Hank Wanted To Hold Leighanna And Never Let Her Go. Letter to Reader Title Page Dedication About the Author Letter to Reader Prologue Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Copyright

Hank Wanted To Hold Leighanna And Never Let Her Go.

And that was what scared him.

As he softened the kiss, then slowly withdrew, his gaze met her blue eyes, glazed with passion...and he was tempted to drag her into his arms again.

Fighting the desire to do something he’d regret, Hank stepped back and forced a teasing grin to his mouth. “See?” he said. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

Bad? It was anything but bad, Leighanna thought numbly, her blood still racing like fire through her veins. But Hank’s casual remark infuriated her, and his indifferent stance made him vulnerable to the force of the hand that suddenly streaked out and slapped the side of his face.

“What was that for?” he asked incredulously.

“I warned you once,” Leighanna said, fighting to keep the tremble from her voice. “Next time, you better think twice before kissing me.”

Dear Reader,

This month we have some special treats in store for you, beginning with Nobody’s Princess, another terrific MAN OF THE MONTH from award-winning writer Jennifer Greene. Our heroine beheves she’s just another run-of-the-mill kind of gal...but naturally our hero knows better. And he sets out to prove to her that he is her handsome prince...and she is his princess!

Joan Elliott Pickart’s irresistible Bishop brothers are back in Texas Glory, the next installment of her FAMILY MEN series. And Amy Fetzer brings us her first contemporary romance, a romantic romp concerning parenthood—with a twist—in Anybody’s Dad.

Peggy Moreland’s heroes are always something special, as you’ll see in A Little Texas Two-Step, the latest in her TROUBLE IN TEXAS senses.

And if you’re looking for fun and frolic—and a high dose of sensuality—don’t miss Patty Salier’s latest,

The Honeymoon House. If emotional and dramatic is more your cup of tea, then you’ll love Kelly Jamison’s Unexpected Father.

As always, there is something for everyone here at Silhouette Desire, where you’ll find the very best contemporary romance.

Enjoy!

Senior Editor

Please address questions and book requests to:

Silhouette Reader Service

U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269 Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie. Ont L2A 5X3

Peggy Moreland

A Little Texas Two-Step

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To Jean Brashear, the quintessential friend.

And a special thanks to Snuffy’s of Hutto, Texas, for

inspiration in creating The End of the Road bar!

PEGGY MORELAND

published her first romance with Silhouette in 1989. She’s a natural storyteller with a sense of humor that will tickle your fancy, and Peggy’s goal is to write a story that readers will remember long after the last page is turned. Winner of the 1992 National Readers’ Choice Award and a 1994 RITA finalist, Peggy frequently appears on bestseller lists around the country. A native Texan, she and her family live in Round Rock, Texas.

Dear Reader,

Women. Man, I love ‘em! The shape of ’em, the feel of ‘em, the scent of ’em. Nothing compares to rolling around on a bed with a willing woman, taking a little pleasure and giving a ton of it in return, sleeping all cuddled up next to a soft and curvy body, then waking up the next morning revitalized and ready for another tangle on the sheets. Man, that’s what I call life!

Variety. I like that, too, which is why I’m a confirmed bachelor I always let a woman know up front that I’m not interested in a permanent relationship, but occasionally one will start making those little possessive noises, and that’s when I start backpedaling. I’m not interested in marriage. No, sirree, not me I like my life just the way it is...or at least I did until Leighanna came along. Leighanna. The epitome of woman. Soft. Femirune. Sexy. Passionate. But with a streak of stubbornness in her that defies a man’s patience. She happened along, looking for a job, and against my better judgment I hired her on as a waitress at The End of the Road My life hasn’t been the same since.

Misery. That’s what life is like without Leighanna. Have you ever felt like there’s this hole where your heart used to be? I don’t know how it happened, or even when, but that’s exactly how I feel whenever Leighanna isn’t around. Do you think this is love? The forever kind? Nah, it couldn’t be. Could it...?

Prologue

The minute she opened the door of her apartment, Leighanna smelled him. Polo. That spicy, sexy scent that her ex couldn’t afford but always somehow managed to find the money to purchase.

She stopped, her key cutting into the palm of one hand, her suitcase cinched tight in the other. He can’t be here, she told herself in growing panic. He didn’t have a key any longer, and there was no way in hell that Reggie, her friend and the owner of the apartment complex, would ever let him inside.

Yet the scent of him continued to taunt her.

Her legs trembled in fear, but she forced them into motion, taking one cautious step, then another, until she stood in the center of her small living room.

“Roger?” she called hesitantly. “Are you here?”

She waited a moment, listening, but only the muted click of her mantel clock as it ticked off each second disturbed the quiet. If he wasn’t here, she knew he had been. The scent of his cologne still hung thick in the air. But how did he get in? she asked herself in growing dread. She’d changed the locks after she’d kicked him out more than a year before.

The handle of her suitcase slipped from her fingers, and she drew her shaking fingers to her lips. Her key ring! She’d given him her key ring over a month ago when he’d offered to take her car in for repairs.

Her fingers closed into a fist against her lips as she remembered the incident. Of course, he hadn’t had her car repaired. Instead, he’d paid some shady mechanic a pittance of what she’d given him and instructed the man to do what he could without replacing the transmission, then pocketed the rest of the money for himself. Naturally, Roger hadn’t told her about his clever little scheme. She’d discovered it on her own, weeks later, when the transmission had gone out on her in the middle of Houston’s five-o’clock traffic.

She was sure that at the same time Roger had been having her car repaired, he’d probably had a duplicate set of keys made to every key on her ring...including the one to her apartment.

Anger burned through her. She knew better than to trust her ex-husband. Hadn’t she learned anything during the four years of their marriage? He was the master of lies and deception. And she knew without a doubt that he wouldn’t think twice about stealing from her. He’d done it often enough in the past. A twenty here, a hundred there, missing from her purse. After their divorce, he’d even taken her wedding ring from her jewelry box and pawned it, spending the money on some new scam.

Money! Her fingers curled around the key ring as a new fear rose. With her heart thundering against her chest, she ran to the kitchen and jerked a canister from those that lined the counter beside the sink...and listened to the sick clink of loose coins. She knew even before she opened it that it was gone. All that she’d managed to save toward the purchase of a new car. She tipped the canister upside down, and pennies rained onto the floor

Tears swelled and the canister blurred before her eyes. Raising the container above her head, she screamed, “Damn you, Roger‘” and hurled it against the far wall where it shattered into a hundred jagged pieces right along with her dreams for a new car.

