Kiss Me Katie! & Hug Me Holly! Read online

What she couldn’t handle was everything else.

  “I suppose,” Dora said, “that you prefer those pudgy, suit-wearing, smart-talking city boys who don’t know the back of a horse from their own—Oh, never mind. The sheriff isn’t into women like you anyway. He’ll look his fill and get over it. There’s still hope for me.” Dora primped up her already huge hair and sent Holly a nasty grin. “Don’t you think?”

  “What I think is, you’re validating my inherent mistrust of everyone in Little Paradise.”

  Dora laughed. “Feel free to vacate.”

  “Gee, this is such a friendly town. Imagine, I thought I’d have trouble making friends.”

  Dora had the good grace to smile sheepishly at that. “I’m sorry. I’m really not usually so rude to customers.”

  “Well, aren’t I special?”

  “It’s just that the Nirvana is a town landmark, you know? And honestly, even you have to admit, you’ve pretty much ruined it all in one day.”

  The unfairness of that reared up and bit Holly, making being nice back all but impossible. “I didn’t ruin it all by myself. You people helped by being as inhospitable and ungiving as possible. I could use some help here.”

  Holly couldn’t believe that those last words popped out of her mouth. She’d never in her life asked another soul for help. She certainly hadn’t meant to start now.

  “Really?” Dora looked intrigued. “You don’t look like a woman who needs help from anyone, you look pretty self-sufficient to me.”

  That was quite possibly one of the biggest compliments she’d ever had, not that she was about to admit it. “I’m capable, thank you very much. But you don’t, by any chance, know someone who wants the job of chef or waitress?”

  “Working for you?”

  “Well, yeah.”

  Dora feigned disinterest, took Holly’s money and gave her change.

  Holly thought that was the end of that, until Dora stopped her from leaving. “How much are you going to pay?” she asked.

  “Can you cook?”

  “Better than you.”

  “Come prove it.” Holly knew she didn’t sound like a warm, fuzzy boss, but she didn’t trust anyone in this town farther than she could frown at them. “Wow me. Then we’ll talk pay.”

  Dora sized her up for a long moment. “You’re not exactly Miss Merry Sunshine. Are you mean to your employees?”

  “Mean? No. Tough? Yes.”

  “I can handle tough. How about fair?”

  “Yes.” Or so she hoped. She hadn’t gotten a good look at the café’s finances yet. Hell, she hadn’t done anything yet but sink. But she looked at Dora and willed her to want it, even as she pretended not to care one way or the other. “Makes no difference to me, if you want to bag groceries all your life. But if you’re interested in more, in the freedom of cooking what you like when you like it, well then…” With that hopefully enticing speech, Holly grabbed her bag and walked out of the store.

  The café was still empty. Just as it’d been since she’d spilled, growled and cooked every single person away.

  But she was convinced she could fix this. She could. And she could do it before her parents found out.

  She hoped.

  Since she was entirely by herself—what else was new?—and she couldn’t count on Dora taking the bait, she placed a nice, big, friendly sign in the window, announcing that she needed a chef and a waitress.

  Plenty of people stopped to look at the sign, some pointed and smiled, some even laughed, but no one, no one, stopped and inquired within.

  And the café remained stubbornly empty, despite the fact she’d cooked up the instant oatmeal for breakfast. It’d been easier than she thought, too.

  Until it went cold and turned into cement.

  Even Harry wouldn’t touch it.

  Disgusted, Holly went to the front door and checked it, thinking maybe she’d left it locked.

  As she opened it, a mangy, ragged mutt walked right in and sat. Half of one ear was gone, his fur was matted and dirty, and yet he walked in like he owned the place.

  “Oh, no,” she said to him. Her. It. Whatever. “I’ve already inherited a nasty cat. You just take yourself right on back outside, this isn’t a charity stop.”

  The dog cocked his head and panted as if he hadn’t had water in five days. Dammit. “Okay, just one little sip of water, then you’re outta here. Do you hear me? I’ve got bigger problems than you.”

  As if he understood, and smelled a sucker while he was at it, he lay down and…smiled. She would have sworn he did!

  Muttering to herself, Holly went into the kitchen and rustled up a bowl of water. Backing through the double doors, carrying the bowl, she said, “And don’t take this wrong, but man, you need a bath.”

  “Care to scrub my back while I’m in it?”

  Oh, perfect. Riley McMann. He was back, and though she hadn’t turned around yet, hadn’t set her eyes on his tall, leanly muscled body, hadn’t looked into his deep-brown, laughing eyes, her knees wobbled anyway.

  Self-consciously, she turned to face him, holding the bowl of water and feeling ridiculously stupid.

  “You didn’t seem like the stray type,” he murmured, taking the bowl from her and setting it before the dog.

  “I’m not.” But she watched the scrawny dog lap at the water gratefully and felt her heart tug.

  “Or a people one.”

  “Why don’t you go back to your job?” she suggested. “And while you’re at it, rescue me from this dog.”

  She wanted the dog out because there was something about the way his stomach was practically hollow, the way he seemed so happy to have been allowed to remain inside, with her, that really got to a person.

  No. No, she was absolutely not sympathizing with this dog simply because they were both loners. “And do it quick before he scares off any more customers,” she added.

  “Yeah, it’s the dog scaring off the customers,” Riley said softly, his gaze never leaving hers, the look in it telling Holly he saw so much more than she wanted him to.

  “I need to get lunch going.”

  “For who?”

  Good point. “Look, can you take the dog away or what?”

  “Why don’t you just put out a sign that says, Eat At Nirvana, The Place That Runs Customers Off, And Dogs, Too.”

  She stared at him, baffled by the complexities of small-town living. “You’re telling me that kicking this dog out is going to be bad for my business?”

  “Princess, you’re bad for business. But the dog, he could be good. It could show people you do have a…softer side.”

  “I don’t want to show any softer side.”

  But he’d given her an idea, and energized, she grabbed another piece of paper and scribbled:

  Free Dinner Tomorrow With Your Receipt From Today. Come Try Our New Family-Style Dinner.

  She taped the note to the window, right next to the Help Wanted ad. Beaming, she looked at Riley. “With the dynamics of the gossip mill in this town, I’ll be full of customers in less than ten minutes. They won’t be able to help themselves, they’re far too curious—and cheap—to ignore this.”

  “What’s family style?”

  “I’ll serve one main dish, the same to everyone.”

  He nodded, looking impressed. “Clever. Now all you need is one little thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Food. Good food.”

  She was halfway to the kitchen. She’d really intended to ignore him, but something in his tone caught her, something she couldn’t ignore. After all, she knew why she didn’t like him. He was too sure of himself, too laid-back, too country, too…utterly, wildly, absolutely male for her.

  But what she didn’t know was… “Why don’t you like me?”

  Her question surprised both of them. He didn’t try to deny it, or offer empty platitudes, which oddly enough only increased her need to know.

  “What I feel doesn’t matter,” he said finally.

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