to lose at least twenty pounds. So until he does, I guess we’re out of luck. With coconut, anyway. How about lemon meringue? Dad doesn’t like lemon meringue.”
“That’s a close second.”
“I’ll bring you a piece when you’re done.” Pete watched as she moved down the counter, checking on drink refills, laughing with the kids as she handed over checks written out on an old-fashioned notepad. Abby wore the same uniform every day from March through October—a white T-shirt, khaki slacks and running shoes. In the cooler months she wore a white button-down shirt and a dark blue sweater.
Year-round, though, she had nice, full curves that fired a guy’s imagination and got him thinking about something besides frozen pizza dinners eaten in front of the TV, or even the great food she served up at her dad’s diner. Assuming the guy had options in the relationship department, of course. Some did, some didn’t. After striking out at marriage—not once, but twice—Pete put himself very definitely into the second category. And so he and Abby stayed just friends.
She came back with the lemon pie. “Did you hear that Rhonda Harding has moved home from Raleigh?”
“Yeah? I thought she had a good job with one of the research companies up there.”
“She used to, but she and her husband got divorced and her mother’s sick.” Abby glanced at him, her green eyes crinkled in a smile. “Y’all were hot and heavy senior year.”
He shrugged and looked down at the soft peak of lemon filling on his fork. “I had to take somebody to the prom.”
“Maybe you can pick up where you left off. You’ve been living like a monk for a couple of years now, Pete. Time to explore the possibilities.”
“I am not a monk.” His cheeks had gotten warm. “I go out now and then.”
“With women like me—the ones you’ve known since kindergarten and think of as sisters. Not exactly high romantic adventure.”
“I do not think of you as a sister. And anyway, when was your last date, dear Abby?”
She took his teasing with a grin. “I just dish it out. You have to take it.”
“Yeah, right.” As he rolled his eyes, Pete caught sight of the clock over the counter. “Besides which, I don’t have time for—what was it?— ‘high romantic adventure.’ I race on the weekends and weeknights I’m at school with the REWARDS program. Can you put this pie in a box for me? I need to get set up before the kids start coming in at seven.”
“No problem.”
He was on his feet and thumbing through the bills in his wallet when the bell on the front door jingled. A single glance at the new arrival set him to swearing under his breath.
Her again. How bad could his luck get?
She’d pushed the sunglasses up on top of her head. Now he could see the deep blue of her eyes as she surveyed the crowded room, obviously searching for somebody. Not him, of course. Pete gave a second’s thought to the idea that he might escape out the back of the diner before he got caught.
Not a chance. Before he could move, she looked his way. And frowned. Mary Rose wasn’t any happier to see him than he was to see her.
That made him mad…and made him determined to talk to her. He put the cash for dinner down on the counter, stowed his wallet in his back pocket and headed across the room.
“Hello, there.” He had to stand fairly close to her to be heard over the noise, close enough to note the softness of her skin, the cute curves of her eyebrows. “Taking a tour of the old stomping grounds?”
The frown smoothed out into a tolerant smile. “Looking for my niece and nephew, actually. They were at the soccer game and said they were coming here afterward. I was talking to Lydia Gates and didn’t realize how much time had passed. But I’m supposed to get Kelsey and Trace home for dinner.”
“Hard to find anybody in this mob.” Was it his imagination that she smelled like honeysuckle?
“Especially with you standing right in front of me.” Mary Rose kept her smile steady, but she fully intended the insult. Having Pete Mitchell this close was interfering with breath and thought, with sanity itself. Damn the man, anyway. Why hadn’t he eaten at home tonight? Seeing him twice in one day was simply two times too many.
His dark eyebrows lowered as he stepped to the side. “Sorry. I’ll leave you to your search.”
“Thanks.” The tension eased a little as he moved toward the door. She turned around, pretending to look for the kids, but all she could really see was Pete’s face in her mind’s eye—the strongly set jaw, the well-shaped mouth, those serious silver eyes.
“Pete!” Abby Brannon held out a box from behind the counter. “You forgot your pie!” Her voice carried easily over all the noise.
Without seeing him at all, Mary Rose felt Pete hesitate, felt him appraise the necessity of brushing past her to get the box, then having to turn around to face her where she stood in front of the door.
“Keep it for me,” he shouted, his voice deep, a little rough. “I’ll pick it up tomorrow morning.” The bell on the handle jingled harshly as the glass door was opened, then swung closed.
Mary Rose drew a deep breath. Score one for our side. She’d managed to drive Pete Mitchell completely off the premises…a trick she’d never quite managed when it came to her heart.
AS USUAL, Pete got home late. Running the REWARDS program meant that he spent four nights a week at the high school. He rarely had a chance to relax before 10:00 or 11:00 p.m.
Even on a bad day, though, he didn’t begrudge the effort. Respect, Education, Work, Ambition, Responsibility, Dedication and Success—REWARDS—were the watchwords of his rehabilitation classes for juvenile offenders. He’d realized a long time ago that these at-risk kids needed somebody to draw the line between them and the life that would destroy them. A good group of volunteers in the police, sheriff and highway patrol offices joined him in standing that line.
He hadn’t exaggerated when he told Abby he didn’t have time for romance. Besides, he did have female companionship—Miss Dixie was sitting on the back of the couch, staring out the window with her tongue dangling, when he pulled up in front of the house. She disappeared when he hopped out of the Jeep and started down the walk, but as he reached the front steps he could hear the frantic squeals and pants and barks she used as a greeting.
As soon as he had the door open, the little beagle was leaping at his legs, almost as high as his waist. Grinning, he caught her up against his chest.
“Yeah, yeah, I hear you, Dixie, darlin’.” She licked his face up one side and down the other, with a couple of swipes at his mouth for good measure. “Yeah, I know it’s been a long time. I got off work late, couldn’t get home before class. But I’m here now, so you get yourself outside while I make you a little snack.”
At the back door, she wiggled out of his hold and headed with obvious relief for the far corner of the yard. In just minutes she was back inside, though, licking up the small scoop of food that was her reward for a day spent all alone, slurping at her refilled water bowl. Business taken care of, Pete pulled a bottle of beer from the fridge and went out onto the
