Baby, Don't Go (6 page)

Molly nodded, although she still looked unconvinced. “Good for you.”

“Yes, good for me,” he said, crossing his arms. But his bluster was shattered by a familiar whooshing noise behind him.

“Fire!” Alicia shouted.

He was jolted as she backed into him. He acknowledged a disturbing twinge from the contact before bumping into a stack of glasses on the counter that fell to the floor in a deafening crash. Flames encompassed the grill. He set Alicia aside and reached for one of the three fire extinguishers lined up under the counter. After stepping over the pile of glass, he pulled the key from the extinguisher, and foamed the fire until it was out.

He grunted, then turned a frustrated glare toward Alicia. “What happened?”

She gave him a sheepish shrug.

He took one step toward her, not sure what he would do when he got there, and his feet flew out from under him. He landed on his back on the hard tile floor, the wind knocked out of him. When he opened his eyes, Alicia peered down, along with Porter, Kendall and Molly, who had all stretched over the counter.

“Are you okay?” Alicia asked, her dark eyes wide and innocent.

He wanted to answer, but his lungs had compressed. Plus he had the insane urge to pull her down on top of him.

“Yes, I can see your new manager has everything under control,” Molly said, her expression gloating.

In his head, Marcus unleashed a string of curses. Alicia Waters had caused him nothing but grief since he set eyes on her. He opened his mouth and dragged in a painful breath. “Everybody out,” he announced where he lay. “We’re closed for the day.”

He and his new manager needed to have a little one-on-one training time.

9

A
licia watched as Marcus shepherded the waitresses toward the door. “Thanks for cleaning up. We’ll reopen Monday morning. Don’t forget to spread the word about the cook’s position.” He closed the door behind them and turned the dead bolt.

The clicking noise sent a little thrill through her chest—being locked in with Marcus Armstrong would be a great opportunity to pick his chauvinistic brain.

As far as feeling a little light-headed, she attributed it to not having had anything to eat. The smell of all the fried food on top of an empty stomach was making her queasy.

With his back to her, Marcus put his hands on his hips and heaved a huge sigh. Alicia frowned. It wasn’t as if the man had people lining up to cook for him—he should be grateful she’d work in his dinky little diner!

He finally turned to look at her, then pulled his hand down his face.

She glared. “If you’re going to fire me, then do it.”

He settled his blue-eyed gaze on her and walked closer. “I can’t—” He stopped. “I mean, I’m not going to fire you. It’s my fault for expecting you to just walk in and know what you’re doing.”

Alicia crossed her arms. “Is that supposed to be some kind of back-handed apology?”

He straightened. “No.” Then pain flashed across his face and he gasped, putting his hand to his back.

Contrite for setting off the events that led to his fall, she hurried toward him. “Are you okay?”

He held up his hand, as if she were a contagion. “Just a pulled muscle. I’ll live.”

She winced. “Sorry.”

He didn’t look to be in a forgiving mood. “Forget it. Let’s just go over some things so Monday we can get through a full day of business with no mishaps. The Department of Energy rep will be here any day for another inspection, and the diner needs to be ready.” His brows furrowed. “In other words, not burned to the ground.”

A sharp retort was on the tip of her tongue, but she held it, reminding herself to act as if she wanted this job. So she simply inclined her head in concession, although the gesture sent her blood pressure skyrocketing.

“Chances are,” he continued, “my brothers or I will be with the inspector, but in case he stops by on his own, you should know what to expect.”

“What will the representative be looking for?”

“Mostly, how we’re composting our leftover food and handling the recycling of our grease.”

She made a face. “Okay.”

“Follow me.” He lifted a stainless steel bucket of grease from the side of the grill by its handle, then with his other hand, rolled a large trash container marked “Food Only—No Meat” toward the rear door.

“I can get one of those,” she offered, but he acted as if he hadn’t heard her.

She pursed her mouth. If the man with the gimpy back wanted to go all Southern macho on her, then she’d let him. She smirked as he wrestled with the door while trying to manage the two containers. From his jerky body language, it seemed as if his mood was rapidly eroding. She followed him outside, at a distance.

Next to the building sat two large plastic trash bins and a caged barrel. The midday sun was high and brutal. The humidity was cloying. Clumps of gnats hung in the air.

She shielded her eyes and watched as Marcus stabilized the food container and set down the vat of oil.

“This is our grease collector,” he said as he unwound a big elastic cord that held the cage door closed. Then he had to use both hands to lift a metal arm and open the door to the wire enclosure.

“Why all the security?” she asked.

