Bought His Life (4 page)

“Sure do,” Betty said, nodding her silver-haired head. “You used to make a pretend kind of watch for him every year on his birthday. You thought it’d bring him luck. Meagan said they were cardboard, aluminum foil, even purple-beaded masterpieces. Supposedly, he still has them stored under his bed.”

“Okay, you remember.” Emily sank her hand below her apron and into her jeans pocket. Raising her arm high, she dangled the prized pocket watch she’d scored at the estate sale earlier in the day. “Ta-da!”

“Ooh! Good one.” Betty’s blue eyes sparked with approval. “Where did you find it?”

“At the admiral’s house,” Emily said. “His granddaughter, Christine, did this huge estate sale this morning. I guess she has to get the house ready to sell.”

“So, this is just like I pictured my grandfather’s good-luck charm. And do you know why he said it brought him luck?”

“Do tell, sweetie.”

Emily took a deep breath and walked to the opposite side of the counter. “It was during the war. A watch saved Pop’s life. He was in the field and under attack. He dropped the watch and bent to pick it up at the exact the moment a bullet whizzed an inch above his head. He swears if it wasn’t for that watch, he’d have taken his last breath that day.”

“What happened to the watch?”

“He gave it to a friend of his to hold while he went on a mission and never got it back. Pops said his friend needed the luck more that he did.”

“Your Pops is a special and generous man.” A twinkle danced in her eyes, then she raised her brow and smiled.

“He always says you can’t be too lucky.” Emily pulled her coffee mug across the counter and wrapped her fingers around the warm ceramic. “He’s lucky, and I’m lucky to have him.”

“He’s the most optimistic man I’ve ever met.”

“He might be turning seventy-five, but he doesn’t act a day over fifty. I could set something up, Betty.”

Blushing, the waitress swatted Emily with a towel and stood. “Stop it. You need to set that matchmaking mind on yourself, not an old woman past her prime.”

“You’re not past your prime, and you’re not old.”

“I have tables to see to.”

Emily laughed, watching the woman she loved like a mother turn away. If only Betty knew how Pops asked after her during each phone call. They’d make a great couple—a couple of nutty hoots to spice life up.

With clean tables and a pot of fresh coffee brewing, she flipped over a placemat and created a ‘Help Wanted’ sign. She’d run out to the hardware store and buy a real sign later in the afternoon, when things quieted down.

Holding some scotch tape between her teeth, she walked to the door and saw a gorgeous specimen of a man coming toward her. Dark, tall and handsome echoed in each step he took in his booted feet. His broad chest was clad in a Fruit of the Loom style white T-shirt, which tucked neatly into a pair of rugged khaki cargo pants.

A wicked ebony gaze locked on hers, and the sign slipped between her fingers as her heart skipped from the recognition. He was one of the peculiar guys from the estate sale. Two of the most handsome men she’d ever seen in one place, and they had to be new to Marathon, or maybe tourists, because there was no way she’d forget a man like the one making her skin sizzle just by looking at her as if she was his answer to his every freaking dream.

She grabbed the paper back up and immediately focused on taping it on the glass. Securing the top of the handmade sign, she reached for more tape as the door swung open and a large muscular hand covered hers.

“Not necessary, ma’am. I can fill any need you have.”

The rich masculine voice matched the man who towered over her, heating every cell in her body to the boiling point. Corny? Yeah, but as his essence burned into her, she found it strangely refreshing to look up at a man for a change.

Emily moved her five-foot-ten frame a step back from the eye-catching stranger and squared her shoulders before responding to his arrogant announcement. “What I need is a busboy and a dishwasher,” she said. Flipping her ponytail, she headed for the counter, calling over her shoulder. “You got someone?”

“Jack, at your service.”

He followed her, and she started when his large callused hand skimmed against her thigh as he reached beneath the counter for an apron.

It was an accident. He didn’t really reach for me.
Telling herself the intimate touch was merely a coincidence, a chance brushing, she held her breath and gathered her composure.