Reggie Giles frowned at the open apartment door then stepped inside, knocking on the door as she passed. “Leighanna?” she called as she stopped in the living room. “Leighanna, where are you?”

“I’m back here,” came Leighanna’s muffled reply. “In my room.”

Anxious to hear about Leighanna’s visit with their friend Mary Claire in her new home in Temptation, Reggie headed down the short hall.

“Did you know you left your front door open?” she scolded. “Anybody could come in and—”

At the door to Leighanna’s bedroom, Reggie stopped cold. A suitcase lay on the bed, a tangle of clothes and shoes tumbled over its side, wire hangers were scattered over the floor. Leighanna stood in front of the dresser, jerking handfuls of lingerie and socks from the drawers.

Reggie let out a slow, long breath, unsure of what was happening. “Are you coming or going?” she asked uneasily.

Leighanna whirled. Her eyes were red, her cheeks mottled by anger. “Going!” She marched past Reggie and dumped the load she carried into the suitcase.

“Where?” Reggie asked.

“I’m moving out.”

Fear knotted in Reggie’s stomach. Leighanna was like family to her, as was Mary Claire, and she’d already lost Mary Claire and her children when they’d moved to Temptation. She couldn’t bear the thought of losing Leighanna, too.

When Leighanna brushed past her again, headed for the dresser, Reggie grabbed her arm. “Wait a second,” she said, hoping to slow Leighanna down long enough to find out what was behind this quick exodus. “Why are you moving out?”

Leighanna jerked free of Reggie’s hold. “Roger!” she snapped, and marched on to the dresser. She snatched an armful of clothing from the bottom drawer, then kicked it closed with her foot.

Reggie could only stare. She had never seen Leighanna like this before. Always calm, soft-spoken, Leighanna seldom lost her temper. She was generous and loving and giving...even to that scumball of an ex-husband of hers, Roger.

And that’s exactly what he was, too, Reggie thought angrily. Leighanna might have been blinded to his faults, but Reggie had never been. She had leased Roger the apartment four years ago when he’d first married Leighanna and would have kicked the loser out years ago when his first rent check had bounced if she hadn’t felt sorry for his poor wife. She’d held Leighanna’s hand throughout the divorce, had even tried to open Leighanna’s eyes to his scheming ways when he would drop by periodically after their divorce, trying to borrow money from her. But Leighanna was naive and totally trusting, and never saw through his deceit until it was too late.

That he was behind this fit of temper didn’t surprise her. What worried her was what Roger had done to provoke it.

“What does he have to do with your moving out?” she asked uneasily.

Leighanna turned on Reggie, her hands filled with clothes, her blue eyes wild with anger. “You’d think it would be enough for him that he ruined my life right along with my credit, wouldn’t you?” she raged. “But, no! Not Roger! He’s like that damn bunny in the battery commercial, pounding his drum. He just keeps going and going and going!”

Reggie sank to the edge of the bed, her shoulders slumping. “What has he done now?” she asked in resignation.

Leighanna threw the armload of clothes into the suitcase and planted her hands on her hips as she whirled to face Reggie. “He came into my apartment while I was gone to visit Mary Claire and stole all my money from the cookie jar.”

Reggie was on her feet in a flash. “He did what?” she cried.

“He stole my money! All that I had saved to buy a new car.”

Angry now herself, Reggie paced away, fisting her hands at her sides. “Well, he won’t get away with it this time. Not if I have any say in the matter.” Always ready to take charge, Reggie mentally listed what would need to be done. “We’re calling the police. We’ll file charges for breaking and entering and for burglary. When they find him, they’ll throw his lousy butt in jail, and this time we’ll see that they throw away the key.” She stopped and wheeled, thrusting a warning finger at Leighanna. “Don’t touch another thing,” she ordered. “The police will need to dust the apartment for prints.”

Leighanna went right on throwing clothes into the suitcase. “Forget it, Reggie. The police can’t do anything.”

“And why not?” she asked incredulously. “He broke into your apartment and stole your money. Last I remember, that’s still a crime.”

“He didn’t break in. He used a key.”

“A key!” Reggie all but screamed. “For God’s sake, Leighanna, you gave him a key?”

“No, I didn’t give him a key.” The fight suddenly went out of Leighanna and she dropped down on the edge of the bed and covered her face with her hands. “He must have had a duplicate made last month when he took my car to have it repaired.”

“Repaired?” Reggie repeated sarcastically. “You mean when he fleeced you of the repair money, don’t you?” She dropped down on the bed beside Leighanna in frustration. “Geez, Leighanna! When will you ever learn? The man can’t be trusted.”

Leighanna dragged her hands down her face then tipped her face to the ceiling. “I know. I know,” she said miserably. “But he said he knew somebody who could replace the transmission cheaper, and that he wanted to do it for me to make up for all the money he owed me.”

Reggie just rolled her eyes. It would be just like Leighanna to fall for a line like that. “Well, there’s still the burglary charge,” Reggie reminded her. “We can nail him with that.”

Leighanna turned to look at Reggie, her expression one of defeat. “And you think the police will believe me? I can’t prove that the money was there and I certainly can’t prove that Roger took it.” She pushed to her feet and straightened. “Forget it, Reggie. There’s only one thing left for me to do and that is to move.”

Reggie jumped from the bed. “And what will you solve by moving?”

“I’ll be away from him. Far away. Somewhere where he’ll never think to look for me.”

“And where would that be?”

“Temptation. I’m moving in with Mary Clare and her kids.”

One

Hank caught a movement out of the corner of his eye and glanced toward the entrance to his bar. A woman stood before the front window, bent at the waist, her chin thrust forward as she peered through its dirty glass.

Hank muttered a curse. He was sick and damn tired of people sticking their noses in his window at all hours of the day. The sign on the door clearly read Closed, but that little fact didn’t seem to bother the throng of people who’d made their way to Temptation.

And it’s all Cody’s fault, he grumped silently, thinking of his friend and Temptation’s sheriff. If he hadn’t come up with the fool notion to advertise for women to save Temptation from becoming a ghost town, all these folks wouldn’t have converged on their town.

He watched, frowning, as the sun panned gold from the woman’s shoulder-length blond hair while the wind whipped it across her face. She caught the long tresses that curtained one cheek in long, delicately boned fingers to hold it back from her face.

