She saw movement in the shrubbery when she walked by. Her heart jumped with fright until she recognized the boy from her English class—Logan somebody.
Eyeing him critically when he stepped onto the sidewalk, she took in his unkempt appearance: dirty, dark brown hair, parted in the middle, hanging in his face, down to his chin.
Actually, if he had a decent haircut, he could be kind of fly, but his clothes are so yesterday. Nobody wears green camo cargo pants anymore, plain old sneakers, and a faded, green t-shirt. Loser, for sure.
He kept his head down, shoulders hunched, as if trying to avoid looking at her.
Annoyed by her fear, her voice seasoned with anger, she said, "You're Logan, from my English class. Why are you always watching me when I come home? It freaks me out. Why don't you say hello in class instead of sneaking around?" A mosquito whined around her face. She slapped at it, angrily.
"You wouldn't like it. Girls don't say hello to me. Especially girls like you."
Is he chirpin me?
"What do you mean 'girls like me'?"
"You're pretty, or at least you were, until you started looking like that. Everybody'd laugh at you if you got caught talking to the class geek."
The comment on her looks rankled her. What's more, he thought she was a snob, and that griped her. "That's majorly stupid. Why do you think that?"
"Because you hang with Ashley Simmons and her wimpy minions. They think I'm a nerd."
Well, yeah, if he went around using words like 'minions,' like he read a lot of books or something.
Ashley could be really mean to people she considered beneath her; her two friends, Madonna and Tiffany, always followed suit.
Sarah decided that it wouldn't cost her anything to be nice, and besides, David said she should make new friends, although she was pretty sure this isn't what he meant. Holding out her hand, she smiled, and said, "Hello. I'm Sarah Graham."
Blushing heatedly, he took her hand. "Hello, I'm Logan Biesterman. I live down the block, three houses from you."
"So there, you don't have to watch me anymore." Then, without any idea why she even thought such a thing, she added, "Maybe sometime we can walk home together." She couldn't believe she said that. It would definitely not be cool to be seen walking with the school nerd.
He looked at her, clearly astonished. "Yeah," he said, then took off running, like a startled deer, down the street.
Weird. Why would he run off like that just because she said she'd walk home with him? He should be grateful.
Shaking her head, she went up her front steps and into the house.
Five o'clock Tuesday evening, and Lindsay was running late for the Soup and Bread Supper. The parking lot had filled by the time she got to the high school. She had to park a good distance from the cafeteria entrance, where a crowd congregated around the doors, waiting for them to open. Judging by the numbers, the supper was going to be a success.
An obviously distraught Caro spotted her as she entered the lobby. "Lynn, thank heavens you're here. I need someone who can make change without a calculator, to handle money at the door. Can you believe these kids don't know how to count change? So help me, it's going to become part of the math curriculum on Monday."
Lynn laughed. "Calm down, girlfriend. The pros have arrived. How much are we charging?"
"An even five per person for all the soup, bread and dessert you can eat. Under twelve: two fifty." She handed Lynn a metal box, and motioned to the card table set up in the hall, by the door to the cafeteria. "Here's change: ones, fives, tens, a roll of quarters, and a hand stamp for when they pay. I have a separate line and another stamp for advance ticket purchases.
"Wait until you see the food. We must have at least two dozen different soups, all kinds of home-baked bread and rolls. We had to set up another table to hold it all.
"Oh, by the way, the Kensington donated salmon chowder and sent our favorite waiter to serve it." She nodded her head toward a long table near the wall, which held a huge, silver soup tureen. D.G., dressed in formal waiter attire, handled the crowd with perfect ease.
Lynn sighed, admitting to herself that he was the first man to gain her attention in a long time. He even turned her thoughts to dating, but she resisted. Getting involved with summer help always proved to be a bad idea. She'd had to remind herself of that again and again the last few days.
At the oddest times she'd recall his hands and the way his slender fingers caressed each plate and cup. Would he take the same care with a woman?
She sighed.
Lord, girl, what are you doing?
