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  A Heart to Rescue

  By Ivy Sinclair

  Copyright 2012 Leed Lake Publishing

  Kindle Edition

  Kindle Edition, License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Amazon.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  PART I

  His eyes were blue. That kind of stormy blue that could blaze a trail right into your soul and there would be nothing you could do about it. Mel realized that she had been caught staring as that sentiment crossed her mind. She immediately dropped her eyes from his and made her arm continue its swirling motion wiping off the tabletop of the booth in front of her.

  It was a Monday afternoon, the worst possible shift to work at the Rumbling Rock Bar and Grill. Mel hated Mondays. The hours stretched into an endless ocean, and she frequently felt as if she was bobbing along in a boat with no engine. But she was the newest waitress on staff, and until she built up her tenure, she was stuck with the shifts that nobody else wanted. When she arrived for her shift thirty minutes ago though, the man sitting at the bar had drawn her attention. The normally abysmal shift suddenly felt much more palatable with that kind of scenery.

  Mel cut a glance back across the room, but the man's gaze had returned to the highball glass in front of him. Occasionally he would pick it up, swirl it around a few times, and then return it to the bar without pulling it to his lips. Even if he wasn’t devastatingly gorgeous, he was the only patron at the bar, so it was hard not to look at him. His long legs planted firmly on the floor in front of the stool told her that he was taller than average, and his trim waist paired with a set of broad shoulders told her that he regularly saw the inside of the gym. His hair was so black that it shone even under the meager light of the hanging bar lights above his head. There was a five o'clock shadow across his cheeks, but that was the only part of his appearance that looked the slightest bit casual. The dark blue pin-stripe suit he wore ensured that he looked utterly out of place at the Rumbling Rock, but the man didn't seem to care.

  She wondered what could have possibly drawn the man to her dive bar on the edge of Spring City. There was nothing pretentious or glamorous about the bar. It was far from the trendy bars and restaurants downtown that catered to the people who cared about such things. Mel knew about that better than most. One day, not all that long ago, she had been one of those people. That had been before her life fell apart. That had been the life that she left behind without a second glance over six months ago.

  Perhaps that was what fascinated her about this man. He was a real-life, slightly painful reminder of what she had given up, and seeing him there dredged up memories of things that were better left in the past. She was alternately intrigued and annoyed with him. Of course, he sat there, nursing his drink, completely oblivious to the rush of emotions his presence evoked inside of her.

  Now that she knew what color his eyes were though, she thought that she could forget that he was there. Mel’s responsibility was the tables in the dining area while the bartender, Max, kept an eye anyone who sat at the bar. It was just the two of them on Monday afternoons, and Mel was pretty certain that Max would have preferred to be anywhere else than stuck with her inside the dingy bar. The feeling was mutual.

  The creak of the heavy, wooden front door brought the welcome distraction she had been waiting for: customers. She was frustrated to see that they weren't just any customers though; Barry and Bud Parker were regulars and the sight of them made her stomach clench uncomfortably. Barry and Bud were twins but couldn't have looked more different in appearance. Barry was tall and thin, his plain boyish face belying the fact that he must be at least forty years old. Bud was short and carried a wide girth around his belt line. His face was tight and seemed dressed in a permanent scowl.

  What they had in common was that they were rude, egotistical, and lousy tippers.

  Mel said a silent prayer hoping they'd make their way to the bar and then Max could deal with them, but the two men sidled right past it. The brothers were talking animatedly about some “jackass” at a job site, but that didn't stop Bud from giving her a lewd wink as he shoved his stout body into one side of a booth on the far side of the dining room.

  Her feet dragged as she approached the table. Barry stopped talking as his eyes lit on her face. "Well, hello there Mel! Aren't you a sight for sore eyes?” Barry never had a better pick-up line than stupid clichés. Mel thought that he was generally harmless outside of his lame verbal attempts to attract her attention, but she wasn’t willing to bet on that assumption.

