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Rowan
The next morning, I opened the diner door to find Scooby waiting for me just outside. “What are you doing out in the cold?” I admonished.
“I was waiting in my truck until I saw you flip the lights on.” He smirked. “But it’s nice to know you care.”
“Don’t get too excited. I have a habit of bringing in strays from the cold. Dusty says I have a terminal case of bleeding heart’s disease.”
“I hope it’s not contagious,” he said, with a smirk.
I waved him in, biting the inside of my cheek as he shrugged off his leather jacket. Today he wore a tight long-sleeved Henley under a leather vest with a giant patch on the back of it that read, “PRIMAL HOWLERS MC,” dark jeans, motorcycle boots. And the man wore thick rimmed glasses.
Lord on high, glasses.
Bend me over, he was like some badass, biker Clark Kent. Or maybe more like Superman, only without the sissy silk cape.
“How long have you been waiting for me to open up?” I asked.
“Well, the sign says, six a.m., so I suspect I was waiting for you to open up some time around six a.m.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Well, since it’s only five-twenty-two and we’re not running an early bird special, just how long have you been out here?”
“Don’t sleep much,” he said.
“I just put on a pot of coffee. It’s on the house,” I said, starting to ramble. “I’d offer you breakfast, but I just discovered that not only is the oven busted, but the grill also just went out, so I’m going to have to improvise there.”
“Yeah, I heard you had some trouble with your contractor.”
“No good, piece of poop, lying jerk face,” I muttered under my breath, and Scooby chuckled. I wrinkled my nose. “Sorry.”
“Lucky for you, I’m an electrician.”
“You are?”
“Yeah,” he said. “Happy to have a look.”
“Oh my god, that would be amazing,” I said, then frowned. “But I don’t have any money. I know you think I have fifty-million, but I wasn’t lying—”
“I know you weren’t lying.”
“You do? Wait...” I narrowed my eyes. “What changed between yesterday and today?”
“I met you.”
Lordy, the man was gonna make me lose my mind. Or maybe just my panties.
“I’ll pay you something,” I rushed to say. “I’ll figure out—”
“The coffee will be just fine, Rowan,” he said.
I smiled. “And free refills.”
“Now, you better not start spoilin’ me or I might keep comin’ back.”
I shivered at the prospect. “Everyone gets free refills, Scooby.”
He grinned. “Show me the oven.”
I nodded, locking the door again, then leading him back to the kitchen. My line cook, Monty, walked in just as Scooby was pulling the oven away from the wall.
Lamont Haywood was in his late fifties and had been down on his luck for most of his life (his words). He’d recently been released from county jail after serving one year for trespassing and couldn’t find a job anywhere in the city. He lived in a nearby halfway house that didn’t have a phone, so would use the payphone outside the diner to setup job interviews. It was one of the last remaining payphones in the city and Lamont would stand right next to it all day long should any possible employer call him back. The only time he’d ever leave his post was to come inside to order a cup of coffee or use the restroom. He was soft spoken, gentle and had one of the kindest faces I’d ever seen. He’d been hanging around the diner for almost a week until I could no longer handle watching a man nearly freeze to death, so I’d invited him in for a cup of coffee, on the house. This led to him insisting he cook for me, which in turn, led to the best freaking biscuits and gravy I’d ever had, in my life. I hired him on the spot.
We’d set some ground rules, and he’d been with me ever since.
“Damn, oven busted again?” Monty asked.
“Yes, sorry, I texted you yesterday, did you not see it?”
Monty sheepishly held up what was left of a cell phone I’d given him. “I’m sorry, Rowan. I’m not used to having one of these things in my pocket, and I sort of sat on it. I planned on replacing it today after work.”
“Well, we won’t be doing any cooking unless the stupid range starts working again.”
“Looks like the pilot light starter is burnt out. It was probably faulty and shorted out. I can replace it, no problem,” Scooby said on a grunt from his place on the floor as he pulled the back panel off the unit.
Monty gave me a dubious expression, his eyebrows raised as he nodded toward the broken appliance. “Fingers crossed.”
“Why don’t you head down to the cell phone place now, drop off your phone, come back here. Hopefully by then the oven will be up and running again. Either way I’ll still pay you for a full day.”
“Okay, I’ll go get this dealt with and swing back by.”
“Thank you,” I said. “Be careful.”
“Always am.”
He grinned and walked out the door.
* * *
Scooby
Two and a half hours, and a pot of coffee later, I’d fixed both the oven, the grill, and a faulty thermostat on her freezer. Monty had returned and was already hard at work cooking up the food for the sudden lunch rush. I’d also managed to rewire the light in the supply closet, which now no longer blinked and sparked every time they flipped the switch.
“One less fire hazard,” I remarked as I screwed the faceplate back on.
“Wow, I didn’t really think about that,” Rowan admitted, then glanced at her watch. “Oh, shoot. I need to let Lord out.”
