Midnight in Brussels Read Online Free Page A

acknowledgement of his request, placed the drink order, and then took the dinner order to the kitchen – all in one graceful, fluid motion.
    The piano bar crowd was filling the dance and bar area in the upper half of the room. The dining area was a stair-step down, but it all melded into one big cozy, dark, romantic atmosphere, conducive to special romantic occasions and secret liaisons. More than once Amanda had become tearful while lovers demonstrated their feelings on the dance floor or at a table toasting each other, or kissing.
    At times she longed for a man’s touch, even though she didn’t like sex, she did like a display of affection. She and Arlie had been married for seven years; he’d been her only boyfriend as they grew up together in Arkansas. She’d never been kissed by anybody else. He’d been the only man in her life, so it was painful to watch couples hug and kiss at KC’s Steakhouse.
    The atmosphere at KC’s was conducive to canoodling: lighting was dim, gold-flecked mirrors extended up to the low ceiling from the paneled wainscoting around the perimeter of the restaurant; green foliage was hanging in pots, and planters were placed throughout the space. Tubes of mini-lights gave the area a romantic atmosphere year-round. There was a lower bar and an upper bar: the lower bordered one side of the dining room and was chair-height; the upper bordered the dance floor and was bar stool-height, the bartenders at one level serviced both.
    Amanda returned from the kitchen and picked up the double Scotch from the lower bar, placed it on the tray with a salad and delivered it to her good-looking customer.
    “Here you go. Your Scotch and your salad.” She smiled at him.
      “Thank you.” He grinned up at her. “Uh, tell me, pretty lady, are Saturday nights on your regular schedule?” he asked as he took a sip of his drink.
    “Yes. Why?”
    “Oh, I was just wondering. I don’t get to Bakersfield often, and I usually eat here or at the Woolgrowers, mostly the Woolgrowers, so I just wondered what nights you work.”
    “I work Tuesday through Saturday. Every night ‘cept Sunday and Monday.”
    “Then I’ll make sure I’m here on one of your nights when I come to town next time. I almost didn’t make it down this trip because of the Tule fog. You hear about the pileup on 99?”
    “I sure did. Everybody’s talking about it around here.” She thought she should at least be cordial in order to get a fat tip. “So where are you from?”
    “Cupertino.”
    “Is that up north? I don’t know much about California.”
    “Yes, up north, close to San Jose. Where do you hail from, honey?”
    “Arkansas. But I lived in Nevada for a few years before comin’ out here. So what’s your name?”
    “My name’s Richard, Amanda. Richard Miller.”
    She wore a name tag so he had the advantage of knowing her name before she knew his.
    “Nice to meet you, Mr. Miller.”
    “Call me Richard.”
    “Okay, I will. Well, I got to go now. Got to set up them tables over there for tomorrow’s lunch. Your dinner should be ready in a minute.” She walked away feeling she’d done her friendly part, but she was uneasy because she felt him watching her while she worked.
    Frenchie followed her into the kitchen. “Richard’s a wealthy cattle rancher from up north, Amanda, a really nice guy. I think he likes you, sweetie. Be good to him.”
    “I am being good to him, Frenchie. But I hope he’s not coming on to me, because if he is, I’ll have to tell him to mind his own dang business. I ain’t into hooking up with some ol’ man. No man, as a matter of fact. I’m still married.”
    Frenchie chuckled. She was always amused at Amanda’s manner of speech. Both she and her sister Paula had a unique way of putting things - a far cry from her own French manner. “But, you must have an open mind, ma chère.”
    “My mind’s open alright, it’s just that I don’t particularly want another man in it taking up all the