Corinne didn’t flinch. “I’m happy to run your card now.” The better to get your ass out of my diner was implied.
“No need. I’m paying in cash.”
“You have a nice day then,” she said in the precise, sugared tone of fuck you that only a true Southern belle could manage.
As soon as she’d disappeared into the kitchen, Tucker was out of his seat, blocking Jeff from getting out of his. “That was uncalled for, Barksdale.”
“Excuse me?” Jeff’s eyes narrowed.
“I realize you’re justifiably scared shitless of me decimating you in court this morning, and therefore, want more time to prepare, but that’s no excuse for being a dick.”
“I’m not at all worried about facing you in court, McGee. As to the rest, it’s nothing less than she deserves after how she treated everyone in high school.”
“So you’re going to be an asswipe to a hard-working single mom just because she turned you down back then? Classy.” Absolutely nobody deserved be punished forever for the mistakes they’d made in high school. Especially not when she was making every effort to be a better person.
“What do you even care? Your crowd didn’t like her either.” His gaze turned speculative as he pushed back from the table and stood. “Or maybe she’s working hard some other way to make ends meet.”
Tucker was a nanosecond away from planting his fist in the other man’s face when a massive crash sounded from the kitchen. In the instant his attention was dragged away, Jeff shoved past him and the moment for an easy sucker punch was past. Probably just as well. Brawling in the diner wouldn’t accomplish anything. He’d take his pound of flesh in the courtroom.
“Mama, don’t move.”
The sound of Omar’s distressed voice had Tucker skirting the counter, shoving through the swinging door.
Mama Pearl lay prostrate, half in, half out of the storeroom. Broken crockery littered the floor around her. She was fighting both her son and Corinne to get up. “I’m fine, damn it. I slipped, is all.”
“Be still,” Corinne snapped. “You’re not moving until I look you over. And let us get this glass up before you cut yourself. Kurt stay back, baby.”
A dark-haired half-pint stood off to the side, worrying his lip exactly the way his mother did.
T
ucker automatically moved forward, grabbing a nearby trash can and kneeling to pick up the biggest shards of what had evidently been a stack of plates.
“You know you can’t reach the top shelf. Why didn’t you ask me to get these down?” Omar demanded as he knelt to do the same.
“I been running this diner since well before you were born, Omar Buckley. I don’t need to pull you off the grill every time I need something off the damned shelf.” Arms folded in irritation, Mama Pearl glowered at the lot of them as they cleaned up the broken plates.
“Does anything hurt?” Corinne asked. “Did you put your hand out when you fell? Catch yourself with your wrist?”
“I caught myself with my behind, thank you very much. The only thing bruised is my pride.”
“Let us help you up there, Mama Pearl.” By tacit agreement, Tucker and Omar each took an arm and raised her to her feet.
She immediately sagged onto Tucker as her ankle gave out.
“Whoa there.” Tucker readjusted his grip to take more of her weight, and they shuffled her over to a chair in the office.
“Mama Pearl, are you okay?” asked a tiny voice.
“I’m fine, Kurt. Everybody’s fussin’ for nothin’.”
As soon as she was seated, Corinne nudged them both out of the way and reached for Mama Pearl’s foot. “Tell me if this hurts.” With great care, she probed the ankle.
Mama Pearl hissed. “It’s a mite sore,” she admitted through gritted teeth.
Corinne carefully rotated the joint, stopping as soon as her boss winced again. “Omar, go make your mother an ice pack. Tucker grab me that chair, please.”
Once Mama Pearl’s foot was elevated and draped in an ice pack, Corinne crossed her own arms and scowled. “What else hurts?”