Before I could ask who Lord was, she was gone. I walked back into the kitchen just as Dusty pulled the first pan full of muffins out of the newly fixed oven. “Blueberry.”
I grinned. “My favorite.”
“You grab yourself a fresh cup of coffee and I’ll save one of these for ya,” Dusty promised.
I figured I must be on Rowan’s good side if I was now on Dusty’s good side.
“Thanks, darlin’.”
“My pleasure.”
Dusty went back out to help the three customers at the breakfast bar while I poured what I swore would be my last cup of coffee, turning to face Rowan’s office as she led a giant German Shepherd through the back door.
“Go to your bed, Lord,” she ordered, and the dog went into the office before Rowan closed him in.
I nodded toward the office. “Your dog’s well trained.”
“He sure is.”
“You train him yourself?”
“I did,” she said. “Although, he’s been gone for the past few days for a more specialized service dog training program. If I don’t have the knowledge to tap into something I know Lord can do, I make sure I find someone who does.”
“Service dog, huh? Are you training him to be a guide dog for the blind or something?”
“No. Lord’s stuck with me I’m afraid.”
“I can’t imagine he’d complain about that,” I said, making Rowan visibly blush.
“Well, I’m the lucky one. Lord is the best dog on the planet,” she said.
“He seems like it. Why’d you name him Lord?”
She grinned, her nose wrinkling in the cutest fuckin’ way.
“Because the Lord is my shepherd,” she said, leaning into the punchline.
“Jesus Christ,” I breathed out, unable to stop a chuckle.
We made our way out to the front and I noticed a chalkboard hung on the wall which listed today’s specials, including the “Don’t go Bacon my Heart” double cheeseburger, the “Put a Ring on it” Onion Rings, and the “Let’s Give ‘em Something to Taco ‘bout” Tacos.
On the counter was a large jar of pickles, which read “I’m kind of a Big Dill.”
“You have a thing for dad jokes, don’t you?”
“Dad jokes are the punical of humor.”
“Oooh, blueberry,” she squeaked, making a beeline for the muffins. “My favorite.”
She grabbed the breakfast treat, offering one to me, which I eagerly accepted.
“Is Lord protective?” I asked as we ate.
“Extremely,” she said. “He’s a rescue. I got him a year ago from the SPCA in Denver. He was two and had been surrendered to them twice for aggressiveness.” She grinned. “But he just needed love and training.”
“You keep him with you at all times, yeah?”
“Well, I live upstairs, so unless I go to the market, that’s not really a problem,” she said, taking another bite of her breakfast.
“If you need to go anywhere you can’t bring Lord, call me and I’ll go with you. I don’t want you goin’ out alone for a while. Not until I have this shit with Stanley Morter dealt with.”
“What do you mean? ‘Dealt with’?”
“I’m not sure yet. I need to find out more about Stanley and about the fifty million dollars he’s convinced you have.”
“That’s the real reason you’re here, isn’t it?” Rowan asked.
“What?”
“The money.” She bit her lip. “It’s okay. I’m not offended. But be honest, that’s the only reason you and your club showed up here.”
For some reason, her thinking this bothered me, so I decided to make my intentions clear immediately. “I came here yesterday because I didn’t want to see an innocent woman murdered. My brothers came with me because I asked them to. We make our own money our own way and that has never involved murder for hire.”
“Okay. So, you’ve warned me about Stanley. Why come back today? Why not let me go to the cops? Why the need to protect me yourself?” she asked.
“I told you. Because the cops in this town are controlled by guys like Stanley Morter. And I’m only involved because he involved me.”
“That’s the only reason?” she challenged.
“Damnit. Are you really gonna make me say it, Rowan?”
Her eyes met mine.
“I think I’m addicted to Dusty’s pie.”
She rolled her eyes. “Well, I do get that.”
I smiled. “Just don’t go anywhere unless you call me, got it?”
She scoffed. “I am not going to expect you to drop whatever it is you’re doing to drive Miss Daisy.”
I bit back a laugh following her back into the kitchen. “If I can’t come, I’ll send someone. The point is, I don’t want you goin’ anywhere alone. Yeah?”
She sighed. “I guess.”
“You guess, or, yes, sir, I’ll call you before I go anywhere.”
She let out a little snort and raised an eyebrow. “Yes, sir?”
I winked. “If you’re lucky.”
She licked her lips. “I’m, ah, I’m gonna go check on Dusty.”
I’d never seen a woman move so fast, skittering away like I might burn her. Jesus, I’d love to get her under me, begging to call me ‘Sir.’ But she seemed way too sheltered to be the type of woman to ‘play.’
I studied her ample ass and wondered if she might be taught.
The thought had merit and made me smile.
“Hey, man.”
I was pulled from my thoughts by Rowan’s cook, and I turned to face him. “Yeah?”
