Free A Heart to Rescue by Ivy Sinclair

PART I
     
    His eyes were blue. That kind of stormy blue that could blaze a trail right into your soul and there would be nothing you could do about it . Mel realized that she had been caught staring as that sentiment crossed her mind. She immediately dropped her eyes from his and made her arm continue its swirling motion wiping off the tabletop of the booth in front of her.
    It was a Monday afternoon, the wor st possible shift to work at the Rumbling Roc k Bar and Grill. Mel hated Mondays. The hours stretched into an endless ocean , and she frequently felt as if she was bobbing along in a boat with no engine . But she was the newest waitress on staff , and until she built up her tenure, she was stuck with the shifts that nobody else wanted. When she arrived for her shift thirty minutes ago though, the man sitting at the bar had drawn her attention. T he normally abysmal shift suddenly felt much more palatable with that kind of scenery .
    Mel cut a glance back across the room, but the man's gaze had returned to the highball glass in front of him. Occasionally he would pick it up, swirl it around a few times, and then return it to the bar without pulling it to his lips. Even if he wasn’t devastatingly gorgeous, h e was the only patron at the bar, so it was hard not to look at him . His long legs planted firmly on the floor in front of the stool told her that he was taller than averag e, and his trim waist paired with a set of broad s houlders told her that he regularly saw the inside of the gym. His hair was so black that it shone even under the meager light of the hanging bar lights above his head. There was a five o'clock shadow across his cheeks, b ut that was the only part of his appearance that look ed the slightest bit casual. The dark blue pin-stripe suit he wore ensured that he looked utterly o ut of place at the Rumbling Rock, but the man didn't seem to care.
    She wondered what could have possibly drawn the man to her dive bar on the edge of Spring City . There was nothing p retentious or glamorous about the bar . It was far from the trendy bars and restaurants downtown that catered to the people who cared about such things. Mel knew about that better than most. One day, not all that long ago, she had been one of those people. T hat had been before her life fell apart. That had been the life that she left behind without a second glance over six months ago.
    Perhaps that was what fascinated her about this man. He was a real-life, slightly painful reminder of what she had given up, and seeing him there dredged up memories of things that were better left in the past. She was alternately intrigued and annoyed with him. Of course, he sat there, nursing his drink, completely oblivious to the rush of emotions his presence evoked inside of her.
    Now that she knew what color his eyes were though , she thought that she coul d forget that he was there. Mel’s responsibility was the tables in the dining area while the bartender, Max, kept an eye anyone who sat at the bar. It was just the two of them on Monday afternoons, and Mel was pretty certain that Max would have preferred to be anywhere else than stuck with her inside the dingy bar . The feeling was mutual.
    The creak of the heavy, wooden front door brought the welcome distraction she had been waiting for: customers. She was frustrated to see that they weren't just any customers though; Barry and Bud Parker were regulars and the sight of them made her stomach clench uncomfortably . Barry and Bud were twins but coul dn't have looked more different in appearance. Barry was tall and thin, his plain boyish face belying the fact that he must be at least forty years old. Bud was short and carried a wide girth around his belt line. His face was tight and seemed dressed in a permanent scowl.
    What they had in common was that they were rude, egotistical, and lousy tippers.
    Mel said a silent prayer hoping t hey'd make their way to the bar and then Max could deal with them , but