Serving Trouble (2 page)

“There are worse things than dying out there,” he added, trying to focus on the here and now, not the past he couldn't change.

“Yes.”

He kept his gaze locked on her face as he stepped back and placed his hand on the door again. He was ready and willing to slam it closed. She could tempt and tease him, but he refused to take his eyes off her face. Hell, he knew better than to play chicken with her breasts. Right now, with the way he wanted her, he'd lose that game.

First, he needed some time to process. He wanted space to think about the fact that things hadn't worked out for her in Portland. He needed her to leave before he pulled her close, wrapped his arms around her, and offered comfort. Before he begged to know every damn detail about what had happened.

No, he needed her gone. Because he'd learned one big life lesson from his time with the marines: he wasn't a hero. He couldn't let old habits take over, pushing him to save her. He wanted Josie's hands on him, her lips pressed against him . . . not her problems dumped at his feet. And if Josie was back in the town that had insisted on labeling her wild, holding her solely accountable for losing her panties in a hay wagon ride, then something had gone horribly wrong in Portland.

“I'm sorry,” he said. “I can't—­”

“I need a job, Noah.” She wasn't begging, merely stating a fact. But desperation and determination clung to her words. Never a good combination.

Noah sighed. “Do you have any waitressing or bartending experience?”

“Not exactly.” She forced a smile as she uncrossed her arms and riffled through the worn black leather shoulder bag. She withdrew a manila folder and handed it to him. “But I brought my resume.”

Propping the door open with his foot, he took the folder and opened it. He read over the resume and tried to figure out how a series of babysitting gigs related to serving the twenty-­one-­and-­older crowd.

“You took a year off between working for these two families.” He glanced up. “To focus on school?”

“No.” Her smile faded. “I can serve drinks, Noah. I'm smart and I'm good with ­people. Especially strangers. And now that you've taken the “country” out of Big Buck's, I'm guessing the locals don't camp out at the bar anymore.”

“Some still do.” And they gave him hell for telling his dad to remove the mechanical bull. Five years and the ­people born and bred in this town still missed the machine that had put the “country” in Big Buck's Country Bar. Some dropped by to visit the damn thing in his dad's barn. But he'd bet no one had ridden it like Josie in the last five years.

He closed the folder and held it out to her. “Why are you so desperate to serve drinks?”

“I owe a lot of money.”

Another fact. But this one led to a bucket of questions. “Your father won't help you?”

She shook her head. “This is my responsibility. He's giving me a place to stay until I get back on my feet.”

The don't-­mess-­with-­me veneer he wore like body armor cracked. If someone had hurt Josie . . . No, she wasn't his responsibility. Whatever trouble she'd found—­credit card debt, bad loans—­it wasn't his mess to clean up. He'd spent most of his life playing superhero, first on the football field, later for his family, and then for his fellow marines. But his last deployment—­and the fallout—­had made it pretty damn clear that he wasn't cut out for the role.

He couldn't help Josie Fairmore. Not this time. And he sure as hell couldn't give her a job that would keep her underfoot. He couldn't pay her to work for him and want her at the same time. It wasn't right. Maybe he was a failed hero. But he still knew right from wrong.

“Look, I need experienced waitresses and bartenders.” He stepped away, ready to head back to the peace and quiet of his empty bar.

“So you haven't filled the positions?” she asked.

“I—­”

“Please think about it.” She removed her foot, offering him the space to slam the door. “If you can't help me, I'll have to take Daphne up on her offer to serve topless drinks at The Lost Kitten. And I'd rather keep my shirt on while I work. But one way or another, I'm going to pay back what I owe.”

She turned and headed for the red Mini. He stared at her back and pictured her bending over tables. One look at her bare chest and the guys at The Lost Kitten would forget what they planned to order. He hated that mental image, but jealousy didn't dominate his senses right now.

