But Josie was standing in his freaking parking lot.
“I’ll give you one shot,” he called. She stopped and turned to face him. Her full lips formed a smile and her eyes shone with triumph.
“A trial shift,” he added. “If you can keep up with a Thursday-night crowd, I’ll consider giving you a job.”
“Thank you,” she said.
“Come back around four. And don’t get too excited. Your babysitting experience won’t help with a room full of college kids counting down the days until spring break.”
He closed the door and turned to face the dark interior of his father’s bar. Giving her a shot didn’t make him a hero. But it would give him a chance to figure out why she needed the money.
Chapter Two
BY FIVE O’CLOCK, Josie had learned one valuable lesson in cocktail waitressing—wear cowboy boots, sneakers, or flats. Even flip-flops would have been better than the two-inch black high-heeled strappy sandals she’d selected for her first shift. The shoes matched her fitted black shift dress. The low-cut neckline was designed to entice without screaming, Hooters, here I come!
But her feet ached.
Noah—the man she’d dreamed about throughout her teenage years, transitioning those innocent what-if-he-asks-me-out scenarios to X-rated daydreams after their ride on his mechanical bull five years ago—moved behind the bar, pouring beers and mixing drinks.
She headed to the waitress station and keyed in an order. Thank goodness Big Buck had upgraded to computers when they took out the bull. She hit enter, heard the ticket print behind the bar, and turned to scan the room. College students milled about the space, filling the booths and high-top tables. But the dance floor with its large stacks of speakers remained empty. Noah had told her the music would start at 9pm. A Seattle DJ was spinning tonight and another bartender would arrive then too.
She glanced at her future boss—well, he would be if she passed the trial without kicking off her heels and running around barefoot taking orders—and caught him grinning from ear to ear. “There’s your smile,” she murmured.
Noah twisted the top off a beer bottle with his bare hands. He held the drink out to a man with movie star looks wearing a Moore Timber T-shirt.
“Planning to visit the range anytime soon?” Noah asked, only he wasn’t talking to the man who oozed charm as if it were a habit he couldn’t quite break. Noah had turned to the woman with the cover-girl-ready face and long blond hair on the stool beside him.
“I’m always game,” the man jumped in. “But I’m not ready to move beyond the viewing area.”
“Safest place for you and the dog,” Noah said with a laugh. He’d picked up the drink ticket and was mixing the college students’ fancy cocktails while he spoke. “Where is Hero tonight?”
“In the truck for now,” the woman said, her smile fading. “When it picks up a bit, I might bring him in if that’s OK with you. I have his service dog vest.”
“Hero’s welcome here, Lena. Anytime.” Noah offered a soft smile. “If you’re planning on sticking around, you’ll want to get him soon.”
“Thanks.” Lena looked relieved. “Josh is meeting us here after work. He ended things with Megan.”
Josie studied the woman’s model-like features and tried to remember if they’d met five years ago when she’d lived in the Willamette Valley. She came up blank. But the charming man, flashing Lena a grin designed to lead to the bedroom—she knew him. He was older than her for sure. But that smile . . .
“My brother claims he wants to settle down,” the familiar man added. “And Megan made it clear she wasn’t interested in long-term. Beats me why she stuck around this long if she wasn’t.”
“Chad,” the picture-perfect Lena, who needed a service dog in crowded bars, said.
She was still a mystery, but hearing that name, Josie remembered.
Chad Summers.
Half her high school class had had a crush on him. She knew girls who’d driven over to Independence Falls just to watch him play pickup baseball games in a field. She’d been too busy mooning over Noah. And later, Travis Taylor, the boy she’d mistakenly believed could fill the good-guy-football-hero void in her life. Except Travis failed the good-guy test when he’d unleashed his temper on her instead of saving it for the field.
“First step to keeping your job,” Noah said, walking over to the service end of the bar and setting down the filled drinks. His smile had vanished. “Stop drooling over the customers.”