A busboy appeared with a trash bag and hand broom. When Sam cupped a hand on her elbow, Kiera pulled away. “I’ll finish here,” she said anxiously, still picking up chunks of broken plate. “I can help with those tables, too.”
“Not necessary.” Sam wrapped his fingers around her arm, tighter this time, and pulled her up. “Come with me.”
Every bone in her body, every cell, vibrated in protest. Terrific. Just what she needed. One more lecture. He released her arm and turned away. Because she didn’t want to make a scene—again—she followed Sam through the restaurant, down a hallway of offices, then outside to a shaded back alley.
An air conditioning motor whirred and blew hot air over her feet; in the distance, church bells chimed the three o’clock hour.
She lifted her chin, prepared herself to be fired. A perfect end to the perfect day.
“What happened in there?” he asked.
“I tripped.”
He frowned at her. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re a lousy liar?”
Trey, she thought. And Alexis and Alaina. But she sure as hell didn’t need this man telling her. Still, common sense overrode defiance, and rather than speak she pressed her lips firmly together and stared blankly at him.
“You didn’t trip, Kiera,” he said evenly. “I was watching you. Something spooked you.”
“Maybe it was you watching me.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “Do I make you nervous?”
“It’s not unusual to be nervous when the boss is staring at you.”
“You have an interesting way of avoiding a direct answer to a direct question.” He studied her face. “Do I make you nervous?”
Yes, dammit, she thought. But she had no intention of admitting it. She glanced over her shoulder. “I really should be getting back to work.”
“You turned white as your blouse when you looked at Rand,” Sam replied, ignoring her comment. “Do you know him?”
“Rand?” she asked calmly, but her heart skipped a beat. Sam had obviously seen her staring at the man who looked so much like Trey. “Who is Rand?”
“There you go again.” Sighing, he shook his head. “Rand Blackhawk. He moved back to Wolf River a few months ago, got married. He’s rebuilding the family ranch outside of town.”
She gave him her best I’m-really-not-interested expression, but her heart was beating fast. “Fascinating story, but I’ve never seen him before.”
Sam moved closer. “But he looks like someone you know, doesn’t he? Someone you’re worried might find you.”
He was too close, not only in his estimation of her situation, but physically. Close enough she could see the subtle but fierce striations of deep brown in his irises, the web of lines at the corners of his eyes, the thick fringe of lashes. His scent was pure male, and the female in her reluctantly responded.
“No one is looking for me, Mr. Prescott.” For once, she could answer a question truthfully. At least, she prayed it was true. “Now if you’re going to fire me, then fire me. Otherwise, I’d appreciate it if you’d let me get back to work.”
He stared at her for a long moment, then stepped back. “I’ll speak to the chef. I know he can be difficult.”
She knew that Chef Phillipe would only dislike her all the more if Sam said even one word to him about her. “Thank you, but that’s really not necessary.”
Somehow she managed to walk away without stumbling or without looking back. In the employee restroom, she let out a long breath, shook off her jitters, then washed her hands and returned to her station. The spill had been cleaned up and Tyler had changed into a clean shirt and tie. His surly attitude, however, remained the same. He glared at her and gestured to a pitcher of iced tea.
“Refills at ten and twelve, miss grace, if you think you can manage without spilling anything.”
Enough was enough.
Narrowing her eyes, Kiera moved in close to the server, stuck her face nose to nose with his and pressed a fingertip against his bony chest. “My name is Kiera. Got that? Kiera. Next time you call me anything else, next time you insult me, next time you even look at me with disrespect, you’re going to be wearing more than a few scraps of lettuce and barbecue sauce.”
Smiling, she smoothed a hand over the startled server’s clean tie, then turned and picked up the iced tea. Red-faced, Tyler moved out of her way.
So much for keeping things low key, she thought while she refilled glasses. Rand Blackhawk. She glanced at the man now sitting in a booth with a pretty redhead, then quickly looked away before she did something stupid.
Too late, she thought with a sigh, then watched Sam walk back into the restaurant.
Way too late.
Three
With the Fourth of July only two weeks away, the town of Wolf River had already tuned up to celebrate. Red-white-and-blue bunting adorned the two-story brick storefronts down Main Street, patriotic slogans welcomed tourists, posters announced an upcoming rodeo and carnival. The holiday would bring in tourists from across the country and locals as far away as Houston.
It might be a small town, but it was a busy small town.
And growing every day, Sam noted as he strolled down the sidewalk. On Main Street, the city council had carefully kept Wolf River’s country charm through strict building ordinances, but off the main drag they had slowly allowed the big city in. Three-story office buildings, two fast-food restaurants, a small water park, a multiplex theater and the most recent addition, a country-western dinner house with live entertainment and nightly line dancing. Sam had heard the rib-eye steaks were as thick as a phone book and tender as warm butter. He made a mental note to check it out for himself soon.
“Gonna be a hot one,” Fergus Crum said dryly. The old man had been pushing a broom across the sidewalk in front of the hardware store, but he stopped and rested his arthritic hands on the broom handle when he spotted Sam coming his way.
“Come by the bar after work,” Sam said as he passed. “Have a cold one on me.”
“I’ll do that.” Fergus was never one to turn down a cold beer. Or any beer, for that matter. “How ‘bout some of those onion thingies, too?”
“You got it.”
Sam nodded at a local rancher coming out of the barbershop and the man touched the brim of his cowboy hat. Even though Sam knew most of the locals, he didn’t come into town very often. He had no reason to. Most everything he needed he could get at the hotel. Food, clothes, even a car. He had few personal possessions, considered them a hindrance when it was time to pick up and move on. He kept his life—professional and personal—simple.
Exactly how he liked it.
His two-year contract with the Four Winds had been up for two months now. Clair had been pressing him to sign a new one, but he’d put her off. He figured it was about time to start putting out feelers for his next job. His entire life, he’d never lived more than three years in one place. He had no intention of breaking that record any time soon.
“Hey, handsome, where you headed?”
Sam smiled when Olivia Cameron pulled her sleek red Camaro up to the curb alongside him. The stunning redhead owned Vintage Rose, one of the antique stores in Wolf River and she’d also done the interior design on the lobby in the Four Winds.
He leaned into her open car window and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “On my way to the courthouse, gorgeous.”
Her green eyes sparkled. “You