Cocktails at Sunset - teaser
Here is a snippet of the second book, Cocktails at Sunset. I hope you enjoy seeing what trouble Jayne will get herself into this time.
If you want to start at the very beginning, read my earlier post.
“Good evening. My name is Jayne and I’ll be your server tonight.” I repeated these words at the Wild Bronco Steakhouse about ten times a night, if I was lucky enough to have guests in my section. Ten tables usually meant a good night in tips. It also meant I could pay my bills and maybe have funds left over for the extras, like groceries.
I’m not complaining—I savored even a bad night at the restaurant after what I'd been through recently. A few weeks ago the mayor of my small Arizona town of Cave Creek was murdered. As the old cowboy saying goes, timing has a lot to do with the outcome of a rain dance and, in my case, it put me at the scene of the crime. As the only suspect, it took perseverance (some may call stubbornness) to clear my name, and a dash of help from my best friend Bailey, before the police captured the true killer.
My manager Peter savored the added publicity for the restaurant but, to my relief, my few minutes of fame were already fading. With the hot summer months just around the corner, I couldn’t blame him for doing whatever it took to bring in diners but I hated being the special of the night.
I loved my job but, since the news coverage, whenever he directed guests to my section, my palms would sweat and my tongue would get tangled in my teeth each time someone asked me to retell the story. It's tough to live up to a reputation you don’t feel is deserved. Solving the murder was more accidental than on purpose. I'm just an average girl and definitely no one's hero.
My regular guests—those I've waited on since I started this job almost a year ago—didn’t care if I solved a murder. They were simply happy I remembered their names and preferences. Fortunately for me, food and drink orders were automatically seared into my brain like a prime cut of steak on a flaming charcoal grill.
The other problem, which refused to fade, was my job required the ability to carry trays laden down with food and drinks. That meant a person needed the aptitude to remain upright, and this presented a challenge for me even on a good day. I was probably the only person I knew who could fall down while walking on a flat surface. Despite that I have managed to survive and, on a good night, actually come out ahead.
Tonight my new-and-possibly-serious-boyfriend-material, Jonas Harper was coming in for a drink and, after my shift ended, we planned to check out the new bar in town. It featured an authentic Wild West show with trick riding, team penning, and shooting. In anticipation, my fingers twitched with the urge to drop my guests’ dinner checks as quickly as their food went out.
Jonas and I met under odd circumstances, and each time we tried to be together some calamity ensued. First, he found me wandering in the wee hours of the night in the desert, wearing only one shoe, and with Prickly Pear cactus spines sticking out of my backside. On another day, he pulled me and my old car out of a dry wash after I had a wild ride through the desert pursued by a mysterious person in a massive black Hummer. If that wasn't enough to send him galloping on his white horse for high country there was our first date. I will never erase the memory of how, after a delicious home cooked meal, I dumped a glass of wine on him and followed that up with my arrest for murder. When the mayor's killer almost drowned me, Jonas had ridden to my rescue. I found out only after I woke in the hospital that he had undressed me to raise my body temperature. Not exactly the ooh-la-la I wanted for a new relationship. He scored major points by sticking around after what he refers to as his experiences with “Hurricane Jayne.” Despite all of our misadventures, we had yet to share a proper date. So, in my book, until there were several actual dates in which I remained conscious or wasn't hauled off in handcuffs, I couldn’t classify him as my boyfriend.
My reminiscing ended abruptly when my good friend and co-worker Emmett danced into my line of sight.
“I see you have a hot date later tonight.” Emmett gave me a nudge with his elbow.
I continued ringing up the order for my last table, trying to ignore him.
“Go ahead and ask me how I can tell.” He nudged me again.
“I know I’m going to regret this. Okay, how can you tell?”
Stepping closer, he peered at my face. “Because, for a change, your hair actually looks combed, and you have a concoction which could pass for make-up on your face.” He laughed at his cleverness.
“Too bad no one finds you funny but you. For your information, Jonas is coming in and we have a date after my shift. Are you happy now?” I glanced at my reflection in the mirror behind the bar. As difficult as it was for me to admit it, Emmett was right. I hadn’t spilled anything on my shirt—yet—and only a few tendrils of my curly black hair had managed to escape the ponytail. The new shadow I bought at the Stop and Shop emphasized my eyes. Add a swipe of lip gloss and I conceded I didn’t look half bad.
“As a matter of fact, I am happy. He’s gorgeous, seems to be gainfully employed, and he saved your life, so I approve.” Emmett stared at his reflection in the mirror and winked at me.
“Darn you for being a fashion snob and then saying something nice so I can never stay mad at you.”
He wrapped his arm around my waist and gave me a brotherly hug. “It was boring around here when you weren’t working. I had no one to pick on. Now if you can find out if Jonas has a brother who likes his men as gorgeous as I am, we can all sail into the sunset together.”
“He has two brothers, but I’m pretty sure they both like girls,” I responded.
“Only because they haven’t had a stallion to wrangle, little lady.”
I grimaced at Emmett’s terrible John Wayne impersonation, and laughed. “I think I hear my table calling me.” I grabbed my drink order from the bar and, as I walked away, muttered more to myself than to him, “Don’t quit your night job anytime soon.”
I checked on my tables and cleared a few plates before I dashed back to the kitchen. On my way, I saw Jonas sipping a beer at the end of the bar. He laughed at something the bartender, Marty said and I hoped it wasn't an anecdote from the book of Jayne. I took the opportunity to steal a peek at him dressed in his black cowboy hat and heavily starched white banded-collar western shirt. I gulped ice water in the kitchen to cool the Cayenne pepper sensation he created in me whenever he was near.
