Baby: A Linear Tactical Romantic Suspense Standalone Page 2

  “Coke, no onions.” She spun the written words around so he could see them on her notepad. “Maybe I should get you to initial this so I’m sure we’re in agreement.”

  Oh God, was she flirting with him?

  She turned away before he could respond with something charming or do something sexy like...breathe. She was already feeling hot under the collar.

  Maybe she was going through early-onset menopause.

  That would be par for the course, wouldn’t it?

  Besides, she didn’t know how to flirt, and she definitely didn’t know how to flirt with someone like him.

  Right now, she needed to focus on not getting fired. If she was lucky, she could manage that.

  Baby hadn’t come into the Eagle’s Nest for lunch because of the new waitress. He definitely wasn’t here to stop Mia from being bitchy—everyone had given up on that long ago.

  He liked to get out of his garage, Oak Creek Auto, a few times a week when he could. And that was pretty often. Oak Creek was a relatively small town, and his place was one of the two full-time auto shops.

  The size gave him the right amount of business—enough for Baby, the other two full-time mechanics, and the part-time office manager to make a good living while not working themselves to death.

  He’d been working there since before he’d dropped out of high school at seventeen. When the owner, Albert Owens—known to everyone as Pop Owens—had died seven years ago, he’d left Baby in charge.

  Except he might not be in charge for long. He grimaced and slid his silverware around in a circle on the table. Pop Owens’s plan as he left this earth was about to backfire on both of them. And Baby couldn’t seem to do anything about it.

  Not unless he planned to spill all his secrets.

  He loved this town, loved the people. He had never been interested in leaving long-term or thought of living somewhere else. This was home and always would be.

  And you know the thing about home? Yes, the people were family. But family was sometimes the worst about keeping you pigeonholed—never allowing you to change or grow.

  Everyone had pigeonholed him as the easy-going, charming younger brother. Hell...Baby. His name fairly shouted it. When he’d dropped out of high school, everyone had assumed it was because he wanted to be a mechanic. He didn’t need a diploma for that.

  Nobody had looked any deeper, nobody had questioned the obvious.

  Not his older brother, Finn, who’d joined the Army then came back and started Linear Tactical, the survival, self-defense, and weapons training facility. Not his best friend, Cade O’Conner, who’d gone on to have a stellar music career before coming back and settling down in Oak Creek. Not his sister, not his mother. Not any of the people he’d seen day in and day out since the day he was born.

  They’d taken him at charming, quick-to-grin face value.

  That had worked for him for the decade since he’d dropped out of high school—and long before—so he wasn’t about to start sharing the real reasons now.

  But it might come out whether he wanted it to or not. The thought was like acid in his gut. Everyone would know... He could lose everything.

  But today, he was going to take a page out of the playbook everyone had written for him and worry about his troubles another time. Right now, he would focus on the pretty waitress who was struggling to stay upright.

  He wasn’t from the South, but the temptation to say ‘bless her heart’ was almost more than he could stand.

  He knew enough about waitressing to know it was hard work. There were a lot of elements involved, a lot of things that could go wrong, and of course, having someone like Mia around to be a royal bitch didn’t help anything.

  But he had never seen anyone in his entire life look less like a waitress than this woman. Those shoes were going to be the death of her. Her blouse clung to her back where she was perspiring.

  But it was her hair that had really caught his attention. He had no problem with buns. Messy buns, dancer buns, a woman’s I’m about to get shit done buns, he liked them all. But hers was something unique. In the fifteen minutes he’d been here—the ten before Mia and five since she’d promised him the Coke with no onions and hadn’t made it back to the table—he’d seen her fix her bun at least two dozen times. She was obsessed with keeping that thing as neat and orderly as possible.

  And it appeared that her bun was equally obsessed with being unruly. Thirty seconds after she smoothed a hair back into place, another one was curling back toward her face.

  It fascinated him. Everything about her fascinated him.

  How was somebody so obviously not meant to be a waitress here at the Eagle’s Nest, doing a terrible job of waiting tables?

  She had big city written all over her. Oak Creek tended to scare those people off pretty quickly.

  But this woman seemed desperate to make sure she kept this job—even if it meant putting up with Mia’s antics. She was trying so damned hard, it was kind of adorable.

  Even if he was still sitting here with no drink, no order placed, and by the looks of the pretty waitress—who was running food out to tables and shooting him an apologetic glance every time she wasn’t able to come back with his drink—no sign of either happening any time soon.

  Yet he couldn’t stop smiling.

  Something about this woman—with her ridiculous shoes and her proper posture and her brown hair she obsessively wanted to be perfect, despite its other plans—affected him. Drew him in a way he hadn’t been drawn in a long time. Hell, he couldn’t remember ever being so fascinated with someone at first glance.

  Baby got along with everyone. People came naturally to him, men and women. He loved to talk, loved to listen. Loved to get to know someone.

  He smiled a lot. He generally didn’t apologize for it. In a town where half the male population seemed to be made up of gruff former Special Forces guys, he’d never felt the urge to be the silent, sullen type.