Scrawny little thing, he told himself as he watched her. Probably didn’t weigh more than a hundred pounds dripping wet. He stepped around the bar to get a better look. Yep, he confirmed, she was scrawny all right. Her arms were thin as reeds, her shoulders narrow, and if she had any boobs at all beneath that baggy silk blouse, she was hiding them well.

Hank snorted and shook his head. Personally, he liked his women with a little more flesh on them. Full hips made for a man to ride, breasts big enough to fill his hands, lips thick enough to wrap around his—

At that moment, she glanced up and caught sight of him through the window and offered him a tentative smile.

Well, she had the lips, he admitted reluctantly. And the pearliest white teeth he’d ever seen. While he watched, she snagged the sign from the window he’d put there three days before. She disappeared for a moment, only to reappear on the other side of the locked front door. She tapped on the glass then pointed to the sign she held.

Hank groaned. “Damn,” he muttered under his breath, knowing full well that she was wanting to apply for the waitress position he’d advertised for. And Hank knew damn good and well this was going to be a waste of his time. She couldn’t handle the job. The work was backbreaking, the hours long, his customers rowdy at best. A slip of a woman like her wouldn’t last one shift as a waitress in a bar like The End of the Road.

Muttering curses under his breath, he crossed to the door and unlocked it. “Can I help you?”

Leighanna took a step back and pressed the sign to her breasts, startled by the intimidating size and the gruffness of the man who stood opposite her. Tall, broad-shouldered, slim-hipped, he had the face of an angel but the eyes and the mouth of the devil himself. “I hope so,” she said, then nervously wet her lips.

The dart of that pink tongue made Hank think of other things he’d like that tongue to do. Before he had time to follow that train of thought, though, she extended her hand.

“I’m Leighanna Farrow,” she said by way of introduction. “Are you the owner?”

Hank scowled. “Yeah, I’m the owner.” Reluctantly, he took her hand in his. “Hank Braden.”

Her hand was smooth as silk against his callused palm and soft as butter, further proof that she wasn’t fit for the job.

She pushed a smile to her lips as she withdrew her hand...but he could see the fear in her eyes, could almost smell it over the scent of her perfume. His customers would eat a woman like her alive.

“I’d like to apply for the waitress position,” she said politely, and offered him the sign.

Hank took it and stuck it right back in the window. “Sorry. You’re not what I had in mind.”

Her mouth dropped open. “But—”

“Lady,” he growled. “This is a bar, not some damn tearoom. You wouldn’t last five minutes in a place like this.”

Her chin came up, her blue eyes as sharp as tempered steel. “And how would you know?”

Hank snorted, then took his gaze on a slow journey from the top of her blond head to the tips of her high-heeled mules. She looked like one of those damn Dreamsicle ice cream bars, standing there in those peach-colored leggings and that baggy, watered silk blouse, looking all soft and creamy and temptingly sweet. And though he was tempted to offer her something other than a job, he knew sampling her would only bring him grief. By the regal lift of her chin and the cut of the clothes she wore, he figured she was a little classy for his taste, as well as that of his bar.

A sardonic smile tipped one corner of his mouth as his eyes met hers again. “Trust me,” he said. “I just know.” He turned his back on her and walked away.

Leighanna watched him and felt her last chance for employment slipping from her fingers. She needed this job, she told herself. She’d already walked the main street of Temptation, seeking employment in every possible establishment, but there wasn’t a job to be had...other than this one.

Squaring her shoulders in determination, she yanked the sign from the window and hurried to catch up with him, her mules slapping against her heels and clicking loudly against the scarred linoleum floor. “Mr. Braden—”

Hank wheeled and she skidded to a stop to keep from bumping into the wall of his chest. The woman was as pesky as a fly that just wouldn’t shoo. “The name’s Hank,” he snapped. “And I said no.”

If his size wasn’t enough to send her running for her car, the threatening look in his eye should have done the trick. But it didn’t. Leighanna was that desperate. Her creditors were already breathing down her neck. “Hank, then,” she said, and fought to hide the tremble in her lips. “Look. I really need this job.”

Hank heaved a sigh, then folded his arms across his chest. “Have you ever worked as a waitress before?”

“No,” she replied reluctantly.

“Well, what makes you think you can do the work?”

“I managed a clothing boutique in Houston before I moved here, so I’m accustomed to dealing with the public. And I’m a fast learner,” she was quick to add. “Plus, I’m willing to do whatever work is required.”

He curled his mouth in disgust. “You don’t even know what the job entails.”

“No,” she agreed in a voice as soft as her skin. “But perhaps you could enlighten me.”

Deciding the best way to get rid of her might be to tell her exactly what he expected of her, Hank grabbed a chair from the top of the table and plopped it onto the floor. He hiked a boot on the seat of the chair, folded his arms across his knee and narrowed an eye at her. “In the past, I’ve worked the place by myself, but with all these damn strangers that keep pouring into town as a result of the media attention Temptation’s received, business has picked up and I need help.

“I work the bar and the grill myself, and I’d expect you to take the orders and deliver them. That means carrying trays loaded down with beer and food and clearing the tables when they’re dirty. You’ll do all the dishwashing, too. And you’ll have to scrub out the toilets and mop the floors every night after we close.”

He paused, measuring her response, but she didn’t appear fazed one whit by what he’d described so far. He decided to shovel it on a little thicker.

“The men outnumber the women in this town about eight to one, and they’re a rough lot. They spend most of their time alone on their ranches and farms and come in here on Friday and Saturday nights to blow off a little steam and have a good time. They’ll probably find a woman like you hard to resist. But I expect you to keep your mind on your job and your skirt on...at least while you’re on duty,” he added with a wink.

Though she paled a little, she didn’t turn tail and run as Hank had expected. He heaved a deep breath, wondering what it was going to take to get rid of her. “After they have a few drinks, the boys tend to get a little testy. If a fight breaks out, it’s your job to bust it up.” Her eyes widened a little and Hank decided he’d finally hit on the right vein. “When they’re drunk enough to fight, they’re usually drunk enough to puke. If they do, you’ll be the one to clean it up.”

Convinced by the sick look on her face that he’d painted the bleakest picture possible and there was no way in hell she’d want the waitressing job now, Hank dragged his boot from the chair. “Well, what do you think? You still interested?”

Leighanna swallowed hard. “How much does it pay?” she asked weakly.

