A Little Texas Two-Step. Peggy Moreland

that to work as a waitress.

      “Careful with the furniture,” he snapped. “You break, you pay.”

      Her head came up, her chin jutting imperiously as her gaze met his and held. He saw the anger, the frustration in those blue depths, but ignored it. He’d tried to tell her she couldn’t handle the job, but she wouldn’t listen. So now she’d just have to learn it the hard way.

      He waved a hand toward the tables. “Better get moveing. You’ve still got those shakers to refill.”

      Leighanna dropped the sleeve with an indignant huff and stooped to turn the chair upright. Shoving it under the table with a little more force than necessary, she started snatching shakers from the centers of the tables. By the time she’d gathered them all, she’d calmed somewhat. She tried to lift the tray...and realized too late that she’d overloaded it.

      She stole a glance at the bar and saw Hank watching her. She could tell by the measuring look in his eyes that this was all some kind of ridiculous test, and he was just waiting for her to fail. Determined to prove that she could handle the job, she set her jaw and lifted the tray. Straining under its weight, she staggered across the room, then had to hitch the tray’s edge against her breasts for added leverage to raise it high enough to shove it onto the bar’s high, scarred surface.

      “Better be careful,” Hank warned from the other side. “Or you’ll smash what little bit God blessed you with.”

      Leighanna dropped the tray to the bar, her cheeks flaming, while salt and pepper shakers rolled crazily across its surface. Grabbing one before it toppled over the edge, she slammed it back down on the tray. “How much or how little God blessed me with is certainly no concern of yours,” she said indignantly.

      Hank arched a brow, his gaze dropping to her breasts. “No, but I’ve got eyes,” he said, and grinned wickedly as he looked back up at her.

      “Well, you can just keep your eyes to yourself,” she snapped, and marched behind the bar. Not wanting to ask the aggravating man where he kept his supplies, she searched beneath the counter until she found the commercial-size containers of salt and pepper. Dragging them out to the bar, she started refilling the shakers.

      Hank decided that this new waitress of his looked pretty cute when her feathers were all ruffled. Unable to resist ruffling them a little more, he eased up beside her, not close enough to touch, just close enough to let her know he was there. He heard her huff of breath and bit back a grin as he picked up a salt shaker and slowly unscrewed its top.

      “No need to get your panties in a twist,” he said mildly. “Some men like women with small breasts...I just don’t happen to be one of them.”

      “Thank heaven for that,” she muttered under her breath.

      Acting as if he hadn’t heard her, he poured salt into the shaker. “But some of the men who’ll be coming in tonight aren’t as selective as me. You might consider buttoning that blouse of yours up a little higher. You wouldn’t want them to think you’re advertising...unless you are, of course.”

      Frowning, Leighanna dipped her chin to look down at her blouse. Her eyes flew wide when she saw that the tray had pulled one of the buttons from its hole, exposing a generous view of a lace covered breast, a view she knew Hank had already taken advantage of. Quickly she grabbed the plackets together and forced the button back into place. “Thank you,” she murmured in embarrassment, unable to look Hank in the eye.

      Hank just chuckled and screwed the lid back on the shaker. “Don’t mention it.”

      

      Leighanna was sure that he was doing it purposefully, just to fluster her, because everywhere she turned he was there, in her way, all but breathing down her neck.

      “Don’t you have anything to do?” she finally asked in frustration as she pushed a knife through a plump, red tomato.

      He just grinned. “Am I bothering you?”

      Juice dripped from her fingers as she tossed the thinly sliced tomato into the bin...and their shoulders bumped...again. “Yes,” she said, and dug her shoulder into his and gave him an impatient shove.

      “What am I doing that’s bothering you?”

      “You‘re—you’re—”

      “What?” he prodded.

      Fighting for patience, she rested her wrists on the cutting board and turned, angling her body just enough to frown at him. But looking at him was a mistake. His eyes were filled with mischief, and his mouth was quirked in that teasing grin he’d worn ever since he’d warned her about her blouse.

      Scowling, she twisted back around and grabbed an onion. “You’re in my way,” she muttered and slashed the knife through the onion, cutting it in half and sending its sharp aroma spiraling beneath her nose.

      “Really?” he asked innocently and purposefully pressed his shoulder against hers again. “I don’t mean to be. I’m just watching to make sure you know what you’re doing.”

      The onion’s odor was strong, burning her nose and filling her eyes with tears, but it was the heat from his body where their shoulders touched that she was most aware of. “I know what I’m doing,” she replied, sniffing. “Any fool can slice vegetables.” She lifted her hand to swipe a tear from her eye.

      Hank caught her wrist in the width of one wide hand. Startled, she glanced up at him.

      “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” he warned. “You’re liable to get onion juice in your eye, and it’ll make it sting that much more.” He caught up a towel. “Here, let me.” He dabbed at the tears beneath her eyes, his touch gentle, his knuckles rough where they scraped against her cheek...and Leighanna wondered what he was up to. He’d already made it clear that he didn’t want her in his bar, which made her suspicious of his kindness now.

      He took his good easy time blotting her tears, then bent his knees and put his face level with hers. “How’s that?”

      She’d purposely avoided making eye contact with him all afternoon, but with him this close, she could do little else. The eyes that met hers were a dark brown, almost black, and his mouth less than a breath away. His features were almost too perfect, his forehead wide, his jaw square and shadowed, his cheekbones carved if by a sculptor’s knife. His hair, thick and black, just brushed his collar and seemed to cry for a woman’s hands. That he was aware of his sexual appeal was obvious in the cocky slant of his lips and the teasing glint in his eye.

      Leighanna had known another man whose sex appeal equaled Hank’s...and was still paying the price for falling prey to his charm. Determined not to fall again, she twisted back around and sniffed again. “Better, thank you.”

      Hank’s grin broadened into a smile. “Good. I like to keep my employees satisfied.”

      “I’ll just bet you do,” she muttered under her breath.

      

      Hank watched Leighanna from his spot behind the bar and grudgingly admitted that he might just have been wrong about her ability to handle this job. She sashayed between the tables, a tray propped on her open palm, smiling while she set mugs of beer in front of his customers. She made change, toted food, wiped up spills...and dodged the occasional straying hand.

      He chuckled as he watched old Jack Barlow sneak an arm around her waist. Smooth as silk, she removed his hand, smiling sweetly enough not to offend the man before she headed back to the bar.

      She shoved the empty tray onto the bar and sagged against it, mopping her damp brow with the back of her hand. At some point during the evening, she’d rolled her billowy sleeves to her elbows, revealing slender arms and even slimmer wrists. Her fingers were long and delicate and her almond-shaped nails were painted a light pink, almost the exact same shade as her blouse. A ketchup stain just above her right breast blotted the blouse’s once perfect pink color.

      “Two beers and a whiskey chaser,”