Shelby dropped her purse. Bile rose in her throat, but she forced it down. Had to get rid of the rat before some happy customer came tripping back here in search of the restroom, freaked and called the county board of health. If Bill saw this, he’d fire her. Last week someone had dumped a dozen dead cockroaches into her locker. Bill had seen those and written her up. The manager had been on her case because Natalie, the new owner, had disliked Shelby ever since high school.
Shelby found a black plastic garbage bag and gloves. The dead rat was out the door and into the Dumpster shortly after. As she washed her hands in the bathroom sink, Ann sauntered into the ladies room.
Ann stopped short and gave her a quizzical look. “You okay, Shel? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
No, a dead rat. “Just tired.”
Her friend dabbed on fresh lipstick and touched up her hair. “Well, I’ve got something to put the spark back in your tank. Sexy-guy alert, table nine. Panty-melting hot.”
“Takes a lot more than sexy to dissolve my underwear,” Shelby joked back.
“You need a life,” her friend said with a good-natured grin. “Or don’t wear panties at all. Want to grab a drink after work at the Tipsy Cowboy?”
Ann had a brazen attitude, bleached blond hair and wore her skirts too high, but she was the best friend Shelby ever had.
“Rain check. Dan’s wife is babysitting Timmy as a favor and I don’t want to be late.”
Ann patted her shoulder. “You work too hard, hon. Let me know if I can help in any way.”
The kindness nearly made her dissolve into tears. Ann had boarded her horse at the Belle Creek, giving the ranch much-needed income, even if it was only rough board and not full. Shelby smiled. “You’ve already done enough, hon. I’ll be fine.”
As her friend left, Shelby realized the dull throbbing behind her temples had turned into a fierce headache. She stashed her purse behind boxes of sanitary napkins in the employee lounge and headed back onto the floor. Maybe the rest of the night would be uneventful. Please let it be calm, please...
The devil himself sat at table nine.
She forgot to breathe, forgot the dead rat in her locker. Forgot who she was. Good thing she wore a brass tag with her name on it. Time rolled back in a fog.
That kiss, those sinfully sexy eyes, smoldering at her as he lowered his mouth to hers...
You never forgot your first kiss. And no woman who still had a pulse ever forgot Nick Anderson.
Dark blond hair curled at the ends as it rested against the collar of his black shirt. He wore it longer now, and he was thicker in the shoulders and chest. He was a man now, instead of the teenager he’d been when she’d sobbed and told him to get out of her life. Still had the same languid grace as he relaxed back in the imitation-leather booth, his dark gaze scanning the restaurant with the same cool, searing intensity displayed ten years ago. Nick looked hungry, as if he needed a good meal...or a bad woman.
Already the dynamic inside the Bucking Bronc had changed. Female waitstaff sashayed instead of scurried and the men stood a little taller. No one here could best Nick’s six feet three inches. Or his mouth...
Two men stopped by his table and chatted. Nick’s heroism as a former Navy SEAL was a source of pride in these parts. She overheard a few invite him to sit with them and pay for his dinner, but Nick politely refused.
He must be back for his dad’s funeral. She’d been so busy trying to find ways to save his father’s ranch, she’d almost forgotten he existed.
Almost.
Shelby took her order pad from her apron. Tonight she had to have a steel backbone. Forget the honey-sweet flower attitude. The man deserved pure vinegar.
Be courteous. The pencil nearly snapped in her tight grip. “May I take your drink order?”
He turned. Soft light from the overhead lamp put the angles of his face into sharp relief. Shelby bit back a gasp at the jagged scar carved on one angular cheek. It looked as if a vicious animal had torn his skin apart.
It made him no less handsome; indeed, it made him look more ruthless and dangerous.
Nick dropped the guarded expression, replaced it with a heavy-lidded assessment. “Shelby Stillwater. You are a lovely sight for weary eyes like mine. What are you doing here, darling?”
At sixteen, the compliment would have thrilled her. Now she was older and wiser to his charms. “I’m working. And you?”
Nick’s gaze shuttered and a slight tension rippled through his muscled body. “I returned for the funeral.”
His Deep South accent was barely noticeable. And this Nick was different. Still charming and suave, but something lurked beneath the surface. Not the scar—Shelby dismissed that, for she’d never let such superficial markings bother her. But shadows lingered in his dark eyes.
“Nice of you to finally come home. Too bad you were too late to say goodbye to your father.”
His expression darkened. “Soon as Dan found me and contacted me, I was on my way back here. I dropped everything because he was sick.”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” she said in a gentler tone. No matter if Nick didn’t care when Silas fell ill, the man was still his father.
He gave a rough nod.
“Where are you staying?” She didn’t want to be polite to this man, who’d broken her heart ten years ago when he’d pushed her aside like the boys in high school who called her “trailer trash.” But Nick was Silas’s son, and for the sake of honoring his dad, she’d mind her tongue.
Long as he didn’t kiss her again. Your tongue wouldn’t mind that, huh?
Shelby told her dancing female hormones to get lost and mentally recalled the dead rat. Worked wonders for lowering a libido.
“At the ranch.” Nick stretched an arm along the booth as he watched her.
She managed to conceal her surprise. “I’m sure your cousins will be happy to see you.”
Nick’s gaze turned hard. “Doubt it. Dan and Jake won’t want me around long.”
She blinked in surprise. “You’re always welcome, Nick. You were the one who left.”
Everyone in town knew how Silas and Nick had clashed like two stubborn bulls in an arena, while Dan and Jake got along with the old man just fine. Shelby didn’t understand how Nick could leave home and only return for his father’s funeral.
Her parents had been drunks, and when they left town, Shelby barely noticed. But Nick came from a long line of solid, upstanding Barlow denizens. Andersons had served on the town council for as long as anyone could remember, and the Belle Creek had been an icon in the community for years, sponsoring 4-H competitions and Little League teams.
Something flickered behind his dark gaze. “I’m ready to order. Why don’t you sit a minute, take a load off? You look as if you’ve been running ragged.”
Pride struggled against the need to do exactly as he said. Weariness won. Shelby perched on the edge of the booth and put her pad on the table. Best not to show how much her hands shook, let him know his raw animal heat could still affect her, like a blast furnace. “Thanks.”
“Where are you laying your head at night these days, darling? Apartment in town?”
Nick’s deep, smoky voice made the question sound sinful and inviting. Shelby tapped her pencil against the battered order pad. “Silas converted the space above the garage into an apartment for myself and Timmy.”
The scar on his cheek turned white as his jaw tightened. “Timmy?”
“My