by LJ Garland
Chapter Thirteen
Dawson parked the rental sedan in the pub’s parking lot. Six o’clock on a Friday and the place was jammed already. A lot of people came early and ate dinner at Sunday’s Side, the restaurant connected to Pat’s Irish Pub. Whoever came up with that idea had been brilliant, and he planned to discuss with Andy doing the same thing with their pub. Something like that would be ideal in Cedar Valley.
Home. Was he really going home? After all these years, could he go home and live the small-town life again?
“Don’t you need to go inside and, I don’t know, mix drinks and pour beers or something?”
Sophie’s voice drew his focus. She smiled at him. Crap. Andy is counting on me to come home to Cedar Valley and open a bar with him. He’s qualifying us for a loan, for God’s sake. And Sophie needs me here to protect her…. Okay, maybe not protect, the woman can certainly hold her own, but I’d never forgive myself if I left and something happened to her. Maybe she’ll go with me.
You think she’ll leave Baltimore and the chance to land her dream job to go to Cedar Valley?
He balled his hands on his thighs.
You’re so screwed, Dawson.
“Are you all right?” She set her hand on his arm.
“Yeah.” No. He opened his door. “Let’s get inside.”
The pub was twice as packed as the parking lot. Taking Sophie’s hand, he wove between the people and tables. The owner, Pat, sat at the center of the bar, the stool next to him surprisingly empty.
“Hey, Pat. Another busy Friday night,” Dawson said by way of greeting.
“It is.” Pat nodded then glanced at Sophie, a big smile lighting his face. He held out his hand. “Good evening to you, Ms. O’Neill.”
She set her fingers on his palm and grinned. “So good to see you again. I do love your pub. It’s wonderful.”
Pat released her hand and patted the empty stool. “I saved this just for a bonnie Irish lass.”
She giggled. “I don’t know about bonnie, but I am Irish.”
“Och, lass. But you are bonnie. Ask any lad in here, and they’ll vouch I speak the truth.”
Dawson slipped his arm around her waist. “He is definitely telling the truth.” Then he kissed her cheek. “Gotta get to work.”
She slid onto the stool, and Pat’s smile widened. “I’ll take good care of her for you.”
He chuckled. “I’m sure you will.” Leaning toward Sophie’s ear, he murmured, “I’ll be right over there all night.” He pointed toward the other side of the long mahogany bar. He wasn’t about to let her out of his sight.
The first part of his shift flew by. At his break, he took Sophie next door to Sunday’s Side for a plate of cheese fries and a couple of sodas.
“I can see why your brother chose this place to learn.” She sipped her drink. “This place is amazing. I can’t believe how many people are doing karaoke.”
“That was Tristan’s idea.” With a cheese-laden fry in his hand, he gestured toward the pub. “Tonight is just a trial run to see if anyone’s interested. Tristan’s planning some type of competition or something.”
“That’s brilliant!”
“I know. It really has brought in the customers. I’ve served more drinks tonight than any other Friday I’ve worked. Speaking of which”—he checked his watch—“my break is over.”
After he returned to work, he and Tristan’s son, Padraig, worked non-stop for a good thirty minutes until orders slowed a bit. While refilling a bowl of kibble, he glanced at Sophie. With her wavy mane of flowing auburn hair, wide green eyes, and the bright-blue shirt outlining a rack that made his mouth water, how could he not? At some point, Pat had left, probably to go check on something in the kitchen. A snack maybe?
Sophie sat there, sipping her soda, her lush lips curved into a slight smile, her gaze focused on the stage where a twentysomething guy belted out Meat Loaf’s “Paradise by the Dashboard Lights”—and doing a pretty decent job of it. She tapped her fingernails on the bar top, and her lips moved in time with the lyrics as though she sang along. She seemed to be enjoying the singing as much as everyone else in the place.
He leaned forward to set the refilled kibble bowl in front of a guy who then ordered another beer. Grabbing a Corona from the cooler, he removed the cap and exchanged the empty with a full in front of the guy. Dawson picked up a rag and wiped down the counter, working his way toward Sophie.
