Rock Star Romance: Dan (Contemporary New Adult Rockstar Bad Boy Romance) (Hard Rock Star Series Book 4) (17 page)

"Two eggs, side
of ham, grits with sugar!" Elizabeth's shrill soprano came calling back to
Lucy from the doorway. The girl was handing off a stack of dirty dishes to Joe,
whose knees buckled under the weight of the enormous pile.

"Got it!"
Lucy grabbed the eggs and cracked them into the oiled skillet, then dipped the
ham in butter and set it to frying. The kitchen was already too humid for
sleeves, so she'd taken off her cook's apron and had on a dishwasher's,
preferring to risk a grease burn rather than faint from heat stroke. She could
hear the customers chattering on steadily, like a hive of happy bees. Fridays
were always busy, even when it was this hot and most people would really rather
have something at home; people couldn't resist their urge to gather together
when there was a big event in town. Cowboy competitions never failed to bring
in scores of individuals, young and old, eager to see the spectacle and fanfare
the rodeo had become.

The host this time was
none other than the famous Sir Hugh, the Cowboy Knight. The men in the diner
grumbled about the gruff young performer, denying him the right to be
classified along with the cowboys of their day, who took things like roping,
riding, and long drives more seriously, sometimes at the expense of the
animals. Cowboys like Hugh Riley promoted entertainment value over any
obsession with technical skill, and promised "A show for the whole
family----but especially the princesses." It was a bold move to so openly
embrace the angle of catering to women as a man, but it worked wonders for Sir
Hugh: his shows were consistently sold out, he had scores of female and male
admirers of all kinds, and he was always asked to return to a city for a show.
Lucy heard this all secondhand from Elizabeth and Rosie, the new waitress from
the East Coast. Rosie in particular seemed to be hoping for a chance to
interact with Sir Hugh; Elizabeth made faces at Lucy behind Rosie as she fawned
over the man.

"He tosses a rose
to the most beautiful woman in the stadium before he faces the bull,"
Rosie said breathlessly, her eyes lustrous as she described the scene. "A
gorgeous, fragrant rose that you get to keep! And he's so strong." She
clasped her hands together in front of her ample bosom, and Elizabeth stifled a
laugh with great difficulty. "No tricks during that part! Just tackles it
and shows him what's what." She smiled then, her expression far too bawdy
for the likes of her young face. "I'd like him to show me what's what, if
you know what I mean." She cackled and winked at Lucy, who allowed a weak
chuckle before shooting an apologetic look at Elizabeth.

"I can't believe
the mouth on her," Lizzie said later, shoving a stack of mugs into Joe's
hands more roughly than necessary. After she stopped him from falling, she let
out an irritated groan. "Sorry, Joe. I know she's only been here a week,
and she's only been talking about that cowboy a day, but already I hate her
enough to hate him by association."

"I don't
know," Lucy said as she stirred the grits briefly and ladled them into a
bowl. She set everything on a tray and handed it and a folded cloth napkin to
Lizzie, brushing a few stray strands of blonde hair from the younger woman's
eyes. "He does sound interesting. The whole knight angle is pretty unique.
And it certainly works." Lucy looked at the full diner, packed with lanky
teenage girls, young men with thin mustaches, older ladies fanning themselves
with menus during hot flashes, and disgruntled looking husbands trying to
distance themselves from all the giggling women. They were all going to a
preview show this evening before the real show tomorrow night; Sir Hugh would
be giving a short demonstration with a baby calf. It was a popular set-up, and
Lucy could only respect an artist who perfected and individualized a craft.
When Lizzie came back with the tray, she looked more calm, and set down the
wooden tray thoughtfully.

"Are you
going?" she asked in a low voice as Rosie breezed into the kitchen. Lucy
shrugged, looking at the new waitress. The girl's uniform was cinched around
her slim waist with a braided belt she said she'd worn the last time she saw
Sir Hugh, and he'd almost tossed her a rose. It was good luck, she insisted.

"If he didn't
toss you the rose, doesn't that kind of make it bad luck?" Lizzie had
asked innocently. Rosie made a face and patted her brown hair, which was piled
on top of her head elaborately.