  And he could admit, women flocked to him. He rarely had to spend an evening alone if he didn’t want to.

  But he didn’t have sex casually and wasn’t interested in notches on his bedpost or in keeping some sort of score.

  He wanted what his parents had had: his dad dancing with his mom in the living room, holding the door open for her whenever they got into the car, and treating her with respect...even when they were fighting. Every single day until the day his father had died when Baby was twelve.

  Or his brother’s Finn’s marriage with Charlie for the past seven months. Those two could barely keep from killing each other some days. They were both bullheaded and loved to win an argument. But Baby knew for a fact that Finn would lay down his life for Charlie, and she would do the same for Finn. They’d both proven it.

  That’s what Baby wanted. He wasn’t interested in one-night stands or casual relationships.

  He liked to play, but he wasn’t a player.

  Now it was time for this non-player to head back to work. As much as he’d like to stay here and watch the pretty waitress and see if she actually ever managed to bring his Coke with no onions, he had a crap ton of work to do.

  The shop would be closed all next week because he was participating in the Wild Wyoming Adventure Race, an event held by Linear Tactical each year. He’d probably die running the one hundred-plus-mile course, if not by the running then by any one of the crazy adventure aspects of the race—kayaking, rappelling, obstacle courses. So now probably wasn’t the time to talk to her anyway. He’d wait until he got back. If he made it back.

  Maybe by then, she wouldn’t be quite so overwhelmed by her job.

  He stood and dropped a couple of dollars on the table to cover his drink.

  “Oh no! I’m so sorry!”

  He turned to find her, soda in hand and big, brown eyes widened in alarm. She looked frazzled, and a few hairs had pulled free from her bun in wild rebellion.

  “I had to take the food out, then somebody wanted to place an order, then I had to put the
order in . . ..” She took a deep breath and shook her head. “I’m the worst waitress ever.”

  He couldn’t stand the way her face caved in distress.

  “Actually, I once heard about this diner in New York where the waitress screamed at the customers as soon as they came in telling them they couldn’t have any soup.” He took the drink out of her hand and gulped it down.

  She smiled. “That was an episode of Seinfeld, and he wasn’t a waiter...he was the Soup Nazi.”

  He smiled back. “Oh. Must’ve gotten those confused in my head. But I definitely think you’re not the worst waitress ever ...maybe the second worst.”

  She laughed and it changed everything about her features, softening them, damn near taking his breath away.

  But then she stopped suddenly as if she’d discovered herself doing something bad or inappropriate.

  “You need to do that more,” he said.

  “What, attempt to make silver medal for worst waitress in the world?”

  Now he chuckled. “You might be able to work up to gold if you try.”

  “If Lexi doesn’t fire me after this lunch shift, I give it a fifty-fifty chance at best.”

  “I’ll be sure to keep an eye on social media in case she puts up a voting poll about whether to keep you around or not.”

  “I didn’t get you your drink before you had to leave. I’m sure you would vote for me to be fired.”

  He couldn’t help it; he reached over and touched that strand of hair she’d been fighting with all day. That little piece of rebellion incarnate.

  “How about I promise to vote positively for you as long as you do one thing for me.”

  The big city in her was skeptical, he could tell. “And what’s that?” she asked with an arched brow.

  “Tell me your name.”

  Some sort of shadow passed over her face, like the question was hard for some reason. “Quinn.”

  “I’ll see you soon, Quinn.” He winked, then set the empty glass on the table and left before she could respond.

  This week was finally looking up.

  Chapter Three

  Teton State College was not Harvard.

  Of course, Quinn had known that when she’d accepted the part-time teaching position two weeks ago. She hadn’t just accepted it; she’d jumped on it.

  After the Harvard fiasco when her contract had been terminated due to mental instability and failure to uphold the personal standard expected of a Harvard faculty member, she’d immediately begun applying for full-time, tenure-track positions at colleges and universities all over the country.

  She hadn’t heard a word back from any of them, so she’d dropped her aim to any full-time professorship at a four-year institution, whether it was tenure-track or not. Still nothing.

  By the time she’d realized she’d basically been blacklisted, she’d been out of savings and out of options. Even the part-time, adjunct positions she’d applied for hadn’t panned out, although mostly because the traditional college semester had already started.

  When Teton State College offered her a position taking over three classes for an almost-retired instructor who’d had a heart attack and would be out for the rest of the year, she’d jumped on it. It wasn’t enough to live off of, but she’d been sure it was the best possible thing she could do to help rebuild her academic reputation.

  Now, having started the position, she wasn’t so sure.

  To be fair, it wasn’t all the college’s fault. Being a faculty member at an Ivy League school—at any four-year, research-focused academic institution—was different than being part of the faculty at a state college. At Harvard, Quinn had hardly stepped inside the classroom even when she was listed as the professor. That was how things were done. She’d spent her time chairing committees, taking part in research, then publishing her findings. After all, that was the academic battle cry, right? Publish or perish. At TSC, she would not be required to publish in order to keep her career on the right path.

