Defying the Odds (4 page)

Melody stuffed her frozen hands deep into the pockets of her jacket, which was old but blissfully warm. It made her think of coffee and how desperately she needed a cup of it. The cottage she’d lucked into came partially furnished, but it didn’t have a coffeemaker.

She got out of the truck, thinking of Hal’s coffee, which was coffeehouse delicious instead of diner crappy like every other restaurant she’d worked for. Everything Hal made was astonishingly good. He was one of those special people who had the gift of making the ordinary extraordinary. Melody considered
herself
incredibly fortunate to work for him, and she’d managed to cheer herself up with that thought as she pulled open the back door, letting in an icy draft.

“Whew, shut it quick!” Mary, a pretty, dark-haired waitress who worked the morning shift, shuddered as she worked at gathering up glass containers of maple syrup. “Christ on a stick,
it’s
cold. Every year Mr. Frost seems to jump up and bite us in the ass when we least expect it.
Morning, darling.”

“Morning.”
Melody pushed the door fully shut, kicking at the corner that sometimes stuck. “I need some coffee. If I don’t get some java in me, y’all will be peeling me off the floor.”

“Then by all means.”
Mary gestured with two bottles of syrup in her hands to the front of the diner where the coffeepots were. “Go get yourself some. You worked the night shift. Just focus on getting woke up. I got this.”

Melody stuffed her hands back into her coat, still fighting to warm up after the cold ride to work. Ignoring the bell chiming the arrival of customers, she headed to the coffeemakers lined up behind the counter.

“Morning,” Hal called through the window from his place in front of the flattop as he prepped for the morning rush. “You
gonna
work in that jacket?”

“I’ll take it off in a minute.” Melody reluctantly pulled her hands out of her pockets to pour herself a cup of much-needed coffee. “I’m ’bout frozen. The
heat’s
broke in the truck.”

“
Gotta
get that fixed,” Hal said in concern. “I’d offer to look at it, but I’m a terrible mechanic.”

“Yeah, but you can make a meat loaf to die for.” Melody grinned. “I usually hate it. That’s a God’s honest gift you’ve got.”

“
Ain’t
that the truth? Hal could make cat food taste good,” Mary offered, walking out of the back with a tray of maple syrups to put on the tables. Her sneakers skidded on the linoleum as she pulled up short and gasped. “Good Lord! What’d y’all do to our sheriff?”

Melody turned, raising her eyebrows as she spied Sheriff Conner standing at the counter, waiting to be seated. He wore large, gold-rimmed sunglasses that were stereotypically police officer, but they still didn’t hide the line of stitches above his eyebrow. Bruises decorated his jawline, and his lip was swollen, with another row of black stitches running down the center of it.

His face was painful to see. Melody couldn’t help but wince, feeling terrified to look at his buddy standing next to him. Clay
Powers’s
broad back was to the counter. His head dipped down, a black baseball hat pulled low over his eyes, hiding his face from view. Against her will, Melody found herself admiring the massive line of his shoulders underneath his jacket. He was one fine specimen of man, his short hair near black, his jaw strong, his nose surprisingly straight considering what he did for a living. At least it had been straight the last time she saw him. She’d be genuinely heartbroken if he’d damaged that nice male nose permanently.

“
Ain’t
they pretty?” came a dour female reply behind the sheriff.

“Sure enough.”
Mary shook her head, still balancing the tray on her shoulder as she walked around the counter. “But you’re looking mighty nice today, Jules. I like that suit.”

“Thanks. I thought I was going to the office till my dumb-ass brother got his skull beat in—again. Now I’m stuck working at the station all day. I told ’
em
the least they could do was buy me breakfast.”

“
Lemme
just get these out, and then I’ll get y’all some coffee,” Mary said as she started placing the syrups on each one of the tables. “You’re about five minutes too early.”

“I want the new girl’s section.”

Melody stopped drinking her coffee at the low mumble next to the sheriff, whose buddy still stood there with his back to Melody as if he’d forgotten she existed. But Clay obviously hadn’t, and she took another sip of coffee to hide her smile. She wasn’t just pleased to finally have a customer request her, but this customer in particular caused a fluttering in her stomach that worked at warming her up far more efficiently than the coffee. No matter how she had chastised herself, she thought of the handsome fighter all night after work. She even met up with him in her dreams, when usually it was her ex-husband and nightmares that greeted her when she closed her eyes.

For the first time in a very long time, Melody found herself genuinely attracted to a man, and she savored the feeling. It didn’t even matter if he returned her feelings or not. She was just grateful she could still have them. She’d worried for years that she’d never look at a man again and feel that pulse of sexual excitement currently thrumming through her bloodstream as if it’d never left to begin with.

The sheriff’s eyebrows shot up over his sunglasses as he turned to his friend. “Clay—”

“I’m buying,
ain’t
I?” Clay interrupted before the sheriff could argue.
“Unless you’d like to foot the bill.”

“Hey, Mary, darling,” the sheriff called out. “You mind if we sit in the other section seeing as how Miss Dylan’s in need of work on her truck? I guess Clay figures she needs the cash.”

“Don’t mind at all,” Mary said easily. “She’s got the window booths.”

The sheriff suddenly gasped and rubbed his ribs after a lightning-fast elbow jab from Clay. “Christ, what was that for? You know my ribs are bruised to hell and back.”

“You’re lucky they
ain’t
broken.” Clay growled and then jabbed him another time for good measure before he turned and walked over to Melody’s section of tables.

