Defying the Odds (2 page)

“
There’s worse bones
to break.” Clay’s eyes were on the waitress as she walked up to them. Forgetting Wyatt’s whining, he smiled apologetically. “I’m sorry.”

“You should’ve told me you hated it,” she said, putting the praline pie in front of him. “I wanted you to enjoy it, not gag on it.”

“I’ll pay for the pie,” he said, entertaining the thought of breaking
Wyatt’s
ribs. “I didn’t
wanna
put you out.”

“You’re not putting me out.” She smiled, those dimples carving their places in her rosy cheeks. “It’s not like you’re asking me to shovel your driveway and take out your garbage. A new piece of pie’s easy.”

“Still, I appreciate it,” Clay said, his cheeks hot once more. “Thank you again.”

“Sure.” She looked to Wyatt quickly, her smile faltering. “Glad you’ve got company now.
Hey, Sheriff.”

“Miss Dylan,” Wyatt said in response. Coffee
abandoned,
a knowing blue gaze darted from Clay to the new waitress. “How’s life treating
ya
?”

She smoothed out her apron, fiddling with her pad and pencil rather than look at Wyatt.
“Nothing exciting to report.”

Giving her one of his winning grins, Wyatt asked, “You getting settled in okay?”

“Settled in fine.”

Her easy smile was gone as she turned to leave, seeming unmoved by Wyatt’s natural charm, which was as unique as everything else about her. Most women were susceptible to Wyatt. Then she did something truly shocking: she reached out, squeezing Clay’s large bicep through his long-sleeved cotton shirt as she walked past him to go check on recently divorced Jay Walker, sitting a few booths behind them.

“Did you just
smile
at the new waitress?”

Wyatt’s voice broke through Clay’s hazed thoughts, making him realize he’d actually watched her walk off and was craning his neck to see her talking and smiling at Jay. Feeling a bit
like
walking over there and punching poor Jay in the face, Clay decided to eat his pie and ignore Wyatt.

Problem was
,
Wyatt was hard to ignore. Especially when he was sitting across from him grinning like a fool and kicking his feet back against his seat, making a
thump, thump, thump
noise he knew would irritate the hell out of Clay.

He couldn’t help but lift his head and bark at Wyatt, “What?”

“Nothing,” Wyatt said with a laugh of disbelief.
“Just seemed like you were mighty sweet and cozy with Hal’s new waitress.”

Clay scowled. “I
ain’t
sweet.”

“I heard you say both thank you and sorry in less than a minute. Not to mention those pearly whites you were flashing,” Wyatt argued, grin still wide and shrewd. “Forget praline, I think
ya
wanna
bite of Miss Dylan’s pie.”

Clay turned around, eyeing the waitress as she walked away from Jay’s table, making sure she hadn’t heard Wyatt. His head whipped back around to glare at the powerfully built cop. Broad shoulders, massive arms, Wyatt was one of the biggest, toughest men in Garnet, and that was saying something. The only guy who’d probably get better betting odds in a fight just happened to be sitting across from him.

“How ’bout I take a bite outta you,” Clay shot back in a low and vicious voice.

“Nah, I don’t swing that way.” Wyatt took a long drink of his coffee, seeming undisturbed by the fury directed at him. “Thanks for asking, though.”

Sometimes having a friend nearly as big and tough as him was a major annoyance. Clay was used to people bowing to his anger. “You keep grinning like that and Frank’s
gonna
be taking
you
to Mercy General.”

“If I fight back, do I get a locker room bonus?” Wyatt asked as if considering it.

“Fuck off,” Clay growled, going back to his pie because intimidation wouldn’t work on Wyatt.

“Clay, listen.” Wyatt sighed, leaning forward to set his coffee cup on the table. His gaze became softer as he lowered his voice. “That sweet little waitress
ain’t
for you. Stick to the groupies. They love you.”

Clay cringed at the mention of groupies, biting his tongue against pointing out he had never liked those harsh, demanding women.
Especially when he thought of the soft and kind Miss Dylan.
He turned
around,
watching her talk to Judy, admiring the way the white apron hugged her hips.

“She doesn’t like fighters.”

Wyatt’s voice cut through his fantasies, and Clay turned back to him. “What?”

“She came into the station when she first got here last week. Wanted us to know she’d filed a restraining order against her ex-husband before she left Cleveland. He used to beat on her. She moved to Garnet because she figured it was about as
Bumfuck
and hidden as you can get,” Wyatt said in a concerned voice, casting sideway glances to the back of the diner where the waitresses were still talking. “Dumb-ass Harvey made the mistake of telling her I used to fight in the UFC. You know, so she’d see we had it handled, and she
ain’t
said more than a few words to me since.”

“Someone used to beat on her?” Clay growled. “And he’s still after her?”

“I
dunno
the details. She seemed to feel like he was a real danger, enough to move here of all places.” Wyatt took another sip of his
coffee,
his tall frame still hunched low over the booth as he spoke to Clay. “You get why it wouldn’t work out,
dontcha
? Why a UFC Hall of Fame heavyweight might not be her ideal man?”

Yeah, Clay got it, and he knew Wyatt was right. It wasn’t even a shock to his system. He was too rough around the edges, too mean, too big and intimidating. Nice girls didn’t fuck guys like him—groupies did.

He tried not to dwell on it. After all, he didn’t even know her first name, and it wasn’t like him to get sentimental. Instead he ate his pie while Wyatt quickly changed the subject. He ran his mouth about work, about Clay’s odds in the upcoming fight, talking about training and the
Cuthouse
Cellar Training Center Clay co-owned with Wyatt and his sister, Jules. Wyatt was a real chatterbox, just rattling on like he did when he felt it was his place to fill an uncomfortable void. Clay listened, grunting when he thought it was appropriate, all the while ignoring the feeling of loss that settled in his stomach.

