Even the smallest of scenery changes was enough for a while. Like stopping at the café for a bite to eat. Bachelor-pad cooking got old real fast, although he was better than Jesse. The café was a soothing place to fill his belly and take a quiet break from rattling his bones on the ranch equipment. He glanced around contentedly, the familiar setting part of his life over the years. Plates of fries at noon during school, the occasional date he’d brought there.
Comfortable.
The place wasn’t packed, and the diners were spaced far enough apart that low-spoken words weren’t usually overheard. Not like the ruckus three tables over was making, with loud laughter ringing out from the four men in suits. Business lunch or something.
Vicki stepped from the kitchen area, nudging open the swinging door with her hip, and Joel dragged his gaze up to her face as rapidly as possible to avoid being caught staring at her more-than-ample chest. Because, yeah, getting fixated on her tits would just prove once and for all he was stepping up his A-game.
She lowered a plate in front of him. “Cherry and lemon, as requested. I added a scoop of ice cream.”
His mouth watered, but it had little to do with the pies, more to do with her leaning past him to lower the serving. Her scent filled his head and barreled down to his nuts. “You’re too good to me.”
Her brow rose the longer he stared into her face, but he couldn’t seem to look away. A couple of long curls had escaped from her ponytail, the dark brown strands framing her delicate features. Blonde highlights shone in her hair as the fall sun reflected in through the windows.
“Do I have something on my face?”
“No, of course not.” He looked down at the table.
She ripped off his bill and slid it under the edge of his plate. “Will I see you tomorrow, then? I’ll be making peach pies.”
Laughter roared out, and Joel glanced down the room. Considering they were businessmen, he’d expect different behavior, but it seemed some rednecks wore ties.
Vicki frowned—then she was gone. Back behind the protective barrier of the countertop, fidgeting with a dishcloth and topping up pitchers.
Her sudden departure was odd enough to catch Joel’s attention. They weren’t friends that he’d expect her to make tons of small talk, and yeah, there was something a touch awkward between them as he tried to hide his attraction, but up and leaving was borderline rude. Her chin was lowered, eyes fixed on her task, as if attempting to block out everything else.
The first bite of pie turned sour on his tongue as he struggled for what to do next. Not to mention, he was pissed at himself for being drawn to the one girl in town he should avoid.
Joel stared out the window and fought his frustrations.
“Bad case of blue balls, that’s for sure.”
Joel whipped his head around to see who needed their face rearranged, but the comment wasn’t directed at him. The guys in suits had increased in volume. Joel recognized one of them as Eric Tell from the bank. The man had been in the same grade as Travis, so a few years higher than himself.
“You should have stopped in to see Sarah Hansol,” Eric advised his seatmate. “She opens her legs so often there’s a landing strip between them to make the approach easier. Whole family’s the same. Easy sluts, the lot of them.”
Idiots. Joel ignored them. Even considered abandoning his pies. It was one thing to know about Sarah’s reputation, and another to shout rude comments in a public—
Fuck it. The rest of Eric’s words fully registered.
He glanced to the right as Vicki’s petite form flashed past. She skidded to a halt directly in front of the loudmouth’s table. Joel rose and stepped forward, but not in time to stop her from dumping the contents of an entire pitcher of cola over Eric’s head.
While the man was still blinking in surprise, she threw her first punch.
The roaring in her ears drowned out the shouts of anger, dimming everything to a low buzz as she got in a satisfying second hit to the asshole’s jaw before she was captured from behind and dragged off.
Vicki squirmed, fighting for release, but the arms around her could have been made of iron for how much give they allowed.
“What the hell was that for?” Eric was on his feet, towering over her, his companions at the table all rising as well as chairs screeched over the floor. He grabbed his napkin and dabbed at the rivulets of liquid running down his face, blood flowing from his nose where she’d got in a blow before being pulled away.
“Calm down, everyone.” Joel’s voice carried over her shoulder, and she debated digging her elbow into his ribs for stepping in when she hadn’t asked him to interfere.
“Should we call the police?” One of the jerks accompanying Eric had his cell phone out. Vicki glared daggers at Eric, daring him to make one wrong move.
“No police.” Eric waved his friends off. “Sit, it’s okay. It was an accident. The waitress tripped.”
Goddamn bastard. Vicki opened her mouth to lambast him, but all the air in her lungs emptied as Joel snuck a hand around her waist and squeezed in warning.
“Everything fine, then?” Joel asked.
“So sorry.” The café manager stepped in, passing over an extra towel before wiping up the mess on the table. Sherry spoke soothingly. “Accidents happen. The meal is on the house. Let me replace anything you gentlemen need.”
Eric settled back in his chair, still eyeing Vicki as if she might burst from Joel’s clasp and resume swinging. She wiggled in an attempt to get free, because that was exactly what she wanted to do, but Joel only tucked her against his body.
A distant part of her brain noted this was about the closest she’d ever been to a guy, with Joel’s thigh shoved between her legs to give him something to brace her against. His bulky biceps pressed the side of her breast. All of that registered in a flash before being ignored for the more important craving to knock Eric’s head off. Yet, even the dim awareness of Joel was another reason to hate Eric’s guts. She wasn’t able to appreciate the intimacy of her contained position, as twisted as that enjoyment might be.
Vicki focused on the asshole who’d started this mess.
He’d stopped the bleeding and had the audacity to smirk. A benevolent type of smile, forgiving and oh-so-condescending. “Don’t fuss, Sherry. Your waitress had a bit of a balance problem. Everything is forgotten. In fact…”
He took out a dollar coin and flipped it at Vicki. Almost as if he were giving her a tip. Only at the last second he pulled his toss and allowed the coin to fall at her feet.
It was a good thing Joel still had her in a tight grip because at that moment she really might have killed Eric without thinking. Her heart raced, adrenaline and fury whipping through her icy cold like a winter’s storm.
He’d as good as called her a hooker.
The others at the table found new places to look. At the floor, out the window, anywhere but at Eric and Vicki.
Air brushed her cheek as Joel whispered, “He’s a fuckwad. Prove you’re better than him and let it go.”
The iron grip on her arms eased, as if he expected her to listen and not leap across the space between her and Eric to throttle him with her bare fingers. Vicki took a deep breath and released it slowly. For a moment she allowed herself to lean against the firm bulk of Joel’s torso as a reward for behaving.
Then the rush of anger turned, now directed inward, and she fled to the back of the café. She worked to calm her breathing as she stood in the middle of the staff room and stared into space.