Taming the Lone Wolf

STONY CARLTON TOOK A BITE OF HIS HAMBURGER and tried not to listen to the scene unfolding behind the counter of the Buttermilk Café between the waitress and a guy who seemed to be her boss.  For a man used to solving other people’s problems with his wits—and now and then a gun—it was impossible not to eavesdrop, given the agitation in the woman’s voice.

          He looked around the empty café. No one else was there to come to her rescue except him—and he wasn’t exactly the knight-in-shining-armor type.

          “Come on, Bud.  I’ve told you I’m not interested,” the woman said.

          “Aw, Tess, just one little kiss.”

          “I said no.”

          “You oughta have  little more gratitude, seein’ as how I let you leave so early in the day.”

          “You let me leave early because I come in two hours before everyone else,” the woman replied with what Stony considered amazing composure.

          “Yeah, well, you owe me for givin’ you a job when you had no experience.”

          “I’ve got experience now, Bud, a whole year of it.  I’ve got work to do, so if you’ll just let me by—”

          Stony heard muffled sounds suggesting a struggle.  He set down his burger, wiped his hands on a paper napkin, and threw it down as he left his booth headed for the counter.  The man, Bud, had the woman, Tess, backed up against the wall beside the coffeemaker.  She was fending off his attempts to kiss her, turning her head away and shoving vainly at his burly shoulders.

          “Hey, Bud,” Stony said.

          Bud turned and glared, clearly irritated at being interrupted.  “What?”

          “Let the lady go.”

          “Butt out, mister.”

          “Afraid I can’t do that,” Stony said.

          “Yeah? So what are you gonna do about it?” Bud snarled.

          Stony was over the counter in an instant, as though it wasn’t there.  He grabbed Bud by the scruff of his food-stained T-shirt and slammed him against the wall, holding him there with his arm rigid, his palm pressed against the center of Bud’s chest.

          The waitress shot out of the way and stood at the kitchen door, hands clutched together, green eyes wide with fright.

          Stony ignored Bud as though he were a bug on the wall and turned his attention to the woman.  “You all right, ma’am?”

          She nodded her head jerkily.

          Stony had been in the Buttermilk Café probably once a month in the past year, yet he hadn’t paid any attention to the waitress.  Since he’d sworn off women a couple of years ago, he’d made it a point not to spend his time looking at the pretty ones, so he wouldn’t be tempted to go back on his promise to himself.

          Tess was definitely pretty.