LITMIR.BIZ

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swing close, but she caught it and stepped inside, assailed by the odor of grease and heat from the griddle and frier.

      Bernie—Mr. Butcher—gestured her across the room to a doorway. He followed, pushing open the door of a small storage area. “Put your belongings in here and grab an apron.”

      She tucked her handbag into a niche and pulled an apron from a hook, then tied it around her waist. As she turned back and reached for the doorknob, she spotted a floor plan of the Harbor Inn’s seating arrangement and table stations. She studied it a moment, hoping she could remember which table was which.

      While pride railed her for offering to help, common sense led her to the cook rather than following Gerri’s path and escaping out the door. “By the way, my name’s—”

      “Food’s up for table six.” He pointed to the dishes lining the warming window.

      Her head whirling, she read the ticket, recalled the floor plan and carried the food to the table she hoped was number six. As she approached, the diners’ expressions let her know she’d made a good guess.

      “Here you go,” she said, balancing the plates as she removed them from her arm. “I’m sorry for the wait.” She eyed their near empty cups. “I’ll be right back with fresh coffee and some ketchup.”

      The customers nodded and dove into their food while she scurried away to bring back the items. Her waitress skills popped into her consciousness. She refreshed their coffee, then put on a new pot and headed for two new arrivals.

      When she placed their order, she grabbed the next ticket. Table three. The floor plan shot into her mind. Nick Bunyan. She gazed at the whitefish sandwich with a dollop of slaw on the side. Healthier than fries or a greasy burger. She pictured him swinging the ax as her unsteady hand grasped the plate.

      Rona avoided his gaze as she crossed the floor to him, realizing someone had cleaned up the fallen mess. She slid the plate in front of him. “I’ll bring you a refill. Decaf or regular?”

      “Regular, and nice job.” He tilted his head toward the kitchen.

      His comment caught her off guard. “Thanks,” she said, trying to avoid his eyes. But he touched her arm and she had to look.

      He gave her a faint smile. “Black.”

      Black? The word hung in the air until she remembered the coffee. “I’ll be right back.” His grin unsettled her, though she knew she was being silly. Most people in a small town recognized a stranger and she was a stranger.

      After filling his cup, she took other orders and refreshed drinks, avoiding him; but drawn by curiosity, she couldn’t help but glance his way. She saw him sipping the coffee and scanning a newspaper.

      His gaze lifted from the paper to hers.

      He’d caught her gaping again. Rona looked away as if she hadn’t noticed. She’d come to Michigan’s upper peninsula to get away from her past and keep a low profile, but she hadn’t done a very good job today. She’d lived so much on the edge of stress, tension knotted in her again.

      Foolish. He was a good-looking man, a kind man, she reminded herself. He meant nothing by his stare. New in town, she was a curiosity.

      She concentrated on her work, took orders and bussed tables, wondering why Butcher or Bernie, whatever she was supposed to call him, hadn’t hired more help. She would certainly earn her wage today—whatever it was. She’d forgotten to ask.

      Rona zipped past Nick and pushed a utility cart filled with dirty dishes through the kitchen door. The lunch crowd had slowed and she stood a moment to get her bearings.

      Bernie pulled out a basket of fries to drain and headed her way. “You’re a lifesaver.” He wiped his hand on his apron and stuck it out toward her. “And a good one.”

      “Thank you.” She grinned at his overdone welcome. “I’m Rona Meyers, in case you want to know who’s worked here for the last two hours.”

      “Sorry.” He lowered his head as if realizing what he’d done. “I own the place and when things go wrong, I lose my cool. My busboy called in sick and then Gerri quit. What I need is good steady help.”

      She could be good steady help, but he didn’t know her and she was certain he wouldn’t hire a stranger. She only nodded at his complaints.

      “Mandy should be here in another hour, and Jimmy’ll bus.”

      “Then I’ll keep going until someone shows up.”

      He’d turned away, and she was left feeling empty again. For two hours she’d had a purpose, even if it was only waitressing, but it appeared that in a couple of hours, it would be over. She’d find work somewhere.

      Rona snatched an empty cart, pulled it into the dining room and parked it beside the counter, then grabbed the coffeepot. When she turned, she felt her heart sink a little. Nick’s table was empty, but he’d left her a five dollar tip—more than she deserved.

      What did she care except he’d added a little excitement to her life. She grimaced, recalling excitement was what she wanted to escape.

      The next hour flew past, and when a cute blond woman came in through the back door, Rona assumed she was Mandy. The woman gave her a strange look as if to ask what was she doing in the kitchen.

      “Gerri quit,” Bernie said, apparently noticing her questioning look.

      “Oh.” She moved closer. “You’re the new waitress?”

      She wished. “I’m Rona. Just filling in.”

      Her scowl turned to a smile as she extended her hand. “I’m Mandy.”

      Rona shook her hand, then glanced at the clock. “Guess I can get on my way.” She eyed Bernie, waiting for him to offer to pay her.

      Instead, he pointed toward the warmer. “Can you catch that?”

      She scooted back through the door, grabbed the two fish platters, then stopped in her tracks. After only an hour, Nick had returned. Rona veered in the other direction and set the plates in front of two men deep in conversation.

      Before she took another step, Nick flagged her to his table. “Mandy will catch your order. She’ll be out in a moment.”

      “I’d like to talk with you for a minute if you don’t mind.”

      A frown tightened her forehead. “Me?” She poked her index finger against her chest, sensing he was coming on to her.

      He nodded. “When you’re finished.”

      She eyed him a moment. “If you think—”

      “I’m not thinking anything.”

      He grinned and her concern eased, but it didn’t stop her questions. What did he want? Why had he come back?

      His good looks melded with her curiosity and she realized she’d assumed the negative without using good sense. She’d come here to escape her unhappy life and now she realized she’d brought the fears along with her.

      Without answering him, Rona shot back into the kitchen, longing to know what the man wanted, but thinking it might be best to leave through the back door. Before Bernie asked her to do anything else, she slipped off her apron, strode to the storage room and hung it on the hook where she’d found it. She pulled her shoulder bag from the niche and drew in a deep breath.

      Gaining composure, Rona walked back into the kitchen. “I’m leaving,” she said, waiting for Bernie to acknowledge her.

      He finally glanced at the wall clock, then turned his head to look at her. “We’re still short help. Why don’t you stick around until five.”

      “Until five?” If staying meant the possibility of being offered the job, she needed to use wisdom. “Okay.”

      “Family here?” He shuffled his feet as if he were hedging.

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