  "Barry, Bud," she said in a crisp greeting as she pulled out her order pad. "Usual?" She wanted to get away from them as quickly as possible.

  "We're celebrating today, Mel. Bring us a pitcher to start," Bud said.

  Mel groaned inside. If the brothers were starting to drink already, that meant they'd be there all afternoon. When Bud got drunk, his hands started to wander, and Mel didn't think that she'd be able to stop herself from decking him if he "accidentally" grabbed her ass one more time. She gave serious consideration to telling Max that she felt sick and needed to go home.

  "Comin' right up," she said instead as she turned on her heel.

  The conversation resumed behind her. She took her time making her way to the bar, straightening salt and pepper shakers and napkin bins on several on the tables. All too soon she reached the waitress station at the end of the bar next to the door that led into the kitchen. She intended to busy herself with as many small, invisible tasks as possible for the next few hours that kept her out of reach of Bud Parker.

  "A pitcher of Light," she said to Max, who leaned nonchalantly against the bar reading a car magazine. The biggest difference that she could see between her and Max was that Max would do everything he could not to do a lick of work during his shift. She preferred to be busy. It helped keep her thoughts from wandering into unwanted places.

  Max grunted in reply and moved to the beer tap. As Mel started to enter the order into the POS system, she saw that the blue-eyed man, who sat at the opposite end of the bar, now appeared to be studying her. Mel tried to pretend she didn't notice. She was used to men checking her out, but then her mind blanked on the entry code for a pitcher of beer. She stood there, feeling the weight of the man's stare, before deciding to give into a bit of spontaneity. She turned and met his eyes full-on. Although her life had been turned upside down, she was still the same person, and old Mel wouldn't shrink under an attractive man's gaze. The old Mel would have eaten him for dinner.

  She had to give him credit. Caught staring, he didn't even flinch the way that she had done when he caught her earlier. If anything, she sensed a kind of curiosity there. Mel decided to try an experiment. She raised her hand, pulled her lips into a seductive grin, and fluttered her fingers at him. The man's eyebrows shot up and he frowned before dropping his eyes. Mel was left feeling embarrassed and slightly mortified.

  "Here," Max's looming form blocked her line of sight to the man at the end of the bar as he set a pitcher of foamy beer in front of her. "You tell those two that if they get loud, I'm kicking them out."

  "Sure, sure," Mel said, rolling her eyes. "You always say that. Thing is, you never actually do it."

  "This time I mean it," Max said.

  Mel took the pitcher and sighed as she put in on a tray with two beer mugs. Max talked a big game, but he wasn't a fighter regardless of his hulking form. Plus that kind of thing would r
equire him to do something above and beyond his normal duties, and Max put in nothing but the minimal effort.

  Mel took her time walking back to the booth, and set the tray down on the edge. She quickly slid the pitcher and glasses off of it. She knew that Bud was staring at her cleavage. The required uniform at the Rumbling Rock was a tight, nearly transparent low cut t-shirt. She straightened and took a step back. That extra few inches ensured she was out of Bud's reach, which made her glad as she saw the gleam of lust in his eyes. He hadn't taken them off of her chest. He slowly licked his lips, and Mel felt like a wave of disgust.

  "Anything else?" she said.

  "Just keep 'em comin'," Bud said. "Like I said, we're celebrating. You should grab a glass and join us, Mel. My treat."

  I'd rather roast in Hell, she thought. "I'm working, Bud."

  Bud looked around the empty room. "Looks to me like you have some free time to fit us in."

  Mel ignored his comment and walked away. She had no desire to be drawn into further discussion with either Parker brother. That was when she saw that the blue-eyed man at the bar watching her again. Mel stormed into the back room to get a broom, unwilling to embarrass herself any further. The floor that she swept twenty minutes ago no doubt needed to be swept again.

