never got better, but at least they had each other. And all those good people gossiping in town? Sure, someone ought to do something to help Christina and Leanne, but it was more fun to talk about them behind their backs.
“Brett and them kids are eating out in town ever’ day,” Woody added, “getting lots of sympathy, you know?” Of course he was. Brett was the hero in the story.
That was another constant. Brett Hendrix was a good man, day in and out, without fail.
He also handed down pronouncements like a heavenly judge on high.
At seventeen, Leanne had done the smartest thing she could: gotten pregnant by the class president. Instead of pretending he didn’t know Leanne or weaseling his way out of any responsibility, Brett had proposed.
Marrying Brett had straightened Leanne out and Christina was able to finish high school and even two years at a community college. Things were okay, except Brett never wanted Christina around. At least Leanne had ignored his orders.
Until Leanne messed it all up. Drugs had nearly destroyed them all, but Brett had pulled Leanne out. For that reason, Christina would always consider herself a Brett Hendrix fan.
Even when he made her so mad she wanted to throw darts at a lifelike depiction of his handsome face.
Which was all the time lately.
“I better check my other tables, Woody,” Christina said, the sadness that rolled over her when she wondered what was going to happen to Leanne hard to ignore. Space would make it easier to build her shell again.
“Just come back to me. We can talk about your transportation. Be happy to give you a ride wherever. Retirement’s a true blessing, open schedule for days, don’t ya know.” Woody snapped a piece of charred bacon and chewed.
Christina picked up her order pad and her coffeepot. She moved between the tables, refilling and dropping checks off at tables as she went. There was usually a question about the easiest way to get back to Gatlinburg or where the fish were biting. Directions were easy. There weren’t many choices.
And she always gave the same answer about the fish. It didn’t matter. Fish were notorious for making liars out of people.
She approached the last table in the corner. “Can I get you anything else?” she asked as she slipped a ticket under the cup she was filling.
“How about your phone number?” the bearded guy asked. She didn’t recognize him, but that was normal. People came and went all the time because of the campground. If she had a dollar for every time some guy on his yearly fishing trip hit on her, she might be able to swing another car.
“Sorry. I’m seeing someone.” She gave him a friendly smile and stepped away from the table. When she was younger, she’d fallen for enough charming out-of-towners to learn what a waste of time it was to look for Prince Charming in a man passing through town. Now she went straight for a lie, the easiest brush-off of all.
“Sure have been friendly to the old guy at the counter. Flirting for tips?” he asked. The complete lack of a smile on his face made her a bit nervous.
“No, just an old friend.” Christina tightened her grip on the coffeepot. She’d left bartending for this reason. Give a man alcohol and he was convinced he was the World’s Sexiest Man capable of taking what he wanted at the same time.
Removing alcohol had made confrontations like this a lot less common.
That didn’t mean she’d forgotten how to make a weapon out of whatever was at hand, though.
“I’d like to be a new friend,” he said as he leaned forward. “Besides, heard him say something about somebody stealing your boyfriend. Now, if you can give me her number, I’ll go away. Any woman who could take a man from a looker like you must be the stuff of legends.” He grabbed her wrist as Christina moved to leave.
No matter how she turned her hand, she couldn’t twist free. Setting down the coffeepot to claw at his fingers would leave her with nothing but her pencil as a weapon.
Determined not to cause a brawl at this job, Christina said, “While I do appreciate the kindness, sir, I’ve got to get back to work.” And if I shove my pencil in your eye, I will probably lose this job.
“Feisty.” The guy tilted his head to the side. “Woman like you, dressed like that. Can’t imagine you ain’t in the market for something.” There was no doubt in Christina’s mind that her hot-pink shirt and tight jeans were gone in his mind.
Before she could swing the coffeepot or make a stab with her pencil, Woody eased off his stool, hitched up his belt and said, “You need help, Chrissy?”
The last thing she needed was for Woody to wade into this mess. She didn’t want his injuries on her conscience, and she couldn’t afford a bill for repairs.
Christina moved to set the coffeepot down on the guy’s arm and jerked away as soon as he let go of her arm.
“Oh my. I almost got you.” She shook her head as if she couldn’t believe how clumsy she was. “I do apologize.” Should she offer to cover his breakfast in order to get him out of there?
What would she do if he returned when the crowd thinned?
Call the cops before his backside hit the wooden seat, that’s what. Being nice as a solution didn’t get more than one shot.
When the guy stood up, she and Woody both shrank back a step. He was big. Of course he was. What rule of nature made it necessary for the biggest animal on the food chain to be the one with the fewest redeeming qualities?
Armed with her coffeepot in one hand and her pencil in the other, Christina squared off. “You go ahead and leave, mister. I’ve got your ticket covered.”
She would much rather lose the ten dollars than the job. And if the guy did come back, she’d gladly shut him down and kiss the diner goodbye. In the meantime, she was no one’s victim. Not anymore.
Before the guy could make up his mind whether to throw his weight around some more or skip out on his bill and count himself lucky, the door to the restaurant opened and the park’s head law enforcement ranger, Brett Hendrix, stepped in.
The relief that