Melody winced for the sheriff when he leaned over, grabbing his ribs once more, revealing a beautiful blonde woman behind him. Her shoulder-length hair was thick and wavy. Unlike Melody’s sandy blonde, this woman had genuinely golden hair that didn’t seem to be bleached. In her knee-length, fur-lined
peacoat
and red pantsuit, she was one of the most pressed, put-together females Melody had seen in Garnet. She looked like she’d walked off the pages of a magazine, certainly more city than country. But her fancy clothing didn’t stop her from reaching up and smacking the sheriff’s head.

“Your mouth,” the pretty woman snapped before turning to follow after Clay. “It’s always running twenty feet ahead of that dented brain of yours.”

The sheriff gripped the counter, taking a deep breath before he lifted his head to look at Melody. “I guess I wasn’t supposed to let on we heard you talking about the heat in your truck being broke.”

Melody shrugged. “It
is
broke. Lying about it and putting on airs
ain’t
fixing it any faster.”

“I
sorta
wish you’d said that ’bout a minute sooner.” He grunted, still wheezing through the pain. “I’m
gonna
go sit down now.”

“I’ll get out of my jacket and bring the coffee.”

“Sounds good.”
The sheriff did a thumbs-up, still looking miserable when he turned and started walking to the booth his sister and Clay sat at.

Melody laughed, having to reluctantly admit the sheriff was hard to hate. Something about him was endearing, even if she found his devilish charm more than a little off-putting. He wasn’t her type of man, not anymore, not ever if she was being honest, but he seemed nice enough.

She took a couple more big gulps of coffee, ignoring the burn to her mouth as she walked to the back. She shrugged out of her jacket,
then
hung it up in the corner next to the other employees’ hats and coats before she found a pad underneath the server station. Deciding she’d work on gathering her other supplies after she’d gotten their order, she dashed to the front of the diner with more enthusiasm than she should. She was probably being pathetic and obvious, but who the hell cared? That fighter had her feeling young and alive when she’d felt worn-out and beaten for so long.

“Slow down; they
ain’t
going anywhere. We’re not even officially open,” Mary scolded when Melody quickly collected three cups in one hand and a steaming pot of coffee in the other. “No sense getting flushed and flustered over those three. Not a one of ’
em
can cook. They’re Hal’s customers for life.”

Not bothering to explain her excitement, Melody rushed up to the booth. The sheriff sat next to his sister, his hat on the table next to him as he smoothed out his hair. But Melody didn’t bother to pay more attention than that. She put the coffee cups down, asking,
“
Coffee?”

“Yes, please,” the sheriff said quickly. “We’ve been up since four.”

“That’s painful to hear.” Melody filled up the sheriff’s cup and his sister’s, who nodded to Melody’s silent offering, before she turned to Clay. She studied his face beneath the low brim of his hat, knowing she was probably gawking like a lovesick fool. He had a small line of stitches at the corner of his right eye and his face was showing bruises and swelling, but the damage wasn’t terrible. “You don’t look that bad. I was worried you’d look as rough as the sheriff.”

“Well.” Clay swallowed hard, a smirk trying to tug at his lips. He pulled off his baseball hat, running his fingers through inky hair. He turned back to her, giving her a real smile despite his swollen bottom lip. “That’s ’cause I won.”

“Glad to hear it.” Melody beamed as she filled his cup, her cheeks hurting from the happiness she knew just spilled out of her, making her totally obvious to everyone. It was a good thing he was well-known and probably used to girls crawling all over him, because she was certainly starry-eyed. “Hal said you’re real good, like famous and all. That’s exciting.”

“Is it?” he asked, his smile becoming bemused as he frowned at her.

“Well, yeah.” She studied his bruised face, trying to memorize his features. Clay was starkly masculine but not traditionally handsome like the sheriff, more
rough
around the edges in a way that appealed to her. His eyes were so dark it was hard to see his pupils, and he had a day’s beard growth that made him look even more rugged and attractive. “I mean, I don’t know much ’bout fighting or anything ’
cept
bruises like those hurt, but I’m glad you’re good at it.”

A scowl carved a familiar pattern into his forehead as if accustomed to being there. “Why would you be glad if you don’t know
nothing
’bout it?”

“’Cause I’m happy for you,” Melody said, still awed and bubbling with exhilaration over how inexplicably drawn she was to this man. She felt normal and womanly and blissfully free from her demons. She should probably go back to work before she embarrassed herself, but she felt like a slab of metal being pulled closer to this big, surly fighter like he was a magnet made just for her. “You’re the best at something. There
ain’t
a bigger accomplishment than that, is there?”

“I
dunno
.” He looked to his coffee, frowning at it for one long moment. “I guess that
is
something.”

“A whole lot of something,” she agreed, forcing her brain to start working again. She set the coffeepot down on the table. “Anyway, I better take your order before
I
stand here bugging you all day.”

“You don’t bug me,” he said quickly. “I like listening to you talk. Your voice is pretty.
Sounds nice, like music or something.”

“Really?”
She beamed, a blush burning her cheeks from the compliment. She pulled her pad out of her apron and fished for a pencil as she fought the flustered feeling tightening her chest from the compliment. “Well, you’re the first one to ever say so. My ex-husband used to say my yapping was like nails on a chalkboard. Course, he was mostly city and my accent bothered him. I guess it don’t bother you.”

“No.” Clay
grunted,
the scowl back. “Don’t bother me at all.”

“Anyway.”
Melody took a deep breath, her cheeks still burning, her brain scrambled from the simple compliment because she didn’t know how to handle kindness from a man she liked as much as Clay. Perhaps she wasn’t as normal as she’d hoped, and her shoulders slumped with the realization. She turned to the sheriff and his sister to hide the disappointment in
herself
. “What can
I
getcha
?”