He'd witnessed a woman sacrifice her pride and her dignity for her job. He'd fought like hell for her and he'd failed her. He couldn't change the past. What happened to Caroline was out of his hands now. Even if he wanted to help, he couldn't. She'd disappeared. If and when Caroline resurfaced, she'd be the one charged with a crime. Unauthorized absence. And his testimony? The things he'd witnessed? It wouldn't matter.

But Josie was standing in his freaking parking lot.

“I'll give you one shot,” he called. She stopped and turned to face him. Her full lips formed a smile and her eyes shone with triumph.

“A trial shift,” he added. “If you can keep up with a Thursday-­night crowd, I'll consider giving you a job.”

“Thank you,” she said.

“Come back around four. And don't get too excited. Your babysitting experience won't help with a room full of college kids counting down the days until spring break.”

He closed the door and turned to face the dark interior of his father's bar. Giving her a shot didn't make him a hero. But it would give him a chance to figure out why she needed the money.

 

Chapter Two

B
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Josie had learned one valuable lesson in cocktail waitressing—­wear cowboy boots, sneakers, or flats. Even flip-­flops would have been better than the two-­inch black high-­heeled strappy sandals she'd selected for her first shift. The shoes matched her fitted black shift dress. The low-­cut neckline was designed to entice without screaming,
Hooters, here I come!

But her feet ached.

Noah—­the man she'd dreamed about throughout her teenage years, transitioning those innocent what-­if-­he-­asks-­me-­out scenarios to X-­rated daydreams after their ride on his mechanical bull five years ago—­moved behind the bar, pouring beers and mixing drinks.

She headed to the waitress station and keyed in an order. Thank goodness Big Buck had upgraded to computers when they took out the bull. She hit enter, heard the ticket print behind the bar, and turned to scan the room. College students milled about the space, filling the booths and high-­top tables. But the dance floor with its large stacks of speakers remained empty. Noah had told her the music would start at 9pm. A Seattle DJ was spinning tonight and another bartender would arrive then too.

She glanced at her future boss—­well, he would be if she passed the trial without kicking off her heels and running around barefoot taking orders—­and caught him grinning from ear to ear. “There's your smile,” she murmured.

Noah twisted the top off a beer bottle with his bare hands. He held the drink out to a man with movie star looks wearing a Moore Timber T-­shirt.

“Planning to visit the range anytime soon?” Noah asked, only he wasn't talking to the man who oozed charm as if it were a habit he couldn't quite break. Noah had turned to the woman with the cover-­girl-­ready face and long blond hair on the stool beside him.

“I'm always game,” the man jumped in. “But I'm not ready to move beyond the viewing area.”

“Safest place for you and the dog,” Noah said with a laugh. He'd picked up the drink ticket and was mixing the college students' fancy cocktails while he spoke. “Where is Hero tonight?”

“In the truck for now,” the woman said, her smile fading. “When it picks up a bit, I might bring him in if that's OK with you. I have his ser­vice dog vest.”

“Hero's welcome here, Lena. Anytime.” Noah offered a soft smile. “If you're planning on sticking around, you'll want to get him soon.”

“Thanks.” Lena looked relieved. “Josh is meeting us here after work. He ended things with Megan.”

Josie studied the woman's model-­like features and tried to remember if they'd met five years ago when she'd lived in the Willamette Valley. She came up blank. But the charming man, flashing Lena a grin designed to lead to the bedroom—­she knew him. He was older than her for sure. But that smile . . .

“My brother claims he wants to settle down,” the familiar man added. “And Megan made it clear she wasn't interested in long-­term. Beats me why she stuck around this long if she wasn't.”

“Chad,” the picture-­perfect Lena, who needed a ser­vice dog in crowded bars, said.

She was still a mystery, but hearing that name, Josie remembered.

Chad Summers.

Half her high school class had had a crush on him. She knew girls who'd driven over to Independence Falls just to watch him play pickup baseball games in a field. She'd been too busy mooning over Noah. And later, Travis Taylor, the boy she'd mistakenly believed could fill the good-­guy-­football-­hero void in her life. Except Travis failed the good-­guy test when he'd unleashed his temper on her instead of saving it for the field.

