by Sarra Cannon
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2016 by Sarra Cannon
ISBN: 978-1-62421-043-3
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.
Cover designed by Sarah Hansen @ Okay Creations
Formatting by Dead River Books
http://www.deadriverbooks.com/
A Life With No Regrets
By Sarra Cannon
For Paul
One of the greatest men I have ever known. Even in the face of ALS, your light continues to shine. It is a light that will live on long after you have passed from this earth and into God’s loving arms.
We will know it by the lasting work of your hands, and we will recognize it in the hearts of all those whose lives you have touched.
I hope you know how much you’ve touched mine.
With love for you and Linda. Always.
**A portion of the proceeds from this novel will go toward the continuing fight against ALS. For more information about ALS, or to make a donation, please visit www.alsa.org**
Chapter One
I wipe the back of my hand across my forehead and take a deep breath. I’ve been lost in the bar’s rhythm for the past couple hours, but now that I take a second to step back and really look around, I realize just how packed the place is tonight. We’re already out of glasses and have resorted to using an old stash of plastic cups from the storeroom. I’ve had to send Knox to the back twice to grab more longnecks.
“Hey, can I get three Coronas and a vodka cranberry?”
A young, blond guy who looks like he just stepped off the beach leans forward and flashes a smile. I double-check that he’s wearing a wrist-band and nod.
I reach into the cooler and grab three Coronas, pop them open with record speed, and shove a slice of lime into the top. I sink a plastic cup into the ice and tilt the vodka bottle up for a three-count.
“Twenty-two,” I say as I top it off with cranberry juice from the gun and another slice of lime. Damn, we’re about to run out of those, too, and I don’t have time to slice more. We seriously underestimated the crowd tonight.
Blondie holds out a credit card, but when I go to take it he won’t let go. I pull again, confused, but when I look up, I see that familiar look in his eyes. He wants to flirt.
I sigh. I so do not have time for this.
“Want to start a tab?” I ask.
“What I really want is to find out what time you get off work tonight,” he says.
I raise an eyebrow in warning, and he finally lets go of the card. I slip it into the cardholder under B for Blondie.
I look to the woman next in line, hoping he’ll just let it go at that.
“Two BudLight Limes,” she says.
“I’m serious,” Blondie says as I reach into the cooler again. Apparently not getting the message. “Let’s hang out. We could have some fun.”
“Is that right?” I ask, not stopping for a second. I hand the girl her beers. “Ten bucks.”
She hands me a ten and tosses three dollars into the tip jar.
“Thanks,” I say and flash her a smile.
I try to remember who was next in line and turn to an older guy standing at the end of the bar.
“What can I get for you?”
Before the guy can answer, Blondie slides in front of him. “Hey, listen baby, there’s no need to play hard to get,” he says. “I’m already interested.”
I take a deep breath. Why do guys think this is attractive?
“I hate to crush your school-boy dreams, but I’m not playing hard to get,” I say. I look him straight in the eye and lean over the top of the bar, making sure he hears me. “I’m the one who’s not interested. Not today. Not ever.”
A few people standing around us make rude noises and begin to cheer. Blondie narrows his eyes at me and gathers his drinks from the top of the bar.
“Bitch,” he mutters under his breath. He turns away so fast he bumps into an even bigger guy behind him and nearly spills the cranberry. I try to hide my laugh, but it sneaks out anyway.
“Didn’t your daddy ever teach you not to scare the customers?”
Behind me, Colton’s warm breath sails across my cheek and his body presses against my back as he reaches around me to grab a fresh stack of cups. Goosebumps break out all over my arms, and I shiver.
We’ve been working together behind the bar for a few months now, but from day one he’s always known just how to get under my skin. It makes me want to punch him in the face.
Or jump his bones.
I’m not sure which one just yet.
“Didn’t your momma ever teach you how to actually work for a living?” I turn around to face him, which is a big mistake. He doesn’t back away and now I’m close enough to smell his cologne. “Because last time I checked, you were stationed at the other end of the bar.”
He lifts his hands in mock-surrender and takes a tiny step backward. “Whatever you say, Boss,” he says. “I just needed some more cups, and I couldn’t help but overhear you berating the customers. Hey, if you don’t feel like serving people tonight, send ‘em my way. I could always use the extra money.”
Our eyes meet for a brief instant and my stomach flips in this way I haven’t felt in years. My gaze drops to his lips and something inside me ignites. Colton has this way of smiling with only one side of his mouth that absolutely destroys my concentration.
“You’re not going to be serving many customers while you’re standing here bothering me, so maybe you should get back to your side of the bar,” I say.
“What? Are my disarming good looks distracting you?”
He winks and saunters away, leaving me a little weak in the knees. I blow out a breath and steady myself against the bar.
I want to hate him, but there’s something about him that turns me completely upside down. He’s the exact opposite of the kind of guy I need in my life, but there’s no way to get around the fact that we work together four or five nights a week.
He’s hot, but he’s dangerous. I, of all people, should know better than to start something with a guy like him.
My father comes in from the back office and works his way behind the bar, mercifully giving me something else to think about. He puts his hand on my arm, his eyes widening at the size of the crowd already gathered in his bar.
“Did you expect it to be this busy tonight?” he asks.
“I was hoping, but didn’t dream it would be this big,” I say. I don’t stop taking orders and working. From the looks of it, we’ve almost gotten control of this crowd. At least until everyone gets thirsty again.
“What time does the band go on?” he asks, glancing at the gold watch he’s worn ever since I can remember.
“Nine,” I say.
“That’s still half an hour away.”