“Minimum wage, but you can keep your tips...if you earn any,” he added, sure that she would say thanks but no thanks.

He nearly keeled over when instead she said, “When do I start?”

“I found a job,” Leighanna sang cheerfully as she stepped through the back door of Mary Claire’s house.

Mary Claire turned from the sink. “You did?” she asked in surprise. A smile built when she saw the excited flush on Leighanna’s cheeks. She quickly snatched up a cloth to dry her hands and hugged Leighanna to her. “That’s wonderful!” she cried, then pushed Leighanna to arm’s length. “Where?”

“The End of the Road.”

Mary Claire’s smile wilted as quickly as it had formed. “The End of the Road? You mean that seedy little bar on the edge of town?”

Leighanna struggled to keep her smile in place. “Yes, that’s the place. I start today at five.” Ignoring Mary Claire’s stricken expression, she ducked from beneath her arm and headed for the refrigerator. “Is there anything cold to drink? My car’s air conditioner is still on the blink and it must be a hundred degrees outside.”

“Yes,” Mary Claire murmured, already wringing her hands. “I just made a pitcher of lemonade for the kids. Leighanna?” she asked nervously. “Are you sure you want to work in a place like that?”

“A place like what?” Leighanna asked innocently, though she knew full well what Mary Claire meant. The place was nothing but a glorified beer joint, but a job was a job, and beggars couldn’t be choosers. Not in a town the size of Temptation.

Mary Claire forced her hands apart to pluck two glasses from the cupboard and trailed Leighanna to the table. “Well...I haven’t been there myself, but I’ve heard that it gets pretty rough in there. Mrs. Martin over at the Mercantile told me that the sheriff is always having to go over there and break up fights on Saturday nights.”

Leighanna silently cursed Hank Braden. Oh, he’d told her about the fights all right, but he hadn’t said anything about the sheriff being the one to bust them up. She specifically remembered him saying that it would be up to her to settle any disputes. She wondered what else he had lied about.

Sighing, she filled the two glasses. It didn’t matter whether he’d lied or not She needed the money too much to complain. “It’s the only job I could find,” she said, and pushed a glass across the table before picking up her own.

Mary Claire shoved aside the offered drink and fisted her hands in a white-knuckled knot on the table. “If you need money that badly, I’ll loan you some until something better comes along.”

Leighanna shook her head. “You’re already providing me room and board. I won’t take your money.”

Mary Claire heaved a sigh. “But, Leighanna—”

Leighanna leaned forward, covering Mary Claire’s hand with hers, and squeezed, grateful to her friend for offering, but knowing she had to do this by herself.

When she’d left Houston, she’d been on the run, hoping to escape the power her ex-husband still held over her. But she knew that putting distance between herself and Roger wouldn’t solve all her problems. She’d been a mouse where men were concerned, a doormat who had continually accepted whatever dirt the mien in her life scraped her way in exchange for a little of their affection.

But not any longer. Leighanna was determined to change her ways. She’d already made a large step toward achieving this goal by standing up to Hank Braden and insisting that he give her the job. And though the thought of working for such a disagreeable man frightened her, she was determined to fend for herself, relying on no one and nothing other than her own abilities to pay her way.

“No, Mary Claire,” she said firmly. “I won’t take your money, though I do appreciate the offer.”

When Leighanna arrived at five o‘clock, Hank was already behind the bar, shoving long-neck beer bottles into an insulated box filled with ice. His hair was wet and slicked to one side, and though it was obvious he’d just shaved, his jaw still carried a five-o’clock shadow. “You’re late,” he grumped.

Leighanna glanced at her watch. “It’s not even five,” she said in surprise.

Hank jerked his head toward a clock behind the bar, The clock, like the rest of the bar’s decor, had obviously been supplied by the beer distributor. A fake waterfall on the clock’s face spilled over a mountain stream, and neon lights above it blinked on and off, advertising Coors beer.

The hands on the clock pointed to 5:03.

Leighanna knew darn good and well that her watch was accurate because she’d set it by the radio that very morning, but she also knew it wouldn’t do any good to argue the point with Hank. Swallowing her retort, she quickly stored her purse on a shelf behind the bar. “I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

“It better not.”

Though tempted to tell the man where he could shove his precious job, Leighanna bit her tongue and tied a towel around her waist. “What do you want me to do?” she asked.

Hank nodded toward the open room. “Take the chairs down and situate ’em around the tables, then check the salt and pepper shakers and make sure they’re full. After you’re done with that, you can chop lettuce and slice up enough tomatoes and onions to fill the bins there by the grill.”

Sure that there was more to her job then the tasks he’d named, Leighanna frowned in puzzlement. “Is that all?”

“Nope,” he said, and stopped long enough to shoot her a lazy grin. “But I know how you blondes are. I don’t want to send your brain into overload by giving you too much to remember.”

She knew he was baiting her, looking for any excuse to fire her before she ever started, and Leighanna refused to give him the pleasure. But that didn’t stop the sweep of anger that burned her cheeks. Marching across the room, she started jerking chairs from the tops of the tables and shoving them up underneath.

Though Hank continued to stuff beer bottles into the cooler, he watched her out of the corner of his eye. Damn fool woman, he cursed silently. Didn’t she know that silk didn’t belong in a place like his? The slacks and matching blouse she wore looked as out of place in The End of the Road as she did. And those shoes she had on! Nothing but a handful of thin leather straps. Her feet would be killing her by closing time...if she lasted that long. As he watched, one of the baggy sleeves on her silk blouse caught on a splintered rung of the chair she was struggling to pull down. With a cry of dismay, she dropped the chair and it fell to the floor with a clatter as she lifted the sleeve to examine the snagged fabric. A soft, pitiful moan slipped from her lips.

Hank’s blood heated in anger. He wouldn’t feet sorry for her, he told himself. Any fool would know not to wear something like that to work as a waitress.

“Careful with the furniture,” he snapped. “You break, you pay.”

Her head came up, her chin jutting imperiously as her gaze met his and held. He saw the anger, the frustration in those blue depths, but ignored it. He’d tried to tell her she couldn’t handle the job, but she wouldn’t listen. So now she’d just have to learn it the hard way.

He waved a hand toward the tables. “Better get moveing. You’ve still got those shakers to refill.”

Leighanna dropped the sleeve with an indignant huff and stooped to turn the chair upright. Shoving it under the table with a little more force than necessary, she started snatching shakers from the centers of the tables. By the time she’d gathered them all, she’d calmed somewhat. She tried to lift the tray...and realized too late that she’d overloaded it.

