Chapter 11
MELISSA
I pop outside for a minute with Mason when the beer truck arrives to make the week’s delivery to the bar.
Mason says he has it in hand, so I return to the kitchen.
It’s early but it gives me extra time to start my prep for tonight’s meals.
I get busy grabbing cornmeal, flour, and eggs for some skillet cornbread.
I set the ovens to heat and lay several cast iron skillets on the counter to grease in preparation for the batter. I hear footsteps and turn, expecting to see Mason. “How the fuck did you get in here?”
Paula looks around, her face wrinkling in disgust. “How the mighty have fallen. But we both already knew you never belonged at Martinique, didn’t we?”
This isn’t good. Nobody warned us that Paula was in town.
Wade told Mason to be on the lookout for strange men, not a redheaded woman with an over-inflated ego.
“Get the fuck out of my kitchen, Paula.” I very specifically don’t ask what she’s doing in Lonesome.
I don’t care why she’s here, but I know somehow it’s Bob’s fault.
“We need to discuss what you are doing with my husband.”
“For fuck’s sake, you married Bob. He’s your problem now.”
“Then why have you been texting him non-stop for the last two weeks? You were always planning to rendezvous with him on the cruise. I agreed to stay away from the restaurant while you’re there, but I’m warning you to keep your hands off Bob.”
“First of all, I haven’t spoken to that miserable cheat since our divorce was finalized. And second, why would I go back to Martinique? You fired me, remember?”
“Don’t be such a dramatic cunt, Melissa. You lost Bob but I’m generously giving you your job back. Say thank you for the contract and lose the attitude.”
“What contract? I got married and left the state, Paula. How much harder can I tell you to fuck off? And take Bob with you.”
“I know you and Bob got together on the ship.”
“Nope, I fucked my new husband the entire time and let me tell you, Duck is a significant step up. If Bob is cheating, and let’s be honest, we both know he probably is, it isn’t with me.”
“I saw the emails, you lying bitch. You demanded to see him. Demanded! Bob tried to hide them, but I saw they were all signed “Mel.” And, as if I needed more proof, as soon as I filed for divorce, he came running here to you.”
This bitch is crazy. On the plus side, she’s giving me more excuses to stay in Lonesome with Wade, even though I don’t need them. I glance at the door to the hallway, hoping Mason will hear all the shouting and make an appearance.
I’m out of luck. Paula’s eyes dart around the kitchen.
I know from experience this means she’s about to blow.
She enjoys putting on a show, even if her target is the only one who will see it.
“I haven’t seen Bob. I have no idea what you’re talking about.
More importantly, I don’t care. You’re delusional.
Get the fuck out of my restaurant or I’m calling the cops,” I yell, trying to draw Mason’s attention.
“I’m not losing Bob or my restaurant. I spent a lot of money to win them both. If you’re not going to lose gracefully, I’ll have to teach you a lesson.” She grabs a knife from a block on the counter and steps towards me, stabbing it in front of her.
I’m not so pissed off that I forget to be cautious. She grabbed a fileting blade. I can see from the way she’s holding it that she doesn’t know how to use it. I can do things with that thing that she can’t begin to imagine. Unfortunately, she’s between me and the rest of my knives.
I am, however, within reach of my cast iron pans.
I whip a dish towel around my arm and grab the handle of a medium sized skillet.
I let Paula take two more steps. Then, after she extends her arm to jab at me, I swing hard.
The weight of the pan means I hardly slow down after making impact.
There’s a single clang when the pan hits the metal blade.
Then the knife flies across the kitchen, bounces on the floor, and skids to a stop in the doorway. Right at Wade’s feet.
“Hi, Duck. I told you that the kitchen is mine.” I’m breathing hard, but with Paula disarmed and witnesses in the kitchen, I feel my heart rate start to drop.
“You broke my hand,” Paula screams.
When Wade crouches to pick up the knife, I yell at him to leave it. “It has her prints on it,” I say when he raises an eyebrow at me.
All of a sudden, the kitchen gets really crowded.
Mason comes through the dining room doors.
Wade steps fully inside with Bob on his heels.
They’re followed by Tolk and a man in uniform that I’ve never seen before.
And after that come Picnic and Marcus Melbourne.
I take an appreciative moment to note that six of the seven men are hot enough to set off the fire alarms. Then I blink twice. “What the fuck is going on here, Duck?”
The man in uniform scoops the knife from the floor and carefully slides it into a plastic bag. “I’m Deputy Browning. Is there a problem here?”
“She attacked me!” Paula yells. “She threatened me. She’s sleeping with my husband.”
“She attacked me. She threatened me,” I say, dead calm instead of screaming my head off like Paula. “I’m sleeping with my husband.”
“Every night,” Wade adds. He comes down the other aisle past the ovens and slips one arm around my waist. He tugs the skillet from my hand and sets it on the counter, then takes my shaking fingers in his.
“Whose prints am I going to find on the knife?” Deputy Browning asks.
“Hers,” I say, as Paula yells, “I was protecting myself!”
Before I can say anything in my defence, Marcus steps forward.
“I can’t speak for Melissa, but I don’t think Paula wants to press charges, do you, partner?
” Paula’s eyes widen when she realizes the significance of his words.
“In fact, I’m going to fly you and Bob and me all back to Chicago in my private jet.
We can chat about your options once we’re aboard. ”
“That’s very generous of you, Melbourne.
It’ll give you time to discuss what changes you want made at Martinique,” Wade says.
His grin is evil. I want to ask what he’s talking about, but he squeezes my hip in warning.
“If you’re ever back this way, come by the bar and grill.
I’ll make sure you get some of Melissa’s penne a la vodka on the house. ”
Marcus grins back. “I’ll do that.”
Deputy Browning looks at the pale, silent faces of Bob and Paula, then at the four smiling bikers, and shakes his head. “I’m not getting involved. I’ll hold onto this knife until I get confirmation from all parties that it’s not evidence of anything.”
“That’s a really good fileting knife,” I protest.
“Let it go, Trouble. You’ll get it back.”
A minute later, I’m alone in the kitchen with Wade. “You volunteered me to make free meals?” I ask.
“I like the idea of having a billionaire on speed dial who will do anything for your pasta.”
I snicker. Then my adrenaline burst wears off. Wade pulls me closer, wrapping the sides of his cut around me when I start to shiver.
“What do you say? Want to hit the highway? The sun’s out.”
I tilt my head back to kiss him. Unlike when we’re in bed, he’s not demanding this time. He’s gentle with me. “Come on, big boy. Take me for a ride.”
“I’d love to.”