Mr. Dangerous Read online

  She beamed at him, absolutely gorgeous. Leaning in close to him over the counter, she whispered, “I’m off at eight.” And then she was gone, smiling and helping other customers. Wade’s heart was bursting. She’d said yes. He hadn’t planned on asking her out, it had just happened. He surprised himself with how forward he behaved, but she said she was off at eight. Wade Oliver had a date.

  His buddy Jacob came in and sat down at the counter next to Wade. “What are you smiling about?” he asked.

  “Oh, hey, Jacob. Nothing. I’m just drinking my coffee. How are you doing?”

  “Not so great.”

  “Why’s that?”

  Delaney hurried over, glanced at Wade with playful eyes, and asked Jacob if he’d like anything to drink. He ordered a coffee as well, and when Delaney walked off, Jacob said, “Good gracious. When did she start working here?”

  “Yesterday or the day before,” Wade told him.

  “She’s hotter than the longest day of summer!”

  “You’re telling me.”

  “What I wouldn’t do to—”

  “—I have a date with her tonight.”

  “You do not.”

  “I do too. She told me she’d be off at eight o’clock.”

  “Well, that doesn’t mean it’s a date.”

  “What do you mean? Of course it does,” Wade defended himself.

  “It means that she is free at eight, but she hasn’t promised you a date, buddy.”

  “I think it does.” Wade took a sip of his coffee and shook his head at Jacob. He’d always been a troublemaker. “Anyway, why are you ‘not so good?’”

  “It’s about our ranch,” Jacob said, lowering his voice. “My father got a letter in the mail the other day from the bank, saying that if we didn’t pay what we owe in the next month, then we’d have to declare bankruptcy and forfeit our land to the bank.”

  “That happened to us as well,” Wade told him.

  “I’m not surprised. I know three ranches that have already gone under.”

  “You think it’s a scam?”

  “What do you mean, do I think it’s a scam. Wade, I know it’s a scam.” Jacob sipped his coffee, looking at Wade over the rim of his mug. “When have any of us paid rent on time? None of us cowboys pay until the season is over. That’s just the way it is. That’s the way it’s always been.”

  “You’re right.”

  “Why would they just now be demanding we pay? We’ve never paid monthly. They’re robbing us is what they’re doing. Just because they can.”

  It all clicked in Wade’s mind. “You know, I went down to the bank just now, before I came to Sally’s. The bank lady wouldn’t do anything to help me. She said there was nothing she could do, but I could tell from the look in her eyes that something was off with her. Like she knew something I didn’t know. By no means was that woman going to help me.”

  “That sounds about right,” Jacob said.

  Wade got an idea. What if—

  Just at that moment, a man stumbled into the diner. He had a shaved head and puffy eyes. By the way he moved it was obvious he was drunk. Wade noted how Verna looked from him to Delaney and back. The man blundered his way to the counter and sat down on a stool. He banged his fist down on the table, and Delaney hurried over to him. She did not look happy.

  “I wonder who that is,” Jacob said, watching them as closely as Wade did.

  Delaney leaned in close as she talked with him. He raised his voice to her, saying something along the lines of “How could you?”

  Verna hurried over to them, said something in Delaney’s ear, and then Delaney ushered the man out of the diner. Verna took over behind the counter. Jacob motioned to her, and she grabbed the coffee pot on her way over.

  “More coffee?”

  “No thanks, Verna. I’ve got to be going. I was just wondering what that was all about.”

  “What do you mean?” she asked, feigning ignorance.

  “You know what I mean. That man who came in here just now? Who was that?”

  Jacob was a gossip, but Verna was even more of a gossip. To see her shrug her shoulders and walk off, as if she had absolutely no clue, was very strange.

  Jacob raised his eyebrows and rubbed his nose with the back of his hand.

  “Something weird definitely just happened. I wonder who that was. Her boyfriend maybe?”

  “Oh come on, Jacob. That wasn’t her boyfriend. He must have been twice her age.”

  “Could have been. Anyway, good luck with your date,” Jacob muttered as he lumbered off his stool. He tossed a couple of bucks onto the counter, thanked Verna, and headed off. Wade was left alone at the counter. The diner had somehow emptied in the time he’d been talking to Jacob. He looked at his watch. It was seven o’clock—an hour to go. Verna came over to him and asked if she could get him anything, but Wade wasn’t hungry.

  “Verna, can I ask you something?”

  “Sure, Wade. What do you need?”

  “About Delaney. Who was that who came in here just now?”

  “I really can’t say, dear. It’s not my place,” she muttered, and turned around.

  Wade finished the rest of his coffee in silence, looking up at the door every once in a while to see if Delaney would come back. By nine o’clock, Verna was concerned about him.

  “Why have you been hanging out here all evening, Wade? I’m sure John needs you back at the ranch.”

  “You’re right,” he agreed. “I better be off.”

