A Little Texas Two-Step. Peggy Moreland

“Tired?” he asked.

      Leighanna immediately straightened, not wanting to admit to her exhaustion. “No. Just hot.”

      Hank nodded sagely. “Yep. It’s hot all right.” He set the mugs on her tray and picked up a bottle of Jack Daniels. “You can take a break, if you want. I can keep an eye on things for a few minutes.”

      A break sounded wonderful after being on her feet for over six hours, but Leighanna quickly shook her head. She was determined not to give him any reason to doubt her abilities to handle the job. “No, I’m fine.” She glanced at the clock behind the bar. “We’ll be closing in less than an hour, anyway. I can wait until then.”

      Hank glanced at the clock, too, before adding the jigger of whiskey to the tray. “Your call, but remember we’ll still have some work to do after they all clear out.”

      Leighanna stifled a groan, thinking of the toilets that would need scrubbing and the floor that would need mopping. She forced a perky smile. “Don’t worry. I can handle it.”

      “Hey, Hank!” a man called from a corner of the room.

      “Yo, what’cha need?” Hank called back.

      “Has that little barrel racer from over Marble Falls way been back?”

      Hank’s chest swelled, and a gleam of what Leighanna could only describe as cockiness shown in his eyes.

      “You mean Betty Jo?” Hank asked, trying hard not to smile as he curved his hands through the air, tracing a rather top-heavy hourglass shape.

      The guy tossed back his head and laughed. “Yeah, that’s the one.”

      “Nah, haven’t seen her,” Hank replied. “But she’ll be back,” he added, shooting the man a knowing wink. “They always do.”

      Leighanna snatched the tray from the bar and rolled her eyes as she turned away to deliver the drinks. “Men,” she muttered under her breath.

      

      Leighanna dropped the toilet brush into the bucket, then used her wrist to push her hair from her face. Lord, but she was tired. Her feet felt as if they were swollen twice their size, the leather bands of her sandals cutting viciously across her instep, and her calf muscles ached from all the walking...and she still had the floor to mop.

      Groaning, she snagged the bucket’s handle and limped from the bathroom and back out into the bar. Hank stood at the cash register, his lips moving silently as he slowly counted the night’s proceeds. He glanced up, his gaze hitting hers and holding just long enough to make her want to squirm, before he nonchalantly went back to his counting.

      The clock behind him read 12:45.

      Stifling a moan, Leighanna trudged to the small kitchen and mixed up mop water, then hauled the bucket and mop back out front. With a scowl at Hank who hadn’t done anything in the last half hour more strenuous than lift a handful of change from the cash drawer, she slapped the mop to the floor and began scrubbing. Back and forth, round and round, she swished the mop across the floor, the ache in her back growing until it was all she could do not to cry.

      By the time she’d made her way back to the bar, the clock read 1:15. She’d put in over eight hours and it felt like eighteen. With no strength left in her arms, she dragged the bucket back to the kitchen and dumped the murky water down the drain.

      Tugging the towel from her waist, she tossed it onto the bar, then ducked under it to retrieve her purse. “I’ll be going now.”

      “Would you do me a favor before you leave?”

      Already headed for the door, Leighanna stopped and wearily turned. “What?”

      Hank gestured to the money stacked on the bar, then scratched his head. “I can’t make the totals match. Would you mind recounting the money for me while I run the tickets again? It shouldn’t take you more than a minute or two.”

      She doubted that, since he’d been counting the money the entire time she’d been scrubbing toilets and mopping floors. But it wouldn’t hurt to prove to him that she could do more than scullery work. She tossed her purse onto the bar, climbed up onto a stool in front of it and grabbed a stack of bills. She quickly separated them into stacks of ones, fives, tens and twenties, then began to count, recording the totals of each stack on the back of an order blank.

      Unaware that Hank had even moved, she suddenly realized that he had rounded the bar and stood beside her, his head tipped close to hers. She craned her neck to look at him. “What are you doing?” she asked, frowning.

      He grinned. “Watching you.”

      “Well, don’t!” she huffed impatiently, and snatched up another stack of bills.

      “Why? Do I make you nervous?”

      “Yes!” she said, and went back to her counting.

      His nose bumped her neck and nuzzled. “You sure do smell nice.”

      She tried her best to ignore him, even managed to continue to slap down bills, silently counting, but heat raced through her as his nose traced the curve of her neck.

      “What scent is that you’re wearing?”

      She dropped the money to the counter. “Do you want me to count this money, or not?” she asked in frustration.

      “I think I’d rather you kissed me.”

      Her eyes widened and she jumped to her feet. “Kiss you!” she repeated, incensed that he would suggest such a thing.

      “Yeah, you know. Press your lips against mine.”

      Leighanna snatched her purse from the counter and slung its strap across her shoulder. She stabbed a finger at his chest. “Let’s get one thing straight, buster. You hired me to work as a waitress, not to service your more basic needs!”

      Hank hooked his hands at his hips and whistled low through his teeth as he rocked back on the heels of his boots. “Man, oh man, but you sure are pretty when you’re riled.” Leaning forward, he crooked a finger and pressed its knuckle beneath her chin, forcing her face up to his. “But, honey, we need to get one more thing straight. Us kissing has absolutely nothing to do with you working for me. It’s inevitable, that’s all.” He let his hand drop and shot her a wink. “But I’m a patient man.”

      

      

      Hank poked the key into the front door and turned it, glancing, as he did, out the window into the darkness beyond. Leighanna limped across the gravel parking lot, her shoulders stooped, as she headed for a shadowed car parked at the far end. He wanted to laugh at her sorry state, but couldn’t quite work up the enthusiasm required for the task.

      He supposed he should feel guilty for working her so hard, especially considering he’d shoved more than half his workload onto her slim shoulders...but he didn’t. Hell, she was the one who’d wanted the job, he told himself, all but forcing him to hire her when he knew damn good and well she didn’t have any business working in a place like The End of the Road.

      His eyes went unerringly to the gentle sway of her hips. Even tired, the woman knew how to move. He blew out a slow breath. He didn’t want to be attracted to her. Didn’t even know why’d he’d bothered to tease her. He supposed it was just a natural reflex. Her being a woman, and all, and him being...well, him being just Hank.

      A grin slowly built on his face. And Hank did love women. The feel of them, the taste of them, the feminine smell of them. Hell, he just liked women. And the fact that this one didn’t seem interested in him only increased the challenge. For, as much as he liked women, Hank liked a challenge.

      While he continued to watch, she opened the door to her car. The accompanying screech of metal made him wince. Squinting against the darkness, Hank looked at the car. It was a junker. Even from a distance, he could see that the windshield was cracked, the front bumper was missing, and the car’s body had