Authors: Meg Benjamin
She blinked. Where on earth had that statement come from?
LeBlanc narrowed his eyes. “You interested in nudging, darlin’?”
She shrugged. “Maybe. Sometime. Right now I’ve got a wedding to plan. When can we go over the menus?”
“How about this evening, after everything clears out?”
Joe’s blue eyes seemed to darken. Kit felt her own pulse thump.
Danger, danger Will Robinson!
“Um…okay. You mean look at the menus here?”
“Nope. I usually get out of here as soon as I can.” He had that knowing grin again, the one she kept meaning to tell him was annoying.
Kit licked her lips, ready to explain that she couldn’t go to his house or his apartment or his trailer, wherever it was.
His grin didn’t falter. “How about we go catch some dinner at that tavern where Clem Rodriguez cooks? I’ve been meaning to check it out anyway.”
“You mean the Faro?” She suddenly felt slightly idiotic for assuming he was interested in anything more than talk. Hell, for all she knew he might not be interested in women at all, although given his grin, that was probably wishful thinking on her part. “Sure. That’ll be fun. I know the people there.”
“All right then. I’ll meet you there around seven—got to take care of some business here before I leave.”
“Okay, good.” She managed a grin that she hoped looked more friendly than relieved. “I’ll see you then.”
Taking Clayton Delaney to the Faro always made Nando feel a little like he was corrupting a minor. Tom had carded him the first time he’d come in, and he looked like he was considering doing it again.
Delaney, on the other hand, was having the time of his life. The Steinbruner brothers still hadn’t figured out that they’d never be able to beat him at pool, and Clayton was finishing off a bottle of Avery White Rascal and cleaning their clocks without a dip in his angelic smile. Once upon a time, Nando might have tried to lay a few side bets, but by now everybody in the Faro knew about Delaney, and of course only someone seriously near-sighted or incurably optimistic would bet on the Steinbruners.
He leaned back against the bar and took a sip of his beer, an IPA with a full body that tasted like you could spread it on crackers. “So where’s this one from?”
Tom shrugged, turning away from Deirdre reluctantly. “Colorado.”
Nando’s stomach gave a rumble, reminding him he hadn’t yet gotten dinner. “You got any nachos tonight?”
Deirdre narrowed her eyes. “We do dinner now, you know. Clem’s back there cooking up a full menu. If she finds out you ordered pre-made nachos instead of her chicken Acapulco, she’s liable to skin you.” She grinned up at him. “I can take your order back to the kitchen. Just tell me what you want.”
Tom scowled in her direction. “You’re not waiting tables anymore, Deirdre. You were up at five to open the roaster. You need to take it easy in the evening.”
“Yes, sweetheart, I got the memo.” She gave him a dry smile. “But this isn’t a table, it’s a barstool. And it won’t take me any time at all. What do you want to eat, Nando?”
He shrugged. What he really wanted was nachos, but he figured keeping the peace was worth a compromise. “A burger, I guess. That won’t get me in trouble with Clem, will it?”
“She’d probably rather serve you her chicken, but she still does great burgers.” Deirdre pushed off her barstool and headed for the kitchen.
Tom watched her go with an expression of dazed appreciation that Nando found vaguely annoying. “Why the hell don’t you just ask her to marry you and get it over with?” he growled.
Tom frowned. “I already did. We’re working on a date. What’s got your back up?”
“Nothing.” He took another sip of the IPA, wishing he had something lighter. His stomach gave a quick twinge. “Everything. Hell, I’d still rather have the nachos.”
“So what’s new with the bookstore break-in?”
“Nothing much. I guess they’re reopening next week.”
“So I hear.” Tom turned to fill an order for one of the barmaids.
Nando stared across the room again. Slow night. Nobody around. No Kit, anyway.
As if he’d conjured her up, Kit walked through the door, pushing the silken fall of dark hair away from her face. His pulse gave an unsettling thump, and he wondered if he should do anything about it. Like maybe go over and find a table for her.
She looks tired. Maybe she’d like a beer.
He started to move forward off the barstool, but she stayed standing in the doorway, peering around the room as if she were looking for someone.
A quick shiver moved down his backbone.
Looking for someone.
Maybe if he’d gotten lucky all of a sudden, she might be looking for him. It was always possible. He started to step forward again, as the door opened behind her.
The man who stepped inside was a stranger, a very large stranger. Well over six feet, muscled, wearing a loose jacket over a plaid shirt and slightly rumpled black pants. He had a well-trimmed beard and moustache, and his shaved head gleamed in the dim light of the Faro. Nando thought he saw the glint of an earring.
Kit glanced over her shoulder and smiled at the newcomer.
Nando felt the ache all the way to his toes.
What did you expect? You knew she’d find somebody. You knew it wouldn’t be long.
He knew, but he hadn’t let himself think about it much.
You knew it wouldn’t be you.
Yeah, that much he’d definitely known.
Tom leaned back on the bar, glancing toward the doorway. “Who’s that with Kit?”
Nando shook his head. “Never saw him before. Maybe he’s somebody she knows from the Woodrose.”
“Maybe. Clem might know.”
“Clem might know what?” Deirdre slid onto her stool again. “Your burger will be out in a minute.”
Kit and the big man moved across to a table at the side of the room. Nando fought the urge to check his ID, just on general principles.
“Who the guy is with Kit. Have you ever seen him before?”
Deirdre glanced at the side of the room, frowning. “No, not really.” She gave Nando a keen-eyed look that was too perceptive by half.
If he hadn’t already ordered a burger, he’d have headed out the door. As it was, he’d lost any appetite he might have had. “I should have ordered fries,” he grumbled.
“They come with the burger. Do you want me to find out who that is?”
He shrugged, doing his best imitation of indifference. “Whatever.”
