Page 8 of Waitress at the Shadow Ridge Inn
Before I knew it, CJ was right there, crouching before me and offering me a wad of bar rags. “You okay, Case?”
“I’m fine,” I muttered, which was only partially true. I wasn’t physically hurt, but I hated being the focus of so much attention.
The noise level had reduced significantly, and I could feel the eyes of everyone in the bar and lounge looking over to see what had happened. I kept my head down and concentrated on what I was doing.
I felt CJ’s big hand patting my shoulder—a surprisingly gentle touch for someone as large and scary as he was. Six and a half feet of solid, tattooed muscle, he managed to make even Lou look small.
He rose to standing and addressed the troublemakers. “Apologize,” he commanded in a deep, rumbling voice that sounded a lot like the Harley he rode. “Then, take your business elsewhere.”
“I like it fine right here,” the loudmouth said.
A hush fell over the lounge, and even I paused, wondering what would happen next. I’d never seen anyone openly defy CJ before. By the tense silence, I guessed not many other people had either.
“Jesus, Jim. Shut the fuck up, will you?” hissed one of his friends. Then, presumably to CJ, he said, “Sorry, man. We don’t want any trouble. We’ll go.”
“Fine,” Jim spat. “The service here sucks anyway.”
Their chairs slid back.
CJ placed himself in their path. “Aren’t you forgetting something? Apologize.”
“Sorry, man,” the same guy repeated.
“Not you. Him. And not to me. To her.”
The jerk looked at me, then at CJ, then back at me. I could see him weighing his options. “Sorry,” he muttered, proving he had at least a few working brain cells.
CJ made sure they found the exit without further issue. Conversations resumed almost immediately. I breathed a sigh of relief and went back to cleaning up the mess.
“Here, let me help.”
His voice reached me first, low and smooth, sliding over my skin like dark silk. Then his scent. Fresh, crisp air, sweet hay, and a hint of something masculine and spicy. Sandalwood or cedar maybe.
I didn’t look up right away. I already knew who it was. Steve Ziegler. The man with silky chestnut hair and incredible hazel eyes. Broad shoulders for days and forearms that gave me a serious case of the tinglies when he rolled his shirtsleeves back. Talk about arm porn! All the Ziegler brothers were sinfully handsome, but Steve was the only one who made my heart beat faster upon sight.
Which was exactly why I stayed far, far away from him whenever possible. Except he came into the inn nearly every day for lunch.
He’d say something like, “Hi,” or, “What’s the special today?” or something equally innocuous, and I’d get weak in the knees.
“Casey, right?”
I wasn’t surprised that he knew my name. People couldn’t suddenly show up in Shadow Ridge, decide to stick around for a couple of weeks, and expect to remain under the local radar.
I nodded mutely.
“I’m Steve. Steve Ziegler.”
I didn’t respond.
“I was afraid something like this would happen,” he said, dropping a few broken pieces onto my tray. “I’m sorry. That guy was a jerk.”
I did look at him then. And promptly forgot to breathe. This close, I could see that I’d been wrong about his eyes. They weren’t just hazel. They were liquid waves of green and brown with gold flecks. Flecks that flashed in the lights of the bar, hypnotic and beckoning. For a long moment, I couldn’t look away.
My only thought:If I had a type, he was it.The perfect combination of rugged and rakish.
Then, he smiled, and my eyes dropped to his lips. They were some fine lips. Full. Soft-looking. Supremely masculine. One side lifted slightly higher than the other, I noticed. His breath smelled of cinnamon, and suddenly, I had a powerful urge to taste those lips. Maybe nibble on them a little. Dip my tongue inside and experience that sweet spiciness.
I needed to get a grip.
