pulled the soiled cloth off the table and rolled it into a ball. Her mouth was set and determined.
Brent persisted. "What do you suppose your father's up to while you're slaving away in here? Robbing hotel rooms?''
Jewel spread the new tablecloth. She raised the corner of her upper lip just the slightest bit, but she remained calm.
"Perhaps he's robbing little old ladies of their egg money," Brent went on, "or marking a fresh deck of cards for tonight's big game."
Jewel replaced the silver and fine china. The freckles on the tip of her nose wriggled as she frowned, but she remained silent.
Brent leaned forward and sniffed the air. "Hmm, violets, isn't it? A lovely scent. I seem to recall it from... Where was it I recently... Why, I believe it was in my own room, just last night."
Jewel gasped as she reached for the coffee pot, and in spite of her vows, chanced a look into his warm brown eyes. So that was it, she thought, almost laughing out loud. She smiled, offering a silent 'that's one point for you, Mr. Bayberry Cologne,' then quietly refilled his coffee cup.
Touched by what he saw in her eyes, more confused and more interested in her than ever, Brent played out his hand. "By the way, darlin, you snore like a grizzly in hibernation."
"I do not," she snapped, all vows forgotten. "If anyone snores, it's you. You sound as if—" Again banging the coffee pot down on the table, she blanched and spun around, partly to ensure the safety of her job, but mainly to avoid admitting she'd fallen into yet another of his traps. Maggie was nowhere in sight. The few customers sprinkled throughout the restaurant seemed unaware of, or uninterested in, her tantrum.
Jewel turned back to Brent and went on with her tirade. "Good Lord, Mr. B. S. Connors, you really ought to go by your initials. They certainly say a lot about your character. You are the most—" The shrill whistle of the approaching train cut off her words and reminded her of the job she had to do. Furious with herself for the lapse in her professional demeanor, Jewel pressed her lips together and turned to walk away.
Brent reached out and caught her wrist. "Not so fast." He cocked his head, listening as the train chugged into the depot. "You may have been saved by the whistle this time, but you and I are going to have the rest of this conversation soon."
"Let go of me," she insisted, tugging at her arm.
Brent tightened his grip. "I'm not through with you yet. I've got a warning, and you'd better hope your dear sweet daddy has enough brains to rob someone besides me today. I don't cotton to uninvited guests in my room. Next time it happens, I intend to prosecute."
Her green eyes flashing, Jewel ground her teeth. "I don't know what you're talking about. Now for the last time, let me go."
"And for the last time—if you want to visit my room, just ask. I promise you'll be a lot more comfortable." He winked, raking his gaze across her bosom, then lower. "I might even let you lie down on top of my bed."
"Oh, that's it." She tore her wrist out of his grasp and stomped off to tend the passengers filing into the restaurant.
"Welcome to the Harvey House," she forced herself to say over and over, even as the sound of Brent's laughter rang in her ears. "And how many coffees here?"
Jewel fell into the routine then, grateful for the rush of customers, and traded Brent's table to one of the other waitresses. She kept pace with the more experienced girls, serving countless plates of biscuits and gravy, mopping up spills of honey and grits, and running from table to table with a full pot of coffee. When at last a lull seemed to settle over the crowd, when all were at some stage of filling their bellies, Jewel wiped her brow with the back of her hand and looked around the room. Brent, she noticed, still lingered over his breakfast, his face buried in the newspaper. All of her customers seemed content.
Her glance skipped to the other stations. Jewel dropped her waitress mien and
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