He leaned toward her so he didn’t have to yell over the singer. “You doing okay?”
She nodded.
He tilted his head toward the stage. “The guy sounds pretty good, huh?”
“He’s no Meat Loaf, but he’s doing the song justice. The girl singing the other part?” She shrugged a shoulder. “Meh.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “Meh?”
She picked up her drink and sipped from the straw. He wiped the place her glass had sat, waiting for her to comment, but when she didn’t, he laid a napkin out for her drink.
The singers finished, and the pub erupted with applause. Tristan stepped up onto the small corner stage. He consulted the sign-up sheet he carried then leaned toward the mic.
“Next up is Josie Wilks.” Shading his eyes, he searched the crowded pub. “Josie, you ready?”
“I’m here!” A coltish blonde jumped up from her chair and waved, her dark-blue miniskirt riding up just below her butt. “I’m ready!”
A few people clapped as she headed toward the stage, and some dude off to the side said, “I’m ready, too.” Several patrons chuckled.
“Josie will be singing ‘Call Me Maybe’ by Carly Rae Jepsen. Let’s give her big applause.” Tristan stepped off the stage.
Stepping up onto the stage, the blonde tripped and stumbled. Several people gasped, but then she straightened and whirled to face the audience, her hair swinging over her slim shoulder. A big smile filled her face…well, a little too big in Dawson’s opinion. Too much teeth and gum showing. “Hi!”
The music started. Josie cleared her throat and….
She squeaked and yowled, completely off-key. Dawson stopped wiping the counter. Everyone in the pub stared at her. Tensions rose, and he worried some of them might start booing or heckling. But then, she started bouncing her hip in time with the music, her little miniskirt dancing up and down her thigh. And, instead of heckles, several guys whistled and clapped, and the tension receded. Josie smiled, seeming to enjoy the response, and kicked it up a notch, shaking her hips and moving around the small stage as she continued to wail.
Whew! Dawson started wiping the counter. His gaze going to Sophie again, he caught her smiling. “What do you think?”
She shrugged. “Everyone in here knows she’s terrible.”
“Yeah, like a pack of feral cats having a territorial dispute in a dark alley.”
“Yeah, it kinda is.” She sipped her drink.
“So, if she’s so awful, why are you smiling?”
“Because”—she gestured toward the girl onstage—“she’s up there. Doing it.”
“That she is.” He refilled several orders, mixed a couple of drinks then stopped near Sophie. By then, another singer had taken the stage. “You ever do karaoke?”
She shook her head.
“Why not?”
“I’ve never been drunk enough.”
He laughed. From the way she stared at the singers on stage, he could tell she wanted to do it. But, for some reason, she didn’t. “You should try it.”
Her eyes widened. “Oh, no. I couldn’t.”
“Why not?”
Her gaze flitted to the stage and back to him. “No one wants to see me up there.”
The waitress signaled she needed a drink order filled. A mass of college students had crushed inside, each ordering two beers apiece, and the waitress had to carry her tray to the group three times. Afterward, he cleared some glasses, filled some kibble bowls, and worked his way back to Sophie.
He set one of the bowls in front of her. “I dare
you.”
Without blinking, she scooped up a handful of the peanut-and-pretzel mix and popped it in her mouth. After swallowing, she smiled. “Done.”
“That’s great, but I didn’t mean the snack mix. I meant the karaoke.”
“Ha-ha. No.” She swiveled away.
Even with the loud music, person on stage singing, and pub clatter, her sarcastic response came through loud and clear. Nonetheless, her tone didn’t match her actions. All night she’d sat there, focused on the stage.
He tapped her arm, waited until she met his gaze then took a chance, hoping he was right. “I dare you to get up there and sing a song.”
She balked. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
“Nope.”
She gave him a hard stare, and he could almost hear the cogs in her brain whirring. Is she trying to figure a way out of the dare or deciding on a song?
She lifted her chin. “I would. But with all these people, I’m sure the list is too long.”
