“How’s it going today?” she asked.
While she couldn’t ask me after my patients because of confidentiality, she knew as much, if not more, about the residents of West Springs than I did. I might know who had bursitis—humans—or how fast someone healed after a fall on a full moon run—shifter—but she knew everything else.
“You tell me,” I replied.
She set her free hand on her hip and took a deep breath. At sixty, she was as spry as ever. Her two mates kept her busy. One was in the kitchen cooking, the other on their ranch on the back side of the mountain, keeping everything running.
“Sally’s eager for her baby to be born.” She looked left and right to see who was sitting nearby. She didn’t dare say pup in the restaurant because of all the humans. “I’m sure you know that.”
I didn’t need to treat any of the shifters, since they healed on their own from all but the most severe of injuries, like beheading or being shot with a silver bullet. Both of which were possible, but I’d never known it to happen. I did follow the reproduction of our species closely.
“Little Jack Morring’s cow won a blue ribbon at the fall fair last weekend. Still no grumblings from the ranchers. Well, no more than usual,” she went on.
I frowned and took a sip of my coffee. I loved it black and strong, and Bessie knew just how to make it to strip paint off a barn. Over the summer, two ranchers had killed some wolves, and been given fines for their actions. Since they had been the ringleaders of the group of older and pestering humans, the remaining group who frequented the diner for their morning coffee klatch didn’t have the same drive to put action to their anger. Thankfully.
“That’s good to hear.” I took a sniff, picking up that delicious dessert scent. “Got a new pie you’re trying out?”
She frowned. “Pete made a batch of his potato soup.”
The scent definitely wasn’t that.
A woman came in from the kitchen with a tray on her shoulder but it leaned dangerously toward spilling. She was the one I’d glimpsed before, but could now watch. I could check out her curvy body, the way the diner uniform t-shirt clung to her full breasts. The way her blonde hair slid like a curtain over her shoulders.
My mouth watered, eager to brush that hair to the side and kiss her neck. To nip at the spot where it met her shoulder.
Going to a table of men on the other side of the diner, she began to serve them. She had a difficult time balancing the tray, and I was practically on the edge of my seat with the need to rescue her. All of the meals had safely been placed on the table, but a glass of iced tea spilled, pouring off the edge of the tray like a dark waterfall.
Her instant reaction was to turn away from the diners, which flung the liquid across the tile floor.
The sweet scent was stronger now, and I couldn’t tear my gaze away from the woman. A flush of pink brightened her cheeks, clearly from embarrassment. She set the tray on an empty table and bent down to wipe up the spilled drink with a cloth she’d had tucked into the apron at her waist. Her jeans were snug across her curvy ass, and I couldn’t look away.
Neither could the men at the table. I saw red, and a growl escaped my throat.
Bessie held out a hand. “If I told off every man who looked at one of my waitresses with a little extra attention, there’d only be female customers.” I didn’t like her words and glared at her, but only for a second because I had to look back at her. Because I’d been just like those men, ogling her. Hell, my dick was hard just watching her from across the room.
“Who is that?” I had to know. It wasn’t just important, it was imperative. I couldn’t leave here without that information, and anything else Bessie had on her. All I knew was that she was around twenty, gorgeous… and mine.
Wait, what?
“Rachel.”
Rachel.
“She’s new. As you can tell. She’s as smart as a tack, figuring out the checks without using a calculator.” Bessie leaned down, although she wasn’t whispering for me. She did it so Rachel couldn’t overhear, which meant she was human. “The worst waitress I think I’ve ever had. She’s broken more dishes than she’s served, but on the bright side, my floor’s never been cleaner with all the wiping up.”
Then she laughed, to soften the harsh words. She’d been in the business for decades, so it was saying a lot. I took offense for Rachel.
“If she’s so terrible, why did you hire her?” I asked.