  But perishing was still an option.

  Here, she was expected to teach. Actually, that didn’t bother her. She hadn’t left the classroom at Harvard because she didn’t like teaching. That had been what one did, the accepted norm.

  Quinn had never been one to buck the system, although the system certainly hadn’t had any problem bucking her.

  But teaching wasn’t beneath her by any means, she’d looked forward to getting back into the classroom. She’d been nervous when she met with her first class yesterday, but it had gone pretty well.

  Or... at least no one had run in saying they heard that she’d gotten fired from Harvard and had to be escorted from the building for screaming at one of the deans.

  Never mind that the dean in question had been her ex-husband who’d lied to her, stolen from her, and had argued to their colleagues that she was self-sabotaging her career.

  Thankfully, that news had not made it to the small state college in Teton County, Wyoming.

  The basic literature class had been filled with mostly traditional college students: fresh-faced, straight out of high school, nineteen to twenty-one years old, and bored. They’d been suitably unimpressed with her list of degrees and her extensive collection of published literary articles.

  “Will people who have an ‘A’ in the class be required to take the final exam?”

  That had been the first question after Quinn had introduced herself, given her credentials, and quoted a few lines from Robert Frost’s “The Road Not Taken.”

  Then the question floodgates opened. She’d spent the next two hours answering questions not about literature or authors, but about policy and grades. Quinn was exhausted by the time the class was over, but for the most part, she was encouraged. The students seemed receptive to finishing the last six weeks of class with her, and none of them had questioned her authority.

  But unfortunately, the questions didn’t stop there. Over the next three days, Quinn spent nearly every hour she wasn’t working at the Eagle’s Nest dealing with student concerns. Hours’ worth of emails, phone calls, and face-to-face appointments, mostly from her online classes. Students wanted to make sure they understood what was going on and how their grades might be affected by getting a new teacher two-thirds of the way through the semester. She didn’t mind answering those legitimate questions.

  But then the less legitimate ones started cropping up.

  “Mr. Lewis gave me a failing grade for the midterm, and I’d like to retake that.”

  “Mr. Lewis didn’t accept my homework for unit three. Yeah, it was three weeks late, but I feel like you should take a look at it.”

  “Mr. Lewis taught me four years ago, and I didn’t pass the class. I was wondering if you could change my grade.”

  “My grandparents died, and I haven’t been to class in five weeks.”

  “I’ve been ill but forgot to get a doctor’s note, can I please come back to class?”

  For three days, Quinn listened and tried to give students the benefit of the doubt when possible, but by the third full day of dealing with them, even that was getting more difficult. Finally, she gave up trying.

  She got an email from a student explaining that he was a nontraditional student and hadn’t gelled well with Lewis’ teaching style. Apparently, he had stopped participating in the online class. He wrote that he had planned to come talk to Mr. Lewis, but time had gotten away from him. He wanted to come see Quinn and talk it out instead.

  Quinn read the email, shaking her head. It was riddled with grammatical and spelling errors.

  She doubted this student would pass her class at all if he couldn’t take time to proofread a message that asked for a favor.

  “Sorry, Blake, the pathetic excuse train has already left the station,” she mumbled.

  She quickly typed out an email and explained that his grade with Mr. Lewis would have to stand, but maybe he could take the class again next semester.

  She regretted it as soon as she hit send. If he had ca
ught her at the beginning of the week before everyone in the world had preyed upon her newness, she probably would’ve given him another chance. Would’ve heard him out, at least. She promised herself that if he contacted her again, she’d invite him to come discuss things further.

  It may not change the situation, but at the very least, she didn’t have to be such a bitch. It wasn’t this student’s fault her life had fallen apart, and she had to start again with a job she didn’t really want. Two jobs she didn’t want, if you included waiting tables, but necessary to pay the bills.

  When the next email turned out to be another tale of woe, she shut the computer down. If she couldn’t handle students objectively, she was better off not handling them at all.

  By Friday, Quinn had regrouped. She had approached her classes, the students, and the requests for favors systematically and, well, academically.

  She was starting to feel like she was getting the hang of it all. She was making a place and a system for herself. It had meant coming in every single day this week whether or not she’d had a class to teach. She’d been in her office preparing for the next class, or answering questions from online students, or...anything to make herself feel like she had an actual career.

  She definitely didn’t need to be spending as much time here in her TSC office as she was, especially not late on a Friday afternoon when she didn’t have any classes.

  Yet here she was.

  She didn’t have a degree in human psychology, but she didn’t need one to know what was happening.

  The office she shared with three other adjuncts was a safe place for her. Familiar. At least more so than waiting tables while living in a small Wyoming town. She stared at her laptop, even though there was nothing on the screen.

  Today was a day for reflection, right? A day for looking back at what the past year had brought her and look forward to what the next one would bring.

  Her birthday. Her thirty-ninth birthday.

  Her gaze shifted over to the Fancy Pants Bakery box. The treat she had bought herself as a middle finger to her ex-husband, Peter.