Duke-ing It Out by Jami Albright
Sienna
I’m hurting … a lot. Not that I would tell my rescuer. Or captor. Sometimes it’s hard to tell with Duke.
After he called the rental company and made arrangements to return the car when we get to Texas, we made the decision to drive as far as we could today. That was too many hours ago to count. Endless miles with only three stops for gas and restroom breaks, and now we’re somewhere in New Mexico trying to find a place to eat and sleep.
It’s honestly been one of the best days of my life, even with the endless driving and Mr. Do-Right behind the wheel.
I ditched my phone just outside of Vail, so there was no way for my dad to track me, and Duke ignored the one call he got from my father. Easy enough, since he was supposed to be on a plane.
I’m free. I haven’t been free since I won my first Junior National title ten years ago.
“What are you hungry for?” Duke asks.
“I don’t care.” But then a sign catches my eye.
32 oz rib eye—You eat it and it’s FREE!
“There!”
“Where?”
I point to Pokey Bill’s Steakhouse. “There.”
“Home of the Billy Buster?”
“Yes.” I laugh. “I’ve seen places like this on TV. You order their Billy Buster steak and have so many minutes to eat it. If you do, then it’s free, and you get your photo on the wall.”
“You’re telling me that you think you can eat a thirty-two-ounce steak in one sitting?” His dark brows slide up his forehead.
“Sure, why not. What? You don’t think you can?”
“I don’t think I want to.” His superior tone grates against my last nerve.
“Chicken.”
“I don’t want to eat thirty-two ounces of chicken either.”
“No, stupid. I meant—”
“I know what you meant. I’m just messing with you.”
The grin he shoots me is so mischievous and out of character for the man I know that it throws me for a minute. “Oh, well, okay. Wanna give it a try?”
He puts his blinker on and maneuvers into the turn lane. “Sure, why not. I’m starving.”
The inside of Pokey Bill’s is exactly as you would imagine. It’s an Old West nirvana. Multiple animal heads hang on every wall. There’s a gigantic stone fireplace at one end of the room and farther beyond is the serving line, with huge grills behind that. There’s a covered wagon on one side of the room complete with stuffed—Lord help me, I hope they weren’t once alive—horses rigged up and attached to the contraption. Each table is held together with a wagon wheel, and the servers are all wearing boots, jeans, white pearl snap shirts, and a red bandana around their neck.
“Can I help y’all?” The hostess’s accent is so thick that it sounds like Ken I halp yawl?
Duke seems to not have recovered from the animal heads, so I jump in. “Table for two.”
She snags two menus and two bundles of silverware. “Right this way.”
We follow her through the enormous dining room to a table by the fireplace. The smell of searing meat fills the air and makes my mouth water. The beef jerky I ate a hundred miles ago is long gone from my system.
The hostess places the menus and silverware on the table. “Celeste will be your server. She’ll be right over.”
We sit and both gawk at the place for several long moments.
Duke shakes his head. “If Wyatt Earp waltzes out of the back carrying his six shooters and a side of beef over his shoulder, I won’t be surprised.”
I laugh. “It is a bit on the nose.” Then I remember he’s from Texas. “So, they don’t have places like this where you’re from?”
“Oh, they do. I live in Fort Worth, where they have the world’s only twice a day cattle drive through the streets of the Stockyard.”
“Really?”
“Yes. There are places like this in Texas, but this is really over the top.”
“Billy’s not really the subtle type.”
“I doubt he knows how to spell the word.”
I scan the menu while we wait on our waitress, looking for the desserts. “Oh, my.”
Duke looks up from his menu. “What?”
“They have pecan pie and banana pudding on the menu.” I have a huge sweet tooth that I’ve had to ignore for the last ten years.
The man across from me shakes his head. “First, you think you’ll be able to eat dessert after you finish a 32 oz. steak? And second, processed sugar is horrible for you. I cut sweets out of my diet six months ago and have never felt better.” He sits back with a stupid superior look on his face.
“I had no idea I was sitting with the captain of the sugar police. It’s such an honor. Thank you for the totally helpful and completely unsolicited information.” I close the menu. “I think I’ll get both to go.”
Before he can chastise me, a pretty young woman with coal-black hair who looks like she’s on her tenth shift in a row ambles up to our table. “Hey, how are y’all? I’m Celeste, and I’ll be taking care of you tonight.” Her sunny greeting contrasts sharply with the dark circles under her eyes. She’s probably close to my age, but she carries herself like someone older, with far more responsibilities on her shoulders.
Duke closes his menu and meets her gaze. “We’re great, Celeste. How are you?” He flashes his perfectly straight, white teeth.
The pink flush that crawls up her neck and settles on her cheeks makes her look five years younger. “Oh, I’m … fine.”
My companion cocks his head and searches the waitress’s face. “Don’t lie to me, Celeste.”
She rests one hand on the chair in front of her and chuckles. “To be honest, too pooped to pop.”
“Long shift?”
Her smile is as tired as her eyes. “Long two shifts.” She pushes a piece of hair that’s fallen out of her ponytail off her face with the back of her hand. “This is my first day back from having my baby, and I’m draggin’ tail.”
Duke nods like he hears this all the time. “How old’s your baby?”
Her smile morphs from tired to radiant. “Four weeks, and she’s the love of my life.”
“Got a pic?” he asks, like they’re old pals who just ran into each other at the Piggly Wiggly.
