“Or a bartender’s willingness to pump the new kid on the block for information,” she corrected.
Brett laughed softly, shaking his head. “No pumping. Just a willing ear,” he reminded her. “So what happened to the cheating bastard you were engaged to? I don’t picture you as the type to let him get away with it.”
This had gone way beyond any of his business. This was the part where she knew she should just stand up, tell the man she would be moving in tomorrow morning and then walk out.
That was what she knew she should do.
It wasn’t what she did.
The reality of it was that she remained sitting on the stool. Sitting there and telling this imperfect stranger what had been festering within her and eating away at her for the past month.
“No, I didn’t let him get away with it,” she replied. “I threw my engagement ring at him, told him it was off and told him where he could permanently take up residence. I also,” she added with relish, “told him not to pack suntan lotion because he was going to fry anyway.”
Now, that he could see her doing. The guy deserved it, he thought. He had to have confetti for brains to go wandering off, bedding other women when he had someone like this woman waiting for him at home.
Brett laughed. “Remind me never to get on your wrong side.”
“You’ve already come close a couple of times,” she informed him, wrapping both hands around the empty glass as if to anchor herself to something.
“I’ll keep that—” and you “—in mind,” he told her amicably.
He was smiling at her—so why did she suddenly feel as if she’d been put on notice?
“Okay, I’ll be back in the morning to move in,” she told him.
“I’ll be here,” he promised.
“I figured that,” she replied.
In Brett’s opinion, she didn’t sound all that happy about his presence. It was going to take a bit of work, but he and the lady doc were going to find some interesting middle ground, he promised himself.
Alisha slid off the stool and slowly tested the strength of her legs—just in case. Despite having knees that felt a little wobbly, her legs were just fine.
She left the saloon without a backward glance. Even so, she could have sworn she felt Murphy’s eyes on her, watching her all the way to the front door.
And even after the door had closed, even though she knew it wasn’t possible.
Chapter Six
“So? What was that all about?” Finn asked. The moment the door closed behind Alisha, Brett’s brother made his way over to his brother’s side of the long bar. “Saw you and that new lady doctor raising your glasses and toasting something. Anything I should know about?”
Brett saw at least three regulars close to him leaning in, ready to hear anything he had to say. He deliberately moved to the side and lowered his voice before answering. “I just rented out Uncle Patrick’s old room.”
Finn looked at him in surprise. Following his brother’s lead, he turned his back to the men at the bar. The noise level and Liam’s band took care of the rest. “I didn’t know we were looking to rent it out.”
“We weren’t,” Brett replied. Taking her empty glass and the two shot glasses, he made his way over to the sink to wash them out. “It was her idea.”
“I thought she was staying with Dr. Dan and his wife.”
Finished, Brett picked up a dish towel to dry the glasses before putting them back near the liquor bottles. “She was.”
This obviously wasn’t making any sense to Finn. He liked having things spelled out. “They get into some kind of argument or something?”
Based on what she had shared with him, Brett had his doubts about that. “She didn’t mention that, just said she wanted her own space.”
Finn laughed shortly. “She’s not getting much more than just a little of it. Does she know there’s no bathroom up there?”
One of the customers at the bar raised a hand to attract his or Finn’s attention. No more communication was necessary than that since he knew what Max Keller drank. Clan MacGregor whiskey without fail. Picking up a bottle of the whiskey from the counter, he made his way over to the man.
“She knows,” he told his brother.
Like a dog with a bone, Finn followed him around, asking questions. “And she’s okay with that?”
Brett shrugged as he poured two fingers’ worth into Max’s glass. “I think okay is stretching it a little, but for now, she’s willing to go along with using the facilities down here.”
Moving away from Max, Brett turned and looked at his brother thoughtfully. They were all, perforce, handy when it came to small fixes and doing what needed to be done, but Finn had a real talent not just for taking things apart and repairing them, but for building things from scratch, as well.
“How long do you think it would take you to put in a small bathroom upstairs?” he asked Finn.
The question took the younger Murphy aback. “Where would you suggest I put it? That space is pretty cramped as it is.”
Neither one of his brothers ever went up there anymore and had obviously forgotten about the layout, Brett thought. “There’s the storage closet,” he reminded Finn.
A light entered Finn’s eyes for just a moment, then went out again as he recalled the area. “It’s full of junk.”
“We can empty it,” Brett said with finality, dismissing the minor problem. Leaning a hip against the bar, he studied Finn. “So how long do you figure it would take?”
Finn thought for a moment, then said, “Well, that depends.”
Now that he’d made up his mind, Brett wanted to nail things down as quickly as possible. “On what?”
Three new customers came in and took the last available seats at the bar. This time, Finn made his way over to the men, and Brett followed him. “On whether or not you’ve got me working shifts at the bar at the same time,” Finn answered.