  He left the diner feeling confused and distraught—about Delaney, about John’s sickness, about the bank. How was he going to fix it all? There was nothing he could do about Delaney. He was sure he’d find out soon enough what had happened to her. John would have to go to the doctor—hopefully sooner rather than later. And the bank…Wade was beginning to formulate a plan.

  Chapter Three

  Delaney Hart had been relieved when she got the job at Sally’s Diner. It gave her something to do and somewhere to go. As she walked out of her uncle’s house that day, heading to her first day of work, she felt her shoulders relax and her chest unwind. Her uncle was asleep on the couch, passed out from a heavy night of drinking.

  She silently shut the door. Delaney told him she had gotten a job as a waitress when he was drunk, but she doubted he would remember. She pushed away thoughts of what he might do if he found out, and focused on the day ahead of her.

  Verna, the owner of Sally’s, had told her to be at the diner at noon. She didn’t have a car and her uncle wouldn’t let her touch his, so she decided to walk. She knew she’d be there in about half an hour—plenty of time before her shift started.

  As she walked down Main Street, she hummed softly to herself, experiencing a sense of freedom that she had not felt since before her mother passed away, and she dropped out of college to move to Montana to live with her uncle. This new job had given her a sense of purpose and motivation that had been ripped out of her fingers the moment she found out that her mother had cancer.

  Living with her uncle turned out to be the opposite of what she had expected. He was not the same warm, loving uncle she remembered from when she was a kid. He was old, bitter, and drunk. He was cold, violent, and unpredictable. Delaney had only been living with him about a month when he first hit her in a fit of drunken rage. She couldn’t remember what she did to provoke him, but then again, she rarely did anything to provoke him.

  He had his own cavernous anger that projected itself onto everything that moved. There was a sweet spot in the course of his drinking where he would become lucid, and he’d want to talk and hug and apologize, but that moment never lasted long, and she was always wary when he would look at her a certain way.

  Main Street was lively that day. Delaney remembered finding herself smiling at people on the street. The sun was shining, and the sky was optimistically blue. Delaney glanced at her wristwatch, and upon seeing it was a good deal past eleven o’clock, she quickened her pace. She could not deny that
she was a little bit nervous to start her new job.

  Before coming to Montana, she’d been a college student, and before that a high school student. She’d had a minor stint as a lifeguard during the summer, and a part time job serving ice cream, but she’d never been a waitress before. It can’t be that hard, she said to herself. Reminding herself to stand up straight, she made it to the diner with a few minutes to spare.

  Verna was waiting for her inside. The older woman smiled and asked if she wanted anything to drink before they got started with training. Delaney sipped on ice water as Verna showed her around the diner, introduced her to the cooks, told her where to find extra supplies, and handed her a uniform—a cute little blue dress with a yellow-checkered apron and a big collar.

  “You have to wear this every time you come into work. Be on time, and be friendly. If you do those things, you’ll be great. Everything else will come with time and experience.”

  Delaney flashed her a wide, heartfelt smile.

  “Good, just like that. You’ll be making plenty of tips in no time,” Verna commended her encouragingly.

  She’d spent the first hour or so cleaning dishes and putting them away, the second hour sweeping and doing other light cleaning tasks, and by mid-afternoon she was rolling silverware. Verna said it was a slow day, and not to get used to it. The diner could get incredibly busy, especially on the weekends.

  It was Monday, and they usually only got regulars on Mondays. Verna told her a few stories about the regulars. The surrounding land was full of cattle ranches, so they got the cowboy type in here on a regular basis. All of them had a particular way about them, simple, forward, and rustic. There was one guy named Wade who came in two or three times a week and ordered the same thing every time. Verna said she’d probably meet him soon.

  Delaney found herself growing bored with the menial tasks, but she reminded herself she was lucky to have this job and she would become accustomed to the work in time. Just then, the bell above the diner door jangled for the first time in an hour.

  “Hi there, Wade,” she heard Verna say as she turned around. Her eyes widened as they fell upon the face of a very handsome man. Verna introduced them, and asked her to take his lunch order. Smiling, she led him to the counter. She remembered what Verna had said about him, and she surprised him by already knowing what he would order. Taken aback by his good manners and quiet disposition, she grew more and more curious about him. There was something about him—something she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

  She’d served him lunch and she did her best to be cheerful, attentive, and even a tad flirtatious. Wade was receptive and looked up at her over a bite of peach pie with his deep, blue eyes. She found herself lowering her eyelashes and biting her bottom lip. Delaney noticed Verna watching them from across the room. She couldn’t tell if the older woman was amused or disapproving—either way, she left them alone while she went over her order forms.

  When Wade finished his pie and stood up, Delaney said, “I’ll be seeing you again then?”

  “I’m sure of it,” he replied.

  On his way to the door, he nodded to Verna, and looked back at Delaney. She beamed at him, and then he was gone.