“To keep the bears out.”

She blanched. “Bears?”

He nodded. “Finding a big barrel of grease would be like hitting the jackpot for a mother bear. So it’s important we keep this area clean and secure.”

While he lifted the barrel lid and carefully poured in the used grease, Alicia walked closer to him and glanced all around. Now she had to add bears to the list of things to look out for? “What happens to the grease—assuming a bear doesn’t get it?”

“A company comes to pick up the barrel once every couple of weeks, then it’s turned into biodiesel fuel,” he explained as he resecured the barrel. “We’re actually in talks with the company to enter into a partnership if the town moves forward.”

She frowned. “If?”

He frowned back as he closed the cage door. “I meant
when
the town moves forward and we have more collection sources. For now there’s only the diner and the school cafeteria.” He turned toward the two larger containers. “These are the compost bins. The one with the red flag is always the active bin.”

She was almost afraid to ask. “Active?”

He lifted the lid of the “active” bin and a horrific smell hit her, sending her staggering backward.

Alicia covered her mouth. “Oh…my…word.”

“It gets ripe,” he agreed. “The heat and the mealworms break down everything pretty quickly.”

“Mealworms?”

He pointed inside the bin.

Still holding her nose, she gingerly stepped forward and looked inside to see the food waste crawling with small, pale worms. She recoiled and put her other hand on her stomach. Bears…worms…this was a world away from her life in Manhattan. Marcus Armstrong, however, seemed impervious to the stench…and completely at ease with the potential danger all around.

He picked up the container holding the day’s worth of scraps and dumped it inside, although she could tell from his grunt that the movement hurt his back. But Alicia was too distracted by the display of impressive arm muscle to sympathize with other parts of his body. The man was built like a… What was the phrase?

A brick outhouse.
She finally understood what the Southern saying meant.

“This container is too heavy for you and the other girls,” he said matter-of-factly. “Two busboys start on Monday, so ask one of them to empty it for you.”

Her chin went up at being referred to as a girl. “I’m stronger than I look.”

His mouth went flat as he surveyed her up and down. “Suit yourself.”

His gaze left her burning in its wake. She suddenly didn’t feel very strong at all.

“After something new is added to the compost bin,” he continued, “close the lid tight, then give it a stir.” He cranked the large handle on the side.

She imagined the steamy worm stew inside and bile backed up in her throat.

“You okay?” he asked, his expression slightly mocking.

She swallowed hard. “Sure. What happens to the contents?”

“The bins are delivered to the garden for fertilizer.”

“That makes sense.” But ecology was a stinky, sloppy business. She preferred recycling “lite”—using eco-friendly shopping bags over plastic, and collecting newspapers.

He used a water hose to rinse the inside of the food container, then left it upside down to dry. Then he picked up the empty grease bucket and led the way back inside, moving slowly. He set the bucket on the conveyor belt for the industrial dishwasher. Again, he grunted and put his hand to his back.

“I have some over-the-counter painkillers in my purse,” she offered.

He waved her off. “Time for a lesson in fire safety.”

She bit her lip. “Will I be tested afterward?”

He leveled his gaze on her. “Let’s hope not.” He walked over to the grill and gestured to the surface temperature gauge. “The flashpoint of vegetable oil is just over six hundred degrees. The good news is it starts smoking before it bursts into flames, so you should have plenty of warning.”

Alicia nodded, faking ignorance. What good would it do to tell him she knew vegetable oil smoked before it combusted? It didn’t seem to matter. She’d read somewhere that some people attracted lightning strikes; she’d decided that she attracted fire.

“So as long as you keep the grill surface below six hundred degrees and keep the grill area free of flammable items like menus and napkins,” Marcus said, “you should be…fine.”

“Right,” she said, bored with the Girl Scout lesson. She needed material for her blog. “So, boss, do
you
have a flashpoint?”

His mouth twitched downward. “Please don’t call me boss.”

“What should I call you—Mr. Armstrong?”

“My name is Marcus.”

“Do you have a nickname?”

“No,” he said in a clipped tone. “Could we stay on point?”

“Yes, boss,” she said, then winced. “Sorry.”

He exhaled and seemed to be summoning strength. “Do you know how to use a fire extinguisher?”

“In theory.”

He leaned over to pick up one of the remaining fire extinguishers sitting under the counter. Again, he grunted when his back caught. Alicia held her tongue, but she moved to take the fire extinguisher from him. He allowed her, but moved his arm around hers. Even with the light touch, she could feel what a powerful man he was. It gave her a glimpse of what it might feel like to be in his arms.

