It was then he realized how attractive she was—her full bottom lip and her silky blond hair. The high color in her complexion only emphasized a delicate beauty that owed nothing to makeup. “Trying to help,” he said truthfully, and found himself making an offer that shocked him. “Do you want me to have a talk with your boss about it?”
Now the color drained from her face. “Don’t you dare! You’ve done enough.” She looked back over her shoulder, then at him again. “Stay out of this. Please.”
He remembered her flinching when the man had grabbed her arm, but he knew when to give up. “Hey, it’s none of my business what you do or what that guy does to you.”
The color was coming back into her face. “Damn straight it isn’t,” she muttered, then turned and left him. He watched as the kitchen doors swung silently shut behind her. She was gone, and E. J. didn’t have a clue as to why he’d gotten involved at all.
Life was crazy, and a waitress with aquamarine eyes was obviously part of that craziness today. He lifted his coffee and took a drink of the rich brew. He didn’t need any more complications in his life, and if he was any judge of women, the waitress could be one huge complication.
Chapter Two
Sara Flynn stopped just inside the kitchen doors and was shaking so hard she had to put the tray down on the stainless steel counter before she dropped it. She tried to get her hair back in the knot, twisting it and pushing the pins to hold it, but she had a terrible time fastening it. As she pushed in the last pin, she took several deep breaths to try to steady herself.
“What’s going on out there?”
She turned to the chef, Marv, who was doing prep work on a side table, chopping carrots and celery so quickly that the actions were almost a blur. “An accident,” she said, and took the tray over to the sinks to dispose of the food and the broken dishes.
“Sounded like a bomb went off,” he said.
“A bomb would have been preferable,” she said, dropping the tray into the soapy water in the large sink, then turning to Marv.
The chef was fifty or so, a stocky man with dark eyes and a ruddy complexion. She’d never seen him out of his whites. He’d been kind to her, explaining things she didn’t know about the business, and covering for her when she’d needed it. He stopped chopping for a minute and frowned at her. “What was it?”
She shrugged. “I dropped that last order right on the customer,” she said, trying to make her mouth smile, but it was impossible.
Marv smiled for both of them. “Oh, boy, I wish I’d seen it, although I hate to see my work ruined.”
“You wouldn’t have wanted to see it,” she said. “Hughes is furious.”
“Threatened to fire you, didn’t he?”
She exhaled. “He sure did, and then some customer butted in, and…” She bit her lip, still remembering when she’d heard that deep voice and looked up to see the man standing over her. The way he’d reached out, taken Hughes by the arm—and the anger behind his action. Dark hazel eyes hadn’t backed down from Hughes and his fury, and she’d known if the stranger had said or done one more thing, Hughes would have fired her then and there to prove he could.
“A customer?” Marv said, cutting into her thoughts.
She looked through the small oval pane of glass in the kitchen door and saw the man. He was still at the bar, leaning forward, his elbows on the polished wood top, and staring into his coffee mug. “He’s still at the bar. He said something about talking to Hughes about what happened, but I hope he’s forgotten all about that.” She watched the stranger sit back, turn and look at a man coming into the restaurant.
She recognized the security man from next door. He crossed to the man at the bar, said something, then left. The stranger turned back to the bar, tossed off the rest of his drink, then stood. He was tall and lean, and had an edge to him. A dangerous edge, she thought, then rationalized she was feeling that because he’d darn near gotten her fired.
“A real knight in shining armor?” Marv asked.
She turned as the man put a bill on the bar. “No. He almost got me fired.” She ducked back when Hughes came toward the doors and stepped into the kitchen.
“Sara?” he said. “The tables aren’t ready for the lunch rush. Get them set, then come into my office.”
“Yes, sir,” she said, her heart sinking. Quickly she went past him and out into the restaurant. Her luck was holding and all of it was bad. She barely missed walking right into the stranger, and she had the horrifying thought that he was following Hughes to have that talk with him.
“You,” she muttered, stepping back to look up at him.
His eyes were a rich hazel, framed by fine lines and set under dark brows. Direct, cutting eyes that made her uncomfortable and angered Hughes. “Me,” he murmured.
“What are you doing?” she asked, realizing that her whole body had tensed.
He studied her almost indolently for a long, nerve-racking moment, then tugged at the cuffs of his leather jacket. “I’m leaving.”
“Good,” she said with relief.
She regretted saying that as soon as the single word was out. He couldn’t possibly know how precarious her life was at the moment, or how much this job meant to her. But before she could soften her words, he actually smiled at her. The expression made her tense again, but for a myriad of reasons. His eyes narrowed and something in them softened as his lips curved gently upward. The whole effect gave her a flash of something almost endearing, before it was gone and he murmured, “I’m not used to pleasing a pretty lady simply by getting lost. But I’m doing it now.” He motioned to her hair. “Got some loose strands there,” he murmured, then he turned and left.
She watched the door close and hated herself for being so cold to him. He was a stranger, someone she’d never see again, but if he ever happened to come into the restaurant when she was here, she’d make sure that she at least apologized.
“Sara. You’re not on a break,” Hughes said from behind her.
She headed for the side alcove. She reached for a basket with fresh linen napkins in it and started folding them into individual roses. She worked quickly, soon filling a tray with the soft roses, then went out into the dining area and started setting them out with the dinnerware on the tables.
All she wanted to do was get through this day, finish her lunch shift and go and pick up her daughter, Hayley, at the sitter’s. They’d go back to the tiny house that was barely large enough for her and her three-year-old, and close the door on the world. It wasn’t theirs, but it was home…for now.
Hughes called to her across the empty restaurant. “Sara, my office, now.”
“Yes, sir,” she said, and put down the last napkin.
She brushed her hands on her apron, then took a breath and headed for his office in the short hallway just off the rest rooms. When she stepped into the small space lined with boxes and filing cabinets and anchored by a large desk in the middle, Hughes was changing his soiled shirt. “Close the door.”
She swung it shut, and when he didn’t motion for her to sit, she stood with clasped hands and tried to head off a disaster. “Sir, I’m so sorry about the accident and it really won’t happen again.”
“Do you know who that man was you poured food on?” he asked as he pushed his arms into the shirt-sleeves.
She’d seen him in the restaurant before, but she didn’t know anything about him except he liked his coffee black and his salads dry. “No, sir.”
He buttoned the shirt quickly. “For your information, Mr. Wise