Authors: Unknown
“You’re probably right,” Darla said. “The only thing he’s interested in from a woman is a little action.”
They all laughed. Flo choked on a biscuit, and Patricia came close to performing the Heimlich on her. They managed to pull themselves together for about thirty seconds, then, fell into another fit of laughter.
“Excuse me, ladies,” a male voice said. Sam Ballard was standing at the pickup window wearing a frown. The women had been laughing so hard, they hadn’t heard the bell over the door announcing an arrival. “There’s a customer out front who would like pie and coffee.”
“Oh, Lord!” Darla said, getting up right away. She hurried through the swinging door leading from the kitchen to the dining room.
“That man takes life too seriously,” Patricia said as Annie cleaned the remnants of hers and Darla’s lunch. “He needs to lighten up.”
When Annie returned to the dining area, she found Sam sitting at the counter discussing business with the customer who’d wanted the pie and coffee. He was going to town on a slice of pecan, even as his gaze flitted to Darla every few seconds.
Darla smiled at Annie in such a way that Annie knew something was up, she just didn’t know what. She wet a cloth and began wiping off the stools at the counter. Sam and the man finished their business and shook hands. Sam looked at Darla. “How ‘bout giving Tom a coffee refill,” he said.
Darla smiled. “My pleasure.” She reached for the pot.
“That was the best pecan pie I’ve had in a long time,” Tom told Darla. “Tastes just like what my mother used to bake.”
“Why, thank you, Tom,” Darla replied in a syrupy voice. “I baked it myself.”
“No kidding?”
Darla fluttered her lashes. “I bake all the pies here.”
Annie turned her head so the customer would not see her smile.
“Wow,” Tom said. He looked at Sam. “You’ve got yourself a helluva waitress here.”
Sam nodded. “Yes. They threw away the mold when they made Darla.”
“I’ll bet you bake those biscuits too,” Tom said, leaning his elbows on the counter.
“As a matter of fact, I do.”
Sam nudged Annie. “This is when Darla does her best work,” he whispered. “You might want to take notes.”
The corners of Annie’s mouth twitched. “Even as she watched Darla, she could not help noticing how nice Sam smelled. His aftershave had a light musky scent that made her want to get closer.
“Note the body language,” he said. “She’s leaning slightly forward, chest thrown out, one hip thrust to the side. If I tried that; I’d end up in traction.”
Annie giggled in spite of herself. Darla’s eyes drifted toward them. She gave one wink and went back to her business.
“Note her tongue sliding in and out,” Sam went on, “flitting across her full bottom lip. Keeping it moist,” he added. “You know what the poor guy is thinking.”
“She’s quite good,” Annie said.
“Also, she touches his hand from time to time as if to emphasize something she is telling him. The poor guy doesn’t stand a chance.”
“But what about Bo?” Annie asked.
“This is business,” Sam says. “It has nothing to do with Bo.”
“Aha, he’s reaching into his shirt pocket for his business card. Asking Darla to call him sometime,” Sam added. “And now the grand finale. He’s going for his wallet . . . he’s taking out a bill. I’ll bet you fifty cents it’s a ten spot.”
“I don’t know,” Annie said. “That’s a pretty big tip for pie and coffee. I’m thinking more like five.”
Darla took the money, gave Tom a huge smile, and tucked it in her apron pocket. The man almost tripped over his own feet as he made his way out the door.
Sam and Annie waited for Darla to say something, but she did not look their way. She cleared Tom’s dishes and wiped the counter, all the while humming a tune. Flo and Patricia watched from the ticket window.
“Okay, Darla,” Sam said, “what’d he leave you?”
Darla looked offended. “A waitress never discusses her tips.”
“Annie and I have money riding on it.”
“So do me and Patricia,” Flo said. “And neither of us appreciates you telling him you make the biscuits around here. You don’t even know how to make canned biscuits.”
Darla gave them a coy smile. “I’ll give you a hint. We would not have the light bulb if it weren’t for this man.”
Sam sighed heavily. “Thomas Edison invented the light bulb, Darla. He’s not pictured on any currency.”
Darla shrugged. “That’s correct, Sam, but Thomas Edison would never have been able to invent the light bulb had this particular gentleman not discovered electricity with his kite-flying experiment.”