Interesting answer. “Not a problem.” He lifted his hand in the air, caught Tristan’s attention, pointed at Sophie and then the stage. Tristan gave a curt nod. Dawson faced Sophie and smiled.
“What did you do?” she demanded.
He cocked a brow. “You’re up next.”
Her jaw bobbed. “I…I….”
“You better get up there and tell the DJ which song you’re singing.”
She narrowed her eyes on him. “I’m so getting even with you on this.”
She slid from her stool and headed toward the stage. Her swinging hips and rounded ass held his gaze like glue.
The guy finished singing “500 Miles” to a rousing applause, and after taking a bow, he joined the crowd.
Tristan stepped up to the mic. “Next we have Sophie O’Niell, singing ‘Fly Me to the Moon.’”
The jazzy opening to the song filled the pub, and Sophie approached the mic. She opened her mouth and began to…sing.
Dawson gritted his teeth. Holy crap! No wonder she didn’t want to do karaoke. I didn’t think anyone could be worse than that other girl in the miniskirt but—
Sophie’s gaze landed on him, and he forced a smile to his lips—well, he hoped it was a smile. Kinda felt like a grimace. Cat territory rumble? More like cat, dog, monkey—
Mid first stanza, her voice cracked, and she started coughing. Dawson cringed. Idiot didn’t begin to describe how he felt.
Sophie turned to the side, her hand covering her mouth as she worked to settle the unflattering presentation. Oh, shit. That handful of kibble she thought I dared her to eat…. A peanut probably got stuck in her throat! What was I thinking?
She walked to the edge of the stage and spoke to the DJ. He nodded, and she returned to the mic. “Sorry about that. I hope you all don’t mind, but I’d like to start again.”
Several patrons shifted in their seats. Glasses clinked.
Sophie cleared her throat.
Dawson gripped the edge of the bar. She’s trying again? After that embarrassment?
She stood before the mic, shoulders back, chin up.
The music started.
Wait. That’s not the same song. Did the DJ screw up? God! This just keeps getting better and better. Everything in him wanted to scoop her off the stage and whisk her away to save her from further humiliation. But he could only stand there and watch as the woman he loved put herself out there in front of everyone. Damn, she’s brave. But I swear, if anyone mutters a single bad thing, I’ll—
“If I should stay….”
His breath jammed in his throat. He waited for the myriad animal yowls….
Honey. He blinked in disbelief as she began the second stanza. Her voice is honey. No…my Sophie’s voice is fuller, sweeter, richer. Like melted chocolate.
So what happened to the off-key wailing? Then he remembered her comment about getting even with him for daring her to step on stage. Yeah, she got more than even.
She sang beautifully. Better than anyone who’d sung tonight. The lyrics of “I’ll Always Love You” flowed from her lips, her gaze locked on him. He never looked away. Couldn’t. Certainly didn’t want to.
She sang the version from The Bodyguard, and when she hit the highpoint of the song, she nailed it—a tribute to the late Whitney Houston if there ever was one. People whistled and clapped. At the end, everyone leapt to their feet, and a thunderous roar of applause rocked Pat’s Irish Pub.
Her face turned scarlet, and she kind of fumbled around for a moment before dipping into a curtsey. The crowd loved her.
Pleasure and pride washed through Dawson. Damn, he was just so proud of her. She was the most gorgeous, amazing woman he’d ever known. And he loved her—every hardheaded, quirky, brilliant, voluptuous inch of her.
She stepped off the stage, and, for a moment, he lost sight of her. But then the sea parted, and there she was, heading toward him. He came from behind the bar and held his arms out, ready to give her a huge hug.
But the flush of accomplishment drained from her face, leaving her alarmingly pale. Her eyes widened. Her mouth opened in an O of surprise. Then she was barreling at him, diving through the air.
“Gun!”
Chapter Fourteen
“Oomph!”
Sophie slammed into hard muscle and, somehow, managed to tackle Dawson to the floor.
People screamed, scrambling for the exits. Tables tipped, chairs toppled, glass smashed.
“Are you okay?” She patted him all over, face, shoulders, chest. No holes. No blood. Oh, thank you, God!
