Read Online Bride by the Book (Crimson Romance) by Kathryn Brocato - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Kathryn Brocato
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cook’s time.”
Angie nodded sympathetically. “I know exactly what you mean.”
Dolly snorted and headed back toward the counter. “Five pounds. Humph.”
Angie turned a beaming smile on Cliff. “You’ve already lost five pounds? That’s wonderful. You’ll be eating grits again before you know it.”
The dawning expression of hope on Cliff’s face vanished when Garner spoke.
“No, Angie,” he said, as if chastising a child. “Cliff will not be eating grits again. Unless, of course, he wants to eat them without butter. I have an obligation to my sister. She wants a live husband, not an early statistic at the coronary unit.”
“You have such a way with words,” Cliff complained. He eyed the plate Dolly slapped on the table before him with dislike. “What makes you think I’m a potential statistic?”
“The fact that your father and grandfather are no longer alive to view their first grandchild,” Garner returned ruthlessly. “Bad genes, son.”
“My genes aren’t any worse than yours.” Cliff picked up his fork, resigned. “According to Laura, your family has a long history of early heart trouble.”
“Why do you think I’m such a fanatic on the subject?” Garner grinned. “What Laura needs to do is pitch a fit and ask how you expect her and my incoming niece or nephew to get along without the family breadwinner.”
“What nonsense,” Angie struck in. “With all the advances they’ve made in the field of heart disease, why should a man barely thirty years old have to eat shoe leather for breakfast?”
“You’re hired,” Cliff said. “Whatever he’s paying you, I’ll triple it.”
“You can’t afford her,” Garner said. “You have a baby on the way. And a big bypass-surgery bill in your future if you listen to her.”
A plate of grits, bacon, and scrambled eggs whomped down on the table in front of Angie so hard, the eggs defied gravity and rose up a couple of inches. “Extra buttered toast on the house,” Dolly said.
“Extra toast and butter on the house,” Cliff repeated, watching Dolly’s retreat with a stunned expression. “She’s never given me one free extra slice in all the years I’ve been eating here.
“Mr. Holt probably bribed her,” Angie said. “Don’t you hate it when people have your best interests at heart?”
Cliff turned his reproachful brown gaze on Garner. “You Benedict Arnold.”
Garner’s broad shoulders shook with laughter. “I thought Dolly hated everything and everybody. Looks like I was wrong.”
Angie registered the brush of Garner’s shoulder against hers with an involuntary clenching of her stomach. If she moved slightly to the right, she’d be touching his thigh. She should never have sat down beside him.
Cliff grinned at Angie appreciatively. “Looks like you were. Here, Angie, hand over a slice. Maybe a little toast and butter will make this shoe sole palatable.”
Angie obligingly passed Cliff the butter plate and a slice of toast, only to have it intercepted by Garner’s long, slim hand.
“Five more pounds,” Garner said. “Until then, no buttered toast. And if you want to keep the weight off, you’ll eat your grits minus the butter in the future.”
“I can’t wait to tell Laura.” Cliff gazed after the butter dish with longing. “I’ll bet Dolly never gave her an extra slice of anything, either.”
“Actually, I left her a good tip the last time I ate here,” Angie said. “Dolly probably responds to proper appreciation just like everyone else.”
She tried not to notice Garner’s nearness and concentrated on his hands. His hands were works of art, long and slim, with smooth oval nails and beautifully shaped fingers. She studied the way he held his fork. Surely it was impossible to describe the way a man handled his dining utensils as sexy.
“Is that right?” Garner watched her layer the mound of grits on her plate with enough butter to render them liquid. “Look, that’s a ridiculous amount
Angie nodded sympathetically. “I know exactly what you mean.”
Dolly snorted and headed back toward the counter. “Five pounds. Humph.”
Angie turned a beaming smile on Cliff. “You’ve already lost five pounds? That’s wonderful. You’ll be eating grits again before you know it.”
The dawning expression of hope on Cliff’s face vanished when Garner spoke.
“No, Angie,” he said, as if chastising a child. “Cliff will not be eating grits again. Unless, of course, he wants to eat them without butter. I have an obligation to my sister. She wants a live husband, not an early statistic at the coronary unit.”
“You have such a way with words,” Cliff complained. He eyed the plate Dolly slapped on the table before him with dislike. “What makes you think I’m a potential statistic?”
“The fact that your father and grandfather are no longer alive to view their first grandchild,” Garner returned ruthlessly. “Bad genes, son.”
“My genes aren’t any worse than yours.” Cliff picked up his fork, resigned. “According to Laura, your family has a long history of early heart trouble.”
“Why do you think I’m such a fanatic on the subject?” Garner grinned. “What Laura needs to do is pitch a fit and ask how you expect her and my incoming niece or nephew to get along without the family breadwinner.”
“What nonsense,” Angie struck in. “With all the advances they’ve made in the field of heart disease, why should a man barely thirty years old have to eat shoe leather for breakfast?”
“You’re hired,” Cliff said. “Whatever he’s paying you, I’ll triple it.”
“You can’t afford her,” Garner said. “You have a baby on the way. And a big bypass-surgery bill in your future if you listen to her.”
A plate of grits, bacon, and scrambled eggs whomped down on the table in front of Angie so hard, the eggs defied gravity and rose up a couple of inches. “Extra buttered toast on the house,” Dolly said.
“Extra toast and butter on the house,” Cliff repeated, watching Dolly’s retreat with a stunned expression. “She’s never given me one free extra slice in all the years I’ve been eating here.
“Mr. Holt probably bribed her,” Angie said. “Don’t you hate it when people have your best interests at heart?”
Cliff turned his reproachful brown gaze on Garner. “You Benedict Arnold.”
Garner’s broad shoulders shook with laughter. “I thought Dolly hated everything and everybody. Looks like I was wrong.”
Angie registered the brush of Garner’s shoulder against hers with an involuntary clenching of her stomach. If she moved slightly to the right, she’d be touching his thigh. She should never have sat down beside him.
Cliff grinned at Angie appreciatively. “Looks like you were. Here, Angie, hand over a slice. Maybe a little toast and butter will make this shoe sole palatable.”
Angie obligingly passed Cliff the butter plate and a slice of toast, only to have it intercepted by Garner’s long, slim hand.
“Five more pounds,” Garner said. “Until then, no buttered toast. And if you want to keep the weight off, you’ll eat your grits minus the butter in the future.”
“I can’t wait to tell Laura.” Cliff gazed after the butter dish with longing. “I’ll bet Dolly never gave her an extra slice of anything, either.”
“Actually, I left her a good tip the last time I ate here,” Angie said. “Dolly probably responds to proper appreciation just like everyone else.”
She tried not to notice Garner’s nearness and concentrated on his hands. His hands were works of art, long and slim, with smooth oval nails and beautifully shaped fingers. She studied the way he held his fork. Surely it was impossible to describe the way a man handled his dining utensils as sexy.
“Is that right?” Garner watched her layer the mound of grits on her plate with enough butter to render them liquid. “Look, that’s a ridiculous amount
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