Rough Country (Tannen Boys 3)

Work and talk, he’s a pro at the multi-tasking. And now that he’s sitting more, I have noticed that his limp isn’t quite as severe.

“Knock, knock,” I call out as I enter the kitchen. Ilene is protective of her domain and I know she’ll be in the groove with the dinner rush, so I don’t want to disturb her.

As expected, Ilene is working away at the stove top, which is still covered with four steaming pots of chili, but now there are three empty ones on the floor by the dishwashing station. She’s definitely going through it.

“Hey, Ilene, Unc asked for a bowl when you get a second. Said he didn’t want to miss out this time.”

She hums, acknowledging me even though she doesn’t look my way. “Daniel . . . get me a bowl and a big Tupperware so I can pack Hank up a bit of chili for tomorrow too.”

A guy I’ve never seen before pops around the corner. “Sure thing, here ya go,” he tells Ilene, holding out two bowls, one heavy ceramic and one plastic, but then his eyes land on me.

“Hey, I’m Daniel, Ilene’s sometimes kitchen help. The few, the proud, the chosen,” he offers, holding out his hand after setting the bowls down. He looks to be a few years younger than me, with dark skin and dancing bright eyes. His smile is kind and friendly.

I shake his hand. “Nice to meet you, Daniel. I’m Willow, Hank’s niece and bar help.”

His face changes instantly, eyes going wide and brows going high, and he pulls his hand back like the mere touch of my skin burned him. He’s still smiling, but it’s less friendly now and more guarded. “You forgot the most important part . . . Bobby Tannen’s girl. Sorry, didn’t mean anything by anything, just introducing myself to a fellow co-worker, you know?”

My hand falls to my side as my brows knit together, “What? I’m not Bobby’s girl. We’re friends. He just stops by for dinner and a beer.”

Okay, I know it’s more than that. Those dinners have become the best part of my days, seeing the curl of his lip when he smiles, the hungry way he watches me eat, and how it feels like he’s barely holding himself back from jumping over the bar to get at me. And I like it, I’ll admit that, but I’m not his girl or anything.

Daniel nods, though it’s clear he doesn’t believe me, and holds his palms toward me. “Sure, whatever you say. But no offense, I’m gonna take his word for it because he’s a bit bigger and meaner than you seem to be. And you know, the whole town has seen him marking his spot at the bar every night. It’s quite the news bulletin.”

And with that, he hustles back around the corner. I turn to Ilene, who’s finishing up Unc’s dinner. “Ignore Daniel. He’s a great help and a hard worker, but hoo boy, that man flaps at both ends. You don’t worry about a thing, Willow. You and Bobby are doing just fine taking things slow.”

And with that, she dings the bell, effectively dismissing me.

What. The. Hell?

Mindlessly, I set the bowl of chili and plate of cornbread by Unc, telling him that I set another bowl to-go on his desk. He nods appreciatively. At least I think he does, but I’m not really sure because my mind is spinning.

I see that a couple of drink orders have come in while I was in the kitchen and get started on those. Olivia comes up. “Those table four’s?”

I don’t answer that question, instead telling her what just happened in the kitchen. “Daniel said I’m ‘Bobby’s girl.’ I’m not his girl. What does that even mean?”

“Aw, that’s sweet,” she replies, grinning like she actually means that. But how could she? That’s crazy talk.

“No, it’s not. I’m not some territory he can piss on to claim.”

Her nose wrinkles. “Not when you say it like that. But it’s romantic, don’tcha think? He’s all in, claiming you far and wide when you haven’t even realized what’s looking you right in the face.”

“What’s looking me in the face?” I say, not willing to concede that it might be the tiniest bit sweet. In a Neanderthal, caveman sorta way. That I do not like. Not a bit.

Liar.

“He’s here,” Olivia whispers, but it’s somehow a squeal all the same.

I turn toward the door, mad but still excited to finally see him. The door is closed, not even creaking a bit.

Olivia’s finger is suddenly in my face. “That. You want to see him. You like him coming here to see you too. Hell, when was the last time someone made this much of an effort to get you to go out with them? I can tell you, for me . . . that was right about never. Just do the tour, go on a date with the man.”