  “Well, that sure was something,” Verna commented as she walked over to the counter where Delaney stood holding Wade’s empty plate in her hands.

  “What do you mean?”

  Verna chuckled, and said, “I haven’t heard more than three sentences come out of Wade’s mouth at a time. He’s usually a one-word response kind of guy.”

  “Really?”

  “He sure did want to talk to you, though. That was obvious.”

  Delaney blushed.

  “How was it serving your first customer all by yourself?”

  “Great.”

  “You’re a natural,” Verna praised her, and squeezed Delaney’s shoulder. “Now go wash that plate, and get out of here. I’ll let you go early because it’s so slow.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Oh, yeah. I’ll see you tomorrow. At noon?”

  “See you at noon.”

  * * *

  Delaney changed out of her uniform in the bathroom and hid it in the bottom of her purse before leaving. She didn’t want her uncle to see it. The walk home was warm for late winter, and the clouds swelled like puffy, pastel blossoms in the afternoon sky.

  Delaney felt light and eager to go back to the diner for her shift tomorrow. She could never have anticipated it going so well. She smiled to herself as she reflected on her interaction with Wade. Her thoughts were inflamed with questions about him. Why did he talk to her with such warmth and enthusiasm if he was usually so quiet? Was he really a cowboy? When would he come back into the diner?

  Her mind raced all the way home. She hitched her purse up over her shoulders and almost skipped the last block toward home. Suddenly and unexpectedly, she felt like she had options, like her life was beginning to open up, to fill up. Before rounding the corner, she stopped and took a deep breath. Her uncle must not find out about all of this. If he did, he’d be livid. She wiped the smile off her face and pushed her thoughts to the back of her mind.

  Her uncle’s car was in the driveway. Delaney loved the old 1967 Ford Mustang; the faded blue paint was chipping, but that didn’t make it any less attractive. She loved its vintage flavor and didn’t believe her uncle deserved a car with such character, but he’d had it longer than she was alive. She placed her hand on the hood for a moment as she walked slowly toward the house. It was still warm. Her uncle must have just gotten home. The front door was open.

  “Hello?” she called in a chipper tone as she entered. “Are you home, Uncle Mike?”

  No response.

  “Hello?” she called again, this time a little louder.

  Still no response.

  She went into the kitchen to get a glass of water. A bottle of whiskey sat on the counter, half empty. The cap lay a couple of inches away, forgotten. She lifted the bottle to her nose, and sniffed. Her face contorted, and she wondered how anyone could drink the stuff. She’d never been a fan of alcohol.

  Delaney never remembered seeing her uncle with a bottle or a beer in his hand when her mother used to bring her here to visit. She was just a kid then, but as far as she could tell, he must have been sober back then. Then again, her Aunt Shelly hadn’t left him at that point.

  She swallowed the rest of her water, and put the glass down on the counter. Turning around, she was startled by the sight of her uncle leaning against the kitchen doorway.

  “Uncle Mike,” she said. “You’re so quiet. Why didn’t you answer when I called?”

  “You’ve been lying to me,” he said, ignoring her question.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Where have you been?” His voice was low and drawn out.

  “Nowhere. I just went out for a walk.”

  “Liar.” He took a step forward, blocking her way out of the kitchen. “You’ve been gone all day. Do you think I’m stupid?”

  “Uncle Mike, please don’t do this.”

  “Don’t do what? I’m not the one going around lying.” Taking another step forward, he stopped and swayed slightly in front of her. He was a large man; over six feet with a beer belly the size of an over-inflated beach ball. A glistening layer of sweat sparkled on his forehead, and his breath smelled of whiskey.

  “I am twenty-two years old. I can leave the house if I want to.”

  “I promised your mother I’d take care of you,” he breathed down on her.

  Delaney looked down at her feet, and said in a voice that sounded bolder than she felt, “You’ve made a lot of promises you haven’t been able to keep.”

  His eyelid twitched and his chin bulged forward. And then he slapped her. The stinging pain seared its way across her cheek. She closed her eyes, and put a hand up to her face. When she opened her eyes, her uncle was stumbling backward.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered, his head hanging low. He turned and
walked over to the counter where he picked up the bottle of whiskey, then sulked out of the kitchen, disappearing down the hallway.

  Delaney doubted he would come out of his room again that evening. Her cheek hurt, but she felt grateful that he’d be too embarrassed or guilty, or whatever it was he felt, to bother her again—at least until tomorrow, when it would start all over again.

  *

  Delaney sat on her bed, looking at her hands. They still smelled faintly of bleach from washing dishes at Sally’s. Having already gotten ready for bed, she laid down, even though she didn’t feel tired. The faint sound of music floated throughout the house. Her uncle was playing records in his room again. Record after record, drink after drink. He’d be at it for hours. It was hard to fall asleep with the clatter of furniture being bumped into, the clanging of bottles, and the music, even though it was faint.