* * * *

“Forty-four
dollars,
give or take a few cents,” Melody said, straightening the ones and fives she pulled out of her apron. “That
ain’t
half bad on Thanksgiving.”

“
Ain’t
half bad at all,” Judy agreed, sitting across from her counting her change. When she finished sliding the small pile of nickels into her hand, she looked up at Melody. “I round up to forty-two. Dang, you beat me.”

Melody grinned. This was the first time she’d managed to beat Judy, who was a very popular waitress. Everyone in Garnet knew her, and countless regulars requested her. To beat her a week into her new job felt like a good sign when the competition was nothing but friendly.

“I forgot I
gotta
pay for the pie I bought Sheriff Conner’s big buddy,” Melody said, her shoulders slumping at the realization. “I guess you win after all.”

“Nah,” Judy said with a laugh. “You won fair and square. Looks like I’m mopping tonight. Silverware’s all yours.”

Melody wasn’t going to argue. She’d worked the past five nights and lost the tip competition every single time. Her arms were aching from all the mopping because Hal’s Diner was a big place—especially when you were mopping it at eleven at night after working a double shift. With a bounce in her step, she happily walked into the back, where Hal stood hunched over the sink.

Big and broad, with back muscles that clenched from his work, Hal was one of the few men who could look scary washing the dishes. He was the strong-and-silent type. No charming smile, no easy banter. He was gruff and all business.

Melody had liked him instantly.

Men like Hal, who only said their peace and nothing
else,
were easy for Melody to be around. They didn’t put on airs trying to be something they weren’t. That meant she could feel human around them instead of on edge and jumpy. She didn’t trust smooth talkers like Sheriff Conner. Those snake charmers who seemed nice as could be until the doors closed and they started using their wives for punching bags.

When the sheriff had opened his mouth at the police station, Melody recoiled. He was too handsome, too cocky, too certain of his own charm and winning personality. Justin, her ex-husband, was slick as a slippery eel, but everyone thought him handsome and charming like the sheriff. Her mother used to say Justin could sell ice to Eskimos, and it was pretty darn close to the truth. If Melody never met another charming man, it wouldn’t be too soon.

“I won,” she announced as she stepped up next to Hal by the sink.
“Silverware’s mine tonight.”

Hal snorted, shaking his head as a reluctant grin tugged at his lips. “I don’t believe it. Judy never loses.”

“No, it’s true,” Melody assured him as she started gathering up the silverware he’d already washed, searching for it in the hot water dyed blue with disinfectant tablets. She tossed a handful of forks into a well-worn white strainer.
“By two whole dollars.
Course, I still
gotta
pay you for those pieces of pie, but Judy didn’t think they counted. That’s mighty sporting of her.”

“I
dunno
why you’re buying Powerhouse dessert.” Hal grunted as he went back to work on the dishes. “Boy could buy all of Garnet, pave it over, and make it his own personal parking lot. He’s got more money than God, and you were living out of your truck a week ago. Where’s the sense in that?”

“He seemed lonely.” Melody frowned at that information, thinking there was nothing about the tall, muscular, dark-haired man that put on airs of being more than just ordinary like the rest of them. “He doesn’t look rich.”

Hal lifted his head, frowning at Melody, who was elbow-deep in steaming water. “
Dontcha
know who he is?”

Melody shook her head as she dropped a handful of forks and spoons into the white strainer and went back to fishing for silverware. “I know everyone calls him Powerhouse.”

“He’s a famous UFC fighter,” Hal said as if it was obvious and everyone should know him.
“Probably the
most
famous.
He’s got six heavyweight titles, and he’s set to add another one to the list.”

Melody turned and pulled a face at Hal. “Are
ya
gonna
have a moment if I admit to having no idea what the UFC is? I’ve heard it mentioned ’bout a hundred times this past week.”

Hal let out a low whistle. “Wow, I thought everyone knew, but I guess the rest of the world’s not as invested as we are. UFC is the Ultimate Fighting Championship. It’s a big deal. We have an MMA training center here in town that’s always hopping. It’s ’bout all we got to do in this town.”

Melody arched an eyebrow.
“MMA?”

“Mixed Martial Arts.
It’s a form of fighting, like boxing only more intense.
It’s
martial arts with wrestling and kickboxing mixed into it.
Takes a real athlete to compete in the MMA circuit.
Only the best of the best make it to the UFC. They’re the top MMA promoter in the world.”

Melody shrugged, deciding she’d have to take his word for it. “Who knew someone could make that much money doing that.”

“Powerhouse’s fights are always broadcast nationally. He’s a big moneymaker. Has fancy sponsors and everything. You might as well get used to it. We play all the fights here, whether one of our boys is up or not.”

“How many guys from Garnet are in the UFC?”

“Only Powerhouse and Slayer right now, but Slayer’s still green. Wyatt used to be a fighter, but he quit before he could get far. His daddy dropped dead of a heart attack and left a sheriff job opening.”

“Huh,” Melody said, absorbing that information. Maybe she’d misjudged the sheriff, but she still thought him too smooth to trust. “I guess that sucks. Having to quit and watch his buddy get all the glory.”

“Wyatt doesn’t seem to mind too much,” Hal said dismissively. “He’s a sixth-generation sheriff in Garnet. It’s what his people do. They’re bred big and mean on purpose. We wouldn’t know what to do with ourselves without a Conner in charge and keeping us in line. We’re a wild bunch.”