“Jack, you said?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Well then, Jack.” She liked saying his name. It was a real man’s name, not like some of the ones her friends had come up with for their sons. “Jack, I’ll be happy to get you an application, and
if
you meet the requirements, I’ll call you for an interview.”

Who was she kidding? He more than met any of her requirements. Who cared if he could load a dishwasher when she could spend the whole day admiring those washboard abs and the remainder of his yummy body?

He rubbed the stubble on his strong jaw. “Oh, I’m sure to meet all your
requirements
, ma’am. If you—”

“Shoot,” Emily interrupted, rising to her toes to look over his shoulder at the restaurant’s entrance, lined with yet another growing cluster of customers. “I can’t do this now. I have to get back to work.”

She tucked an escaped strand of hair behind her ear, pasted a welcoming smile on her face and shrugged at the intriguing man as she reached for the laminated menus. “Time to seat more guests.”

Jack couldn’t help but admire the woman’s heart-shaped behind while she sashayed into the crowd of hungry tourists. Damn, what a mission. All he had to do was spend a few days with this redheaded bombshell, convince her to sell him his own watch, and retrieve a notebook that could easily be considered misplaced. Then he would find a way back to 1944.

Grabbing an empty bus pan and a clean towel from a bucket of soapy water, he moved quickly and prepared tables for her to assign. Setting a table hadn’t changed since his time. It didn’t take a scientist to figure out where to place the cups and silverware. On the way to the kitchen with a heap of dirty plates in his hands, he saw her glance at him. He smiled, returned her earlier shrug and kicked open the swinging door.

“Hey, can you show me to the wash sink?” Jack asked the man standing over the flat top.

“Where have you been living for the past century?” the scrawny man replied as he threw chopped onions on the grill. “Rinse them and use the freakin’ dishwasher.”

“Thanks.” Jack scanned the room. The cook was the only other man in the kitchen, so perhaps the dishwasher was on break. He placed the loaded pan in the sink and turned on the water to rinse the dishes.

“No, man, not there,” the lanky fellow continued. “That’s the prep sink. Use the one by the dishwasher.”

Had the guy lost his marbles? There was no dishwasher in the kitchen. Puzzled, Jack considered what to do. He was over seventy years behind the times, and many things had changed since he’d last been in a kitchen, but washing up meant washing up, in any era. Using a wet washcloth, he plugged the drain in the sink the cook had indicated and turned on the hot water.

“Stop. You’re going to make double the work for me.” The other guy grumbled under his breath and waved Jack away. “Worried you’ll break a nail in my kitchen?”

Break a nail? Seriously? He should have decked the kid to show him pretty, but instead, Jack crossed his arms over his chest and considered how to get the cook’s cooperation. Shaking off the unsettling realization he didn’t have all the facts and therefore was not in full control, he decided to ask for specific instruction.

“Excuse me.” He cleared his throat. “I don’t want to appear ignorant, but I haven’t really worked in a kitchen like this before. Is it possible you could show me what and how to do it?”

“Aw, man, what the hell did Em hire you for? She’s usually immune to pretty boys.”

Taking a deep breath, Jack swallowed the recurring impulse to deck the punk. He needed this callous
chef
to secure his access to the watch. He needed the kid’s help.

“I need this job. Instruct me once, and I’ll complete the task on my own.”

The cook snapped the rubber gloves off and shook his head. “Once, man, just once.”

“Thank you.” Jack stepped back and awaited direction.

“Yeah, we all have to start somewhere.” The grump walked past him toward the pile of dishes. “My name is Rick.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Rick. I’m Jack.” He offered his hand.

“Watup, Jack-off.” The cook quickly lifted his eyes in greeting. “Now get that stick out of your ass. This ain’t Harvard, ya know? I ain’t gonna hold your hand or anything. If you don’t get it, I’m telling the boss lady to cut you loose.”

Rick needed a lesson in respect, and Jack was itching to give it to him. But he held his fists behind his back and made a conscious effort not to ram them into the other man’s face. He’d take as much abuse from this ill-mannered young man as necessary to get his watch back. He had to. It was a matter of honor.

“Yeah,
man.
I’ll get it.” Jack forced the words between his teeth.

