The Lottery Winner. Emilie Rose

of us do anymore. It’s a push-button world these days. I’ll need it if I need to call you to change your schedule. No one will have it except me. I’ll wait while you look it up.”

      Suspecting she might be making a mistake she’d live to regret, Jessamine reluctantly pulled out her phone, turned it on and wrote down the number that appeared on the screen. She added her clothing sizes and handed the paper back to Miri. The woman folded it and tucked it into her bra.

      “I’ll keep it right here. No one will get it.” Miri reached across the table and covered Jessamine’s hand. “Do you need a safe place to stay, Jessie?”

      The question threw her. “I have one. Thanks.”

      “Are you sure? Because I have a guest room over my garage. You can stay as long as you want. And Jack left me a .30-30. Kicks like hell but gets the job done.”

      Miri was offering protection and even willing to use a rifle to provide it. She must think Jessamine was running from someone—an abusive ex or something. The thoughtfulness of a stranger made her eyes sting. She squeezed Miri’s hand. “I’m good. But thank you.”

      “Then I’ll see you today at three. I’ll have a uniform for you and we’ll go over my system. Jessie, I can’t thank you enough for helping me through this rough patch.”

      Jessamine rose and beat a hasty retreat, kicking herself the whole way back to her vehicle. She debated not returning tonight. Miri only had her phone number. No last name. No address. Jessamine would simply have to toss this phone to avoid any calls.

      But she’d promised. Miri needed her help training waitresses and running interference with the bossy nephew. Jessam—Jessie could do that. And then she’d go home with a clear conscience.

      But she had to learn to say no. Starting now.

      * * *

      THE PRETTY BRUNETTE caught Logan’s eye even before he took his customary seat at the oyster bar. She was lean but in shape, and she had great legs. Sleek muscles flexed beneath the smooth, tanned skin revealed by the Fisherman’s Widow’s uniform of a tank top and denim skort. A thick, loose braid hung to the middle of her back with escaped strands of hair draping her cheeks.

      She’d waited tables before, though not here. It showed in the easy way she carried five loaded plates on one arm, refilled glasses with a flick of her wrist and kept the hush puppy baskets full. She had an engaging smile for the customers, but tension lingered behind it.

      That stiffness, combined with the way her hypervigilant gaze snapped toward the entrance each time the front door of his aunt’s restaurant opened, kept him ensnared. It was as if she feared who might walk in. He’d entered through the kitchen, so she’d missed his arrival.

      His aunt came through the swinging doors and set a plate on the bar in front of him. “See what you think of this. I’m experimenting with the mahi.”

      He eyed the dish. He’d spent a large part of his life being her number-one guinea pig. Most times, that was a good thing. “What is it?”

      “Coconut-crusted mahi sliders with pineapple chutney.”

      Sounded edible. He took a bite. The tender, flaky meat practically melted in his mouth, and the seasonings were the perfect balance between sweet and hot. He chewed, then swallowed. “This recipe’s a keeper. Who’s the new waitress?”

      Miri’s gaze swung across the crowded dining room, stopping where his hovered. “Jessie. She’s a sweet girl. Experienced, too.”

      “Where’s Carla? Late again?”

      Miri hesitated, and he braced himself for the excuse du jour. “Carla’s doctor ordered her to stay off her feet for the rest of her pregnancy.”

      “She’s barely pregnant.”

      “She’s six months along, and her blood pressure spiked.”

      He should have known the woman would find the one excuse for which she legally couldn’t be fired. He didn’t like her or her overly tattooed and pierced stoner boyfriend. They had a habit of borrowing money from Miri and never paying it back. Advances on her salary, his ass. The amounts were never deducted from the next check. His aunt was a pushover and a sucker for a sob story.

      But on the positive side, Carla would be out for months. If he was lucky, she’d stay at home with her kid and never return.

      “What do you know about the new girl?” With only one road on or off the islands, you tended to recognize residents quickly. “She’s not from here.”

      “She’s honest and a good waitress.”

      “How do you know if she’s honest? Did you do a criminal background check using the link I gave you?”

      That earned him a scowl. “She says she isn’t a criminal, and I believe her.”

      He didn’t like where this was going. “Did she pass the drug test?”

      “I just hired her this morning, Logan. We haven’t had time for that yet.”

      “You’re supposed to screen them before they start. Did you at least check her references?”

      Miri grabbed a towel and wiped the bar, avoiding his gaze. “No time for that yet, either.”

      “Give me her application. I’ll do it now. She can stop by the lab in the morning.” He rose and dug in his pocket for his cell phone.

      “Sit down and put that thing away. Finish your dinner, Logan. I’ll get to the paperwork when I get to it. I needed Jessie tonight. You can see we’re still a couple of servers short. Everyone’s having to work seven days a week. Jessie’s covering double the tables she should be, and she’s doing it well. She even knew the computer system.”

      “She’s another one of your strays, isn’t she?”

      “Why must you always think the worst of everyone I hire?”

      “Because you usually hire everyone else’s rejects. Is she staying in the apartment?” He’d spent time there too before he’d finished renovating his cottage.

      “No, smarty-pants. Jessie has her own place. Stop trying to do my job. I’ve been running this business without your guidance for decades. I know how to hire employees. And quit being so suspicious of everyone. You’ll make yourself miserable if you don’t.”

      “I’m looking out for your best interest. Do you see how she’s watching the door?”

      “Let it go, Logan.”

      “I’m worried about you.”

      “Don’t be. I’m fine. The Fisherman’s Widow is fine. We don’t need a watchdog.” Miri sighed. “You act like I have no sense at all.”

      “You don’t when it comes to people. You’re too softhearted. You surround yourself with leeches and losers. You let them take advantage of your generosity.”

      Red flagged Miri’s cheeks. “You have no room to accuse me of choosing my associates unwisely.”

      He winced. Miri didn’t have a mean bone in her body. That was as close to a low blow as she’d get. Because it was true—he hadn’t always been wise. His failure to see the situation right in front of him was the reason she had no cash reserves or retirement funds.

      “Speaking of leeches and losers...that one’s a prime example,” Miri added in a waspy tone. He twisted to follow her scowling gaze and spotted the private detective he employed crossing the dining room. She shot I a scathing look when he took a seat. “I wish you’d hold your business fleecings elsewhere.”

      The PI ignored Miri’s insult and smiled. “Well, if it ain’t my little ray of Florida sunshine. Always a pleasure to see you, too, Miri.” He delivered the words in an exaggerated version of his New Jersey accent, which seemed to irritate Logan’s aunt even more.