A Groom for Red Riding Hood by Jennifer Greene

Author:Jennifer Greene
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 1994-02-15T00:00:00+00:00

* * *

Mary Ellen pried the salt spout open. It was almost midnight. Samson was polishing glasses behind the bar. Nearly everyone had gone home except for a few tables of hard-core rowdies, which gave her the chance to catch up on housekeeping chores. She unscrewed the glass pepper shaker and started pouring.

Abruptly she glanced at the shaker and then the row of shakers she’d been filling down the line of tables. Geezle beezle. Every single one of the peppers was now topped with salt. What on earth was she thinking of?

Embarrassment colored her cheeks. Not embarrassment over the spice shakers; that kind of klutzy mistake was too typical to rate a fuss. The specific mortification hounding her mind for the past four days had another source entirely. She rolled her eyes to the beamed-board ceiling, wishing she could move to Siberia where she’d never have to face Steve again.

So far, he hadn’t come into the bar and she’d successfully avoided his calls through the marvelous invention of the answering machine, but her good luck couldn’t hold forever. Hiding from him struck her as shamefully adolescent cowardice, but Mary Ellen didn’t particularly care. She’d fallen all over him as if he were a chunk of Godiva and she was a chocoholic. She wasn’t ready to deal with that. Maybe she’d be ready to deal with that in the year 2225. Maybe.

She scooped up the row of mixed-up pepper shakers and was hiking for the kitchen when a man’s bony hand yanked on her denim skirt. “Hey, sweetie pie. You gonna come home with me tonight?”

Richard Schneider’s face registered in her mind. It should; he was the sly-eyed ham-radio owner who’d chased her around her kitchen a few weeks back, but she was just too distracted to worry about him tonight. Without even thinking, she patted his balding head as if he were a small child and moved past.

“Hey! Hey you, darlin’!” he called after her.

“You can have another beer. But not unless you give me your car keys first.”

“I wasn’t asking you for another beer, and anyway, Samson would give me one without any hassle.”

“No, he wouldn’t. And you know the rules, dearie dumps. You’re at the limit. No car keys, no more.”

“Dearie dumps? Did she just call me dearie dumps?”

She heard the buzz of guffaws at the table. Vaguely. Pushing through the swinging doors to the grill, she headed for the sink. Samson poked his head around the door, catching her in the act of pouring her salty mistakes down the drain.

“Are you okay?” he asked her.

“Heavens, no. It’s been one of those nights when I can’t seem to do anything right. I messed up an order, then I broke a glass and then—like a total ditz—I mixed up the peppers and salts—”

“I don’t mean anything like that. I mean...are you feeling okay?”

“Sure, I’m fine. Why?”

“Why, the lady asks me.” Samson started fretfully wiping his hands on a kitchen towel. “Stelmach’s out there. You always hide in here by the dishwasher when Stelmach’s out there.

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