Chapter Four

Lawson
stared up at the giant motel sign of a pink cartoon bird lying on a flower-printed chaise. Decked in a small yellow undergarment, the flamingo also wore a pair of dark glasses and, much like the famous Mona Lisa, sported a smile that bespoke of some great secret.

Eyeing the salmon pink exterior of the motel, and the small rod-ironed fenced-in pool where men with tanned muscular bodies rubbed oil on each other, he decided he already knew the secret. It was quite obvious.

The sound of hollering females drew his attention.

Lawson turned toward the road to see a convertible filled with young ladies slowly driving by.

“Hey, handsome! See what you’re missing?” one yelled out and, to his surprise, rose off her seat and lifted her shirt, flaunting her abundant breasts.

He laughed and nodded vigorously.

The woman then blew him a kiss, and the vehicle of screaming ladies sped off.

He glanced back to the motel’s pool area. Yes, he did know what he’d be missing if he stayed here. He doubted he’d see many women, or their breasts, at this establishment. But
he wasn’t one to judge, and it was only a place to sleep, so
he
proceeded through the motel’s double glass doors.

Unfortunately, the outside hadn’t prepared him for the interior.

The first thing that drew his attention was the bright tropical floor-to-ceiling mural covering the wall behind the desk. Brilliant flowers, tall palm trees amidst vivid foliage, golden sands and bright pink flamingos fought for color dominance in the loud scenery. As if that wasn’t enough, on the other three walls, life-size mermen suggestively frolicked in the seawater.

Distracted by the various colored pillows strewn on the rattan sofas, he was surprised by a tap on his shoulder.

“Hey, honey, welcome to your very own slice of paradise. How may I help you?" the tall, dark man chimed.

Lawson cleared his throat to keep from bursting out in laughter. The guy’s half-top shirt and tight denim shorts were almost too much to bear. People dressed so odd in this century.

“The name’s Lawson Grey. Your sign says you have a vacancy.”

“Yes, we do. Is it just for little ol’ you, sweetie?”

“Um, no. I have a friend joining me later.”

“Sounds like fun,” the man offered with a wink. “Well, come on over to the desk, and I’ll get you checked in.”

“And your name?” Lawson asked as he followed the sauntering male, noting that the barefoot desk clerk walked with an elegance that women of his time had mastered only when they wore high-heeled shoes.

“Michiel.”

“Me-shy-el,” Lawson repeated slowly as he leaned against the high bamboo desk.

“That’s right, honey.” Michiel quickly typed on a flat typewriter connected to a small, thin television. “How long will we have the pleasure of your company?” he asked and glanced up.

Lawson shook his head. “Not sure, a couple of days maybe.”

“Ok, I’ll put five days for now. You can extend your stay or checkout whenever you like, free of penalty. Now, I need your driver’s license and a credit card, and you’ll be all set.”

“Sorry, I don’t have either of those things. Why do I need them?”

Michiel clucked his tongue. “Well, if you pay cash up front, I guess I can let the credit card slide. But you and your friend better be good boys and treat the room nice,” he warned as he wagged his finger.

Lawson nodded his agreement.

Smiling, Michiel went back to typing. “You don’t need a driver’s license, any picture ID will do. I just need to verify who you are.”

“I’d love to comply, but you see—I was robbed this morning.”

“Oh, how dreadful! You don’t appear hurt. At least you weren’t injured,” Michiel cooed with pouted lips, looking him up and down.

Lawson suppressed his smile. “No, not at all, but my wallet, clothing, everything was in my Jeep and my Jeep was stolen. Luckily, I had some money in my pocket, and it’s all I have to pay for the room.” He let out a long sigh. “My friend is still at the police station giving his statement. Since I was the first to finish, I told him that I’d try to secure a room for us until we could contact the bank to send us more funds.”

“You poor thing. What is this world coming to?” The clerk shook his head empathetically. “Well, how much do you have?”

Lawson pulled the bundle of money from his pocket, silently counting it out. “Enough for five nights,” he said as he laid some bills on the counter.

“Five hundred will cover a five-night stay, well at least for you and your friend. I’m giving you a special discount rate.”