I’m so struck by the instant rapport stick-up-his-butt-Duke establishes with this tired woman that all I can do is sit back and watch the show.
Celeste peers around then pulls her phone from her back pocket. A few swipes, and she holds the device up to us. A dark-haired bundle wrapped in pink fills the screen.
Duke takes the phone from her. “What a beauty. She must have her daddy wrapped around her finger.”
The flush on Celeste’s face deepens, and she ducks her head. “It’s just me and Lily. My boyfriend said he wasn’t ready to be a father.” She squares her shoulders and raises her chin. Fire that hadn’t been there before, blazes in her eyes. “It’s fine. We’re going to be just fine.”
Admiration flashes in Duke’s eyes. “Yes, you are. Lily’s lucky to have you.” He hands the phone back to her. “So, Celeste, can my friend and I get two of the Billy Busters?”
“You sure can.” She gives me an assessing look then holds her fist up in my direction. “Girl power.”
I laugh and bump her fist with mine. “Girl power.”
“Oh, good Lord, don’t encourage her, Celeste. She’s already a handful.”
The waitress grins. “I’m pretty sure you can handle it, stud.”
Duke’s teasing smile does weird things to the area just below my ribs. “You think?”
“Oh, yeah. I’ll get this order in for you. How do you want them cooked?”
I unfold my napkin and rest it in my lap. “Medium for me.”
“Same,” Duke echoes.
“Anything to drink?”
“Water.” I look at Duke, and he nods. “Two waters.”
“You got it.” As she leaves there’s a definite skip in her step that wasn’t there when she walked up to our table.
“Poor girl.” I toy with the cracker packets. “You were very nice to her.”
He shrugs. “In my experience, people just want to be heard.”
I wave between us. “Is that what this is?”
“What?”
“You helping me. Is this you hearing me?”
Another shrug. “I’m not sure what this is”—he mimics me waving between us—“other than a lapse in sanity.”
I throw the saltine packet at him. “Thanks a lot.”
He leans his elbows on the table and claps his hands. “You know how I feel about your tennis career. I’ve never seen anyone with more natural talent, and it kills me to watch you throw it away, but I meant what I said to your dad. I want you back on that court kicking ass, but I also want you to be able to pick up your babies and dress yourself in five years. If you don’t take care of this injury, there will be permanent damage. So, I’m willing to help you carve out the time to figure out what it is you want to do.”
I trace the outline of a buffalo on my paper placemat. “I know what I want.”
His head wobbles back and forth. “Maybe you do, but I also know you’ve never had the chance to make any of your own decisions about tennis. Once you’ve had time to heal, you may decide you still don’t want to play, but you may decide you do. Either way, I’m willing to help you get that time.”
“Thank you. But I’m not going to change my mind.”
He holds his hands up. “Fine.”
But I can tell it’s not fine.
“I’ll still help you rehab this injury to get you back to normal.”
Our eyes meet, and I’m nearly sucked into the mossy depths of them. “Thank you.”
Celeste returns to the table with our waters. “Your steaks will be out in a few minutes. Can I get you anything else right now?”
I peel the paper from the straw that came with the water. “No, we’re good. Thank you, Celeste.”
She nods and leaves the table again.
My attention goes back to Duke. “Why does it matter to you?”
“What are you talking about?”
I sit back and cross my arms. “Why do you care if I go back to tennis or not? Other than you hate to see me waste my potential.”
He sips his water then rests his elbows on the table. “I just want you to have the chance if you want it. I didn’t have that chance.” He massages the bridge of his nose. “The injury that ended my football career was totally rehabilitative, but the team’s trainer didn’t know what he was doing, treated it with pain meds and cortisone injections, and a small injury turned into something career ending.”
Each word is drenched in bitterness, and they’re disorienting coming from his mouth because he’s a walking motivational poster. Okay, now I get him a little. I know now why he’s been such a hard-ass when it comes to my rehab. “I’m sorry.”
His big hand scrubs over his mouth. “It’s fine.”
But I can tell it’s not.
Celeste returns with two plates with the biggest slabs of meat on them I’ve ever seen, each with a steak knife sticking out of the top of it. The baked potato next to each one is dwarfed by the steak. She sets them in front of us, then fishes a timer out of her apron. Her fingers push the buttons on the device, then she steps back from the table. “You have thirty minutes to clean your plates.” She winks at me. “My money’s on you, sis.”
“Hey, this has turned ugly quickly,” Duke says.
She laughs and waves over her shoulder as she walks away.
I eye the slab of meat, and so does my companion. “What do you think?”
“I think we should up the stakes. No pun intended.” He grins.
“You do, huh? What do you propose?”
“If I win, then you don’t make any final decisions about tennis until your back is better.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “And if I win?”
He motions to me with his palm pointing to the ceiling. “Your choice.”
My mind is racing. What do I want from him? “If I win … you help hide me until I’m feeling better.”
For a moment, he doesn’t do anything, but I can tell he’s thinking because of the small divot that forms between his brows. Finally, he holds his hand out to me. “Deal. May the biggest mouth win.”
“If that’s the judge, then I don’t stand a chance.”
“Funny.” He makes that first cut into his steak. “I was thinking the same thing about you.”
“Ha-ha. Shut up and eat.”
“You’re going down, Ramsey. Prepare to lose.”
He’s crazy if he thinks I’m letting him win. I’ve got too much riding on this bet. He hasn’t seen me at my most determined. “Bring it, Wayne.”