  Two empty pitchers of beer later, Mel’s teeth ground together from the strain of not saying something highly inappropriate to Bud Parker that would likely get her fired. As she set the third full-to-the-brim pitcher in front of him, she deftly stepped out of the way just as his hand shot out from the booth and grazed her thigh.

  “Quit it, Bud,” she said sharply.

  “Just playin’, Mel,” Bud said. His words were starting to slur. As his eyes drifted down to her chest again, Mel retreated quickly to the bar.

  Max looked up at her and then at the clock above the bar. “I’m going out for a smoke. Cover the bar, Mel.”

  For once Mel was grateful for one of Max’s notoriously long smoke breaks. It meant that she could hide behind the bar until he got back. If the Parker brothers slugged the beer in front of them down the way they did the first two pitchers, they’d have to come up to the bar to get a refill. The wide bar made for an effective barrier. Mel made her way around it and leaned next to the cash register in the spot that Max had recently vacated. She looked at her watch. Three o’clock. That meant she still had six hours to go until the end of her shift. Mel sighed heavily.

  “Tough day?” The words floated to her from the vicinity of the end of the bar.

  Mel looked up in surprise. She had practically forgotten about the mystery man planted on the last barstool. For a moment, she had no reply. “It’s Monday,” she finally said, as if he should understand the full implications of what that meant in her world.

  “Seems like you have your hands full over there,” he said, jerking his head toward the Parker brothers’ booth.

  Mel wasn’t sure why the man was talking to her. The aura he had given off earlier seemed to say that he wanted to be left alone. Most people who are looking for company don’t spend a Monday afternoon by themselves at a bar. She moved a little closer, taking the bar towel off her hip and started to wipe the bar top. She didn’t want to appear obvious that she was willing to talk, but at the same time, she wanted him to keep him engaged.

  Raucous laughter erupted from across the room, and Mel winced. “They’re regulars.” She wasn’t sure if she should say something else, or just keep cleaning. There was a short pause, and she thought that she had lost him.

  “Mel is an interesting name. Is it short for something?”

  Now he had Mel’s full attention. He had been listening when Max said her name and remembered it. She straightened and looked at him closely. “Interesting for a girl, you mean?” Her tone was sharper than she intended. Her friends had given her the nickname in elementary school, and it stuck, even though Mel didn’t really care for it. She had just gotten used to it.

  The man frowned. “Just making conversation.”

  Instantly, Mel felt bad. She wanted to kick herself. A gorgeous guy was sitting in her bar and appeared to be actively trying to have a conversation with her, and she was acting like an idiot. Of course, he was going to breeze right out of the door at some point soon, and she’d never see him again.

  “Melanie,” she said. She continued her wax-on, wax-off motion of the towel on the bar, moving even closer to him. “It’s short for Melanie. But I don’t think anyone remembers that anymore.” She didn’t add that she no longer associated with most of the people in the world who would. That was her old life.

  “I’m Nate. Short for Nathan,” the man said.

  There was something about the roll of the words across his tongue that sent shivers down Mel’s spine. She felt a tingling in her stomach, and realized with a start that she had full-on body lust going on. It had been months since she’d had sex, but Nate had awakened those desires with the span of a few simple sentences. At that moment, she was sure that she couldn’t feel more pathetic.

  “Nice to meet you, Nathan,” she said primly. “Can I get you another drink? That one looks pretty watered down.” In fact, she wasn’t sure that Nate had even one sip of it the entire time he had been sitting at the bar.

  “Please, just Nate. And I don’t drink,” Nate said as he swirled the amber liquid around in the glass again. “So no, I’m good.”

  A jumble of thoughts ran through Mel’s mind as she considered the strangeness of his answer to her question. “You don’t drink? But yet you are sitting in a bar with a drink in front of you?”

  Nate looked up at her. He seemed to be struggling about what to say next. She was used to men in power suits acting like pompous asses. His uncertainty made him even more attractive.

  “I know it looks strange. It’s because I’ve been sober for two years. Let’s just say that I’ve had a tough day too.”