Not unpleasant, she acknowledged.

“First, you would pull the pin,” he said, pointing to the ring in the nozzle.

His mouth was close to her ear; his deep voice raised gooseflesh on her arms.

“Aim the nozzle at the base of the fire and squeeze the lever.”

Suddenly, she was finding it harder to breathe.

“Then sweep it back and forth.”

He guided her hand and pressed lightly to simulate the movements.

“Don’t stop until the flames are completely out.”

Except another kind of fire had started in her midsection. “What if I run out of foam?” she murmured.

He seemed to take his time responding. “The first extinguisher might not have a full charge,” he said, his voice sounding husky. “So if there’s another extinguisher close by, use it.”

She swallowed. “What about throwing water on it?”

He made a rueful noise that bordered on a moan. “Not on a grease fire. If a canister of flour is sitting close by, that would smother the flame.”

“Okay.”

“Unless the fire is spreading,” he added. “If that’s the case, then pull the fire alarm and get out.” He suddenly released her and stepped back.

Alicia let go of a pent up breath and turned toward him. “That was…enlightening.”

He didn’t seem to share her gratification. In fact, he looked supremely annoyed. “Have you had a chance to enter your employee information into the payroll system?”

“Er…no.” She’d been dragging her feet over completing employee forms because she’d have to fudge her information.

“I’ll show you now,” he said, heading toward the tiny office adjacent to the kitchen. “Since everyone else has worked here at one time or another, they’re already in the system. This way you’ll know how to add future employees.”

She bit her tongue to keep from saying she wouldn’t be here long enough to learn the ins and outs of the payroll system. “Okay.”

Her pulse was still jumping when she followed him into the cubbyhole where he turned on the notebook computer sitting on the desk.

“Have a seat,” he said, gesturing to the lone chair on wheels. She sat, very aware of his big physique in the close quarters. The demonstration with the fire extinguisher had fueled her imagination. There was something primal about the sheer size of him and how her body responded to being around him.

“Are you comfortable working on a computer?” he asked, pulling out a drawer of a file cabinet.

Alicia almost laughed. Between her smartphone, her laptop and her desktop computer, she was wired 24/7. “I can usually figure things out.”

He nodded idly and withdrew a folder, then scanned the contents. He pulled out a form and frowned. “You didn’t complete your W-4 withholding form.”

“I must have been interrupted,” she said, stalling. “And I didn’t know what mailing address to use.” Plus she didn’t intend to sign a government form swearing to information that wasn’t accurate.

“You can designate General Delivery and pick up your mail at the postal counter inside the General Store unless you want to get your own P.O. box.” He stepped behind her chair and leaned down to point to an icon on the screen. “Open this program.”

She didn’t have to fake her klutzy navigation—his body was practically enveloping hers, sending little shudders all along her shoulders. He, on the other hand, didn’t seem to notice they were practically touching. His warm breath on her neck was calm and steady.

She opened the program and, at the sign-in screen, typed in the user ID he’d assigned to the manager of the diner.

“Who did I replace?” she asked.

“A woman named Molly McIntyre.”

“Why did you fire her?”

“I didn’t—she quit.”

She remembered the stocky woman who had brushed by her the day she’d walked in, the same woman who’d been in the diner earlier today when Marcus had taken a fall.

“You can reset the password to something private,” he suggested.

Since he was looking over her W-4 form and not focused on her fingers, she typed in the word “undercover” as her password. He set her form on the desk next to the computer, presumably for her to finish filling out.

When a menu came up, he walked her through how to add herself to the payroll system. As she typed in the alias last name of “Waters,” she told herself she was only adopting a persona that would allow her to get the story. No harm, no foul. When she filled in her social security number, she transposed the last two digits.

“Is everything accurate?” he asked, scanning the info on the screen.

She nodded, partially because she didn’t want to verbalize a lie, and partially because his nearness was seriously starting to unnerve her. She hit the submit button, then he showed her how to enter employee hours. The food ordering system was next, including how to track inventory of food harvested from the garden. Throughout, her heart beat at an accelerated rate. At one point, he reached around her to type something on the keyboard and his large hands brushed hers. She didn’t mind, but he seemed to.

“Sorry,” he said, pulling back. “I didn’t mean to crowd you.”

“It’s okay,” she said, reminding herself that she was supposed to be cozying up to him. “I have to admit I’m surprised you’re so adept on a computer.”

“Why?”

“Because you don’t seem like the kind of man who spends a lot of time behind a desk.”