If you want to start at the very beginning, read my earlier post.
CHAPTER ONE
“Good evening. My name is Jayne and I’ll be your server tonight.” I repeated these words at the Wild Bronco Steakhouse about ten times a night, if I was lucky enough to have guests in my section. Ten tables usually meant a good night in tips. It also meant I could pay my bills and maybe have funds left over for the extras, like groceries.
I’m not complaining—I savored even a bad night at the restaurant after what I'd been through recently. A few weeks ago the mayor of my small Arizona town of Cave Creek was murdered. As the old cowboy saying goes, timing has a lot to do with the outcome of a rain dance and, in my case, it put me at the scene of the crime. As the only suspect, it took perseverance (some may call stubbornness) to clear my name, and a dash of help from my best friend Bailey, before the police captured the true killer.
My manager Peter savored the added publicity for the restaurant but, to my relief, my few minutes of fame were already fading. With the hot summer months just around the corner, I couldn’t blame him for doing whatever it took to bring in diners but I hated being the special of the night.
I loved my job but, since the news coverage, whenever he directed guests to my section, my palms would sweat and my tongue would get tangled in my teeth each time someone asked me to retell the story. It's tough to live up to a reputation you don’t feel is deserved. Solving the murder was more accidental than on purpose. I'm just an average girl and definitely no one's hero.
My regular guests—those I've waited on since I started this job almost a year ago—didn’t care if I solved a murder. They were simply happy I remembered their names and preferences. Fortunately for me, food and drink orders were automatically seared into my brain like a prime cut of steak on a flaming charcoal grill.
The other problem, which refused to fade, was my job required the ability to carry trays laden down with food and drinks. That meant a person needed the aptitude to remain upright, and this presented a challenge for me even on a good day. I was probably the only person I knew who could fall down while walking on a flat surface. Despite that I have managed to survive and, on a good night, actually come out ahead.
Tonight my new-and-possibly-serious-boyfriend-material, Jonas Harper was coming in for a drink and, after my shift ended, we planned to check out the new bar in town. It featured an authentic Wild West show with trick riding, team penning, and shooting. In anticipation, my fingers twitched with the urge to drop my guests’ dinner checks as quickly as their food went out.
Jonas and I met under odd circumstances, and each time we tried to be together some calamity ensued. First, he found me wandering in the wee hours of the night in the desert, wearing only one shoe, and with Prickly Pear cactus spines sticking out of my backside. On another day, he pulled me and my old car out of a dry wash after I had a wild ride through the desert pursued by a mysterious person in a massive black Hummer. If that wasn't enough to send him galloping on his white horse for high country there was our first date. I will never erase the memory of how, after a delicious home cooked meal, I dumped a glass of wine on him and followed that up with my arrest for murder. When the mayor's killer almost drowned me, Jonas had ridden to my rescue. I found out only after I woke in the hospital that he had undressed me to raise my body temperature. Not exactly the ooh-la-la I wanted for a new relationship. He scored major points by sticking around after what he refers to as his experiences with “Hurricane Jayne.” Despite all of our misadventures, we had yet to share a proper date. So, in my book, until there were several actual dates in which I remained conscious or wasn't hauled off in handcuffs, I couldn’t classify him as my boyfriend.
My reminiscing ended abruptly when my good friend and co-worker Emmett danced into my line of sight.
“I see you have a hot date later tonight.” Emmett gave me a nudge with his elbow.
I continued ringing up the order for my last table, trying to ignore him.
“Go ahead and ask me how I can tell.” He nudged me again.
“I know I’m going to regret this. Okay, how can you tell?”
Stepping closer, he peered at my face. “Because, for a change, your hair actually looks combed, and you have a concoction which could pass for make-up on your face.” He laughed at his cleverness.
“Too bad no one finds you funny but you. For your information, Jonas is coming in and we have a date after my shift. Are you happy now?” I glanced at my reflection in the mirror behind the bar. As difficult as it was for me to admit it, Emmett was right. I hadn’t spilled anything on my shirt—yet—and only a few tendrils of my curly black hair had managed to escape the ponytail. The new shadow I bought at the Stop and Shop emphasized my eyes. Add a swipe of lip gloss and I conceded I didn’t look half bad.
“As a matter of fact, I am happy. He’s gorgeous, seems to be gainfully employed, and he saved your life, so I approve.” Emmett stared at his reflection in the mirror and winked at me.
“Darn you for being a fashion snob and then saying something nice so I can never stay mad at you.”
He wrapped his arm around my waist and gave me a brotherly hug. “It was boring around here when you weren’t working. I had no one to pick on. Now if you can find out if Jonas has a brother who likes his men as gorgeous as I am, we can all sail into the sunset together.”
“He has two brothers, but I’m pretty sure they both like girls,” I responded.
“Only because they haven’t had a stallion to wrangle, little lady.”
I grimaced at Emmett’s terrible John Wayne impersonation, and laughed. “I think I hear my table calling me.” I grabbed my drink order from the bar and, as I walked away, muttered more to myself than to him, “Don’t quit your night job anytime soon.”
I checked on my tables and cleared a few plates before I dashed back to the kitchen. On my way, I saw Jonas sipping a beer at the end of the bar. He laughed at something the bartender, Marty said and I hoped it wasn't an anecdote from the book of Jayne. I took the opportunity to steal a peek at him dressed in his black cowboy hat and heavily starched white banded-collar western shirt. I gulped ice water in the kitchen to cool the Cayenne pepper sensation he created in me whenever he was near.
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