Ruth shoved her sweater sleeves up past her elbows. “I’m a champion dishwasher, at your service.”
“I can bus tables,” Annie offered.
“Uh.” Bethanne hesitated. She was thinking she should wash dishes.
“Come on, Mom, you’d make a great waitress.”
“Nothing like a pretty girl to build up business,” Marie told her, grinning as she said it. “And I could certainly use the help.”
“Then I’d be delighted.” The last time Bethanne waited tables had been the summer after she graduated from high school. She’d gotten a job working at the local Denny’s. The experience had convinced her that she wasn’t waitress material. It’d been hard work, lifting heavy platters and busing tables. In addition, she’d discovered that people could be demanding, rude and insensitive. But she’d be able to manage for a few hours.
“I’ve got another apron in back. Let me get it for you.” And Marie bustled into the kitchen, with Ruth close behind.
“I hope I don’t spill coffee on anyone,” Bethanne worried. “Or mix up all the orders.”
“Mom, like Grandma always says, don’t borrow trouble. We’ll do great.”
As little as ten minutes ago, Bethanne had been sitting quietly in the car knitting a wedding gift for her future daughter-in-law. Now she wore a pink apron with a frilly starched border. She looked like a character in some movie about a diner, and since she wore the uniform, she might as well play the role. She purposely tucked the pencil behind her ear, then reached for the order pad and slipped it in her apron pocket.
“The specials are listed on the chalkboard outside,” Marie explained. “It might be a good idea to memorize them.”
“Gotcha,” Bethanne said, and walked outside. She studied the blackboard. Ham and redeye gravy was first, followed by macaroni and cheese. The third special was pot roast with mashed potatoes and gravy. Apparently, Marie was fond of smothering food in sauce.
She’d finished familiarizing herself with the specials when she heard the roar of motorcycles in the distance. The sound was deafening as it drew closer. “What is it about men and motorcycles?” she muttered as she went back inside.
“How long before the bus gets here?” Annie asked. She wore her own apron and carried a cleaning rag and a gray plastic tub piled high with dirty dishes.
“About twenty minutes,” Marie called from the kitchen. “Listen, you might fill the water glasses now. It’ll save you time later.”
“I’ll do that,” Bethanne said. She found a pitcher and set about pouring water into each glass. While she was at it, she figured out how to work the coffee machine. Meanwhile, Annie washed the counter, cleaned the tables and put out silverware.
The roar of engines thundered to a stop just outside the café and, shortly after, four burly men dressed in leather vests and calf-high boots walked in as if they owned the place.
Bethanne stared at them. They paused by the door and looked around. Bethanne wasn’t easily intimidated, or so she’d always thought, but these men seemed like the real thing. Road warriors. They were everything Grant’s sister had warned them about. Not that Bethanne knew anything about biker culture, but to her inexperienced eye, two of them looked halfway decent and the other two looked suspicious. She certainly wouldn’t trust any one of them with her daughter. Come to think of it, they were four women alone…
A prickle of fear went down her spine and she stood there paralyzed, unable to move or even breathe. She could imagine the headlines now. Four Women Raped and Murdered. Biker Gang Suspected. If anything happened, Robin would blame her. Not that it mattered, seeing as she’d most likely be dead.
Annie’s eyes connected with hers. Deciding not to give in to her overactive imagination, Bethanne straightened. “You gentlemen can sit anywhere you want.”
The older one, with the short, skinny ponytail, said, “We generally do.”
The others laughed. The four of them slid into a booth and studied her as though she were a fresh piece of meat and they were hungry wolves.
“I’ll take your order in just a minute,” she said, pretending to ignore their menacing demeanor.
Annie held her mother’s gaze and then scurried into the kitchen. Bethanne trailed her at a more leisurely pace, unwilling to show how intimidated she actually felt.
“Do you know those men?” Ruth asked her friend, peering into the café from the kitchen entrance. “They look like they belong to some rough-and-tumble gang.”
“Bikers stop by here all the time. Don’t let them scare you,” Marie said. “They all like to act tough, but underneath they’re pussycats.” She was busy stirring a pan of gravy and didn’t even glance out. “Besides, their money is as green as anyone else’s.”
“Right.” Trying not to reveal her fear, Bethanne removed the order pad she’d stuck in her apron pocket, took the pencil from behind her ear and headed back out.
“What can I get you boys?” she asked, forcing herself to act as if she was in a theater production. Or one of those diner movies. All she needed was a wad of gum to go with the attitude.
“Boys?” Again it was the older man with the ponytail who responded. “Do I look like a boy to you?”
“It’s a figure of speech,” she said, holding her ground. “Would you like separate checks?”
“Please.” The one who answered was the most tanned of the group, which suggested he’d been on the road the longest. He had intense brown eyes and wore a leather bandanna tied at the base of his neck. His leather vest looked well-worn and he had on fingerless gloves. She almost mentioned that she was knitting a similar pattern for her son’s fiancée—but she didn’t. It was a good bet that he wouldn’t be interested in her latest knitting project.
“Cheeseburger, with double pickles and no onion,” the man sitting across from Ponytail told her.
Bethanne wrote that down. She looked over at the biker next to him, who ordered macaroni and cheese. Leather Bandanna ordered a bowl of chili and Ponytail wanted the pot roast special.
“I’ll have those out for you in a few minutes.” It wasn’t until she gave Marie the order that she realized she hadn’t asked if they wanted anything to drink. The coffeepot was full, so she carried it over to the table, and when they all righted their cups, she did her best to fill them without letting her hand shake. She didn’t want these men to know how nervous they made her.
Bethanne started to turn away when Ponytail stopped her. “Where’s your name tag?”