"I also have my
good luck hair tie," she had explained. "I thought of that,
too."

Rosie marched out
haughtily, and Lizzie imitated her. Lucy laughed, earnestly and loud, and it
brought a real grin to Lizzie's face. "So are you going?" she asked
again, leaning against the counter to appreciate the temporary lull in service.
"I can see him tossing that rose to you," Lizzie teased. "Wear
that green dress you have! You'll definitely look queenly." She nudged
Lucy conspiratorially. "Plus it'd burn Rosie's ass real good."

Lucy giggled. Lizzie
could lapse into blue speech herself sometimes, but it was endearing rather
than off-putting for the young woman. "I might. I need a night out. But
that man's looking for a princess, not a queen." She smiled. "I think
you're a queen by default once you get to forty."

"You're
thirty
!"
Lucy giggled. "And no man ever turned down a beautiful queen. You should
think about it." Lizzie caught sight of a couple looking at menus. She
slapped Lucy's shoulder and darted out the swinging doors to the main part of
the diner, smoothing her flyways down again.

Lucy fingered her own
red hair, now pulled back in a simple ponytail, her oval-shaped face framed by
bangs her sister insisted she get the last time she was in town. Her hair was
her favorite part of her body, and when it was down, it helped to accentuate
her curvy frame, cascading gently to her waist like a crimson waterfall. Her
shapely body had been a source of deeply conflicting emotion her whole life,
even after she met Victor, the man she used to believe she would marry.

Victor had practically
worshipped her full figure, slowly teaching her to love her pillowy thighs,
soft breasts and wide hips, and even the plumpness of her backside. She always knew
she had a pretty face, but her weight was harder to deal with. Victor
eventually erased all of her self doubt, then brought it back in one crushing
blow when he stole her life savings and skipped town with another woman. He'd
apparently secretly impregnated her a year before, and had been planning to
flee since then, throwing away the five years he'd spent with Lucy.

The only time Lucy
ever missed work when she wasn't sick was the month following the breakup; Joe
and Harold, the owner, almost discussed having her committed to a sanitorium.
Cooking was the only interest she had left after that, and pouring her heart
and soul into the restaurant was what ultimately saved her and allowed her to
grow back the chunks of her Victor tore out when left. Lizzie had started
working there soon after at age 18, and by three years later, the diner's staff
had become Lucy's family. It turned out that Victor soaked up so much of her
time, she'd hardly gotten to know anyone in the two years she worked there.

Harold came in from
the back office while she was cooking two chicken sandwiches and baking
potatoes. "You seen these weirdos lining up for that idiot?" He
scoffed.

Lucy smiled at his
square face, sun-baked and lined from years of squinting his eyes against glare
and heat. He had worked as a farmer for twenty back-breaking years before
saving enough to buy his own diner. Childless and widower, Harold's Place was
the man's pride and joy. Despite appearing perpetually grumpy, Harold was a
sweetheart, and the 50-year-old was particularly sweet on Lucy. She was
grateful for his affection, but made it clear long ago that she saw him as an
older brother figure, or even a father. He tried not to show his heartbreak and
avoided her for a while after, but he still showed strong signs of favoring
Lucy.

"Idiots," he
grumbled again as he ambled closer to her. "Flocking to an even bigger
idiot." Harold pocketed a hard-boiled egg from the counter while she
watched.

"I see
them," Lucy said, spooning sauce over the chicken and topping the breasts
with cheese and thick slices of toasted bread. She placed them next to the
baked potatoes and handed the two warm plates to Lizzie through the kitchen
window, then turned her full attention to Harold.

"You really think
he's an idiot?" she teased. "Or are you just mad that he's not one of
those cowboys who still gore the bull before the end of the show?"

"I never
sanctioned no bull goring," Harold said, mock-offended. "Just a good
knock on the head or two. You gotta show 'em who's boss, not just run around
them and lead 'em into a cage."

"Why don't you
try?" Lucy poked his beefy chest playfully, and Harold flushed. "I'd
like to see you grab a bull by its horns."

"You know I got a
bad back, Lucy," Harold groaned, clutching his spine dramatically. The
motion threw his round gut forward, and Lucy poked that too, giggling.

