Page 6 of With a Grain of Salt

Going home right now, after it's already too late to go pick Larkin up, would mean I've done nothing this evening but waste my time.

I hate the burn of tears behind my eyes. I hate that when I get angry that's how my body chooses to enter a fight.

Chapter 3

Walker

Seeing the look in her eyes and how quickly they go from a little annoyed to glossy like she's about to cry makes me glad that I approached her in a more private place.

But also, there's nothing to distract me back here in the kitchen, and I don't do well with sobbing women at all.

"You don't work here," I repeat. "Besides, you should be at home spending time with your kid, not trying to pick men up in a bar."

If I ever have the chance to go back in time and change one thing from my past, I know I'd choose to keep my damn mouth shut instead of telling this gorgeous woman what she should be doing with her life.

The tears I thought were going to fall dry up as quickly as they showed up, and I swear the woman is getting ready for a battle I'm not prepared to fight, much less win.

She lifts her chin an inch, her shoulders squaring up with mine.

"My daughter," she says. "Not my kid. And for your information, I'm working, not trying to pick up men."

She walks past me, and I make my second stupid decision of the night when I reach out and stop her in her tracks with my hand on her upper arm. I know it's a mistake from the way she looks down at where I'm touching her and back up into my eyes, as if she's given me an opportunity to choose differently.

I release her arm, but she doesn't take a step back like I expect her to. She glares at me as if she'd claw my eyes out if there wouldn't be legal repercussions to it. From the glint of rage in her eyes, it makes me think it's not off the table yet, that she's just weighing the pros and cons.

"Listen, you can finish this shift, but that's it."

Her eyes narrow, but she doesn't argue with me.

The scent of her perfume sticks around long after she leaves the kitchen. It isn't until the loud whoosh of the automatic dishwasher indicating it has finished its cycle startles me that I realize I've been standing here feeling like I've been put in my place by a woman I don't even know.

I expect to find the apron she was wearing hung on the hook in the hallway, but instead, I step back behind the bar and watch her work the room like a professional.

"The way you're glaring at her, I'd think you hate her," Maggie says as she slides past me to get to the tap so she can pull a couple of beers.

"She doesn't work here," I explain.

"And yet watch her work."

I draw in a deep breath. Maggie has a point. If anyone came in here and watched her, they'd think that Claire has been here months if not years. They'd never believe she hasn't even completed a single shift yet. I imagine the bar owner back in El Paso hated to see the day she left, but it doesn't change the fact that I can't have her around.

"I'm letting her finish this shift, but she won't be back."

Maggie stands in front of me, staring at me until I drop my eyes down to hers.

"If you fire her, then I'm gone too."

"I can't fire her if she doesn't work here," I argue.

"I'm not going to repeat myself, Walker Conley. I can't keep working these hectic shifts. I can barely keep my eyes open in class because they're exhausting me so badly." I see the reality in her eyes.

"I'm sorry. Listen, I'll—"

"You'll let her keep working. She's the best you've hired in six months."

"I didn't hire her," I repeat, but I know arguing semantics won't matter. Maggie has put her foot down and, as unprepared as I am to lose her in under a year, I sure as hell can't move that timetable up to tonight.

"I'm not agreeing to anything," I tell her, but a smile spreads across her face as if she already knows what my decision is going to be.

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