“I’m fine.” He sat up, taking her with him, his arms wrapped around her. “Are you okay?”
“I’m good.” She peered over her shoulder at the chaos behind her. The place had emptied in just a few minutes.
He grasped her hand and ducked out the back, the cold night air wrapping around her. She shivered and looked up at him. “You’re sure you’re all right?”
“Yes.” He rubbed his large palms up and down her arms, his brows crushing together. “I’m fine, sweetheart. So are you. It’s okay. We’re safe.”
“B-but I saw…a red dot.” She sucked in another breath. Why was it so cold? She trembled and tried to take in as much of Dawson’s warmth as she could.
“A red dot?”
“On y-your forehead.” She lifted her gaze to his, remembering a similar picture of Hugh with a red dot in the threatening video she’d received through her PicTalk account. Another shiver racked her body.
“Like a laser sight?”
She nodded then glanced around. “Are we safe out here? How do we know he won’t come this way?”
“Because….”
She twisted to find Tristan standing in the open doorway, holding some guy’s arm twisted behind his back.
“I’ve got the bastard right here,” Tristan growled.
When the guy lifted his head, Sophie gasped.
“Hugh!”
“You know him?” Tristan jerked Hugh’s arm higher, bring a groan of pain from him, then shuffled him forward.
“I-I….” Oh my God!
“Yeah.” Dawson tightened his arm around her. “He works with her. He’s a reporter, too.”
A resourceful reporter. Her mind whirled as she tried to fit the pieces together. All the roses, that horrible video, the damage done to Dawson’s car. She stared at Hugh, another shiver slithering down her spine as she realized the truth. “You? You set all this up?”
He closed his eyes, his shoulders sagging. “I’m sorry, Sophie.”
“Jackson talked me into taking the stalked story. Is he in on this, too?” She couldn’t imagine he was, but, at this point, her entire foundation had been kicked out from beneath her. Anything was possible.
“No.”
So, somehow, he’d managed the entire deal. “Why?” she choked out, angry tears pricking her eyes. “Why would you do this to me?”
His bottom lip trembled as he gave her a sheepish grin. “I like my kneecaps.”
; His gambling debt. He did this to pay off his bookies. “But why shoot Dawson?”
“I wasn’t going to.”
“But I saw the red dot glowing on his forehead!”
Tristan jerked Hugh’s arm again. “It wasn’t a laser sight.” He dug in his pocket then held out a cylindrical object in his hand. “It was a laser pointer.”
Pat came out the back door, joining them, his face a storm cloud. “You caught the ruffian?”
“I did.” Tristan cocked a brow. “Thinking I’ll be calling the cops on this one.”
“Wait.” Her relationship with the police was tainted. If they did come, they’d write it off to another story stunt. “No police. And, please, don’t worry about the damages. After my boss hears the whole story, I’m sure he’ll cover it. Either way, it’ll get taken care of.” She glared at her co-worker. “I can’t believe you risked all those people’s lives on a stunt like this. Someone could’ve gotten seriously hurt, or worse. Never, in all the years we’ve known each other, would I have pegged you for something this insane. I thought we were friends. Why would you do this to me?”
He shook his head. “Because I knew you’d bite.”
Confusion rocked her back on her heels. “Bite?”
“That you’d buy in, believe.” He grimaced, guilt swarming his eyes. “Because I knew you’d write the story.”
Shock and rage burst inside her, leaving her sick to her stomach. “You sent me that video, with a picture of you in the crosshairs of some maniac. How could I not believe? I was terrified someone was going to kill you because of me. You made me run out of that shop and leave my clothes, my purse, my phone—all of it—behind.” Before she realized what she was doing, she marched straight at him. “You made me run through the streets like a lunatic wearing that dress!”
“I’m so, so sorry, Sophie.”
“Not good enough.” Rearing back, she clocked him in the face. A satisfying crunch shuddered beneath her fist.
“Argh!” His hands flew to his nose, where blood streamed over his lips and chin.
“That’s good enough.”
Chapter Fifteen