"Doesn't stop you
from trying to pick me up, you old geezer." Harold laughed uproariously
and clutched his heart, swaying on the spot.

"You wound
me!" he said in a stage shout. Several heads turned toward the kitchen.
"I die!" He staggered out of the room, startling Lizzie as she walked
back in.

"Giving you
trouble again?" Lizzie asked, suppressing a grin. Harold's crush on Lucy
was the source of much amusement for the diner, and the two had grown used to
gentle ribbing.

"The same,"
Lucy answered. She was still thinking about the rodeo; Victor had loved going,
and particularly loved the antics of the rodeo clowns. Lucy herself hated
clowns, as she'd carried over a phobia of them from her childhood years. Even
from faraway they set her teeth on edge, and she preferred not to look at them
at all. She felt silly for it but refused to change her mind, especially for
Victor's rude teasing. "Say, Lizzie? Are there still clowns at cowboy shows?
I haven't been in a few years."

The young girls dipped
two pots into a soapy bucket of water and whirled her hands around in the bath
as she thought. "You know, the first few I've been to had clowns, but Ma
said they weren't like they used to be. Less makeup, more tricks. They don't
interact with animals the same. Usually it's baby animals, if they're there at
all. But the last handful I can think of had magicians, or dancers. Can't
remember what Sir Hugh advertised," she finished apologetically. Her head
cocked to the side. "Why do you ask?"

"No reason,"
Lucy said quickly.

"But you are
thinking about going? I could get you a ticket. I was going to go with Ma but
she's sick." Lizzie was speaking faster and faster as she grew more
excited, her pale eyes opening wide as she spoke. "We can have a special
dinner before! Or have drinks after," Lizzie said shyly. "What do you
say?"

Lucy studied her
bright eyes and round face, pink with happiness. "Maybe," she said
finally. "I really have to make sure I have something to wear, and see if
Harold is all right with cooking tomorrow evening." She kicked the idea
around in her head more, getting comfortable with it. She could afford one
night off this week, definitely. She looked through the box window into the dining
area at all the bodies wound with energy, voices animated as the talked about
the coming attraction. She missed feeling excited, thrilled for something,
moved and stirred from the core of her being. It hadn't happened since...she
realized with a shock that she didn't know the last time she felt so
enthusiastic about anything, rather than merely content. It dampened her
spirits, and she felt herself leaning away from the idea altogether.

Just then, a squeal
from behind her drew her attention. She and Lizzie both jumped and turn to see
Rosie standing behind them, gazing at something through the window.

"I can't believe
it!" she said, her voice theatric. Her hand fluttered to her chest.
"It's him!"

Lizzie rolled her eyes
at the girl's stage whisper, turning to look at who she was so enthralled with.
Lucy watched in amusement as the girl's already white skin paled, and her mouth
dropped open. All she could manage was a single emphatic "Oh!" She
pressed her hand to her mouth, embarrassed at her outburst. Lucy turned to look
at what had caused them to pose so comically, ready to mock them for it, and
found herself imitating them instead. Her fingers touched her lips briefly as
her eyes locked on the man, broad-shouldered and long-legged, while he strode
to a small table almost exactly in front of the window.

His square jaw was
covered with dark stubble, and sharp green eyes peered out from under a
wide-brimmed Stetson, black as coal. His shirt was a deep red, and it looked
soft to the touch, right down to the stripes of ebony outlining the seams. His
dark gray pants clung to his muscular thighs and were tucked into worn leather
boots, the jingling spurs shining merrily as he walked. He sank gracefully into
the wooden chair, removing his hat swiftly as he sat.

The three women
watched him pick up the menu left on the table as study it as if it were the
most interesting thing in the world. Lucy watched as a buzz spread through the
dining room, and all heads turned toward the cowboy in a dramatic wave. She
studied his square jaw, his clefted chin, his strong, calloused hands; a gentle
warmth began to spread through her body, starting from her thighs and radiating
outward.

"Wow." She
wasn't sure who said it, but it might as well have been all of them. Sir Hugh
finished flipping through a menu just as a small boy who had been staring at
him, slack-jawed, seemed to screw up all of his courage and strode right up to
his table.