His mouth formed a thin line when he interrupted. “Thanks, but I’ll manage.” He held out one hand and cleared his throat. “Name’s Reid, by the way. Reid Alexander.”
She wondered if his skin was naturally this warm, or had the hot coffee cup heated it? “Cammi Carlisle,” she said. It still seemed strange, saying “Carlisle” instead of “London.” Deep down, she admitted her new last name wouldn’t upset her dad half as much as the rest of what she would have to tell—
“If you have a pen,” Reid was saying, “I’ll give you my phone number, too, in case your insurance agent needs it.”
Cammi fished the felt-tip pen from her purse and watched as he plucked a napkin from the chrome stand-up holder on the windowsill. She liked the strong, sure lines of his handwriting, the firm way he gripped the pen. He had a nice face, too, open and honest, with look-straight-at-you green eyes that told her he was a good, decent man.
But then, she’d believed that about Rusty Carlisle, too…at first.
“Hungry?” he asked as she tucked his phone number into her purse.
She didn’t think she’d ever seen thicker, darker lashes on a man. “As a matter of fact, I haven’t had a bite all day.”
He raised an arm and waved. “Hey, Georgia,” he called, grinning. “How ’bout a couple menus over here.”
The husky redhead shot a “you’ve gotta be kidding” look his way, and propped a fist on an ample hip. “I don’t remember seeing you come in here on crutches, honey, so unless your leg is broken, come get ’em yourself.” To Cammi, she mouthed Men! and went back stacking clean plates behind the counter.
Reid chuckled. “Be right back,” he whispered. “Wouldn’t want to rile the cook.”
“Right,” Cammi agreed, “’cause y’never know what might end up on your plate.”
She liked the way he walked…like a man who knew who he was and where he was going in life. He leaned over the counter and grabbed two plastic-coated menus and exchanged a few words with Georgia. The good-natured tone of their banter told Cammi they knew one another well. Funny that Cammi didn’t know him, too; she’d only been away from Amarillo two years, after all.
Only. A silent, bitter laugh echoed in her head. The past twenty-four months seemed like a lifetime now….
When he returned, Reid slid into the booth, handed her one menu, flattened the other on the table in front of him. “So, what can I order you?”
Georgia made the best burgers in Texas and Cammi had been craving one of her specialties for weeks. “I’ll have a bacon cheeseburger and fries, on one condition.”
He met her gaze. “Condition?”
There was no mistaking the suspicion and mistrust written on his handsome face. Cammi wondered what—or who—had caused it. “I’m buying,” she announced, holding up a hand to forestall his argument. “You’d be home now, safe and sound and chowing down something home-cooked, no doubt, if I hadn’t plowed through that red light. Buying your supper is the least I can do, and I won’t take no for an answer.”
That teasing look on his face made Cammi’s stomach lurch. Was he flirting with her? Under normal circumstances, she might have been flattered. But these were hardly normal circumstances.
“There isn’t a nickel’s worth of fight left in me. So okay, you’ll buy, this time.”
This time?
Cammi got to her feet. What better way to hide from her reaction than to put on her “efficient waitress” face? “A lifetime ago,” she explained, “I worked here at Georgia’s. Maybe I can pull a few strings, get you some extra fries or a free slice of pie.” She wiggled her eyebrows. “Georgia bakes it herself, you know.”
Laughing, Reid said, “Yeah, I know.” Then he added, “I’ll have whatever you’re having.”
Cammi hurried to the counter, and came back carrying silverware in one hand and a pitcher of ice water in the other. She was about to leave again, to get glasses and straws, when he grabbed her wrist.
“Thanks,” he said, giving it a little squeeze. “This is right nice of you, especially after the way I behaved out there.”
The bright fluorescent light had turned his eyes greener still. “You behaved like any normal person would under those conditions.” She eased free of his grasp. “This is the least I can do.”
She puttered behind the counter and caught up with Georgia as the diner owner slapped burgers onto the grill and dumped frozen fries into the deep fryer. She couldn’t help wondering as she watched her former boss poke the meat patties with a corner of a metal spatula, why she hadn’t experienced any of these heart-stopping, stomach lurching “first meeting” feelings with Rusty. Cammi shook her head.
But honestly! What business did she have feeling anything! Cammi blamed the long drive, the accident, the reasons she’d been forced to leave L.A. for her strong reaction to Reid. Finding out she was going to be a mother on the very day she’d become a widow would make any woman behave strangely, right?
When Cammi finally slid the food-laden tray onto their table, Reid gave an admiring nod. “It’s like riding a bike,” she said, dismissing his unspoken compliment, “you never forget how to balance.” If only balancing my life were as easy as balancing this tray, she thought.
He waited until she was seated to say, “I owe you more than an apology, I owe you an explanation. All that bellowing and…” He shook his head. “Well, it was just plain uncalled for. This is a flimsy excuse, I know, but I had a similar experience some years back, and that accident…” He took a deep breath, exhaled. “Let’s just say I’m downright sorry for behaving like a mule-headed fool.”
His admission conjured a memory, one so strong Cammi didn’t trust her voice. The boy who’d been driving the truck the night her mother died…his name had been Reid. One and the same? Or a queer coincidence?
She didn’t realize how intently she’d been staring until he shifted uncomfortably in the seat. If he was that Reid….
“Did you know that cold fries cause indigestion?” she asked.
His expression said, Huh?
Using a French fry as a pointer, Cammi explained: “It has something to do with the way cooking oils mix with stomach acids. I think. Something like that.” She was rambling and knew it, but better to have him think she was a babbling idiot than to press him for details…and find out she might be sitting face to face with the guy who’d killed her mother.
She’d been horrified to learn how her danger-hungry stuntman husband had died, but his death only served to underscore what she’d realized on their wedding night—they hadn’t married for love. The cold hard fact was, they’d been friends with one thing in common: a tendency to act on impulse.
So jumping to conclusions about Reid didn’t seem the smartest thing to do at the moment. Besides, she recognized Reid’s far-off expression as an attempt to hide from the miseries of his past. She recognized it because she felt exactly the same way. Cammi wanted to comfort him, if only for this brief moment in time, and gave in to the urge to blanket his fidgeting hands with hers.
Then, suddenly, for a reason she couldn’t explain, Cammi found herself biting back tears, found herself feeling guilty for harboring so much anger toward Rusty. It would be hard, very hard, getting past the way her husband had died…and with whom. Still, on the day he’d been buried, Cammi had promised herself that Rusty’s child would never know those awful details.
Reid eased his hands from beneath hers and broke the uneasy silence. “So, you live ’round these parts?”
She hadn’t realized until that moment exactly how much she’d missed hearing a good old-fashioned Texas drawl, how much she’d missed Amarillo,