The Blue Moon, located in Gardiner, Montana, marketed itself as "The Best Chow North of Yellowstone."
With the rudest customers.
It wasn’t hard to put two and two together. Lucas had seen this happen several times during the four months he’d been working here.
Peeking through the order-up window, he saw three idiots in the corner, under the moose head strung with winking Christmas lights, sporting varying degrees of wet hair and clothes.
A trio of assholes.
The café’s two other waitresses, Starla and Rose, hovered over them with extra napkins, while Stu, the café’s owner, offered drinks on the house.
Lucas rolled his eyes.
God only knew what they’d said to her to deserve an impromptu shower. From what he’d observed, it took a lot—a ridiculous amount of mean-spirited teasing and outright abuse—to get a rise out of Missy.
Since taking the job as short-order cook at Stu’s Blue Moon Raccoon Saloon after being paroled in September, Lucas had kept his head down and his opinions to himself. He wasn’t interested in getting into any trouble, and he certainly wasn’t aiming for any more time inside. But his lip curled as he wondered about the three guys. What had they said to upset Missy so much?
He looked over to make sure Del, the head cook, had his back turned, then glanced down at the grill where their three burgers sizzled. Bringing the spatula close to his lips, he gathered a good bit of saliva on his tongue and quietly spat on it, then he rubbed each of the burgers with a little clear goop before flipping them.
Flicking a glance toward the outside door, he wondered when Missy was coming back. It was cold and dark out and she wasn’t wearing a coat. Wasn’t wearing anything but that obscene joke of a waitress uniform.
Lucas had overheard her ask Stu for a larger size at least twice, and the answer he gave her was pure crap; the dirty old bastard liked the way it strained over her chest, just like all the other jerkoff patrons who treated her like dirt.
Makes me mad as hell.
He was grateful that restaurant owners like Stu participated in the prison release program, giving jobs to guys like Lucas who’d done their time and come out with a good behavior record, but Stu himself was kind of a douche. Missy Branson didn’t deserve to be treated like garbage. There were plenty of people he’d met that did deserve it, but not her. And yeah, he got the picture. He knew her reputation wasn’t lily white. Heck, from what he could gather it was probably closer to a dark gray. But Lucas Flynn didn’t care if Missy had screwed half the town. It didn’t change the fact that she was one of the prettiest, nicest people he’d ever met.
Lucas slid the extra-special hamburgers off the griddle and onto a trio of toasted buns. He added lettuce and tomato on the side, and three large handfuls of chips to the plates before ringing the call-bell for Rose. “Order up. Twelve.”
After using the spatula to scrape the tidbits into the front bin, Lucas turned to Del. “Okay if I take my fifteen minutes now, boss?”
“Been more’n three months, Flynn. Don’t gotta call me ‘boss.’”
“Yes, sir.” He rubbed his forehead, giving the large Native American cook a lopsided smile. “Old habits…Del.”
Del looked at the back door, then back at Lucas, raising one eyebrow.
“Think with your head,” he cautioned, glancing at Lucas’s crotch meaningfully with big, brown, world-weary eyes.
“Yes, bo—Del. Good advice.”
Del shrugged, tilting his head toward the back door. “Have at it.”
Lucas grabbed Missy’s jacket before slipping outside.
Missy Branson was sure there was a tattoo on her forehead only visible to the nastiest, rudest men who passed through Gardiner, Montana, that read in blaring, neon ink: Available.
Take, for instance, the guys over at table twelve tonight.
“Hey, Missy!”
It was the supercute guy who’d been a regular in her section recently. He was probably a winter hiker or a cross country skier, she thought, having noted the gear piled up behind his table. Many tourists came to Gardiner, Montana, in December to take advantage of the white winter landscape in Yellowstone—it was the best time of the year to see wildlife. Cutie and his friends had been in three times this week for supper, and he always offered her a bright smile and left her a good tip.
She stepped away from table ten, turning to face him, offering him a flirtatious smile. “Who, me?”
“Your name is Missy, right?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Well…can I get your number?” he asked, leaning forward with a bright smile.
The man beside Cutie stared at the table snickering quietly, but Tess locked her blue eyes on the Cutie. Did he like her? Maybe he did, she thought, her heart thundering with hope. He always sat in her section. And he wasn’t local, so he didn’t know her reputation.
Maybe she’d give him her number and Cutie would come back tomorrow night and take her out for dinner. Maybe they’d talk all night long and find out how much they had in common. He’d see what a good person she was, and—
“Earth to Missy!”
She giggled softly. “Sorry.”
“So, what is it? Your number?”
“Oh! Sure,” she said, taking the pencil from behind her ear
She wrote down the digits on an empty check and handed it to him.
Cutie spread it out on the table, then opened another piece of paper he’d hidden in his hand and compared the two numbers. They were identical.
“Hot damn!” said his friend, chortling.
Cutie looked up at her, a wide grin spreading across his face, and Missy took an involuntary step away from him. It was a mean grin. She knew it well. She’d seen it a million times before.
He pointed to the paper he’d unfolded. “Got this one off the bathroom wall. Said to call “Easy Missy” for a good time. Just wanted to be sure I got the right number.”
“Slut,” muttered his friend, pretending to cough.
Slut.
Missy’s cheeks had burned, and her body felt tingly from a sudden burst of adrenaline. She had two choices: she could cry, or she could get mad.
Without another thought, she’d yanked the full pitcher of icy water off the tray, drew back her arm and let loose, drenching all three men and yelling “Cool off!” before bee-lining through the kitchen to the loading dock.
Goodness gracious, but men could be cruel.
What would it be like to be treated—just for once—like a nice girl instead of a dirty joke?
Drying her eyes with the backs of her hands, she turned when she heard the kitchen door open behind her, catching sight of Lucas Flynn before looking away.
Great. Alone in the dark with an ex-con.
She quickly chastised herself. That wasn’t fair. Some men were monsters, true, but Lucas Flynn had been nothing but polite to her since starting at the Blue Moon a few months back. He didn’t deserve her unkind thoughts. Lord knew how she felt when unkindness was directed at her, and it sure happened often enough.
“Heya,” she murmured, making outward amends for her internal meanness.
He hung back, smelling of hamburgers and hot dogs and the warm grill inside.
“I, uh, brought your jacket,” he said softly.