“First step to keeping your job,” Noah said, walking over to the ser­vice end of the bar and setting down the filled drinks. His smile had vanished. “Stop drooling over the customers.”

“I wasn't . . . I recognize him,” she protested.

“Chad's engaged now. Or will be soon,” Noah continued. “To Lena. Don't even think about messing with her. I've seen her shoot.”

“You're still visiting the gun club?”

He nodded grimly. “Every chance I get.”

He hadn't lost his smile. But doom and gloom seemed to be his default in her company. Maybe if she made him laugh—­

“To Noah,” a man who looked a decade or two older than her father called out. “For his ser­vice.”

Four men, one wearing a vest covered in badges, raised their glasses. “To Noah!”

“Trying to work, Frank,” Noah growled. And she swore his cheeks turned pink. His grip tightened around the third drink and she wondered if the martini glass's delicate stem would snap. But instead the tension rippled up his arm to his bicep. The muscle bulged and the red “Semper Fi” tattooed on his arm expanded.

“Sore subject?” She rested her elbows on the section of bar designated for the waitresses to pick up drinks. “Dominic bristles when ­people try to give him a pat on the back too.”

“Yeah?” He remained focused on the last of the cocktails she'd ordered.

She nodded. “He says some of the things he's done don't deserve a toast. And recognizing that keeps him closer to the good-­guy side of the murky grey space between ISIS evil and hero.”

“Dominic said all that, huh? When was the last time you saw your brother?”

“Three years ago. He stopped by Portland while home on leave,” she admitted. “But we email.”

He shifted the drink to her end of the bar. “Wasn't sure you knew how, seeing as you never wrote back to me.”

“You ran out of that barn . . .” She loaded the drinks onto her tray. “You wrote a long, drawn-­out apology. But I wasn't sorry. I've made a lot of stupid choices, especially in high school.” She looked up at him, straight into his blue eyes. “That night wasn't one of them.”

Now, if she landed back in his barn, naked and ready to hand over her heart a second time,
that
would be a mistake.

He shook his head and a patron called for a beer. “Planning to tell Dominic that you're working here?”

“There's plenty I don't share with my brother.”

“Like why you need the money?” he asked, his expression still set to doom and gloom.

“That too.” She picked up the tray and walked away, praying it wouldn't spill. She made it to the booth and served the drinks. The blonde girl who'd turned twenty-­one last week—­Josie had checked her ID when she'd ordered, seeing as the bouncers didn't arrive until eight—­handed her an extra five bucks.

Josie smiled as she turned and headed to the next table. So her feet hurt. And her boss was asking questions she'd rather not answer. This wasn't anything she couldn't handle. And maybe the next time she placed a drink order, she could convince Noah to smile.

“What can I get for you?” she asked, slipping the five-­dollar bill into the Big Buck's apron with the rest of her tips and retrieving her notepad.

“How about your panties?” a deep, taunting voice said. “I've been waiting five long years to get my hands on them again.”

She looked up and met Travis Taylor's smug smile. The past five years hadn't done him any favors. He'd gained a lot more than five pounds and none of his excess weight resembled muscle.

“My underwear isn't for sale,” she said. But dammit, her voice wavered.

“Lost them in a hay wagon?” Travis teased.

“I can offer you drinks.” Her pen was poised to take their order, her knuckles turning white from her death grip. “If you need ladies' undergarments, visit the Salem mall. Or is the state capital too far for you? Looks like you're still firmly planted in Forever.”

“I've been waiting for you to come back from that fancy college of yours. But I never expected you to end up serving drinks,” Travis said. “I just drove over here to see you. Your dad's been telling everyone about your homecoming. Word's spread like wildfire.”