“How long if that bathroom’s the only thing you’re working on?” Brett specified.
Finn set out three shot glasses and deftly filled them with an easy flick of his wrist. “I can have it done inside a week as long as I can get the supplies I need and a little help with the demolition.”
Quoting a price to the new occupants at the bar, Finn collected the amount and rang it up at the register behind them. Finished, Finn paused, studying his older brother. And then the familiar Murphy grin materialized. “You really want her to stay, don’t you?”
There was no such thing as a completely private conversation at the bar. Brett kept his response deliberately vague in case, despite the ongoing din, he was overheard.
“I want her stay here to be civilized” was all Brett would commit to. “But for now, you’re not working that bathroom, so get back to tending the bar. Mind that it’s the bar that you’re tending and not those girls,” he pointed out, nodding at the four young women who had just walked in. The women, all in their early twenties, were clustered at the far end of the bar, standing because there were no available stools left.
And they were all looking their way, Brett noted.
“I can do both,” Finn assured him, then added with a conspiratorial wink just before he moved down the bar, “Hey, I learned from the best.”
Brett merely waved him on, making no comment one way or the other.
“Hey, I’m dying over here. What’s a guy gotta do to get a drink around here?” Cameron Lewis asked.
“All you’ve got to do is just ask, Cameron,” Brett responded, picking up a bottle of the man’s drink of choice. “Just ask.”
“Well, I’m askin’,” the man declared.
“And I’m filling,” Brett replied, pouring dark, thick liquid into the man’s freshly emptied glass.
* * *
MIS
S JOAN’S AMBER eyes slanted toward the front door of her diner. She’d felt rather than heard it opening. There were stories that the older woman and the diner were all but one, and that she could feel every scratch her counter sustained, could literally feel the vibrations of the door each time it was opened or closed.
People who said they knew better laughed the stories off but secretly always felt there was a strong possibility that the stories might contain a kernel of truth.
Her attention shifted to the young woman who had just walked into the diner. Miss Joan still never missed a beat of the conversation she was having with two of her customers as she took down their orders. Those who understood the term knew that Miss Joan had invented multitasking long before it had become a byword for an entire generation. Moreover, the redheaded woman with the sharp eyes and sometimes sharper tongue made it all look easy.
When Miss Joan recognized who had entered her diner, she quickly disengaged herself from the people who had placed their orders. Depositing the slip with their lunch orders on the counter in front of the kitchen, she made her way over to the counter where the diner’s newest customer had just seated herself.
“I was wondering when you were going to finally come here on your own. What’ll it be, honey?” Miss Joan asked in a welcoming voice.
“A cup of black coffee, please,” Alisha requested, never bothering to pick up the menu that lay on the table in front of her.
“And?” Miss Joan asked, waiting for the rest of the order.
“A napkin?” It was more of a question than anything else because Alisha wasn’t really sure what the older woman expected to hear.
“No, what’ll you have for lunch?” Miss Joan asked patiently. This one needed gentle treatment, Miss Joan had already decided when Dan had brought her around that first day.
“Oh.” Alisha paused to think for a minute, doing her best to pull herself together. She’d just left Murphy’s and was stalling rather than going on to where she’d been staying these past two weeks.
“Nothing. Just coffee.” She was feeling unusually vulnerable right now, trying to center herself and decide just what she really wanted to do. She didn’t feel as if she belonged anywhere.
“You can’t be expected to function on just coffee,” Miss Joan chided. “You need something that’ll stick to those skinny little bones of yours.”
One of the first things Alisha had learned upon coming to this town was that everyone eventually turned up at Miss Joan’s, and that the slightly larger-than-life woman seemed to know everyone’s business whether or not they told her about it firsthand. Dan had told her that although the woman blustered at times and could bark out instructions like a drill sergeant when the spirit moved her, inside that gruff, gravelly voice was the heart of a woman who could feel other people’s pain and had an unending capacity for compassion and empathy.
“I don’t—” Alisha began to demur, but her protest never saw the light of day. Miss Joan just took over.
Patting her hand, the older woman said, “Leave it to me, honey. I’ll take good care of you.” And with that, she told one of her waitresses to bring back “Today’s special for the doc here.”
As the girl hurried off to give the order to the diner’s senior short-order cook, Miss Joan turned to face Forever’s newest resident.
“How’s it going?” she asked in a tone that indicated she was really interested in finding out just how Alisha was getting along. Tired, drained and trying to find the words she needed in order to tell the doctor she was working with that it was nothing personal, but she’d found new lodging, Alisha didn’t have any words left over to spare.
“Okay,” she replied, hoping someone would call the diner owner over so that she could just sit here in relative peace.
“That doesn’t sound very convincing,” Miss Joan replied. She peered more closely at the new doctor’s face as if she was making up her mind about something. “Not sleeping too well, are you?”