She stole a glance at the bar and saw Hank watching her. She could tell by the measuring look in his eyes that this was all some kind of ridiculous test, and he was just waiting for her to fail. Determined to prove that she could handle the job, she set her jaw and lifted the tray. Straining under its weight, she staggered across the room, then had to hitch the tray’s edge against her breasts for added leverage to raise it high enough to shove it onto the bar’s high, scarred surface.

“Better be careful,” Hank warned from the other side. “Or you’ll smash what little bit God blessed you with.”

Leighanna dropped the tray to the bar, her cheeks flaming, while salt and pepper shakers rolled crazily across its surface. Grabbing one before it toppled over the edge, she slammed it back down on the tray. “How much or how little God blessed me with is certainly no concern of yours,” she said indignantly.

Hank arched a brow, his gaze dropping to her breasts. “No, but I’ve got eyes,” he said, and grinned wickedly as he looked back up at her.

“Well, you can just keep your eyes to yourself,” she snapped, and marched behind the bar. Not wanting to ask the aggravating man where he kept his supplies, she searched beneath the counter until she found the commercial-size containers of salt and pepper. Dragging them out to the bar, she started refilling the shakers.

Hank decided that this new waitress of his looked pretty cute when her feathers were all ruffled. Unable to resist ruffling them a little more, he eased up beside her, not close enough to touch, just close enough to let her know he was there. He heard her huff of breath and bit back a grin as he picked up a salt shaker and slowly unscrewed its top.

“No need to get your panties in a twist,” he said mildly. “Some men like women with small breasts...I just don’t happen to be one of them.”

“Thank heaven for that,” she muttered under her breath.

Acting as if he hadn’t heard her, he poured salt into the shaker. “But some of the men who’ll be coming in tonight aren’t as selective as me. You might consider buttoning that blouse of yours up a little higher. You wouldn’t want them to think you’re advertising...unless you are, of course.”

Frowning, Leighanna dipped her chin to look down at her blouse. Her eyes flew wide when she saw that the tray had pulled one of the buttons from its hole, exposing a generous view of a lace covered breast, a view she knew Hank had already taken advantage of. Quickly she grabbed the plackets together and forced the button back into place. “Thank you,” she murmured in embarrassment, unable to look Hank in the eye.

Hank just chuckled and screwed the lid back on the shaker. “Don’t mention it.”

Leighanna was sure that he was doing it purposefully, just to fluster her, because everywhere she turned he was there, in her way, all but breathing down her neck.

“Don’t you have anything to do?” she finally asked in frustration as she pushed a knife through a plump, red tomato.

He just grinned. “Am I bothering you?”

Juice dripped from her fingers as she tossed the thinly sliced tomato into the bin...and their shoulders bumped...again. “Yes,” she said, and dug her shoulder into his and gave him an impatient shove.

“What am I doing that’s bothering you?”

“You‘re—you’re—”

“What?” he prodded.

Fighting for patience, she rested her wrists on the cutting board and turned, angling her body just enough to frown at him. But looking at him was a mistake. His eyes were filled with mischief, and his mouth was quirked in that teasing grin he’d worn ever since he’d warned her about her blouse.

Scowling, she twisted back around and grabbed an onion. “You’re in my way,” she muttered and slashed the knife through the onion, cutting it in half and sending its sharp aroma spiraling beneath her nose.

“Really?” he asked innocently and purposefully pressed his shoulder against hers again. “I don’t mean to be. I’m just watching to make sure you know what you’re doing.”

The onion’s odor was strong, burning her nose and filling her eyes with tears, but it was the heat from his body where their shoulders touched that she was most aware of. “I know what I’m doing,” she replied, sniffing. “Any fool can slice vegetables.” She lifted her hand to swipe a tear from her eye.

Hank caught her wrist in the width of one wide hand. Startled, she glanced up at him.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” he warned. “You’re liable to get onion juice in your eye, and it’ll make it sting that much more.” He caught up a towel. “Here, let me.” He dabbed at the tears beneath her eyes, his touch gentle, his knuckles rough where they scraped against her cheek...and Leighanna wondered what he was up to. He’d already made it clear that he didn’t want her in his bar, which made her suspicious of his kindness now.

He took his good easy time blotting her tears, then bent his knees and put his face level with hers. “How’s that?”

She’d purposely avoided making eye contact with him all afternoon, but with him this close, she could do little else. The eyes that met hers were a dark brown, almost black, and his mouth less than a breath away. His features were almost too perfect, his forehead wide, his jaw square and shadowed, his cheekbones carved if by a sculptor’s knife. His hair, thick and black, just brushed his collar and seemed to cry for a woman’s hands. That he was aware of his sexual appeal was obvious in the cocky slant of his lips and the teasing glint in his eye.

Leighanna had known another man whose sex appeal equaled Hank’s...and was still paying the price for falling prey to his charm. Determined not to fall again, she twisted back around and sniffed again. “Better, thank you.”

Hank’s grin broadened into a smile. “Good. I like to keep my employees satisfied.”

“I’ll just bet you do,” she muttered under her breath.

Hank watched Leighanna from his spot behind the bar and grudgingly admitted that he might just have been wrong about her ability to handle this job. She sashayed between the tables, a tray propped on her open palm, smiling while she set mugs of beer in front of his customers. She made change, toted food, wiped up spills...and dodged the occasional straying hand.

He chuckled as he watched old Jack Barlow sneak an arm around her waist. Smooth as silk, she removed his hand, smiling sweetly enough not to offend the man before she headed back to the bar.

She shoved the empty tray onto the bar and sagged against it, mopping her damp brow with the back of her hand. At some point during the evening, she’d rolled her billowy sleeves to her elbows, revealing slender arms and even slimmer wrists. Her fingers were long and delicate and her almond-shaped nails were painted a light pink, almost the exact same shade as her blouse. A ketchup stain just above her right breast blotted the blouse’s once perfect pink color.

“Two beers and a whiskey chaser,” she said, raising her voice to be heard over the blaring jukebox.

Hank couldn’t help but notice the weary slump of her shoulders. He stuck two frosted mugs under the tap. “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 more rust than paint.

He heard the engine turn with a dragging waaaa, waaa, waaa before it finally sparked to life, smoke pouring from the tailpipe at the rear. The headlights popped on, one a little brighter than the other, and he listened to the grinding of gears before the car finally chugged off.