  A wave of sympathy ran through Mel. Now Nate’s actions made perfect sense. He was struggling with some kind of internal demon, and the way that he used to cope with that was to drink. Now, faced with some new stressor, he was falling back on an old habit. She was impressed then that he hadn’t actually taken a drink. She was sure he wanted to.

  Mel pulled another highball glass from underneath the bar and quickly dumped some ice in it. Then she shot water in the glass and filled it to the top. She set the glass down in front of Nate. “I know it’s not the same thing, but you had to have worked up a thirst staring at that glass the way you have been for the last hour.”

  Nate closed his eyes and released a shuddering breath. Then he slowly loosened his fingers from around the glass with the bourbon in it and pushed it in her direction. She picked it up and looked at him with a question. He nodded, and she turned and dumped the glass’s contents into the sink.

  “Thanks,” Nate said. “I just needed a little dose of sanity I guess.”

  Melanie smiled. “We all do sometimes.”

  Nate pushed away from the bar and stood up. “If I’m not drinking, I should probably get back to work. Where’s your restroom?”

  Mel pointed toward the back corner, feeling a small rise of disappointment in her chest. He was leaving. Of course he was leaving. No one lingered in a bar in the middle of the day if they weren’t drinking.

  As if he had read her thoughts, she heard Bud holler from his booth. “MEL! We need a refill over here. C’mon! We’re dying of thirst.”

  Mel was just about to yell back that he could pony his fat ass up to the bar if he wanted a refill when Max reappeared at the end of the bar. “Don’t leave your customers hanging,” he said.

  She wanted to stomp her foot. “Can’t you take it out to them, Max? Please?”

  Max poured the new pitcher and set it on the bar. Then he picked his magazine back up. “Your table. I’m busy.”

  Mel could see that Barry and Bud were stretched over the middle of their table, their conversation suddenly too low to be heard. With the glances they kept cutting at the bar, she
was fairly certain that the conversation was about her.

  “Dammit!” she swore under her breath. She pulled the pitcher off the bar and made her way across the room, not caring if she spilled any of it on the floor. Cleaning it up would give her another five minutes of work to do. Just as she plunked the pitcher down on the table, the creak of a door made her twist. She thought that Nate was leaving without at least saying a goodbye.

  The irrational thought distracted her from the men in front of her. Before Mel knew what was happening, a hand cupped her ass while an arm snaked around to grab a fistful of her cleavage as she was hauled backward. Mel cried out in shock and disgust, but found herself on her back on Bud’s lap staring up at his incoming lips. The stink of his breath overwhelmed her as she kicked her legs trying to find her balance. She slammed her arm on the table, upending the pitcher of beer, but that didn’t stop Bud’s assault of hands crawling across her body. For a small man, he was amazingly strong, and being squeezed between his body and the table, Mel couldn’t get the right angle to push herself free.

  She opened her mouth to yell just as Bud’s squishy cold lips met hers, and then she felt strong fingers encircle her flailing wrist and pull her upright onto her feet. She caught a glimpse of Nate’s blue eyes, tightened in an angry scowl before he pushed her behind him.

  Bud seemed just as surprised as Mel. Then Bud’s face fell into a deep frown. “Hey! We’re just having a little fun. We’re old friends, aren’t we, Mel?”

  Remembering the fat fingers that had so recently trolled her body, Mel wrapped her arms around herself and willed herself not to cry. “You are an ass, Bud!”

  Nate put up an arm and stilled her. “Why don’t you go take a break, Mel? I’d like to have a little chat with these fine gentlemen.” The chill in his voice was evident.

  Mel didn’t have to be told again. She spun on her heel and dashed for the kitchen, the tears welling up in the corners of her eyes even as she glared at Max, who looked chagrined. As soon as she was through the door into the kitchen, Mel started to sob. The cook, an old man named Billy, stood up guiltily swiping a small handheld TV behind his back. Mel just wanted to be alone.