"Lynn? Are you all right?" Caro's voice sounded concerned. "I thought we lost you there for a minute."
"I'm okay. Busy day downtown. I need to focus." She looked over the room, rapidly filling with diners. Volunteers had skirted all the serving tables with white cloths and added centerpieces of fresh greenery and flowers. Customers lined up eagerly at the food stations, smiling and laughing.
"We're going to do well tonight." Taking her seat, she started selling tickets.
Because the Soup & Bread Supper was one of Eureka Springs's most popular annual fund-raisers, people got there early, before the good stuff ran out. Business was brisk at the door. An hour passed before Lindsay could take a break and get her own dinner. She left the tickets in the hands of a student, took all but a few dollars change, and took the rest to Caro to put in the safe, then headed for the soup table.
D.G. presided over the elegant tureen, serving a line of eager customers with deft precision. He welcomed her with a smile as she approached.
Did she imagine it a little warmer than the one he offered to the rest of the crowd? Obviously he remembered her. Did that mean he hadn't heard or had forgotten her rant on roaming men? Okay, she'd be friendly, as though she'd forgotten it, too.
"I hope there's enough bisque left for a starving volunteer." The grin he gave her nearly stopped her heart.
"I think I can manage two more bowls. Grab some butter and rolls and find us a place to sit. I'll join you."
Pleased beyond reason, and not about to wonder why, she assembled a plate of bran muffins, dinner rolls and cheese sticks, and took it to a table, D.G. right behind her, carrying a tray laden with bowls of soup and iced tea. They settled together comfortably to share the meal.
Lynn smiled, trying for casual, because her insides were melting from his warm gaze. "I've been hearing raves about this bisque for the last hour."
He grinned, pleased. "I volunteered to make it. One of my special recipes. Unfortunately, I had to use canned salmon, but it turned out well."
"You cook?"
"Oh, yeah. It's a serious hobby. I've always wanted to be a chef since I was a kid. Years ago I thought I might want to own a restaurant, but now that I know what's involved, I think I'll keep it a hobby."
"Good decision. I have friends who own restaurants in town. They're always dealing with some disaster. Either the ice machine has gone on the fritz, the line cook didn't show up, or the hostess had a fight with her boyfriend and stayed home to cry her eyes out."
Playing the game, he added, "Or the dishwasher quit to go play guitar in Nashville. In a small restaurant, the dishwasher is your most important person; if he gets behind, the whole place comes to a screeching halt."
She relaxed, enjoying herself. He really was a nice guy. "The Kensington appears to be well managed. How does it compare to where you've been before?"
His smile disappeared, morphing into wariness.
What did she say? Surely she'd made an innocent remark, although she'd hoped it would open the door to learning more about him. The compelling attraction she felt bothered her. Weird sensations she could do without roared around in her gut. Deciding to forge ahead, she began seriously fishing for information.
"Have you been a waiter very long?" The flash of annoyance in his eyes was way more than she expected, but surely he'd worked at something besides waiting tables.
His expression held a lot of suspicion. Of what? What did he suspect?
What now?
"Did I say something wrong?"
He regarded her knowingly, with unmistakable disappointment. "I've done a lot of things, traveled around a lot—you know—not staying long in one place." He paused, gesturing with a bread stick, and then, a calculating look in his eye, said, "I don't do a whole lot of planning for the future."
A sardonic wink sealed the message. He had heard her cutting remarks the other night at the Kensington and remembered every word. The unspoken end to the sentence: 'so don't bother.'
The direct insult hit like a bucket of cold water in her face. It left her speechless. The arrogant jerk had been waiting for the opportunity to set her up for this.
He lounged back in his chair. The smug, satisfied smile on his face stung. The expression said plainly he lumped her in with all the other fawning females who couldn't resist his gorgeous body by coming on to him. Conceited pig. Would she never learn? Anger flared white hot. His sarcasm cut her more than she wanted to admit. Glaring at him, she leaped to her feet determined to escape with her dignity intact, any idea of spending more time with him long gone. It took all her effort to still the quaver in her voice while the hurt threatened to overwhelm her.