What is a classy lady like her doing, driving a piece of crap like that? he wondered. Better yet, he asked himself, what was a classy lady like her doing in a two-bit town like Temptation?

Shaking his head, he pulled down the shade and headed for his room at the rear of the bar. Didn’t matter why she was in Temptation, he told himself. She wouldn’t be back at The End of the Road. Not after what he’d put her through tonight.

Two

“I swear, the man thinks he’s God’s gift to women!”

Mary Claire couldn’t help but laugh as she set a pan of hot, steaming water on the stoop at Leighanna’s feet. “From what I hear, he is.”

Leighanna scowled, remembering the barrel racer mentioned the night before, and levered a heaping tablespoon of Epsom salts into the pan of hot water and stirred. She didn’t want to ask, but couldn’t resist. “What have you heard?”

Mary Claire sat down on the porch beside Leighanna and propped a bowl of peas on her lap. “Nothing specific, really. Just that he has quite a way with the women.”

“He could have fooled me,” Leighanna said dryly. She eased her swollen feet into the hot water and had to bite her lower lip to keep from crying.

Chuckling, Mary Claire patted her arm. “They’ll feel better after you’ve soaked them for a while.” She picked up a pea pod and broke off its end. “Did you make much in tips last night?”

“A little over forty dollars.”

“That’s good, isn’t it?”

“I suppose. But it doesn’t come anywhere near matching the salary I made as manager of the boutique.” She threw up a hand, stopping Mary Claire before she could even offer. “And, no, I won’t accept a loan from you.”

Mary Claire pressed her lips together and went back to her shelling. “I still don’t understand why you got stuck with all of Roger’s debt.”

Leighanna heaved a sigh. “Because we were married. Because the debts were in both our names. Because Texas is a community property state. And because Roger is a jerk and refuses to pay them.”

“Couldn’t you just declare bankruptcy?”

“I could...but I won’t. It’s bad enough that I have to suffer because of Roger’s shortcomings. I won’t allow anyone else to suffer, too.”

“So, you’re just going to work your fingers to the bone until they’re all paid off?”

“If it takes that. But the bonus at the end is that my name will be clear and my credit standing will be good again. That makes all the hard work worthwhile.”

Not wanting to think about her debts anymore, it was much too pretty a day for such morbid thoughts, Leighanna closed her eyes and lifted her face to the sun. “I see why you love it here so much. The air is clean, the sky is clear—”

“And there’s not a traffic jam in sight,” Mary Claire finished for her. “Heaven, isn’t it?”

“What’s heaven?”

Mary Claire and Leighanna both looked up to see Harley, Mary Claire’s fiancé, strolling down the brick walk toward them. Leighanna could see the love in the main’s eyes as he looked at Mary Claire and felt just the tiniest stab of envy. She’d met Harley on her first visit to Temptation and had immediately liked the man. Beyond the fact that he was drop-dead handsome, he seemed to adore Mary Claire and her children, and that alone was enough to win Leighanna’s approval of him.

Smiling, Mary Claire lifted her face for Harley’s kiss. “Temptation.” She patted the spot next to her on the step. “Join us. Leighanna was just singing the praises of her new home.”

Harley chuckled as he dropped down beside Mary Claire. “Tough night at work?” he asked, gesturing to the pan of water where Leighanna soaked.

Leighanna frowned. “In more ways than one.”

Mary Claire bit back a smile. “I think your friend Hank made a bad impression with Leighanna.”

Harley reared back, looking at Leighanna in surprise. “Hank?”

“Yes, Hank,” Leighanna said sourly. “Do you know that he had the audacity to ask me to kiss him?”

“Did you?” Harley and Mary Claire asked at the same time.

Leighanna reared back, looking at them in surprise. “Well, of course I didn’t! The man’s a lecher!”

Mary Claire bit back a smile and Harley nearly choked on a laugh, but both remained silent.

“Well, he is!” Leighanna cried indignantly. “Every time I turned around, he was there, touching me or brushing up against me.” She shuddered, remembering.

“Most women would kill to have Hank pay ’em that much attention,” Harley offered quietly.

Leighanna rolled her eyes. “Well, as far as I’m concerned, they can have him. The man has a one-track mind. Sex!”

Leighanna tried the door and found it unlocked. “Hank?” she called hesitantly as she pushed open the door. “Are you here?” When he didn’t answer, she hesitated a moment, then with a shrug, stepped inside and closed the door behind her.

Heading straight for the bar, she tossed her purse behind it and grabbed a clean towel to tuck into her jeans. If she’d learned anything from her first night at work, it was the proper apparel for a waitress in a place like The End of the Road. Today she’d worn jeans and a washable cotton shirt. She’d already ruined one silk blouse at The End of the Road and wasn’t anxious to sacrifice another.

She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror behind the bar and fought back a shudder. Always a woman who took pride in her appearance, her current state of dress was somewhat depressing. As the manager of the clothing boutique in Houston, the image she had projected had been important. Since the owners of the boutique had included a generous discount on all the clothes she purchased there, doing so had been easy.

Glancing down at her feet, she frowned. The running shoes were certainly not a fashion statement, that was for sure, but hopefully, with their help, she wouldn’t need to soak her feet again.

With a sigh, she glanced at the clock behind the bar...and smiled. Four-thirty. She’d purposefully arrived early, just to spite Hank. Too bad he wasn’t around so that she could gloat.

Humming softly, she dragged the chairs from the tables, then refilled the salt and pepper shakers, just as she’d done the night before. When Hank still hadn’t appeared by the time she’d finished, she glanced around, trying to decide what she should do next. One look at the filthy front windows gave her the answer she needed. Taking the bucket, she filled it with water and a heavy dose of vinegar, grabbed a couple of clean rags and headed for the front door.

Once outside, she parked the bucket beneath a window and stepped back, folding her arms beneath her breasts as she studied the building. The structure itself was old. probably built more than fifty years before, and was constructed of native limestone. Only two windows faced the front of the narrow structure, but the double doors situated between them each sported a glass. A faded sign stretched above the door. The End of the Road, she silently read.

It was certainly that, she admitted, glancing around at its remote location. Situated at the edge of town, the building stood over two hundred feet from the main road. Fronted by a gravel parking lot, and protected on three sides by thick stands of cedar, the bar seemed to have sprouted from the rocky ground itself. Thick clumps of cactus cropped up here and there along the fence line bordering the parking lot, and a tangle of weeds and vines grew in the narrow strip of ground between the gravel lot and the building itself.

