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"Keepin' ya honest. I'm taking Miss Dawson over to Bev's. Get the rim on by the time we're back. If you're too..." I made a point of looking around. "...Busy, I can put it back on her car."
"So can I," Violet said.
I leaned closer to her ear and dropped my voice. "Over my dead body."
"That," she replied, "can be arranged."
I laughed and stepped away, heading to the sink behind the counter. The last thing I needed was brake dust all over my hands if I wanted to get close to her white shirt. While Mike rang her up, I scrubbed up to my elbows. By the time her receipt was printed, I was back at her side, steering her out with a hand on her back. She didn't seem to even notice, letting me lead her next door like it was her idea all along.
Reaching out for the glass door to Bev's, I said, "Hope you're not a vegetarian."
The little bells tied to the push-rail tinkled as it opened, and everyone inside turned to look. Beside me, Violet just kept going. Her heels clicked on the tile like a snare drum, sparkling in the overhead lights. She didn't even bother to turn as she answered.
"I like meat just fine. Don't worry, cowboy - Vera didn't pass that on."
I couldn't help it. The laugh just fell out. From the little bob of her head, I knew that was exactly what she'd intended. Unfortunately, it made us the center of attention. I wasn't sure how I felt about that, but seeing Paul Simmons on the far side of the room, I had a feeling I shouldn't like it.
"So," I said, stepping to the counter. "Bev makes some amazing burgers, but breakfast is her specialty, and dinner's all country."
Violet bit her lip, watching me intently. "In other words, the rest isn't worth eating?"
"Never said that."
"Gotcha." Then she turned to Mandy, the girl behind the counter. "Cheeseburger, no mayo, extra tomatoes, and whatever he's having."
I ordered a variation of the same and reached for my back pocket, but the city girl was too fast. Before I could work it out of my jeans, she had her card out and swiped, smiling sweetly for the receipt. I just sighed and accepted my defeat, snagging the pair of paper cups for our drinks.
"Least ya didn't order a salad," I said, handing her a cup.
She shrugged and pressed it beneath the dispenser for flavored water. Inwardly I groaned, aware that she was just a bit too quiet. There was no way my bad joke had pissed her off. Had it?
"Violet?"
The tip of her tongue darted between her lips to moisten them. "I happen to like salads."
"Not here, ya wouldn't." There, that was safe enough. "Pretty sure it's full of something that'd kill ya. I dunno, like botulism."
"Uh huh."
"Serious," I insisted, leading her to a booth by the windows. "Happen to know lettuce isn't supposed to be brown."
"That's just gross."
I nodded, reclaiming my rank of savior. "Kinda my point."
Then our food arrived. The little plastic baskets were a staple in Bev's Grill. Unfortunately, before the waitress could even make it back behind the counter, Paul Simmons decided it was a good time to greet the new girl. He paused at the end of our table and leaned over, forgetting all the manners his mother must have taught him.
"Hey, Luke. You get the bins refilled for the cows down on Robertson Road?"
Great. Violet'd be real impressed now, hearing that I was the damned cow feeder. Exactly what a girl like her was looking for in a man. "Yes, sir. Finished up a bit ago and was headed back when I rescued Miss Dawson here from the side of the road."
Mr. Simmons turned his gaze on her. "I see. Going to be staying long, Miss Dawson?"
She leaned back and shoved a fry between her heavily painted lips. "That's the plan. Not that it's really any business of yours."
His eyes narrowed. "Offer still stands."
"Offer's a piece of shit," she shot back. "I assure you, if I decide to sell Southwind, I'll have my agent contact you."
