Emily had been successfully fighting her own battles for as long as she could recall. “Well, in this case the kid is going to have to get used to it, because I am not interested in being his cougar.”
One corner of Dylan’s mouth curved upward at the notion. “He actually said that?”
So, she wasn’t the only one who found the teen’s proposal to her completely ludicrous!
“It was part of his come-on,” she explained. “I think in Xavier’s teenage fantasy I was just supposed to melt in his arms or something.”
Dylan grunted in response, his disapproval evident.
“Anyway,” Emily rushed on, anxious to put the embarrassing situation behind her, “I’m sure that after what just happened he’ll leave me alone now.”
Dylan’s expression was suddenly as inscrutable as his posture. Deliberately, he inclined his head. “If he doesn’t...you’re welcome to be ‘my woman’...anytime.”
“Dylan Reeves really called you his woman?” Simone echoed in the café kitchen early the following day.
Doing her best to keep her focus on getting ready for the morning rush, Emily shrugged nonchalantly. “He was mocking me because of what I said to that boy in the heat of the moment.” The fact that Emily warmed from head to toe, every time she recalled it, was her own foolishness. “Obviously, Dylan didn’t mean it because it’s not true.” She brought an extra large pan of golden-brown cinnamon rolls from the oven, and slid in a pan of buttermilk biscuits.
Simone manned the sausage and bacon on the griddle. She winked. “He could be—if you wanted it. Seriously...he’s got the hots for you.”
Emily guffawed. “You only wish my life were that exciting. Dylan is the kind of guy who roots for the underdog in every situation and he thought I was disadvantaged in that moment.”
“Were you?”
Emily gave the hash-brown potatoes a stir. “I had just stomped on Xavier’s toes and planned to escort him to the door. But...Dylan beat me to it.”
“Wow...” Simone comically fanned her chest. “Two men fighting over you.”
Emily blushed despite herself. “I wouldn’t call Xavier a man,” she said.
“I know.” Sympathetic, Simone furrowed her brow. “What’s up with that? How old is he?”
“Nineteen.”
“That is way too young to be running a restaurant,” Simone said.
“No kidding. But I imagine he’s going to find that out the hard way.”
The bell on the service door sounded, as Billy Ray and Bobbie Sue Everett came in. The married couple waited tables at the café during the day and attended community-college classes at night. Normally very down-to-earth and unflappable, they were giddy with excitement. “You-all have got to see this. We’ve never seen anything like this!”
All four of them rushed to the front windows. Dawn was barely streaking across the sky, but there it was—on the opposite side of the Laramie town square—a big burnished-bronze trailer-style restaurant, with an old-style saloon front, sitting on top of an enormous tractor-trailer bed. Next to it was the enormous crane that would move the Cowtown Diner onto the lot where a gas station had once stood.
Emily’s heart sank. It really was happening.
“Can you believe it’s actually going to be open for business by the end of the week?” Billy Ray said.
Aware the customers would soon be lining up outside the door to be let in when the café opened at six o’clock, Emily went back to the kitchen and brought out the platters of homemade cinnamon rolls and sticky buns that would be on display.
“It’s only possible,” Emily said, “because the building is delivered ready to go and everything they serve in the restaurant is prepackaged and pre-made.”
“It’s still amazing,” Bobbie Sue murmured, while quickly helping her husband set up the tables.
Emily had a sinking feeling her customers were going to think so, too.
* * *
THE LUNCH CROWDS WERE finally thinning when Dylan walked into the café at one-thirty, so he was able to get a table right away. To his surprise, Emily came out of the kitchen personally to bring him a menu. After the events of the previous day, he had suspected she might try to avoid him. He couldn’t blame her; he had done as much this very morning, choosing to eat breakfast on the ranch instead of coming to the café, as usual.
But then he’d thought about it and decided that was pure foolishness. He was blowing this all out of proportion and really wanted to get back on solid ground with her.
“I don’t need to see that,” Dylan said, determined to keep the exchange as casual as possible. “I memorized the offerings on your menu the first week you opened.”
And like most ranchers in the area, he had been eating her “cowboy cuisine” frequently ever since.
“You sure? I’ve put a few new things on the menu, just today.”
He was sure. But since it seemed to mean so much to her, he opened the laminated menu anyway. A hand-lettered inset offered two new sandwiches and a fried jalapeño-cheese popper appetizer that was a customer favorite at the Cowtown Diner chain. “Competing already?” he drawled.
He’d figured the sight of the rival establishment would have upped Emily’s competitive spirit.
Curious to know just how far she would go, he leaned back in the red vinyl booth and prodded, “Or just stealing another restaurant’s signature dish?”
She ran her hand lightly over the red-and-white-checked oilcloth. “Ha-ha.”
“You’re better than that. Your food is better than that.”
Her feisty gaze met his once again. “Says the man with the bottomless pit for a stomach.”
Well, at least she still had her temper. Enjoying the exchange more than he had a right to, he angled a thumb at his chest. “Hey—you make a lot of money off me.”
Emily folded her arms in front of her. “Not today, since I assume you are here to collect on my promise of free food for however long you want it.”
Was it possible that the feisty, inimitable Emily McCabe was actually depressed? Dylan didn’t want to think so, but there was something different about her eyes.
“I’ll have the chicken-fried steak meal with all the vegetables you got, biscuits, a strong pot of coffee and two glasses of water, to start. We’ll see about dessert later.”
Their fingers brushed briefly as Emily took the menu and insert back. Dylan wondered if she’d thought about their kisses as much as he had last night and today. Not that it mattered, he told himself, since it wasn’t going to happen again.
“And be sure you bill me for every last morsel,” he added sternly.
Emily arched a delicate eyebrow.
He looked her square in the eye. “No lady pays my way.”
Emily laughed out loud, ready to challenge him on that and a few other things. “So now you’re calling me a lady?” Her bow-shaped lips curling in an appreciative smirk, she pocketed the order pad in her apron.
That was a lot less dangerous than calling her “his woman.” Dylan figured they both had to know that.
He worked to get their conversation back on its usual smart-aleck track. “And a hothead. Not to mention a damn fine