Free Honey and Smoke by Deborah Smith Page B

taste for some of your sauce.”
    “One hundred and thirty … five,” Jay grumbled.
    “One-fifty,” Claymore retorted.
    Jay shook his head and gave Betty an apologetic look. Her dread increased, as well as her absurd disappointment toward Max. His lack of interest hurt her feelings even as she kicked herself for caring.
    “Anymore?” Ernie asked, glancing around the room.
    Betty refused to look at Max, but realized that she was grinding her teeth. She rebuked herself for being so certain that he’d make a grand gesture just to pursue her.
You aren’t exactly a femme fatale, my dear. And didn’t you want him to leave you alone?
    “Going once,” Ernie said, raising his gavel. “Going twice.”
    She bit the inside of her cheek. She’d never speak to Maximilian Templeton again.
    “Going—what? What’s that, Max?”
    Her mouth dry, Betty jerked her gaze to Max. He was holding up his hand, palm forward, fingers and thumb spread. A knowing, wicked smile curved his mouth, and he studied her through narrowed eyes. “Five hundred,” he called softly, his voice so rich and full that it carried through the room regardless.
    Everyone gasped. Betty looked at him shrewdly. His smile grew smug. He had not only bought her time andattention, but he’d let her squirm first, just to show that he had the upper hand.
    “Claymore, are you done?” Ernie inquired.
    Claymore grunted, looking disgusted. “Yeah.”
    “Sold!” Ernie rapped the gavel. “A catered barbecue dinner for twenty people, to Max Templeton. Thank you, Max. Thank you, Betty.”
    She swiveled woodenly and nodded to Ernie. “It was my pleasure.” Then she left the microphone and glided regally past Max, ignoring him, trying not to clench her fists.
    “Later, babe,” he said with challenge in his voice as she swept by. “My mouth is watering already.”

Five
    Max tracked her down on Monday as she was hanging lace curtains over the windows in the restaurant’s main room. “Here comes the judge,” Andy Parsells announced.
    Standing on a stepladder, she glanced hurriedly over her shoulder. Max stood in the double doorway to the house’s central hallway. His hands were shoved into the pockets of handsome gray slacks. From his polished loafers to his white windbreaker and crisp white shirt, he was dressed for a laid-back business day as a rural magistrate. He wore his string tie, of course.
    “Thanks, Andy,” she said distractedly, nodding to her manger as a signal that he could leave.
    Andy headed back to the kitchen, where he was unpacking utensils and pots. He was short and rotund, with a bulbous nose and a head full of cantankerous gray hair. In clothing he was strictly a biker type—faded jeans, a white T-shirt with a pack of cigarettes rolled into one sleeve, black boots, and a black jacket. It was hard to imagine him as a grandfather of seven and a deacon in one of the local churches, which he was.
    He was also a master at running a restaurant. He’d already lined up a dependable, mature staff of kitchen workers and servers. Betty knew that her good wageshad helped him acquire them, but also they’d wanted to work for Andy, who’d developed a fine reputation as the Hamburger Barn’s head cook.
    “Getting him was quite a coup,” Max commented, walking toward her. “I wouldn’t have believed that he’d work for a woman.”
    “He was a tough cookie. When we were negotiating, he went along on one of my catering jobs and saw how I ran my business. I think he was impressed that I toted and fetched alongside my employees. He said I wasn’t a snob.”
    A long swath of lace hung over Betty’s left shoulder. She swept the tail of it around her neck and posed like a grande dame, one hand on her jutted hip. “Do you feel threatened by women in power?”
    Max stopped at the base of her ladder and looked up at her slyly. “Only if they demand a rate increase on my electric bill … Oh, you mean women in
power
.”
    “Cute,