"Mr. Martin," she began, her voice hoarse with emotion, "My question was neither an attempt to violate your privacy, or belittle your choice of employment, nor was the friendship I extended to you tonight anything more than an offer of hospitality to a newcomer." She noted, with satisfaction, the dismay on his face.
Good.
She continued, still furious, "Be assured, you are absolutely in no danger from me. I had no wish for anything but casual conversation." More embarrassed than she had ever been in her life, she looked up and saw Janine coming toward them, under a full head of steam. Wonderful. He deserved this.
Vengefully, she said, "Ah, here comes someone you'll enjoy meeting. You two have a lot in common." As Janine approached, Lynn said, "Well, isn't this fortunate? I was just telling Mr. Martin that you were someone he should know, and here you are."
Janine took in the scene at a glance. Her smile was mindful of a cat, anticipating its next mouse.
Lynn smiled sweetly at his expression of suspicious alarm. "Mr. Martin, this is Janine Waller, a friend of mine. I suspect you might have similar interests. Well, I'll leave you two to get acquainted."
D.G., chagrinned, returned her smile, acknowledging she had won this round handily. Obviously, he remembered Janine, because his farewell glance promised retribution. So who cared? The man was so full of himself; he deserved every bit of his fate. She stalked off, leaving her unfinished soup behind.
For the rest of the evening her brain was muddled with mixed feelings bouncing around like demented Ping-Pong balls. He was a conceited ass. He was gorgeous. His shoulders, hips, even the hair on his arms made her knees weak when she looked at him. She was done with him.
Please God, she didn't want this to be over. Oh, yeah? Fat chance. For sure he's not used to being told off like that. He'll never come near again.
It didn't help to remind herself that men only wanted sex from a woman—all they ever thought about. D.G. Martin stuck in her head and she couldn't get rid of him.
Helping with the cleanup and avoiding him kept her occupied until time to close. She picked up her cloth and pail of soapy water, and started wiping down the tables.
"Why does the guy from the Kensington keep looking at you?" Caro had come up behind her while she worked. "You know, our waiter from the other night?"
"I went over to say hello and he invited me to eat with him, but when we were seated, the first thing out of his mouth reminded me of my comments at dinner the other night about the kinds of men I didn't like. He was rude, so to get even I introduced him to Janine."
Caro laughed. "I'll bet she made an impression. He must have escaped, because I don't see her around. I'm surprised she hasn't taken him home."
"I think he got away from her pretty quick. He's probably watching me because he hopes I'll come close enough for him to take another crack at me." She felt tired and dispirited. "I'm heading home after I finish this table. How did we do tonight?"
"Well, it looks like we may have cleared a little over a thousand dollars. Not bad. Hey, thanks for all the help." Caro walked off to check on the kitchen crew.
~ * ~
When David pulled up to the house the clock on the truck dash read midnight. The neighborhood was still. There were no streetlights to thin the blanket of darkness; no radios or TVs marred the silence—only a few crickets, still looking for a home for the winter, disturbed the peace with hopeful chirping.
Wandering around the kitchen, restless, unsettled, and not nearly ready for bed, he first checked on Sarah. Finding her asleep, he found a glass and a bottle of Australian Shiraz, one of his favorite wines, and headed for the back porch to relax.
October nights were cool enough to sit out after dark, the dry, late summer air blessedly free of mosquitoes. Settling deep into a cushioned chair, he propped his feet onto another one, and let the stillness of the night surround him.
Quiet, small town evenings were something he still had to get used to. No traffic roar, no sirens—just the noise of some raccoons, squabbling over a succulent prize they found down by the curb, near the trashcan. Tomorrow was trash day. Sarah must have remembered and put the cans out.
She was such a good kid. There must be something he could do to make the way easier for her, but damned if he knew what.
Before making this move, it never occurred to him how difficult it might be for Sarah to fit in to a place so different from what she knew. Hell, it should have, since he was always the one left out when he was her age, but years of practice had refined his social skills, easing his way to acceptance among his peers.