Jeff and he left together, around eleven. But at one in the morning—closing time—Alek returned, the parking lot now empty save for three or four pickups and a motorcycle the size of Poland close to the building. A storm had begun to brew: wind slapped at his hair and shirt as the tang of imminent rain filled his nostrils. Thunder trembled in the distance, accompanied by lightning that pounced across the relentlessly flat landscape in an eerily beautiful dance. He put up the top, then cut the engine and waited, realizing the odds of his making a complete ass of himself were about as high as they could get.
The first enormous drops began to pound the dirt when Luanne and another waitress emerged a few minutes later. He saw the other woman poke Luanne in the arm, point toward him; Luanne glanced over, enough light spilling from the bar for him to see her hesitate, then shake her head and swat in his direction, before the two of them took off in a blur of raindrops and giggles across the lot to their vehicles, their purses held over their heads. In an almost comical synchronization, two doors opened, two women jumped into their trucks, two doors slammed shut. The other woman took off first, tires spitting gravel as she gunned the truck out of the lot. Then, on a teeth-rattling bellow of thunder, the skies split open.
Well. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, Alek thought on a bemused sigh as he reached for the ignition….
He squinted through the deluge at the sight of a figure clumsily hauling itself out of another pickup some twenty feet from Luanne’s. Obviously drunk and yelling something indecipherable, the man lurched unsteadily in her direction. Alek froze, barely having time to wonder why Luanne hadn’t left yet before the man jerked open her door.
Alek shot from the Porsche, reaching the old Ford just as the huge man lunged inside, groping like a bear for the obviously terrified waitress now huddled against the passenger-side door. Between the din from the storm and the other waitress’s departure, she must not have heard the man’s approach.
The walrus might have bested him in sheer mass, but at six foot one and nearly solid muscle—not to mention having sobriety and adrenaline on his side—Alek had the clear advantage. Greasy ponytail viced in one hand, the other twisting a massive, flabby arm into a tight hammerlock, Alek yanked the sputtering, cursing oaf out of the truck, keeping his grip iron tight as torrents of surprisingly frigid, blinding rain pelted them both.
“I take it,” Alek shouted to Luanne over the downpour, “this man’s attentions were unwelcome?”
A crack of thunder made her jump, but in the yellow glow from her truck’s ceiling light, he saw her wide-eyed nod.
“Just checking.” Alek then spun the drunk around, fully intending to connect fist to flabby jaw. Except, before he got the chance, the cretin let out a truly hideous belch, then splatted into the mud like a harpooned whale.
“What the hell?”
Alek’s gaze shot to another man in a white T-shirt and jeans—middle-aged, balding, big-bellied—bending over the fallen one. Hands on knees, completely oblivious to the rain, the man let out a short, pithy expletive before he glanced up—still bent over—and stuck out a hand. “Hey. Ed Torres. The owner.”
Alek returned the shake, blinking against the rain slamming into his face. “Alek Hastings—”
“Yeah. I know.” Ed grabbed the downed man’s chin, torqued his face from side to side. “One of those damn Simmons boys, looks like. Probably here for Earl’s third girl’s wedding, figured a little celebratin’ was in order. Worthless piece of…” Shaking his head in disgust, Ed straightened, pointlessly hitched up his jeans, then glanced into Luanne’s truck, rain sluicing off a face folded into a frown of genuine, fatherly concern. “Luanne, honey? You okay?”
She nodded, even though she clearly was anything but.
“Thirty-two years I’ve had this bar, and this is the first time one of my waitresses has been out-and-out accosted. I was just coming out, y’know, saw dogturd here headed toward Luanne’s truck. Lucky you got here when you did.” Worn features perked up into a grin; Alek thought he might have heard a chuckle over the next roll of thunder. “Yeah. Damn lucky. Hey—you mind gettin’ his feet, helping me drag his sorry ass inside? Last thing anybody needs is this idiot back behind the wheel. He can just wait inside until the sheriff shows up. So you might as well…you know…”
Ed nodded in Luanne’s direction. Offered a sodden, conspiratorial wink.
Alek wasn’t sure quite how to take that. However, he leaned into the truck where Luanne was still hunkered by the far door, still obviously shaken. His heart did a slow turn he decided he’d best not think too hard about. “Would it be too presumptuous to ask that you stay put until I get back?”
Her breasts rose rather prettily with the force of her enormous sigh, disseminating a hint—over the lethal dose of secondhand smoke trapped in her hair and clothes—of actually rather nice perfume. “Looks like I don’t have a choice, seeings Miss High and Mighty here—” she slammed the heel of her hand against the dashboard “—won’t start. Again. Otherwise I would’ve been gone long before…” She bit her lip, hauled in a short, steadying breath as she looked away. “Thank you,” she said, before her gaze met his, albeit reluctantly. “I’m much obliged.”
Alek shrugged. “Can’t take much credit, I’m afraid. But I can give you a ride home.”
She stiffened, looked away again. “I can get one from Ed.”
One hand braced on the roof of Luanne’s truck, Alek glanced around the lot. Other than the Porsche and Romeo’s truck, the Harley was the only vehicle in sight. He leaned back inside, determined to exude patience and sensitivity when, in fact, he was soaked through to his briefs and beginning to shiver and the adrenaline that had fueled his macho performance a few minutes ago had long since petered out. “It’s pouring.”
“I know that.”
He was reminded of the time when, as a child, he and the palace gamekeeper had come across a wounded wolf in the woods backing the estate. The poor thing was frightened out of its wits, but still fiercely wary of the humans who only wanted to help it.
“Luanne?” Ed’s exasperated voice cut through the pounding rain. “I know you’re shook up and all, but this ain’t no time for prevaricatin’. And you and I both know, you don’t want to be riding on the back of the Hawg in this weather.”
“I am not prevaricatin’!” Luanne shot back, then swiped back a stray hank of hair, obviously nearer to tears than she cared to admit. “I’m…weighin’ my options.”
Alek and Ed exchanged a weary, universally understood glance.
“Besides,” Alek pressed, trying to keep his teeth from chattering, “Ed has to stay until the sheriff shows up. And who knows how long that could take?”
Luanne’s mouth thinned, her arms tightening around her ribs.
“Tell you what, then,” he said. “You ‘weigh your options’ while I help Ed get this creep—” who was beginning to groan ominously at Alek’s feet “—inside. Then you can let me know what you decide when I return. Would that be acceptable?”
Very slowly one dark eyebrow slid up. And, if he wasn’t mistaken—yes, there it went—a corner of her mouth twitched as she gave a nod.
But damned if she wasn’t sitting in the Porsche when he got back….
Loud, irregular clomping in the hallway behind him jerked Alek to his feet. Instinctively he faced the door, almost immediately finding himself the recipient of a mutinous, ice-blue glare, a sharp contrast to the tinges of childish pink that still lingered in the high-boned, freckled cheeks, the flattened mouth.
Then the mouth opened and spat out, “Who the heck are you?”
Chapter 2
Drowning in a gray T-shirt, baggy shorts and a pair of