Sam and Annie looked at each other, stunned. “Benjamin Franklin!” Sam whispered. “That’s a hundred bucks!”
“I want to take waitress lessons from Darla,” Annie said. She walked away, swinging her hips from side-to-side as she’d seen Darla do; only she gave an exaggerated effort.
Flo and Patricia whistled and clapped, Darla offered her a high-five. Sam swallowed hard. It was going to be a long shift.
Chapter Seven
I
t was shortly before eight o’clock when Darla told Annie she could leave early. Business had been so slow that Annie had already cleaned her station, wiped down the booths and tables, filled the condiments, as well as the salt and pepper shakers, and cleaned the laminated menus with vinegar and water.
“There’s no need for both of us to stay,” Darla said. “Weren’t you planning to pick up a few things at the grocery store?”
“Yes,” Annie said, “but I’m in no rush. Besides, I’m sure Bo would love it if you came home early.”
“He’s having dinner at his mama’s tonight,” Darla said. “He’ll be by for dessert later so I won’t be alone since I told Sam I would close tonight. Go on and take care of your errands while it’s still early.”
“That’s sweet of you,” Annie said, “but you have to promise to let me stay one night so you can leave early.”
“Okay, deal.”
Annie clocked out, changed into her jeans, and was on her way a few minutes later after pulling her bike from the trunk of Darla’s car.
As Lillian had told her, most of the streets were lit up with old-fashioned lampposts, which made it easy for Annie to find her way, and the fact that Lillian’s house was only ten minutes from the restaurant was an added convenience. But instead of pulling into the driveway at Lillian’s, Annie passed it and headed in the direction of the grocery store. She was thankful Kazue’s bicycle had a basket on the front; it would certainly make grocery runs easier.
#
Sam quickly closed his office and climbed into his Jeep as soon as he saw Annie leave the restaurant on a bicycle. He knew he had no business following her home. For one thing, she was an adult, perfectly capable of finding her way. Secondly, she was taking a safe route. She would not be traveling down back roads or dark alleys, and only a complete imbecile would accost her right on Main Street, one of the most heavily patrolled areas in town.
So why the hell was he following her?
Not that he wasn’t enjoying the view. Each time she rose slightly off her seat to pedal harder, he caught sight of her perfect behind. He was tempted to get closer but didn’t for fear of being discovered. Finally, disgusted with himself for what he was doing, he slowed and turned on his blinker. He needed to go home and stop thinking about Annie Hartford. But just before he was to turn, he saw her pass Lillian Calhoun’s house. He frowned. Where was she going? Had she accidentally missed her turn? He could not imagine anyone getting lost in Pinckney, but Annie’s mind was probably running in a dozen different directions. He turned off his blinker and drove on.
Annie pulled into the parking lot of the Piggly Wiggly supermarket some minutes later and attached the bike to a metal bicycle stand using a rubber-coated cable and combination lock that Kazue had provided. She went inside the store, grabbed a shopping cart, and immediately forgot about the limited space in the bike’s basket. Upon checking out, she discovered she had purchased more than she’d planned.
Of course, the basket was larger than most and would hold a lot. She would just have to stack ‘em high and ride back to the garage apartment slowly.
From across the parking lot, Sam watched Annie come out of the store with a loaded cart. He frowned. Now, how the hell did she expect to get all those bags into the basket on that bike? He sighed. Women did the damnedest things sometimes.
Annie positioned her cart beside the bike, opened the lock, then straddled the bike and began loading the sacks into the basket. By the time she put the fourth bag in, she was having serious doubts as to whether she’d be able to get home with them. What had she been thinking?
Annie mentally crossed her fingers for good luck and began to pedal. She could feel every heavy item she’d purchased—the half gallon of milk, a box of laundry detergent, two whole frying chickens because they’d been on sale, not to mention the large pack of hamburger meat that she planned to divide and wrap for the freezer.
And a whole lot more.
She struggled to keep the bike upright, but it wasn’t easy considering she was on a hill. No wonder the trip to the store had been so easy. She vaguely remembered coasting down the incline. The front of the bike had a tendency to pull left. She decided she must’ve put most of the heavier items on that side.
