Taming the Lone Wolf by Joan Johnston

Chapter One
    S TONY C ARLTON took a bite of his hamburger and tried not to listen to the scene unfolding behind the counter of the Buttermilk Café between the waitress and a guy who seemed to be her boss. For a man used to solving other people’s problems with his wits—and now and then a gun—it was impossible not to eavesdrop, given the agitation in the woman’s voice.
    He looked around the empty café. No one else was there to come to her rescue except him—and he wasn’t exactly the knight-in-shining-armor type.
    â€œCome on, Bud, I’ve told you I’m not interested,” the woman said.
    â€œAw, Tess, just one little kiss.”
    â€œI said no.”
    â€œYou oughta have a little more gratitude, seein’ as how I let you leave so early in the day.”
    â€œYou let me leave early because I come in two hours before everyone else,” the woman replied with what Stony considered amazing composure.
    â€œYeah, well, you owe me for givin’ you a job when you had no experience.”
    â€œI’ve got experience now, Bud, a whole year of it. I’ve got work to do, so if you’ll just let me by—”
    Stony heard muffled sounds suggesting a struggle. He set down his burger, wiped his hands on a papernapkin and threw it down as he left his booth headed for the counter. The man, Bud, had the woman, Tess, backed up against the wall beside the coffeemaker. She was fending off his attempts to kiss her, turning her head away and shoving vainly at his burly shoulders.
    â€œHey, Bud,” Stony said.
    Bud turned and glared, clearly irritated at being interrupted. “What?”
    â€œLet the lady go.”
    â€œButt out, mister.”
    â€œAfraid I can’t do that,” Stony said.
    â€œYeah? So what are you gonna do about it?” Bud snarled.
    Stony was over the counter in an instant, as though it wasn’t there. He grabbed Bud by the scruff of his food-stained T-shirt and slammed him against the wall, holding him there with his arm rigid, his palm pressed against the center of Bud’s chest.
    The waitress shot out of the way and stood at the kitchen door, hands clutched together, green eyes wide with fright.
    Stony ignored Bud as though he were a bug on the wall and turned his attention to the woman. “You all right, ma’am?”
    She nodded her head jerkily.
    Stony had been in the Buttermilk Café probably once a month in the past year, yet he hadn’t paid any attention to the waitress. Since he had sworn off women a couple of years ago, he had made it a point not to spend his time looking at the pretty ones, sohe wouldn’t be tempted to go back on his promise to himself.
    Tess was definitely pretty.
    In fact, she was the kind of woman it was hard to dismiss. Her auburn hair was pinned up off her neck, but it had that mussed-up look, with lazy curls at her temples and ears and throat, as though she had just gotten out of a man’s bed. The green eyes that stared warily back at him from a heart-shaped face were curved at the outer edges, like a cat’s. Her nose was small and straight, her chin dainty. She had an alabaster complexion, which suggested she didn’t get outside much, because the Wyoming sun burned the hide off you summer and winter.
    He had avoided looking at her figure because he found it so alluring. She had a bosom—about big enough to fit his hands—that drew a man’s eye, a tiny waist and feminine hips. And she was small enough to incite a man’s protective instincts. He was tall, over six feet, and he suspected her head would barely reach his shoulder.
    â€œI’m all right,” the woman said. “You can let Bud go.”
    Stony had completely forgotten about the man against the wall. He turned to Bud and said, “What is it going to take to convince you to leave the lady alone?”
    â€œWhat I do in my own place of business is none of your concern,”