Rodeo Father. Mary Sullivan

back stiffened as though maybe he’d offended her. Note to self. Don’t show this woman pity.

      “I’m peachy,” she said, struggling to smile, but tense lines bracketed her mouth.

      The sexy good humor he’d found so attractive this morning had crawled home to bed early, leaving behind an exhausted shell.

      Someone called from another table. “Rachel, we need another round here.”

      “Be right there, Lester.” She rushed to the bar and placed their order, returned with Travis’s beer, then disappeared into the back. A minute later, she returned with a freshly rinsed mop and finished cleaning up. Then she hurried to the bar and picked up a full tray of drinks.

      Head spinning from the whirlwind, Travis asked, “You worry about her at all?”

      Cindy sighed. “Yeah, I do, but she chose to marry a lazy loser. Whatever trouble she’s in, she brought on herself.” She pointed a French fry at him. “Before you start thinking I’m heartless, I took her back in after her husband died.”

      “Shame he died. Man, that’s tough.” He couldn’t imagine how hard it would have been for his sister if her husband had died before Colt was born.

      Cindy nodded. “I babysit her daughter when she’s working.”

      “Except for tonight.”

      “I needed a night out.” He’d put her on the defensive.

      Careful to keep censure out of his voice, he asked quietly, “There are no friends coming, are there?” She’d assured him she was meeting people, and he was welcome to join them. The woman had misrepresented the evening.

      “No.” She smiled with the barest hint of hope in her eyes. “Being out with me isn’t so bad, is it?”

      “No, it isn’t.” Which was mainly true. Cindy had a lot of perky energy. “I gotta be honest, Cindy. I’m not looking for romance. I just need to get settled in. This isn’t an official date.” He softened it with a smile. “It’s good to be out on a Friday night with a pretty woman, though.”

      Mollified, she sipped her drink.

      Just after he’d taken a bite of an excellent charred bacon double cheeseburger, a hand settled onto his shoulder. It belonged to Artie Hanson from the auto shop.

      “Brought the keys to your truck.” He dropped them onto the table in front of Travis’s plate, axle grease ground into every crack and wrinkle of his clean hands. “It’s sitting in front of the shop.”

      Travis had phoned Artie to make sure the mechanic could finish the work by tonight so he’d be spared the ride home with Cindy. He liked to be independent.

      Travis swallowed. “That’s great, man. Thanks.” He reached for his wallet. “How much do I owe you?”

      Artie waved it away. “Boss lets me off duty on Friday nights.” The man laughed. An inside joke. He owned the shop. He could set his own hours. “You going to be in town on the weekend? Stop in and settle the bill then. Or on Monday.”

      Artie clapped his back and walked away.

      “Is he always so trusting?”

      “Most people in this town are.” Cindy’s tone was only half admiring. The other half sounded resentful to Travis’s ear, but he wasn’t about to ask why.

      While he ate, his gaze roamed the bar. He stopped when he realized he was keeping an eye on Rachel.

      She’s no concern of yours.

      It seemed that the habit of caring for others, after years of taking care of Samantha, was ground into him. Quit it.

      He’d finished his burger, wings and onion rings, all while Rachel’s steps slowed and her face grew paler.

      Not your business, man. Let it go.

      He couldn’t. He fought the urge to help. It didn’t matter. Guess he’d spent too many years taking care of his younger sister to see a woman go so far into a bad case of hurt without helping her. He had to do something.

      He excused himself and walked to the bar where he squeezed in between two old guys drinking whiskey. Behind the bar, a beauty hustled to fill drink orders. This town sure had a lot of pretty women. A mass of curly blond hair flowed down the bartender’s back to her waist.

      “Hey, you’re Travis, aren’t you?” she asked. Laughter lurked in her china-doll blue eyes. At his surprised look, she answered his unspoken question. “It’s a small town. Everyone knows your name by now. I’m Honey, by the way.”

      Ah. The owner.

      Friendly smile as well as pretty. Nice. He handed her a twenty. “Can I order a burger or something for Rachel? She needs a break.”

      Honey’s gaze sought out Rachel. Her lips compressed.

      “She still hasn’t stopped? Honestly, that girl. Talk about being stubborn.” Honey removed a towel from her shoulder and tossed it onto the bar. “I told her to take a break well over an hour ago. If she’s not careful, she’ll hurt my future godchild.”

      While Travis went back to the table, she slipped from behind the bar into the back hallway.

      “Honey’s gone to get Rachel some food,” he told Cindy. He figured he should explain why he’d left.

      Cindy cocked her head to one side. “You’re a nice man, aren’t you? That was a real kind thing to do.”

      Since he’d told her it was good to be out with a pretty woman, Cindy’s mood had mellowed some. The second gin and tonic helped, too.

      A guy got up from the bar and walked behind to pull mugs of draft and fill orders while Honey was gone.

      “Who’s that customer who’s serving drinks now?” he asked Cindy.

      She checked out the bar. “Cole Payette. He likes to help Honey sometimes.”

      “I hope I didn’t get Rachel into trouble with her boss.” He finished his beer.

      “Honey’s her friend,” Cindy said. “She won’t fire Rachel.”

      A few minutes later, Honey returned to the big room with an order of chicken fingers and fries and handed them to Rachel. She pointed to Travis, probably telling Rachel who’d paid for them.

      Rachel shot him a look full of brimstone. Oh, shit. Clasping her hands behind her back, she refused to take the plate from Honey. The gesture made her stomach stick out a mile.

      She stormed over to their table. “I don’t know why you think you can tell me when I should be eating. I can figure out my own breaks.”

      “Sorry, I—”

      “Of all the paternalistic, presumptuous things to do. I don’t need your charity. Go buy dinner for someone else.”

      He shot his hands in front of himself, palms out. “I didn’t mean to offend,” he said. “You’re looking more exhausted with every step. Considering how early it was when I saw you at the carousel this morning, you’ve put in a long day already and this bar doesn’t close for another few hours.”