Page 17 of Tattered and Torn

“That’s right, I am,” Gabrielle says as she walks up to our table. “Why reinvent the wheel, right? I’m a chef, not a baker.” She bites back a grin. “Hello, gentlemen,” she says in a cool, professional voice. “I’m Gabrielle. I’ll be your server tonight.”

“You sure are a multitasker,” Killian says. “Both chef and server. I’ll have the fettuccini. Please tell me there’s some left.”

When Gabrielle smiles, her entire face lights up. Her soft pink lips curve up, revealing little dimples in the corners. “You’re in luck,” she says. “Do you want grilled chicken with that, steamed broccoli, and garlic bread?”

“Please, God, yes,” Killian says.

Then she turns to me. “And you, sir? What can I get you?”

I bite back a smile. I like this playful side of her. “You had time to make all that just since we got back from town?”

She nods. “Pasta and grilled chicken don’t take long.”

“I’ll have the same as Killian, thanks.”

“What can I get you guys to drink?” she asks.

“I’ll have a Coke,” Killian says.

She watches me expectantly, waiting for my answer. I’m tempted to ask for a beer, but I know I’d better not. During my rehabilitation period, I got in trouble relying too much on alcohol to get me through the rough patches. Now I’m afraid it might be a slippery slope for me, and I can’t risk it. It’s one thing to want a drink from time to time, but when I think I need one—that’s scares me. “I’ll have the same.”

Gabrielle brings our Cokes out right away. And fortunately, we don’t have to wait long for our dinners, which is good because my stomach is turning on itself.

I take a bite of the pasta Alfredo and moan. It’s incredible. The chicken is tender and grilled to perfection. The garlic bread is warm and crusty.

Killian takes a bite of his food and groans in appreciation. “Oh, man. I’m lookin’ forward to seeing her new menu. Hiring her is the best decision we ever made.”

I take another bite of pasta. “No argument there.”

Near the end of our meal, Gabrielle returns to tell us about the dessert options: blackberry cobbler with vanilla ice cream and brownies.

We both opt for the cobbler.

When I’m nearly done with dessert, I glance over at the podium to see Gabrielle standing behind there, and a man standing on the other side, facing her. He’s tall, slender, and tan, with blond hair parted on the side. He looks like money. He looks like a man used to getting whatever he wants. I recognize him as a guest, but he’s never gone out on a trail ride. I think he’s here for the fishing.

He says something to Gabrielle, and she laughs. Then she says something, and he laughs. He says something else, and she smiles politely as she shakes her head. When he reaches out to touch her, she steps back abruptly. Her smile quickly fades, and again she shakes her head, this time with more determination.

“Who’s that?” I ask Killian, pointing to the podium.

Killian follows the direction of my finger. “That’s Tom Anderson, an investment banker from L.A. He’s here for the fly fishing.”

“He’s bothering Gabrielle.”

Killian stills as he watches them. “How can you tell? She looks fine.”

“She’s not.”

When Anderson reaches for Gabrielle’s hand and she pulls it back behind her, I shoot to my feet. “I told you.”

And then I’m across the dining room in two seconds flat, stepping close beside Gabrielle behind the podium. When she tosses me a relieved glance, I know my instincts were right. “Can I help you?” I ask the man.

He narrows steely gray eyes on me. “No. I was talking to the lady. Do you mind?”

“Yeah, I mind.” I check the clock on the wall. It’s ten ‘til eight. “Dinner’s over. We were just leaving.”

“We?” The guy stares at me in disbelief. “She’s leaving with you?” He sneers at me. “I don’t believe that for a second, pal.” His gaze zeroes in on my face. “In fact, I’d bet against it.”

When I take a step toward him, Gabrielle grabs my right arm and pulls me back. “I need to grab a few things from the kitchen, John. Would you mind helping me?”

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