Worth The Wait

“Be sure to cut our grass, too, before you take off.”

With a wave, Colt headed to his incredibly messy room, so messy, in fact, that it kept him from being too perfect. Not that Diesel minded. He tended to sprawl on the piles of discarded clothes.

Smiling, Hogan wondered how he’d gotten so damn lucky. Lucky, at least when it came to his son.

He grabbed his keys and helmet, yelled a goodbye to Colt and headed out the door to his bike. The late-August evening hit his face like an open oven.

As he rode, the sweltering air tore across his face and he loved it. Sure, he’d first gotten the bike to indulge some idea of being a rebel with a “fuck you” attitude, as if that could make up for the past year of hell. He was over that now, mostly anyway, but he still loved the bike.

A few minutes later he pulled into the already-crowded lot of Screwy Louie’s, the town’s most popular diner. Accountant by day, Hogan thought as he strode in, barbecue master by night.

He stored his helmet and keys in a locker, found a stiff white apron and greeted the others who worked the evening weekend shift with him.

When he didn’t see Violet bustling about as was her usual preference, he stopped one of the waitresses. “Where is she?”

Knowing exactly whom he meant, the girl said, sotto voce, “Back office,” and added, “I think she’s sick.”

Frowning, Hogan started his massive grills so they could heat, took the racks of previously prepared ribs from the industrial refrigerators and then headed for the tiny office at the back of the building.

He and Violet had an understanding of sorts. He wanted her; she resisted. He didn’t make it easy on her, and she didn’t give him any leeway. So far, the cat and mouse game had been fun. He was still patient.

And still very determined.

It didn’t matter that he also worked for Violet; since this was a part-time job, not his career, the usual issue of mixing work with pleasure didn’t apply.

Grinning, he rapped his knuckles against the door and opened it.

With her rich red hair fanned out around her on the surface of the cluttered desk, Violet rested her head on her folded arms. Without looking up, she asked, “What do you want, Hogan?”

“How’d you know it was me?”

She tipped her face and one vivid blue eye peeked up at him through that fall of incredible hair. “Honey,” she drawled, “I know the sound of your walk, the way that you knock, and I know your scent.”

His brows lifted. “My scent?”

Sitting back with a grumpy sigh, she asked again, “What’d you want?”

Ignoring her mean mood, he said, “Besides you?” He heard her growl and his grin widened. “Why are you in here moping? Late night yesterday?”

“Yes.”

Before he could get jealous over that, she gestured at the scattered papers. “I fired my accountant, the miserable bastard.”

“Why?”

“None of your business. But now the accounts have piled up. I despise paperwork—you know that. I worked on it off and on all day yesterday and a big chunk of today, but I’m still not done.”

God, he loved her twangy voice, the way she drawled her words.

She gathered the papers together into a file and closed it, then stood to tuck it into an old metal file cabinet.

Her office was ancient and Hogan suspected her accountant’s ideas might have been, as well. Hesitating to overstep, or to take on more work, he asked, “Anything I can help with?”

“You already are, darlin’. Your ribs are a huge hit.” Using both hands, she finger-combed her hair into a high ponytail, then secured it with a cloth-covered rubber band that she pulled from her wrist. “I’m even looking into buying a special oven so you can keep it going through the winter months.”

Standing in the doorway, blocking her exit, he asked, “Who said I want to be here in the winter months?”

“You’re not stupid. You know you were born to do this.”

Since he’d recently thought the same thing, he said, “I don’t mind grilling in the snow.”

With a seductive smile teasing her lips, she sidled closer and patted his face. “If you ever decide to give up that stuffy shirt and tie during the week, I’d hire you full-time in a hot minute.” Her warm fingertips trailed down his neck, his chest and away. “Customers would love it, and I bet you’d make more in tips than you do sitting in an office.”

Paying no attention to the job offer, Hogan caught her wrist. “You just love playing with fire, don’t you?”

With her gaze on his mouth, she whispered, “You got those ribs ready yet?”

“I just got here.”

“Best get a move on, then.” She ducked past him.

Sometimes, Hogan thought as he watched her sashay away, Violet deliberately distracted him. Why? If she truly didn’t want to get physical, why taunt him?

He glanced back at that file cabinet and wondered again about her accounting.

An hour later he didn’t have time to think about anything except cooking. The orders were pouring in. Since they weren’t served during the week, it seemed that come Friday night and through the weekend, everyone wanted barbecued ribs. Standing just outside the restaurant, near the side of the building where Violet had added more outdoor seating, Hogan whistled and slathered on more of his special sauce. The heat of the day waned as the sun fell lower in the sky, bleeding over the horizon in shades of crimson, purple and sunflower yellow.

Until coming to Clearbrook, he couldn’t remember ever paying much attention to the sunset. He breathed deep of cooking meat, freshly mowed grass and humid air.

All around him, customers chatted and laughed, some sitting on picnic tables under shade trees, others using the metal tables and chairs under the overhang. After lifting three more racks onto a platter, Hogan rang a bell.

It was Violet, this time, who came to collect them.

Damp tendrils of her fiery hair escaped her ponytail and clung to her temples. Her flushed cheeks made the blue of her eyes even brighter. He’d already noticed the T-shirt she wore with Screwy Louie’s scrawled across her breasts and a pair of khaki shorts with tennis shoes. Now the shirt stuck to her in select places. Eyeing her toned and shapely legs, he couldn’t help thinking—

“We’ve got a real crowd tonight,” she crowed, sounding a little breathless but pleased with the action. “Keep cooking, sugar!”

What did she think he would do? Abandon his station? Giving a theatrical sigh, he said, “Chained to my grill. A man’s work is never done.”

She crossed her arms and cocked a shapely hip against the wall. “There are ladies out front, gossiping about you.”

Hogan quirked a brow while basting sauce over a slab of meat. “All compliments, I hope?”

“Suggestions, actually.”

He waited.

“These ladies want to see you grilling...shirtless.”