Alisha thought of denying the woman’s assumption, then decided that there was no point in denying what was probably so obvious. There were circles under her eyes, put there thanks to children who never seemed to sleep for more than ten minutes at a time.
But, in her opinion, complaining about the doctor’s children bordered on being a shrew, so she just shrugged and said, “I’m just trying to get accustomed to a new place.”
Miss Joan smiled at her as if she knew better. “Tina’s kids are a good bunch, but they can be a handful. They’re certainly noisy enough to wake the dead when they get going,” she testified. She’d babysat the trio on a couple of occasions and could speak from firsthand experience. She had a very soft spot in her heart for the children, but she wasn’t blind to their energetic behavior. “But you, coming from New York City—the city that never sleeps and all that—you’re probably used to constant noise in the background.”
“Yes,” Alisha allowed, then added, “but not in the next room.”
Miss Joan surprised her by saying, “I’ve got a spare room at my place. I could just call and tell my husband to get the bed made up if you wanted to crash there for a while—”
She really hadn’t expected that. There was more to this woman than she’d thought. “No, that’s all right. Thank you for the offer, but I’ve already made other arrangements.”
Miss Joan looked at her sharply, doing a quick analysis.
“You’re not leaving us, are you?” she asked. “I know these folks take some getting used to, probably more than most new places. But if you give them a chance, you might find that you’re glad you stayed. These are all good people,” Miss Joan assured her, “and they’ll be there for you if you need ’em. Living here is like having one big extended family. We’ve got our share of squabbles, no doubt about it, but deep down, we’re all family.”
“No, I’m not leaving,” she told the woman. At least, not yet, she added silently.
Miss Joan nodded, taking the young woman at her word. “Good to hear,” she said.
Someone called out to the diner owner, and for a second, Alisha thought her prayers had been answered and the woman would be moving on. But Miss Joan merely waved a hand at the man who’d called out to her, not even turning around. Instead, Miss Joan continued studying her.
“If you’re not leaving and you’re not staying with Dan and Tina, then—” Miss Joan drew out the word, and suddenly, her face grew more animated as the answer occurred to her. “If you’re staying in town, then you got Brett Murphy to rent you his uncle’s old room above the bar, didn’t you?”
Damn, the woman was clairvoyant, Alisha thought. If she’d had that kind of insight herself, she might have been spared the humiliation that she’d gone through because of Pierce.
“Dan said you were very sharp,” she told the older woman with a touch of admiration.
“I just pay attention,” Miss Joan replied. This might get more interesting at that, the older woman thought. Her waitress returned with that day’s special, a whiff of heat swirling above the plate. Miss Joan placed the dinner on the counter before the young woman. “Eat up, Doc. You’re gonna need your strength,” Miss Joan predicted.
Alisha didn’t know if the remark referred to her work—or something else. In either case, she discovered that the scent of the roast turkey, mashed potatoes and even the peas had her appetite suddenly making an unexpected, dramatic appearance.
* * *
ALISHA COULD HEAR the noise growing louder before she ever opened the door the next morning and crossed the saloon floor.
Hammering and drilling.
With a vengeance.
The bulk of her worldly possessions were in a storage unit back in New York City. What she’d taken with her was divided up between the two suitcases that she’d hastily packed when she was leaving. She had one in each hand now as she made the sig
nificant transition from house guest to renter.
The bar looked empty inside.
“Hello?” she called out.
The door to Murphy’s had been unlocked, but once she stepped into the cool darkness, she didn’t find a single Murphy around. She thought that was rather strange since she’d told Brett that she was moving in today.
She’d taken a few hours off from the clinic to get settled in. When she’d told Dan and his wife that she was moving to her own quarters—and assured them that it wasn’t anything they had done that had her leaving—they had been incredibly understanding and kind about the matter. It had almost made her feel guilty about leaving—but she did want a little peace and quiet in her own space, no matter how small it was.
Except that the words peace and quiet really didn’t seem to have a place here. Not with all that noise practically making her teeth vibrate.
“Hello?” Alisha called out again, louder this time. Louder or not, she still got the same results. The only thing answering her was the hammering and the drilling.
What was going on here?
As she crossed the floor and went to the rear of the building, the noise, dovetailing and then blocking each other out, grew louder still. It seemed to be coming from upstairs.
Her upstairs, she thought. She’d paid two months’ rent; that entitled her to throw out whoever was making all this racket.
Tough talk for a peanut.
That was what her father had always said whenever she would lose her temper about something. The words were always laced with affection, but they did bring her attention to the fact that she was not exactly an imposing figure. It also encouraged her to control her temper whenever possible.
Squaring her shoulders, Alisha began to go up the stairs, a suitcase in each hand.
At this rate, she was just going to toss her suitcases on the floor and make a hasty retreat, hoping that eventually, whatever was happening up here would stop.
Her Forever Cowboy Page 7
