Page 16 of 7 Days and 7 Nights

“Just fine, darlin’. Head looks kind of like a bowling ball to me, but my Darcy’s real proud of him.”

“That’s great.” JoBeth fought off a brief stab of envy at Darcy’s good fortune. “You tell her to bring that boy in here soon. I want to have a look at him.”

“You know I will.”

Whipping her order pad out of the front pocket of her starched white apron, JoBeth pulled a gnarled pencil from behind her ear and moved on to the next table.

“Hey, Homer, Myra. You gonna have the fried chicken today?” She scribbled out their ticket and slipped her pencil back behind her ear as she contemplated the white-haired McCauleys holding hands in their favorite booth. JoBeth tried to imagine herself and Dawg snuggling in a corner booth somewhere thirty or forty years from now, but the picture just wouldn’t come.

Blinking back tears, she swapped the coffee pot for a pitcher of sweet tea and leaned over to pour the elderly couple’s drinks. “You leave some room for dessert now, you hear? Ina made her strawberry rhubarb pie today.”

With calm precision, JoBeth worked her tables, taking orders, refilling drinks, chatting up the regulars. There was comfort in the routine tasks, satisfaction in the occasional appreciative glance sent her way. Her fortieth birthday had come and gone, but L’Oreal kept her short red curls free of the evil gray intruders, and she liked to believe that the fine lines now radiating outward from the corners of her eyes lent character to what she’d always thought of as a too-cute face. Smoothing a hand down her hip, she paused to straighten her apron and give herself a pep talk.

There would be life after Dawg Rollins, just as there’d been life during those long years of caring for her parents, and life after they died.

She had lots of good years ahead, years she could spend on herself now, if she chose. Plenty of time to get the college degree she’d always dreamed of and to turn the small house she’d inherited into a cozy home. If Dawg didn’t want to be with her while she did those things, she’d do them alone or take Dr. O’s advice and find someone who didn’t just say he loved her but proved it. Someone who wanted to have a child with her before it was time to check into a nursing home.

The bell on the front door jangled, and awareness crept up JoBeth’s spine. Even before she turned to look, she knew it was Dawg. Her heart raced like it always did at her first sight of him, but she made a point not to show it.

Why, after three years together, the big lug still made her palms sweat and heart pound, she didn’t know. Earl Wayne Rollins, Jr., looked like what he was: an aging ex-linebacker with a profile created at the bottom of a ten-man pileup. His blond hair, shot through with gray, was in full retreat, and his athlete’s physique had begun to lose its battle with middle age.

JoBeth wiped her palms on the short skirt of her uniform and stood her ground as he approached.

“JoBeth."

She managed a polite nod before forcing herself to turn and go about her work, but she breathed a small sigh of relief when he had the good sense to bypass his usual seat in her section.

From the corner of her eye, she watched him chitchat with Jackie at the register and say something amusing to Emmylou at the counter where he took a vacant stool.

JoBeth frowned. Dawg sure didn’t look like a man who’d lost the love of his life. And he sure as hell didn’t appear to be nursing any broken heart.

JoBeth’s fingers clenched on the handle of the iced tea pitcher as Emmylou batted her eyelashes at Dawg and leaned across the counter to display her double D’s.

When Emmylou turned and strutted her stuff back to the kitchen, Dawg’s eyes were practically glued to the blonde’s behind.

Putting down the pitcher, JoBeth walked through the counter opening, brushing past Dawg. Without a word, she opened the pie case, yanked the strawberry rhubarb off its shelf, and cut two large slices for the McCauleys, leaving the remainder on the counter. Emmylou served up Dawg’s Mile High Burger, with a wide toothy smile on the side.

The big lummox winked and tucked into his burger, unaware of how close to death he’d strayed. He chewed with relish for a while, then put down his burger to take a big swig of tea.

JoBeth delivered the McCauleys’ desserts and came back to face Dawg across the counter, the strawberry rhubarb in front of her.

“Hi, JoBeth. You’re looking mighty fine.”

“Feeling fine,” she lied. “Never felt better.”

They studied each other, taking silent stock, and she felt her damned heart kick up again. Her insides went all warm and soft under his regard, and her pulse skittered just beneath her skin. Unconsciously, her hands wrapped around the pie plate.

“Aw, hell, JoBeth.” His voice was quiet and full of a lot of things she couldn’t put a finger on. “When are you going to get over all this marriage nonsense and come on back home?”

"’Scuse me?”

“The house is empty without you.”

JoBeth swallowed. She wanted to take Dawg’s head and cradle it against her bosom. Or slam it against the wall. It was a difficult choice.

“Don’t you talk to me about empty. I’m about as alone in this world as it’s possible to be right now. But I’m not looking for company. I want someone to share my life with. In my book that requires a Justice of the Peace.”

“Now, JoBeth, if you’d just calm down and come on home, I’m sure—”

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