your money, though I do appreciate the offer.”
When Leighanna arrived at five o‘clock, Hank was already behind the bar, shoving long-neck beer bottles into an insulated box filled with ice. His hair was wet and slicked to one side, and though it was obvious he’d just shaved, his jaw still carried a five-o’clock shadow. “You’re late,” he grumped.
Leighanna glanced at her watch. “It’s not even five,” she said in surprise.
Hank jerked his head toward a clock behind the bar, The clock, like the rest of the bar’s decor, had obviously been supplied by the beer distributor. A fake waterfall on the clock’s face spilled over a mountain stream, and neon lights above it blinked on and off, advertising Coors beer.
The hands on the clock pointed to 5:03.
Leighanna knew darn good and well that her watch was accurate because she’d set it by the radio that very morning, but she also knew it wouldn’t do any good to argue the point with Hank. Swallowing her retort, she quickly stored her purse on a shelf behind the bar. “I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”
“It better not.”
Though tempted to tell the man where he could shove his precious job, Leighanna bit her tongue and tied a towel around her waist. “What do you want me to do?” she asked.
Hank nodded toward the open room. “Take the chairs down and situate ’em around the tables, then check the salt and pepper shakers and make sure they’re full. After you’re done with that, you can chop lettuce and slice up enough tomatoes and onions to fill the bins there by the grill.”
Sure that there was more to her job then the tasks he’d named, Leighanna frowned in puzzlement. “Is that all?”
“Nope,” he said, and stopped long enough to shoot her a lazy grin. “But I know how you blondes are. I don’t want to send your brain into overload by giving you too much to remember.”
She knew he was baiting her, looking for any excuse to fire her before she ever started, and Leighanna refused to give him the pleasure. But that didn’t stop the sweep of anger that burned her cheeks. Marching across the room, she started jerking chairs from the tops of the tables and shoving them up underneath.
Though Hank continued to stuff beer bottles into the cooler, he watched her out of the corner of his eye. Damn fool woman, he cursed silently. Didn’t she know that silk didn’t belong in a place like his? The slacks and matching blouse she wore looked as out of place in The End of the Road as she did. And those shoes she had on! Nothing but a handful of thin leather straps. Her feet would be killing her by closing time...if she lasted that long. As he watched, one of the baggy sleeves on her silk blouse caught on a splintered rung of the chair she was struggling to pull down. With a cry of dismay, she dropped the chair and it fell to the floor with a clatter as she lifted the sleeve to examine the snagged fabric. A soft, pitiful moan slipped from her lips.
Hank’s blood heated in anger. He wouldn’t feet sorry for her, he told himself. Any fool would know not to wear something like that to work as a waitress.
“Careful with the furniture,” he snapped. “You break, you pay.”
Her head came up, her chin jutting imperiously as her gaze met his and held. He saw the anger, the frustration in those blue depths, but ignored it. He’d tried to tell her she couldn’t handle the job, but she wouldn’t listen. So now she’d just have to learn it the hard way.
He waved a hand toward the tables. “Better get moveing. You’ve still got those shakers to refill.”
Leighanna dropped the sleeve with an indignant huff and stooped to turn the chair upright. Shoving it under the table with a little more force than necessary, she started snatching shakers from the centers of the tables. By the time she’d gathered them all, she’d calmed somewhat. She tried to lift the tray...and realized too late that she’d overloaded it.
She stole a glance at the bar and saw Hank watching her. She could tell by the measuring look in his eyes that this was all some kind of ridiculous test, and he was just waiting for her to fail. Determined to prove that she could handle the job, she set her jaw and lifted the tray. Straining under its weight, she staggered across the room, then had to hitch the tray’s edge against her breasts for added leverage to raise it high enough to shove it onto the bar’s high, scarred surface.
“Better be careful,” Hank warned from the other side. “Or you’ll smash what little bit God blessed you with.”
Leighanna dropped the tray to the bar, her cheeks flaming, while salt and pepper shakers rolled crazily across its surface. Grabbing one before it toppled over the edge, she slammed it back down on the tray. “How much or how little God blessed me with is certainly no concern of yours,” she said indignantly.
Hank arched a brow, his gaze dropping to her breasts. “No, but I’ve got eyes,” he said, and grinned wickedly as he looked back up at her.
“Well, you can just keep your eyes to yourself,” she snapped, and marched behind the bar. Not wanting to ask the aggravating man where he kept his supplies, she searched beneath the counter until she found the commercial-size containers of salt and pepper. Dragging them out to the bar, she started refilling the shakers.
Hank decided that this new waitress of his looked pretty cute when her feathers were all ruffled. Unable to resist ruffling them a little more, he eased up beside her, not close enough to touch, just close enough to let her know he was there. He heard her huff of breath and bit back a grin as he picked up a salt shaker and slowly unscrewed its top.
“No need to get your panties in a twist,” he said mildly. “Some men like women with small breasts...I just don’t happen to be one of them.”
“Thank heaven for that,” she muttered under her breath.
Acting as if he hadn’t heard her, he poured salt into the shaker. “But some of the men who’ll be coming in tonight aren’t as selective as me. You might consider buttoning that blouse of yours up a little higher. You wouldn’t want them to think you’re advertising...unless you are, of course.”
Frowning, Leighanna dipped her chin to look down at her blouse. Her eyes flew wide when she saw that the tray had pulled one of the buttons from its hole, exposing a generous view of a lace covered breast, a view she knew Hank had already taken advantage of. Quickly she grabbed the plackets together and forced the button back into place. “Thank you,” she murmured in embarrassment, unable to look Hank in the eye.
Hank just chuckled and screwed the lid back on the shaker. “Don’t mention it.”
Leighanna was sure that he was doing it purposefully, just to fluster her, because everywhere she turned he was there, in her way, all but breathing down her neck.
“Don’t you have anything to do?” she finally asked in frustration as she pushed a knife through a plump, red tomato.
He just grinned. “Am I bothering you?”
Juice dripped from her fingers as she tossed the thinly sliced tomato into the bin...and their shoulders bumped...again. “Yes,” she said, and dug her shoulder into his and gave him an impatient shove.
“What am I doing that’s bothering