The place could use a face-lift in the worst sort of way, she thought, frowning. The eaves needed painting, the front doors could definitely use a new coat of varnish, and those weeds should be replaced with a strip of hedge. A spot or two of color wouldn’t hurt, either, she mused, thinking a pot of geraniums at either side of the entrance would certainly add charm. And charm would bring in more customers, increasing the bar’s business, and hopefully her tips.

Sighing, Leighanna stooped and picked up a rag. She knew without asking that even if she found the courage to suggest the improvements to Hank, he’d never implement them. The man obviously had a problem accepting change. His comments to her about all the strangers who’d flocked to Temptation proved that.

Sighing again, Leighanna dipped the rag into the bucket. Washing the windows wouldn’t help the bar’s appearance much, but at least it was a start. Besides, she told herself, it would pass the time while she waited for Hank to show up, and maybe even impress him with her resourcefulness.

Enjoying the feel of the sun on her back, she put her hand in motion on the door’s window and her elbow behind her work. When she’d cleaned them both, she went back inside and dragged out a bar stool to stand on in order to reach the high windows that flanked the doors.

Leighanna finished the first and stepped down to admire her work. The transformation was staggering. The window gleamed like new glass, catching the sun’s rays and reflecting it back. Motivated by her accomplishment, she dragged the bucket and stool beneath the second window.

Just as she made the last satisfying swipe, she heard tires spitting gravel behind her and glanced over her shoulder to see a truck speeding across the lot straight for her. Her movement made the tall stool rock beneath her, and she slapped a hand against the window to brace herself.

The truck slid to a stop, shooting up a cloud of white dust, and Leighanna frowned, thinking of the windows she’d just cleaned. Hank swung down from the truck and charged for her, his face twisted in a scowl.

“What in the hell do you think you’re doing?” he asked, grinding to a stop at the side of her stool.

“I’m cleaning the windows,” she said, surprised by his anger.

He grabbed her by the waist and hauled her down. Caught off guard, Leighanna planted her hands against his chest to keep from crumpling when her feet slammed against solid ground.

“I didn’t ask you to clean the damn windows,” he snarled.

His mouth was set in a thin tight line, his eyes dark and threatening. For the life of her, Leighanna couldn’t imagine what she’d done to anger him so.

“No, you didn’t,” she said nervously. “But you weren’t here and I’d already done everything else and the windows needed cleaning, so I cleaned them.”

His jaw tightened and a muscle twitched beneath his eye. When his fingers continued to cut into her waist, she decided she’d had enough of his rotten attitude. “If you don’t mind,” she said, and gave his chest a shove. “I’d appreciate it if you’d let me go.”

His fingers cut a little deeper and his eyes narrowed to dangerous slits. “And what if I do mind?” he asked.

Leighanna’s eyes Hipped wide. Hank saw the fear in them, and it shamed him to think he had put it there. He’d never frightened a woman before, had never used force on one, either, for that matter, had never needed to. But there was something about this woman that seemed to bring out the worst in him.

“It doesn’t matter if you mind or not,” she cried indignantly, “because I do!” She pushed a little more insistently. “Now let me go, I’ve got work to do before customers start arriving.”

But Hank wasn’t ready to let her go just yet. He hadn’t expected her to show up for work again, not after what he’d put her through the night before. Then to find her there, swaying like a suction cup, dashboard ornament on that damn rickety stool, washing windows...well, it had just about given him a heart attack. All he could think about was that fragile body of hers lying in a crumpled heap on the ground, those delicate bones shattered beyond repair, and not a soul within a three-mile radius of the bar to hear her calls for help.

Knowing that she was safe didn’t loosen his hold on her, though, for now with her close like this, with her womanly scent teasing his senses and the feel of her soft flesh curving beneath his palms, the fear slowly subsided, leaving in its place nothing but a keen awareness.

“There’s time, yet,” he murmured, and enjoyed watching the indignant thrust of her chin. He forced himself to soften his hold on her until his hands merely rested in the curve of her waist. He dipped his face a hair lower, just close enough to warm her lips with his breath. “You’ve got dirt on your cheek,” he said, his voice husky.

Leighanna immediately lifted a fist to her cheek and scrubbed. “Where?”

He caught her hand and forced it back to his chest. “Right here.” He lifted a finger to her cheek and whisked softly, his face drifting closer, then closer still, until it was his lips that brushed her cheek instead of his fingers. His mouth opened and his tongue arced out, sweeping like wet velvet across her cheek.

Leighanna sucked in a sharp breath, fisting her hands in the fabric of his shirt as her knees turned the consistency of wet noodles. Now she understood why Harley had said most women would kill to have Hank pay attention to them. The man was a master at seduction.

She could feel herself weakening, falling deeper and deeper under his spell as his tongue and lips teased. “Please,” she begged, her voice little more than a whimper.

“Please, what?” he murmured huskily.

But before she could ask him to stop, his mouth slipped to cover hers. Leighanna almost wept at the feel of those lips on hers. Strong and commanding, they moved against hers in a most satisfying way, while his thumbs stroked persuasively at her lower ribs.

She knew she was weak, spineless, susceptible when confronted with a man’s seductive charm. Her years with Roger had certainly proven that.

How many times had Roger come to her, whispering sweet nothings in her ear and cuddling up to her while he tried to wheedle money out of her? She’d always been a sucker for affection. Raised by a father who didn’t have a clue about the needs of a young girl, she’d never received any. Roger had known her weakness, knew just the right buttons to push to get what he wanted from her.

The thought of Roger’s manipulations dragged her from beneath Hank’s spell. She set her jaw and firmed her lips beneath his. He might not want money from her as Roger had, but he wanted something. That was obvious in the seductive prodding of his tongue against her lips...and she wouldn’t, no matter how strong the temptation to remain in his arms, allow herself to fall prey to a man’s charm again.

Lifting her foot, she brought it down hard across his instep. He released her with a yelp of pain and hopped around on one foot while he cradled in his hands the one she’d stomped.

“Why in the hell’d you do that for?” he asked incredulously. “You could’ve broken my damn foot!”

Leighanna folded her arms beneath her breasts. “You’re lucky I didn’t aim a little higher.”

Hank’s eyes widened in surprise while his grip on his foot loosened. “Why, you little hellcat,” he murmured.

