That voice had been real. Jennifer had heard it, felt it in her core. The fear lingered, and she was glad for the crowded restaurant.
It was almost worse that she hadn’t seen an attacker. Her mind kept trying to convince her that it had been a ghost or something.
Yeah, right, ghost. What was next? Witches and werewolves?
“I’m losing it,” she mumbled, staring at her order pad.
“Excuse me?” a lady with bouffant red hair and too much make up asked.
“I’ll be right back with your drink. Margarita, classic lime, no salt,” Jennifer answered the customer. She usually could remember orders without writing them down, but tonight her mind was scattered, and she was scribbling notes to keep afloat.
“And cheese fries,” the woman added. She’d done the ordering, even for her husband. The woman clearly ruled her home with an iron fist because the man seemed afraid to look at any other female for too long.
“And cheese fries,” Jennifer repeated, writing it down.
“Extra ranch,” the woman said.
Jennifer nodded. “Extra ranch.”
She felt Rory’s eyes on her, or maybe she imagined it. He waited at the bar for his menu. She found she liked knowing he was there, watching out for her. Then there was the unreasonable rage-filled part of her that wanted to throw something at him.
What was he protecting her from?
How had he gotten into the storage room? She barely remembered walking in there, let alone his asking to see her after work.
What the hell was happening to her? Her mind was flustered, and she couldn’t concentrate. She felt like people were staring at her. Could she blame them? She was a freaking hot mess, thinking of ghosts and witches and home intruders. She needed this job, so there was no choice but to keep working. Running and hiding was not an option.
The very sexy Rory MacGregor oozed masculinity. He made her want to stab him and kiss him at the same time. The seed of rage was still there inside her, lingering, ready to flare up. But weren’t anger and fierce passion close emotional cousins?
The redhead stared at her. Jennifer realized the woman was done and hurried to go.
Crap, what had the woman asked for?
Jennifer looked at her notepad and read the scrawled order. “Extra ranch.”
Her gaze went to Rory at the end of the bar. He smiled at her, and she forgot what she was doing.
Jennifer rushed to the wait station and rechecked her notepad. She grabbed a premade side salad from the small refrigerator. Even out of his eyesight, it felt like Rory watched her. She ladled ranch onto the lettuce.
“There you are.”
That voice!
Jennifer gasped and turned. No one was with her. She leaned to look out at the dining room.
“Not it. I took the last large party,” Kay said, entering. “This one is yours.”
Jennifer nodded, still shaky. “How many?”
“Ten.” Kay grabbed a coffeepot to do refills and left.
Jennifer took a tray from a stack and made ten glasses of ice waters to bring to her new table. She had to get control of herself. She needed this job. Balancing the tray on her shoulder, she carried the waters and the salad out of the wait station.
Jennifer walked toward the redhead to drop off the salad. “Here you go.”
“I didn’t order this.” The redhead frowned.
“What?” Jennifer still held the tray. “Extra ranch, right?”
“For my cheese fries,” the woman snapped, her face becoming pinched in annoyance.
“Right, sorry, salad is on the house,” she muttered. “Fries are coming.”
“Who in all the blue blazes would want salad drenched in dressing?” the woman said to her husband as Jennifer walked away. “I don’t think this one’s going to earn a tip.” Her voice rose as she loudly added, “I’ll be surprised if she remembers my mar-ga-rita.”
Jennifer frowned to herself.
Crap. Don’t forget the margarita.
She turned to one of the few places they had set up for a table of ten and stopped mid-walk.
Rory stood next to Bruce and Maura and four other males who were undoubtedly related to him—the kilts were the most obvious giveaway, but their looks were a close second. There were also three women.
“Hi.” Jennifer forced herself to approach the table and began setting waters before the customers.
“Hey, Jennifer,” Maura said. “Good to see ya again.”
Jennifer nodded.
Don’t forget the margarita.
“Good to see you too.” She held the now-empty tray braced against her waist and pulled her notepad out of her apron.
“Jennifer, meet some of my family,” Maura introduced. “These are my cousins Erik, his wife Lydia, Iain, his wife Jane, Euann, his wife Cora, and Uncle Raibeart.”
Jennifer tried to keep her smile, but there was no way she was remembering all of those names. She couldn’t remember the…
Damn it. What was she supposed to get?
“Pleasure to meet ya again, lassie.” Raibeart stood from the head of the table and made a flourishing gesture with his hand. Jennifer stared at his hands, trying to remember where she might have seen them. “Ya might not remember me, but—”
“Glowing,” she whispered.
“Aye. Glowing indeed,” Raibeart answered. “So ya feel it too? Does that mean ya remember my offer?”
“What offer?” Jennifer had no idea what he was talking about.
“Raibeart, just…” Rory gestured at his uncle to sit down. “Pretend you’re someone else.”
“Like who?” Raibeart hunched his shoulders and mocked, his words slurring, “Look at me, I’m Rory. I have warts on my arse. I haven’t had a date in three hundred years, and it’s made me grouchy. Unless ya count my right ha—”
“Raibeart!” Maura scolded. “We can’t take ya anywhere.”
“Ya sounded just like your ma, right then,” Raibeart said. “I’m going to call ya Little Cait.”
“Don’t make me tell my ma on ya, Raibeart,” Maura warned.
“Do, and ya will be in as much trouble as I, Little Cait,” Raibeart returned. “We’re not supposed to be here tonight. Cait said we have to leave Rory alone. I guess she was worried the laddie wouldn’t stand a chance with his Uncle Raibeart stealing the show. Ladies can’t resist me.”
“All right then,” Maura said in apparent disbelief.
“It’s true. Just today, I polled a forum full of sexy ladies and asked if they’d marry me. Every one of them said aye. I can prove it.” He produced a cell phone from the sporran resting against the front of his kilt. “I made sure the poll blocked the group until they answered, too. That way, they wouldn’t get too shy about it. Ya know how the ladies are around a handsome man.”
“An internet poll?” Maura laughed. “What options did ya give them? Yes, aye, and hell yeah? Did ya even put a no option on there?”
“Why would I? Whose going to say no?” Raibeart scoffed. He continued to look at his phone screen. “I know that the group is here somewhere.” He began mumbling to himself as he swiped. “Knitting forum, Michelle Pillow reader group—sounds familiar, but no, I don’t think it’s that—uh, used cars, tea party ideas, kilt enthusiasts, fire bagpipes, naked Scotland. Och, I almost forgot, I have new photos to post there.”