Page 1 of Engaging with Her Enemy

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“Hey babe, where's my dinner?” a sweaty guy bellowed, accompanied by several loud, rowdy laughs from his friends. Idiots liked to travel in packs. Co-workers judging by the dirty state of all their clothing.

Becky Gallagher shook her head as she passed by their table, ignoring them. For now. She had a limit to what she'd take. Tips were part of her income, and jackasses like them weren't new, but that didn't mean she'd let it go on for long.

“Ron, you 'bout done with that burger?” Becky leaned her hip against the kitchen door, propping it open and watching the cook twirl his spatula and hum a tune she didn't recognize. “I have at least three more tables that need their orders taken.”

“Sounds like you need some help with those guys.” He shot her an amused glance over his shoulder and flipped a burger.

“Nope.” She pushed the rest of the way into the kitchen and rubbed her neck, waiting for the cook to finish the next order. The back door stood open, letting in a soft, cool February breeze. She picked up her chin-length, brown hair and took a deep, settling breath. The night was far from over since they were down to one cook and one dish washer. On a typical night, Ms. Iris, the owner, would help in the kitchen or in the front, taking up the slack. But of all nights, they were short-staffed with the dinner rush.

Ron plated the burger. “Busiest night we've had in a while.”

“This is the first night that the construction crew is in town for the new highway widening project.” And it had to be the same night she had her class at the nearby community college. She glanced at her watch. She'd never make it at this rate. Her relief would be here soon, but she couldn't leave Eliza with a backup of orders.

“Here you go, Becky.”

She mustered a sassy smile for her old friend and winked. “Thanks. I'll be sure to split my tips with you later. They better be worth all this abuse.”

Ron laughed as he tossed the next burger on the grill and then pulled the basket of fries from the fryer. “You split them every night. Not sure what you actually take home yourself.”

Becky bumped the swinging door with her hip. “I take home enough.” She sighed as she mentally went over who had what order at table eleven. She needed the tips, no doubt. They helped her pay for her college, one class at a time for the past six years. She earned some on the side selling her cakes and pies, and now cookies in her friend's small, country store. Baking gave her happiness. But busting her ass every day at the Daylight Diner paid the bills.

“Here we go.” She set the plates down in front of Gerald Henderson and his wife Tiffy, Becky’s old second-grade teacher. “Y'all let me know if you need anything.”

“Thanks, Becky. I can tell you right now I want a piece of the caramel cake I see sitting on the counter,” Gerald said. “Give me about fifteen minutes on this burger, first.”

“Sure thing.” A short burst of pride shot through her. Despite the long list of things she couldn't do, baking wasn't one of them. Back in high school, she'd spent countless hours perfecting that caramel cake recipe.

With a quick peek at the old Coke clock on the wall above the counter, she rushed back to the kitchen to reload her tray to deliver the next table's meal. Thirty minutes left until Eliza showed up. That'd leave her precisely enough time to make it to her night class if she flew down the highway. Accounting at eight o'clock at night after a full day's shift on her feet meant coffee. Lots of coffee.

“Miss?”

A strange shiver crept up her spine from the deep voice. She turned. Dark brown eyes watched her with a strange familiarity. She popped a practiced smile in place. “Sorry, we're a little short-staffed right now.” The unexpected rush had caught everyone unaware.

He folded his menu as his lips tilted into a smile that Becky was sure had picked up dozens of women. Player. A man like that, with a scruffy five o'clock shadow that looked permanent, probably charmed a new woman out of her pants nightly. If only she had the energy to respond with something other than “what would you like to drink?”

“Hey, girlie!” Yelled a sleazy looking guy two tables away. He happened to sit across from the sweaty guy who'd shouted at her before. At the encouragement of his buddies, he winked at her. “Don't let that city boy sweet-talk you all night, come and shoot the breeze with us.” He pushed back from the table and patted his lap. “I saved you a seat.”

Hell. Becky rolled her eyes to the ceiling. Patience. Ms. Iris didn't like violence in her diner.

It'd been a solid three months since Becky had kicked someone out for grabbing her ass. Well, she'd kicked him out after dumping their milkshake over his head and making sure he’d paid his bill after a few threats to call the sheriff. He didn't have to know that two of her best friends made up the Sheriff Department in their sleepy little town.

“Can I stick around and watch you handle them?”

The newcomer’s warm, chocolate eyes held hers. He sure as hell didn't sound like he came from the city like the other men had suggested. Definitely Southern. Definitely country. He crossed his arms, his biceps straining against the cuff of his clean, white collared shirt. Short sleeves with a tan even though it was February. A small scar ran through the corner of his lip and another one through his eyebrow, marring his face but doing nothing to cool the heat in her blood.

Her last boyfriend had been a scrawny thing who'd revealed a mile-wide male chauvinistic streak after a year of dating. He'd broken up with her when Becky had reasonably pointed out his error in thinking women had no other worth than birthing babies and cleaning dirty socks.

She pushed a strand of hair off her forehead and set her hands on her hips. “I'd rather you tell me what you want to drink so I can keep these orders moving and get them out of here. I don't have time to deal with them tonight.” And she'd sooner they finished before Eliza showed up. Eliza was too sweet for her own good sometimes.

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, eyes locked on hers. “Coke. Burger. Nothin' but ketchup. And one of Ms. Iris's famous strawberry milkshakes.”

“Her milkshakes are amazing. Although, you’ll have to settle on me makin’ it for you tonight. You want that with your burger or afterward?” Why did that amuse him? The small scar caught her eye again as his lips tilted up on one side. On a slower night, she'd pull out a chair and sit to get to know the stranger a little better. On areallygood night, she'd flirt her ass off and see where it might go.

“Is she here?”

“Ms. Iris?”

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