She didn’t hear the pickup truck come up behind her, but when her bike drifted toward the center of the road, the driver laid on his horn, scaring her half to death. The front wheel veered far left, and Annie tried to right it, but she overcorrected and lost control. The bicycle went down; she and her groceries along with it. She winced as her right knee and elbow scraped asphalt, then, she skidded down the hill some twenty feet before coming to a stop. Her right ankle yowled. Annie did not know if she had twisted it or broken the darn thing; pain was pain. When she glanced up, she found a mess; cans rolling down the hill, eggs broken with the yellow oozing from the carton. A can of soda pop spewed in her face.
Suddenly a car screeched to a halt on the road above her, and she prayed it wasn’t a cold-blooded killer because there was no way she could run. The next thing she knew, Sam Ballard was standing over her, holding a flashlight.
He shook his head sadly. “I’ll be generous and give you an eight-point-five on that fall.”
Annie blinked back tears of frustration and embarrassment. “Very funny, Sam,” she said. He got down on his haunches, and even though she was hurting, Annie had to admit he had very nice haunches.
“Hey, are you okay?” he asked, his voice genuinely concerned.
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
Sam tried to avoid an outright lie. “I saw you come out of the Piggly Wiggly with enough groceries for a family of four. I was afraid you were going to have trouble getting back to your apartment.”
“You were spying on me,” she said.
“I prefer to use the word
observing.
Are you hurt?” he asked. “Do I need to take you to the ER?”
“I think I sprained my ankle, but I don’t need to go to the hospital,” she said. “I’ve got a couple of scrapes, nothing life-threatening.”
“I’ll help you to my car, then, I’ll try to chase down your groceries.”
“All of my plastic bags are torn.”
“I’ve got bags in my backseat that I’ve been meaning to return to the Piggly Wiggly’s recycling can. “Okay, let’s get you vertical.” Using great care, he pulled her to a standing position, but the minute Annie put weight on her right foot, she gave a yelp, threw her arms around him and shifted her weight onto her left foot.
“Perhaps we should rethink the ER,” Sam said, even though he liked the way Annie’s body felt against his.
“I know it’s just a sprain,” she said, “because I once sprained my ankle playing tennis, and it feels exactly the same. If we go to the ER we’ll be there half the night. They’ll take an x-ray, tell me it’s not broken, then, wrap it and send me home.”
“Yes, but they will probably give you really good drugs for the pain.”
“I’m more concerned as to how I’m going to get up a twenty foot hill,” she said.
“I’ll carry you.”
“I don’t know, Sam. It’s pretty steep.”
“Good thing you’re just a little runt. Put your arms around my neck.” Annie did as she was told, and Sam swept her up. “Okay, hang on,” he said and started up the incline. It did not take long; he put her in the front seat of his Jeep. “I’ll try to hurry so we can get you home and take care of your injuries,” he said, and grabbed a number of bags from the back seat.
A car filled with teenagers sped by, and he yelled for them to slow it down before he noticed something in the road. He put it in one of the bags and carried it to the car. “I’m afraid those kids ran over your chicken.”
“No!” Annie looked like she might cry. “That is so sad.”
“It was already a goner, Annie. I promise it didn’t feel any pain.”
“I know, but it’s like the poor thing had to die twice.”
It took some time, but Sam finally managed to gather up the food items. Once he’d loaded the bags into his Jeep, he put the bicycle in back and drove toward Annie’s apartment. He parked out front, climbed out of the car, and hurried around to her side. “You got your house key handy?” he asked.
She handed it to him. He dropped it in his shirt pocket, then, without warning, scooped her in his arms once again. Annie protested. “You need to stay off that ankle,” he said.
“How am I going to work tomorrow?”
“Obviously, you’re not going to be able to, but let’s try to solve one problem at a time.” Once he reached the top of the stairs, he paused to unlock the door. He carried her inside, glanced around, and set her down on a chair, propping her leg on a matching ottoman. Her jeans were torn at the knee. He ripped them farther.
“Hey, these are my good jeans!” she cried.
“Hush. I need to get a closer look. Man, this is serious!”
Annie leaned forward. “How serious?”
“I might have to amputate.”
She pushed his hand away and took a look for herself. “It’s not that bad. I can slap on two or three Band-Aids and nobody will notice.”
“I wouldn’t be too sure about,” Sam said. “I’ve seen the way men look at your legs.”