RaeAnne Thayne - Currant Creek Valley

Instead, he tightened his grip and leaned his head down to her ear and whispered a filthy suggestion. She decided she didn’t have any sympathy left for Corey and hoped like hell his wife had taken every penny of whatever the Angel of Hope had given the family when she made her way out of Dodge.

“Let go. Now,” she said firmly but Corey ignored her.

Nobody else at the bar seemed to have noticed her predicament, probably assuming it was just a warm chat between old friends. She was trying to figure out whether he would even feel a sharp elbow shoved into his slight beer belly or if she would have to knee him hard where it counted when another voice intruded.

“The lady said no, I believe.”

She shifted her gaze and knew she shouldn’t be so glad to see Sam Delgado standing next to them in all his rough-edged, ex-Army Ranger glory.

She totally had this and didn’t need rescuing, but it was still really, really nice of Sam to step in.

Corey turned his red-rimmed eyes in Sam’s direction. “Mind your own business, asshole,” he slurred.

Sam’s expression didn’t change. She might have thought it almost apologetic, if she didn’t glimpse the hard steel in those dark eyes.

“Technically, this is my business. I’m afraid Ms. McKnight is my date.”

Something in Sam’s tone, his massive size or his deceptively casual stance seemed to pierce Corey’s alcoholic stupor. It was fascinating to watch his bluster trickle away like beer out of a cracked bottle.

He pulled his arm away. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “I didn’t mean anything. Alex and I are old friends, aren’t we, Al?”

She said nothing but Corey didn’t seem to need a response—or maybe was grateful she didn’t offer one.

“Talk to you later,” he mumbled and ambled away with his drink.

Not the most auspicious beginning for their evening together. How was she supposed to put things back on a fun, casual footing now after he rescued her from being pawed by a drunk and disorderly high school classmate?

“Sorry I’m late,” Sam said. He didn’t offer any explanation other than that and she had the odd feeling he was troubled about something.

“No problem. You’re here now. That’s the important thing.”

Oops. That came out more flirtatious than she intended. Apparently it was a hard habit to break.

He looked around The Speckled Lizard, with its high tin-stamped ceilings, the long, gleaming bar and the dark-paneled woodwork carved in elaborate designs.

“Any chance the grill is still open? I haven’t had time for dinner.”

The nurturer in her wanted to take him home and cook something delicious for him, but that sort of offer would almost certainly be misconstrued.

She was hungry, too, she suddenly realized. One of life’s little ironies, that she spent all night cooking for others and sometimes didn’t take time to eat, herself.

She glanced at the clock. “The grill here stays open for ten more minutes. I happen to know the cook, though, and I bet we can persuade her to keep it warm a bit longer. They have really excellent burgers. You can have beef, bison or beefalo if you want.”

“Beefalo? Is that anything like a jackalope?”

She laughed. “Nope. Cross between bison and beef. It’s actually quite good.”

“Think I’ll stick with beef, if it’s all the same to you.”

“Give me a couple minutes and I’ll get you fixed up.”

She headed back to the kitchen, waving to Pat as she went, then found the irascible Francesca Beltran in the small galley kitchen, all three-hundred pounds of her.

“Hey, Frankie.”

“What you doing in my kitchen, baby girl?” She was so round, her only wrinkles were around her eyes.

Alex grinned. “Got me a friend who’s hungry. I know you’re probably ready to wrap things up. Any chance you’d let me throw on an apron and burn us up a couple burgers?”

She narrowed raisin-black eyes. “I was just about to clean the grill.”

“He’s really hungry, Frank. Come on. Please? He’s been working hard all day building my kitchen at the new restaurant. If I can’t cook for him here, I’ll have to take him to my place to feed him and who knows what will happen then? I can’t do that. You know I’m a nice girl.”

Frankie’s deep, full-bodied laugh always made her smile.

“Yeah, yeah. Okay. Make it fast.”

She grinned and kissed the woman’s cheek, threw a spare apron over her clothes, washed her hands and went to work.

Ten minutes later, the result was two perfectly cooked burgers, spiced just right and the buns toasted. Frankie deigned to drag them through the garden for her—one of her favorite diner slang terms for topping it with condiments—and even added some of The Speckled Lizard’s signature crisp, fresh-cut fries.

She carried them out and found Sam sitting at a quiet booth, a bottle of one of the local brews open in front of him.

“Sorry about the wait. I had to sweet-talk the cook. She can be a little territorial about her grill.”

“You cooked this?”

She knew she shouldn’t find such satisfaction from the surprise and, yes, delight in his eyes. “Frankie’s great, don’t get me wrong, but I have my own preference when it comes to my burgers.”

“I really didn’t mean to put you to work.”

She slid into the booth across from him and picked up her napkin. “I was hungry, too, as you can see. Anyway, I like to feed people. It’s kind of a thing with me.”

As a relatively self-aware woman, she didn’t need months of psychotherapy to explore the reason. When she was a girl, she had loved cooking for her whole family but especially for her dad. As the youngest girl, she had been the proverbial apple of her father’s eye. They had bonded over grilled cheese sandwiches and pancakes at first and as she’d gotten older, she had expanded her repertoire and tried new things, always to gratifying raves from her father.

She had figured out a long time ago that she was compelled to feed people in some vain hope of making them love her enough to stay this time.

Not that she wanted Sam Delgado to stay anywhere. Sometimes a meal was simply a meal, right?

He took a bite of the burger and an expression of pure bliss crossed those rugged features. “I do believe that just might be the most delicious thing I’ve ever tasted.”

She laughed, pushing away all thoughts of her childhood. “Oh, you poor man. If that’s the case, I have so much to teach you.”

The burger was good, she had to admit, with the bun toasted just right, the flavors of meat and good sauce harmonizing together perfectly.

He took a few more bites, concentrating all his attention to the meal. She didn’t mind. She did love a man who knew how to enjoy his food.

Finally he set the second half of the burger down as if he wanted to prolong the pleasure and wiped at his mouth. “So, Alexandra, what do you do in Hope’s Crossing besides cook very delicious burgers?”

Very few people called her Alexandra anymore. In school, all her teachers had used the full version of her name, as well as the principal, with whom she had been entirely too well acquainted.

Then later Marco had also used her given name, during their time together. In his heavily accented English, her name had sounded exotic and extravagant.

To everyone else, from her family to her wide circle of friends to the men she dated, she had been just plain Alex as long as she could remember, though her mother still sometimes went for Alexandra Renee when she was exasperated with her.

She liked the way Sam said her name and decided not to correct him.

Cooking was who she was, what she did, so it took her a moment to figure out how to answer him.

“I like to cross-country ski and snowboard,” she finally said. “I just bought my first house a few months ago and I’ve been fixing it up the way I like it. Nothing of the scale you do, of course, just new paint, furniture, that kind of thing.”