The big man studied me. “You better be careful with her.”
“I think Rowan can handle herself just fine,” I replied casually.
“Never said she couldn’t,” he replied, not so casually. “Rowan took a chance on me when no one else in the world would. That makes her family to me, and no one fucks with my family. You understand?”
I gave him a chin lift. “I don’t fuck with good people. You have my word.”
Without another word, he turned back to the grill and continued with the lunch orders.
* * *
Rowan
I escaped out to the front, noticing the dining room was beginning to fill up, so I went to work, helping Dusty wait tables. Right before five, several of Scooby’s biker friends walked in, so to say that we truly had a dinner rush was an understatement. They actually ate us out of everything Dusty had baked for the entire day.
It wasn’t lost on me that the older gentleman who went by ‘Gizzard’ seemed to quite like Dusty. He kept ordering more and more food (I suspect) so he could continue to sit in her section despite the growing line of waiting patrons.
I led a family of six back to our biggest booth by the window, handing them menus before heading behind the breakfast bar to fill glasses with water.
“You’re gettin’ busy,” Scooby said.
“Thanks, Captain Obvious,” I retorted.
“Can I help?”
“Can you wait tables?”
He smirked.
I chuckled. “Can you help Monty plate food?”
“Yeah,” he said. “I can do that.”
“Thanks, Scooby.” I let out a relieved sigh. “You have no idea how much I appreciate you.”
He squeezed my arm. “I feel it, Rowan.”
His touch sent a shiver down my spine, and I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from leaning into him.
Lordy.
This man was getting to me.
* * *
Scooby
I tied up the sack of trash and made my way out back toward the dumpster where I found Monty standing opposite three young men. These guys clearly lived on the streets and were likely looking to roll Monty for some quick cash. The guy in the middle was holding a large hunting knife and judging by his demeanor, was lit up like a fucking Christmas tree.
“Everything okay out here, Monty?” I called out as I approached.
“Don’t come any further,” the guy in the middle said, pointing the blade at Monty. “I fucking mean it. Stay right there or I’ll cut this old fuck’s neck wide open.”
“That would be your second mistake,” I said, dropping the sack of trash.
“Oh, yeah? What was my first one? Lemme guess,” he said, laughing. “Messing with a garbage man?”
“Your first mistake was being a cliché. The oldest one in the book, actually,” I replied, causing Monty to chuckle.
“What the fuck are you laughing at, old man?” he asked, stepping closer to Monty, bringing the blade directly to his neck.
“He’s laughing because he knows you’re the dumb fuck who brought a knife to a gunfight,” I said, pulling my snub-nosed .38 revolver from the back of my waistband and leveling it at his head.
As soon as I pulled my piece Monty grabbed the man’s wrist and delivered a right elbow directly to his jaw, knocking him unconscious. As soon as he and his knife hit the ground, the other two men took off running.
“You feel like chasing them?” I asked Monty.
“Fuck no. You?” he asked.
“I’d rather go back inside and see if there’s any more of that razzleberry pie left,” I replied.
“Sounds good to me,” Monty said with a cool grin.
“Good. Help me throw away this trash, will ya?” I asked, tossing the sack into the dumpster.
I then grabbed our would-be stick-up man under the arms while Monty took his feet, and together we hoisted him into the dumpster before closing the lid and securing the latch. He wasn’t getting out of there anytime soon.
“I’ll make an anonymous call to 9-1-1 in an hour or two.”
“What are you gonna say?” Monty said.
“That some meth head managed to lock himself in a dumpster outside the Starlight diner,” I said.
“Works for me.”
“You know,” I said. “As a man who just had a ten-inch blade at his throat, you don’t seem all that rattled.”
“Ain’t even close to the first time I’ve had a knife held on me. Inside or outside the joint.”
“I figured you’d done some time.”
He cocked his head. “Why’s that?”
“Little things. The way you carry yourself. Hands in front of you at all times. Eyes scanning the area for blind spots.”
“I’ve done my time, but that’s not me anymore.”
“You’ll get no judgment from me,” I said, raising my hands.
“How ’bout you?” Monty asked. “You been locked up?”
“Nothing serious. County bullshit. But some of our older brothers have spent some time down-state.”
“I heard you tell Rowan your club was more like the Boy Scouts compared to how most people picture motorcycle gangs.”
“Well, I may have...”
“Stretched the truth a little bit so Rowan would like you more?”
I said nothing but smiled.
“My club’s always looking for good men who know how to handle themselves,” I said. “Can you ride?”
“Can you speak Latin?”
I laughed, surprised by his response. “Um, no.”
“Good. Now we both know something about each other that one of us can’t do.” He grinned. “How about we go get some of that pie?”
“Don’t need to ask me twice,” I retorted, following him back into the diner, making sure the back door was locked behind us.