Deirdre shook her head, letting him know his imitation hadn’t worked, and headed off toward the kitchen. Tom had busied himself at the other end of the bar. Nando wondered if his pariah status would last all night, or just until the guy’s identity was nailed down and people stopped worrying that he might pick him up on a fugitive warrant.
Not that he would. Not that he wasn’t tempted.
The kitchen door swung open and Deirdre headed back to the bar again, carrying a tray with his burger and fries. She gave him a questioning look.
He closed his eyes for a moment. “Okay, who is it?”
“Joe LeBlanc. The head chef at the Rose.”
Nando felt a momentary relaxing of the tightness in his chest. “So they work together.”
“Right.” Deirdre’s smile turned slightly wicked. “Of course, that’s what Tom and I used to do. Work together.”
He occupied himself with putting pickle and onion onto his burger. At least he wouldn’t have to worry about bad breath tonight. The only one who was likely to be around him was Guinevere, and she didn’t seem to notice what he smelled like.
He took a savage bite out of his dinner.
Joe made a quick survey of the Faro while he pulled out Kit’s chair. Good-sized main room. Pool tables at one side, carved mahogany bar across the opposite wall. Around twenty tables, and it looked like they had a large patio, maybe for performances when the weather was more reliable.
All in all, he was inclined to agree with Clem’s claim that the place was potentially a gold mine. Not that they did the kind of food that was his specialty, but it was the type of place where he liked to hang out after hours. He was as fond of a good burger as the next man.
Particularly when that good burger could be shared with a beautiful woman.
Kit Maldonado was, in fact, one very beautiful woman. The most stunning woman he’d seen in a long time. Dark curling hair that fell slightly below her shoulders. Eyes the color of strong coffee, with a faint almond shape. High, sculpted cheekbones and full lips.
He figured she knew how beautiful she was—how could she not? But she didn’t seem to be overly obsessed with it. She didn’t strike him as a woman who expected tributes, although she probably got more than a few.
He liked her. He’d like to get to know her better. He’d also like to know who the guy at the bar was who looked like he was wishing Joe instant death.
Judging from the way Kit avoided even a glance in his direction, Joe figured there’d been a relationship there at some point. It didn’t seem to be current, though. If it had been, he’d have backed off. He hated being somebody’s revenge fuck, not that it would be the first time that had happened.
Right now, he was just enjoying the moment, and the fact that he was interested in Kit Maldonado. He’d had a couple of years in the recent past when he wasn’t interested in much of anything beyond finding the ultimate white truffle and the ultimate hit of cocaine.
He sighed. “Normality. Ain’t it great?”
Kit’s brow furrowed, “What?”
He could have kicked himself. No point in dragging her into his drama, even if it wasn’t all that dramatic anymore.
The door to the kitchen flew open and a tiny brunette cyclone sped toward their table. “Joe,” the cyclone yelled. “Jesus, look at you!”
“Clemencia!” He wrapped his arms around Clem’s small waist when she got to his chair. Seated, he was almost the same height as she was. If he stood up, he’d have to bend over almost double to give her a hug.
She dropped into a chair beside him, running her hands through her short, spiked hair. At least she’d gotten rid of the neon-blue highlights she’d had the last time he saw her. She still had at least six earrings in each ear, though, plus another one through the eyebrow.
“So how are you?” She grinned at him. “You’re in luck tonight. I’ve got some ranchero sauce that’ll blow a hole in your palate. I’ve been serving it over chicken, but I can whip up some huevos if you want. Fresh queso fresco from a farm up by Mason.”
Joe grinned back. Clem had one of those contagious smiles that only a dedicated depressive could ignore “I’ve got a hard on for one of your burgers, darlin’. You think maybe you could put a little of your ranchero on that?”
She nodded thoughtfully. “Right. And a little quesco fresco on top. Then run it under the broiler for a minute or so.”
“Oh yeah. And then lettuce and tomato. Maybe some red onion…”
“Hey, I’ve got some roasted ancho chilies, too, just to give it a little bite.”
He nodded. “Maybe chopped up in the burger.”
Clem rubbed her hands together. “Yeah, it’ll work. If it doesn’t take the top of your head off, I might even add it to the menu.”
“Hell, even if it does, it could be worth it.”
Clem laughed again. “You want to come back to the kitchen and dish? You can dice the anchos.”
Joe shrugged. “Maybe next time.”
Clem glanced in Kit’s direction. “Hey Kit, I didn’t really forget about you, honest. You want a ranchero burger too?”
Kit shook her head, smiling. “Just a regular burger is fine. I need to get to sleep tonight, and I have a feeling that ranchero burger might fight me.”
“So what is this?” Clem turned her bright black gaze back toward him again, looking a little like a hungry grackle. “A date?”
Joe managed to keep his smile in place. “You do get to the point, don’t you Clemencia?”
She shrugged. “No time to be subtle. I’ve got burgers to fry.”
“We’re planning the menu for Allie’s reception. I got the event center, just like you suggested,” Kit said quickly.
A little too quickly, by his calculations. She seemed kind of eager to make their non-date status clear. All of a sudden he found himself wondering just how recent the relationship with the guy at the bar had been.
“Great.” Clem slapped a hand on the table. “Let me go fix you some food and then I can kibitz.” She pushed herself up in one quick motion, turning toward the kitchen as she did.
There was a beat of silence at the table after she’d left. “So how do you know Clem?” Kit asked, her smile a little too bright all of a sudden.
Joe shrugged. “From New Orleans. She was an intern at the hotel where I was chef, not in the same restaurant, though. We hung out together some.” Actually, it was more that Clem had hung onto him, or tried to. She’d done her best to stop him from sliding down to disaster, but it wasn’t a slide she could have prevented. Only he could have done that for himself.