Her Brother's Keeper

by Geri Guillaume

• ISBN13: 9781583148051
• ISBN10: 1583148051
• Format: Paperback
• Copyright: 2006-11-01
• Publisher: Bet Books

Summary

She was a force of nature he couldn't resist…

Proud, penniless Darion Haddock worked hard and kept to himself, earning both respect and responsibility at Jon Holling's Montana ranch--and the honor of driving through a snowstorm to get his boss

Excerpts

SummerWhite Wolf, Montana "What'll it be, hon?" It was too early for the lunchtime rush. So, Marjean grabbed a ticket book to serve the lanky fellow sitting all by his lonesome in a booth at the back of her cafeacute;. Owner. Proprietor. Chief cook. Bottle washer. At various times, Marjean had worn all of those labels and wasn't too proud to haul herself from behind the counter when she needed to. Not when it came to money. Or, as she reminded herself watching that big fellow warily, a potential threat to her money. Her daughter, Barbara Jean, had seated the man twenty minutes ago, moving him three times at his request. First by the front door. But that wasn't good enough. Then to a table in the middle of the restaurant. That wouldn't do, either. "Well, why don'tcha tell me where ya wanna sit, mister?" Barbara Jean had demanded, impatience evident in her tone and in the way she planted one hand in the small of her back to support the weight of her very obvious late-term pregnancy. She didn't even try to hide her irritation. It wasn't as if she expected a large tip from him. Nothing about that man said big tipper--from the faded blue baseball cap turned backward on his badly-in-need-ofa-touch-up cornrows, to his sweat-stained T-shirt beneath the open plaid button-down shirt, down to the raveled hems of his mud-splattered jeans. Barbara Jean almost turned up her nose, wondering what kind of health violations he'd committed by walking up there in those raggedy pants. They were seriously frayed at the hems, as if he'd stepped on them one too many times with the worn heels of his scuffed work boots. "There," he said, indicating with a lift of his stubbled chin at the spot. "I'll take that table." He'd chosen the last booth seat, with his back against the wall. "Fine," Barbara Jean snarled, slapping a tri-fold laminated menu on the tabletop, and pulling a paper-wrapped straw and napkin from her apron pocket. Being young, not yet thirty, and pregnant with her fourth child didn't help her disposition. Gone were the days when she could take the time to shoot the breeze with any of her customers. Flirting with some. Flattering others. She was getting too old and too tired for that. Now, it was all business. "What do you want to drink?" she offered, with as little grace as she had patience. "Water. Easy ice," he said simply. As she walked away, he called after her. "And make sure you put it in a clean glass." She would have turned around and glared at him if her feet and back didn't ache so much. Who was he kidding? Clean glass? Something told her that if it weren't for the public restroom in the gas station a few miles down the road from where he'd come walking up, he probably wouldn't have had water to bathe himself. For somebody who looked as if he didn't have two nickels to rub together, he sure did sound as if he owned the world. At least he doesn't stink,she thought gratefully. Though, her limited goodwill started to slip a notch when she heard him impatiently drumming his fingers along the tabletop. It was a good thing for him that the cafeacute; was still so empty, Barbara Jean thought. She probably wouldn't have put up with that nonsense if more of her regulars had come in--regulars who knew her and would reward her for any extra effort. After she'd seated him, she went back behind the counter to fill a frosted white plastic tumbler with ice water. Still grumbling under her breath, she pressed the tumbler against the ice maker, partially filling the glass with shaved ice, shaking it to make the ice settle, then slammed the tumbler against the lever to start the water flowing. Without a word, she returned to her customer, set the glass on the table. Barbara Jean didn't speak, but the way the plastic tumbler hit the table with a noticeablethumpspoke volumes. Her lack of friendly conversation wasn't even noticed. She might as well be inv