And she was. After delivering the beer and pocketing his money, she checked the next table before heading to the bar. Why did she only deliver one table’s worth of drinks at a time?

Gabe studied her closer.

She was guarding her torso, tucking her elbows down whenever someone might bump into her. He’d had his ribs busted a couple of times, compliments of a bad freefall landing and later, an ugly fight in the Iraq sandbox. He’d guarded his ribs against being thumped for a good month after each injury.

Yeah, when she’d picked up all that bruising, her ribs must have been broken or cracked. No wonder she carried light loads on her drink tray.

Who had hit her? Was the bastard in Rescue?

Anger simmering, Gabe drank half his beer, realized it, and shoved the glass to the middle of the table.

He shouldn’t jump to conclusions about Julie’s injuries. Maybe she’d been in a car accident.

But…she feared the law. That, right there, was a concern. Was she running from a man? Or because she might be arrested?

Running a finger through the dampness on the table, he watched as she tended her section, growing more comfortable minute by minute.

Her smile came easier. She was chatting with even the rougher customers without looking worried…although she flinched whenever shouting broke out. He nodded in respect for both her courage and determination. Despite being shy and a bit overwhelmed, she was doing a damn fine job.

Audrey’s aching feet felt pancake flat, and every time she lifted a heavy tray, a knife stabbed into her ribs. Nevertheless, her spirits were soaring. She rocked this job.

She’d been worried, especially since the waitressing tips on various websites had emphasized, “be sociable.” But the basics were do-able: Smile. Be interested and upbeat. Ignore rude comments. Keep tables tidy by incorporating cleanup as part of serving.

Remembering drinks and people wasn’t difficult.

The instruction about making eye contact? That was more challenging, but she was improving. And people seemed to like her.

She’d never dreamed she’d make a good bar server.

Smiling, she stepped up to a table of four men near the room’s center. “Hi, guys. What can I get you tonight?”

“I can think of a few things.” The man reached around her to squeeze her bottom. Hard.

Gasping in shock, she barely kept from bashing him over the head with her tray. Instead, she stepped out of reach. “No touching.”

Over the evening, she’d received a few pats on the ass—which was annoying—but this guy had actually groped her.

“What’s the matter, girlie? Not used to a man’s hands on you?” The scarecrow-thin, black-bearded man in his forties wasn’t the one who’d grabbed her.

“No touching, please.” She managed a light, firm tone. “What can I get you men to drink?”