Chapter One
“For you.”
Clay looked at the small blue plate placed in front of him, his usual scowl growing deeper. “I didn’t order this.”
“It’s a gift.”
Clay’s gaze snapped to the new waitress. He eyed the attractive blonde in surprise. “For what?”
She gave him a broad smile that made her green eyes glow bright and vibrant beneath her black-rimmed glasses. “For Thanksgiving,” she said, her voice soft and musical to his ears. “I saw you were eating alone, and I thought, that man needs a piece of pumpkin pie.”
“Oh.”
He glanced back at the plate, resisting the urge to gag. He swallowed hard, choosing instead to focus on the warm feeling in his chest. He was oddly touched by the gift, simple though it might be. With the exception of his best friends, Wyatt and Jules, this waitress was the first person in a very long time that bothered to do something nice for him without expecting him to sweat or bleed in return.
She turned to leave, but he didn’t want her to. He liked the pretty waitress with her sparkling eyes and thick hair wrapped up in a bun on top of her head that showed every color of blonde imaginable. He thought her glasses were charming and her figure was lush. Full hips, even fuller breasts, she looked sort of like a very huggable angel. The fluorescent lights framed her beautiful, round face with deep dimples that magically appeared when she smiled. Everything about her was soft and innocent in a way most of the women he knew would never be.
Without thinking, he reached out with lightning-fast reflexes. He grabbed her wrist before she could get too far, making her jump in shock.
Clay winced at her sharp reaction, knowing he was intimidating whether he wanted to be or not. “I’m sorry.”
“’S okay,” she said, her smile back, bright and happy once more. “I’m jumpy sometimes, but that’s not your fault.”
“I wanted to say thank you,” he said, trying very hard to put emotion in his usually gruff voice. “No one’s ever done this for me.”
“Bought you a piece of pie?”
“No.” He felt his cheeks heat, and he looked to the pie in an effort to hide. “Nobody’s just nice to me, for free, without, you know, expecting something for it.”
“Sweetie, you keep being sweet and I’m gonna have to buy your dinner, and between you and me, I can barely afford my own dinner, let alone feeding a big guy like you.” She squeezed his hand, making him realize he was still holding on to her wrist. “So you enjoy your pie. Happy Thanksgiving.”
Clay nodded his agreement and reluctantly let go. He bit his lip against doing something stupid like asking her on one of those dates real people had with flowers and candlelit dinners, or just simply blurting out he thought she looked like an honest to God angel in that waitress uniform.
Rather than gawk at the waitress, which was what he really felt like doing, he focused his attention on the pie, trying to decide if big bites would make it easier to choke down or small ones would lessen the impact.
He tried a small bite first as the chime of a bell signaled someone entering Hal’s Diner, one of the few places to eat in the small town of Garnet and the only one currently open on Thanksgiving. Despite the lack of choices for the holiday, Hal’s was still empty save a few bachelors.
Clay knew what lost soul had walked in without looking, and turned his focus back to the dreaded pie.
“Happy Thanksgiving, Sheriff.”
“Happy Thanksgiving, Judy,” came the upbeat, typically charismatic reply. “What does a hardworking sheriff have to do for a cup of coffee? Damn, but it’s cold out there. Where’s summer when ya need it?”
“Gonna be a nasty winter,” Judy agreed, sounding equally disheartened. “Take a seat. I’ll bring it to you. Are ya gonna catch a quick bite?”
“Sure, bring me whatever turkey special Hal’s dishing up. You know I can’t stay away from ya, darling. Having you serve me is always the highlight of my night.”
“Hush.” Judy laughed, sounding pleased. “You know I’m taken.”
“Tell Jerry he better spoil you rotten or I’m gonna steal you right out from under him.”
Clay rolled his eyes, deciding he’d rather eat pumpkin pie than listen to this shit. He was poking at it with his fork when a large, ominous shadow darkened his table. “Wyatt.”
“Is that pumpkin pie?” Wyatt asked, scooting into the booth seat across from Clay and tossing his hat on the table.
“So what if it is?” Clay frowned at his best friend, who was running a hand through his blond hair, forcing away the unnatural wave caused from his hat.