He couldn’t have called her anything that would have pleased her more. Leighanna Farrow would never again be any man’s doormat! She snatched up the bucket. “If you’re smart, you’ll remember that before you try to make another pass at me.” She jerked open the door. “Get the stool,” she ordered firmly, pointing a stiff finger at the stool beneath the window. “We’ve got work to do.”

Hank’s chest swelled in anger. “I think you’re forgetting who’s the boss around here.”

Leighanna refused to bend under his threatening look. She’d done enough bending in her life. “No, I haven’t forgotten, but it appears one of us needs to keep an eye on the business. You obviously don’t care.” With that she stepped through the door with a deliberate toss of her blond hair and let the door slam closed behind her.

Didn’t care about his business! Hank snatched up the stool and jerked open the door, following her into the bar. “And just exactly what is that supposed to mean?” he asked, slamming the stool down on four legs as he stomped after her toward the kitchen.

Leighanna calmly tipped over the bucket and emptied its contents down the drain. “Exactly what I said. You don’t care about your business.”

“That’s a damn lie!”

She set the bucket on the floor by the sink and brushed past him on her way to the bar. “It isn’t. If you did, you’d take better care of the place.”

Hank followed her. “I take care of my business!”

She wheeled, and he fell back a step to keep from slamming into her. “Do you?” she asked, arching a neatly shaped brow.

“Well, hell, yes!”

“Then why are you letting this place fall down around you?”

Hank looked at her in dismay. “It’s not falling down!”

“Sure it is.” She stepped to the wall and tapped a manicured nail at a spot of chipped plaster. “This for instance. How long has this been this way?”

Hank frowned. “The walls look the same as when I bought the place.”

“And how long has that been?”

“Six years.”

She dipped her chin and looked at him from beneath her eyebrows, the smirk on her mouth telling him that his answer only proved her point.

“Well, I sure as hell don’t hear my customers complaining,” he said defensively.

“That’s because they don’t have a choice. Yours is the only bar in town. But if another opened,” she quickly added, before he could interrupt, “which is a strong possibility with all the people who keep swarming through Temptation, then you might very well lose your customers.”

Her statement momentarily stripped Hank’s tongue of the scathing remark he’d been about to make. He’d never thought about the possibility of competition. The End of the Road had been the only bar in Temptation for as long as he could remember.

Before he could gather his wits enough to respond, the door opened and Cody Fipes, Temptation’s sheriff, strolled in.

“Hey!” Cody called, hooking a thumb over his shoulder. “Who cleaned the windows? Had to put on my sunglasses to kill the glare.”

Leighanna turned to Hank, folding her arms beneath her breasts. “See?” she said, smiling sweetly. “Someone did notice.”

It rankled more than Hank wanted to admit, but Cody wasn’t the only one who commented on the clean windows that night at the bar. Even old Will Miller, Temptation’s one-and-only barber and the crankiest SOB in town, noticed the change and even found a smile for Leighanna when he’d learned she was responsible for the work.

Hank bit back an oath. Wasn’t nothin’ wrong with the looks of The End of the Road, he told himself as he scooped coins from the cash register drawer onto his open palm. Hell, business was good, always had been, and nobody’d ever complained about the appearance of the place before...at least not before Leighanna had taken it upon herself to clean those damned windows.

It was all her fault, he told himself as he started sorting the coins into piles by denomination. He’d never thought twice about what his bar looked like. He’d been too damn busy serving drinks and slapping hamburgers on a grill to pay it any mind...at least not until Leighanna had shot off her sassy mouth.

But as a result of her comments, earlier, when the sunshine had been gleaming through those windows she’d cleaned, the plaster on the old interior walls had appeared to him a little more crusty and duller than they had before. Even the mirror behind the bar seemed intent on rubbing Hank’s nose in his neglect by reflecting the chipped plaster back at him when his back was turned to the open room.

Angrily, he scraped a handful of quarters into his hand to count. “What else do you think is wrong with the place?” he muttered disagreeably.

Startled by the unexpected question, Leighanna straightened from her mopping and used her wrist to push her hair from her face as she turned to look at him. His head was bent over the coins, but she could tell by the way one side of his mouth curled down that he was still irritated by all the attention the clean windows had drawn.

And that is just too bad, she thought peevislaly. Because she was right. He had neglected the building.

“The eaves need painting, the doors need revarnishing and it wouldn’t hurt to freshen up the sign.” She started to mention the pots of geraniums, but decided she’d better not push her luck. “And that’s just on the outside,” she said before going back to her mopping.

His head snapped up. “And what’s wrong with the inside? Other than the plaster,” he quickly added before she could rub his nose in that again.

Leighanna sighed and drew the mop up, folding her hands over the top of its handle. “Well, for starters, the tabletops are a disgrace. They’ve been scrubbed so much there is nothing left of their finish but raw wood. It’s all but impossible to get the stains off them.”

He hunched his shoulders defensively. “I can’t afford to replace every damn table in the place.”

“You wouldn’t have to. You could either refinish them, or maybe even use tablecloths to cover them. A bit of color certainly wouldn’t hurt.”

“Tablecloths!” He snorted and slapped a ten dollar stack of quarters onto the bar. “If you had your way, you’d turn this place into a damn tearoom.”

“Tables in a tearoom are covered with linen and lace. I was thinking more in the line of checkered oilcloths.”

Hank cocked his head to look at her in disgust. “Checkered?”

“Yes,” she said, hoping she could hold his interest long enough to convince him. “Preferably red and white. It would carry out your country motif.”

“What the hell’s a motif?”

“You know,” she said, fluttering her hand at him. “Theme.”

It was all Hank could do to keep from rolling his eyes. A country motif, for God’s sake! As if he’d actually had a theme in mind when he’d opened The End of the Road for business.

But then he remembered the compliments the clean windows had drawn and Leighanna’s warning that somebody might move into Temptation and open a new bar to compete against him. He’d already heard the rumors about a couple who were moving to town to open a clothing store. For all he knew, someone could very well be planning to open a bar. Hank knew he was stubborn, but he certainly wasn’t a fool.

He levered a pile of dimes into a stack. “I suppose if a person were of a mind,” he muttered, “they could pick up something like that over at Carter’s Mercantile.”

Surprised that he’d even consider her suggestion, Leighanna took a hesitant step toward him. “I could do it for you. In fact, I could measure the tables and cut the cloth myself.”

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