Her father had told everyone that she'd asked to stay in her old room? Forever's esteemed police chief hadn't even been home to greet her when she'd arrived. She'd driven around for more than an hour after her “job interview” with Noah. She'd wanted to arrive precisely at noon just like she'd told her dad over the phone on Sunday. But he'd already headed for the station, leaving behind a Post-­it note and instruction on where to find the clean sheets.

“What do you want, Travis?” she demanded. “And your answer better be beer, wine, or liquor.”

“Shots,” he smirked. “A round of whiskey shots.”

She turned and headed for the bar, counting her steps.
One, two, three. . .

Steps four and five happened too fast to count. She slowed her pace, focused on her shoes. She refused to run from the man who'd wrapped his hands around her neck when she'd broken up with him five years ago. She'd dealt with a lot worse than Travis Taylor since then. His presence shouldn't shake her.

“Can you pour two shots of whiskey? I need to grab something from the back,” she called to Noah as she walked past the bar.

Like my courage. I need a large dose fast if I'm going to serve Travis.

Noah's brow furrowed. “I'll get your shots. But don't take too long. We'll be slammed soon.”

She nodded and pushed through the door into the peace and quiet of the back room. The door swung closed behind her, blocking out the dull roar of the Thursday crowd—­and her scumbag ex. Cases of beer and booze lined the walls. A large metal desk covered in bills and other paperwork filled the far corner of the rectangular room. Another door stood at the back and led to a small rear parking lot. She was tempted to rush through the exit and escape into the night.

No. I can do this. I can go back out there and serve Travis without pouring his whiskey over his head.

She turned to face the door leading to the bar. She would march out there, serve her ex, and move on. Travis would not prevent her from landing this job. She would not let him ruin her trial shift. She refused—­

The door swung open. She jumped back a step as her ragged nerves descended into chaos.

Noah peered through the open doorway. “You can come back out now. Travis is gone.”

“You kicked him out?” she said as relief herded her wild nerves back into place. “You didn't need to—­”

“He's not welcome here.” Noah stepped into the room, allowing the door to close behind him as he crossed his arms in front of his chest. “It had nothing to do with you.”

Her eyebrows shot up. Nothing to do with her? But then it dawned on her. She'd been gone for years. What if Travis had attacked someone else? And Noah had rushed to her rescue too.

“You're protecting someone—­”

“No. I just don't want him here. My bar. My rules.” He lowered his arms and turned to the door. “But he wasn't your only customer. There's a room full of ­people waiting on drinks out there. Are you ready to work, or did you change your mind about the job?”

“I'm ready.” She followed him into the bar. “I'm not giving up because of Travis.”

“Good.”

And she caught a hint of his rare smile before he slipped back behind the bar.

She scanned the crowd and spotted a group of locals, men and women she recognized from high school, seated at an empty table. Withdrawing her notepad, she forced a smile and headed over. Travis had been right about one thing—­word of her homecoming had spread. After she took their orders, politely avoiding their curious questions, she headed back to the bar.

“I bet your other new hires don't bring in this much business on their first shift,” she said. “You should give me a cut of the profits from tonight.”

Noah snorted. “Overreaching for someone who is auditioning for a full-­time job.”

She leaned over the bar, elbows resting on the wood. Her arms pushed her cleavage up and threatened to land her dress squarely in the indecent column. But she was still a long way from Hooters—­and, hopefully, The Lost Kitten.

He glanced at her chest and she swore she saw a flash of heat in his eyes before he looked away.

Oh no. If he still wanted her, if that was his reason for pushing her away, for limiting her to a trial shift, and for kicking Travis out the door . . .

She straightened and smoothed her hands over her dress. One look at his supersized muscles and she wished she could explore beneath his shirt. She wanted to know what had changed—­aside from his attitude—­but she couldn't go there.

She needed a job and enough cash to break free from the past. Though one look at the gawking locals and she wondered if that was possible. Noah might have kicked Travis out, but it seemed as if the ghosts from Forever were hell-­bent on haunting her.