his face in his newspaper. She wished another man would follow suit and not give her so much attention.
Sam considered it part of his job as sheriff to learn about anyone new in town.
Any stranger would have aroused his curiosity. That sounded like a reasonable excuse for keeping an eye on the new waitress at Herb’s Diner as she scurried from the cook’s station with several plates of pancakes.
But Sam rarely lied to himself. His curiosity about a stranger only partially accounted for his interest in her. True, she looked out of place. Too classy-looking even in the brand-new jeans, snow-white sneakers, and the diner’s only concession to a uniform, a blue polo shirt.
She was a leggy woman with shiny auburn-colored hair caught back at the nape of the neck and held in place by a giant gold clip. She had an oval face, soft blue eyes, a straight nose, and a generous mouth. Plain and simple, the woman was a knockout.
Distracted by male voices raised in disagreement, he observed Morly Wells, sitting at a nearby table. A day didn’t pass without an argument about something between the retired postal worker and his best friend, Lloyd Guthrie. Sam listened for a moment to them, then shot a look at the clock on the wall above the counter. The girls were late. He thought about a half-finished quarterly statement on his desk that was due in the mayor’s office by the end of the week. He should be thinking about budgets and requisitions.
He would have been, but he looked up from the menu and saw Jessica Scott smile. Not at him, but an old-timer at the counter. Something slow moved through him. He was surprised by it though he shouldn’t have been. He’d always been a sucker for a sunshiny smile. But a long time had passed since a woman had really captured his interest. Not since a year and a half ago—when his wife had died.
The clatter of silverware on the floor made him look again in the direction of Herb’s new server. The woman had her problems. He saw her picking up the cutlery she’d dropped. While she walked with finishing school grace, she bordered on klutzy. She stopped before Morly to fill his coffee cup, and knocked over a glass of water. Morly jumped back before he wore it. She won’t last a week, Sam decided.
Crouching, Jessica gathered the silverware and dumped it on a tray. As she expected, she received the dishwasher’s glare. When had she gotten so clumsy, she wondered?
On a sigh, she turned around. Unable to put off the inevitable, she drew a deep breath and headed toward the first booth in her station, toward Sam Dawson.
“I see you got the job.”
“Uh-huh,” she murmured. Close up, Thunder Lake’s sheriff was something, with his sun-streaked brown hair. Faint lines crinkled from the corners of the bluest eyes she’d ever seen.
Again that deep, no-nonsense voice floated on the air. “Herb said you were here at daybreak.”
So he’d asked Herb about her. Her stomach clenched. “Yes.”
“Have you decided to stay?”
“I’m not sure.” Tensing, she tightened her grip on the pencil in her hand. She needed to be friendly, she reminded herself. “The people I’ve met have been really nice.”
“We try to be.”
Honest to the core about her feelings, she acknowledged the quickening of her pulse had as much to do with a male-female tug as nervousness. He unsettled her. He made her aware. All good reasons to keep her distance. “Would you like coffee?”
“Dying for one. My dispatcher at the office makes it so strong it tastes like motor oil.”
Breathe, Jessica, she berated herself. “We have good coffee here.” He knows that, Jessica. He’s a regular at the diner. “Guess you’ve had plenty of it.”
“Yeah, I have.” He presented a warm smile, a knock-your-socks-off smile, the kind meant to tingle a woman all the way down to her toes.
“Do you want to order now, too?”
“No, I’m waiting for others.”
She noticed he’d glanced at her left hand. For what? A wedding band?
“Have you been a waitress long?”
She lifted the water glass in front of him. “Oh, sure, for ages and ages.”
“That’s mine.”
Jessica stilled. “What?”
“That was my water glass.” He looked at it, then up at her and grinned. “But you can have it.”
She heard a hint of humor in his voice. Why? What was so funny? Frowning, she looked down. She didn’t need to see herself. She felt the warmth of a blush sweep over her face as she stared at the finger she’d stuck inside his glass. Silently she groaned. When she’d reached for the glass, she’d been thinking more about the gaze on her than what she was doing. What a dumb thing to do. “I’m sorry.” She shot a look at Herb, then back at him. “I’ll get you another glass.” She spoke lightly, even flashed a smile, hoped she sounded relaxed. “And your coffee.”
The sounds of two men engaged in a friendly dispute about what teams would play in the World Series this year made him look away. She used that moment to escape. She needed to stop acting so jittery. If he knew who she really was, he would have said something, wouldn’t he?
“I told you this might not work,” Herb said suddenly, falling in step beside her.
Was he already going to fire her? She wouldn’t blame him if he did. She’d dropped several orders of ham and eggs earlier that morning, nearly spilled water on a customer’s lap, and probably had caused a shortage of silverware during the diner’s busiest hour, sending all that had tumbled to the floor back to the dishwasher. “I’ll do better,” Jessica promised.
She wished the day was over.
She waited until he walked away, then snatched up the Tabasco bottle. On her way to the customer, unwittingly her gaze locked with the sheriff’s. Sympathy darkened his blue eyes. He knew just as Herb and anyone else did that she had no experience. Well, she wasn’t doing this by choice. She’d been forced into this situation.
Her mother had announced that she’d found her daughter’s perfect match in a handsome, dark-haired male named Ryan Noble. Furthermore, Jessica’s grandfather had raved about Ryan, his Golden Boy, the company’s most promising associate, and Jessica assumed she’d never convince them that their choice wasn’t hers.
All her life she’d tried to please her mother and her grandfather, done everything they’d ever asked her to do. When she declared she wouldn’t marry Ryan, an argument had ensued.
Her mother had delivered a steely command. “Ryan Noble is your grandfather’s choice. So he’ll be yours. Now, you need to meet with him, get to know him better, and stop this nonsense.”
Jessica had said no more. She hadn’t needed to race down the aisle of the church with the long train of her bridal gown trailing her. No wedding plans existed yet, and she’d vowed there’d be none.
She’d left the room, climbed the stairs to her bedroom, and packed a bag. After everyone went to bed, she’d left a note, saying she’d call shortly.