He smiles like a kid in a candy store, making him look about twenty years younger in an instant. Pride shines in his eyes, and it sends a warm sense of satisfaction through me.
We did it, I want to tell him. We turned this place around.
A couple years ago, my dad was worried the whole place was going to go belly-up. He’d taken out a second mortgage on the house just to keep this place running, but we’d been scared, even if we didn’t like to say it out loud. When my cousin Knox had come home, that had changed everything.
He’d loaned us enough money to get back on our feet, agreed to work here at the bar for next to nothing, a
nd helped me start brainstorming ways to promote new business. The way things were looking now, we might actually be able to pay him back soon.
I glance over at Knox working the middle section of the bar, and he winks. I remind myself to tell him again how much I appreciate everything he’s done for Daddy and me over the past couple years.
But now is not the time. After the night is over, I’ll pour us a couple shots and celebrate a job well done, but right now, the name of the game is churn and burn. Get drinks in hands and make sure everyone’s having a good time. Business has been growing steadily for a while now, but this is the biggest night yet. From the looks of it, half the town of Fairhope is heading this way, and I want to make sure when they leave, all they can talk about is what a great time they had at Rob’s tonight.
Someone pushes through the crowd and taps a hand on the bar to get my attention. I’m about to tell him to wait his turn when I look up and see that it’s Mason Trent. I smile and lean forward, trying to get closer so I can hear him over the noise.
“What’s up?” I ask.
“Just wanted to let you know we’re all set up on the stage and we’re just going to take a quick break out back to get our heads on straight.” He looks around, a smile in his eyes. “Can you believe this? I never dreamed we’d have this kind of crowd. I hope we’re ready for this.”
“You are. You guys rock.” I smile and pull back to fill a few fresh cups with ice and water. “Here. Take these to the guys.”
“Thanks,” he says. “We’ll be back in a few. Let Colton know we’re almost ready.”
I lift my chin in acknowledgement and go back to pouring drinks. We have margaritas and Bud Light on special tonight, and I’m starting to worry we’re going to run out before we close at two in the morning. It’s getting wild in here. And hot. Sweat trickles down the back of my neck and spine as I move from one customer to the next, slinging drinks and counting cash.
I glance toward the front door and see that my friend Slim is waving to get my attention.
“Hey, Daddy? Can you take over for a sec?” I shout. “I’m gonna go see what Slim needs.”
“Sure thing, Jojo,” he says. My dad steps forward and motions for the next in line to order.
I walk the length of the bar, knowing my chances of getting to the door are much greater if I hop the bar than if I try to push through the crowd. At five foot three, I’m not exactly the tallest girl in the world. I could get lost in a crowd like this.
As I pass behind Colton, every inch of my body is aware of just how close I am to him. I try not to stare at the way he’s smiling at the girls who just ordered or the way his cheek gets that dimple on one side that just wrecks me every time I see it. I try to ignore the muscles that stretch his black t-shirt to its limits, his arms flexing as he pops open a couple longnecks.
He turns his head to give me a smile, but I avoid his gaze as I slide behind him and hop onto the top of the bar at the very end. There’s a group of guys parked down here with their drinks, and they offer their hands to help me across. I wave them away and twist my body around, not needing any help. I’ve done this a billion times in my twenty-two years.
Hell, I grew up in this bar and there is no place in the world I’d rather be than right here, right now.
I wade through the crowd near the entrance and finally tap on Slim’s shoulder. “Everything going okay?”
He nods and holds his hand out to the next couple girls in line. They fish their ID’s from their purses and hand them over, along with a five-dollar bill each to pay the cover charge.
“We’re getting close to max capacity,” he says. “I estimate we can bring in another five or six people, and then we need to put a lock-down on this place until people start leaving.”
A surprised smile spreads across my face, and I lift both fists into the air.
“Hell yes,” I shout. “Are you kidding me? A sold out show on our first night?”
I take pride in being a hardass sometimes, but tonight I can’t even pretend to contain my excitement. A packed house at max capacity nearly an hour before the band even plays? And on a night with a five-dollar cover?
The cover was my friend Penny’s idea. Lately, she’s been making a name for herself around Fairhope, helping people set up their own small businesses. Taking a risk, I hired her to come in and take a look at our books. She suggested we think about doing some special events, and it was Colton’s idea to offer live music on Saturday nights. It seemed like a perfect idea to invite Penny’s husband, Mason, and his band to play our first night.
Penny was the one who suggested a cover charge and an ID bracelet so we wouldn’t have to keep checking ID’s all night. I had protested at first, saying that if we really wanted to bring in the drinking crowd, we should make it free to enter like every other dang night we’d been open for the past twenty years.
But Penny had insisted, saying the cover would make it feel more exclusive and would bring in the kinds of customers who would be willing to pay for the drinks and stay awhile.
Hell if she hadn’t been right. When I find her in the crowd, I’m going to kiss her square on the lips. My brain can’t even process the kinds of numbers we’re bringing in right now, and the night has just begun.
I slap Slim on the back. “Let the next few in and shut it down,” I say, and he nods. He’s a big guy, of course. All dudes called Slim usually are, right? It’s like guys named Tiny being six feet tall. Slim is about two hundred pounds of pure muscle, and at six-foot-two, no one is going to mess with him.
I take a quick look past the girls standing in the door and am surprised to see there’s a line of almost twenty or so more people just waiting to get in. Unbelievable.
Practically humming with excitement, I leave Slim at the door and push through the crowd to hop back over the bar. I nearly trip over a box of cups on the other side, and Colton reaches out to steady me. His arms go around my waist, and on instinct, I put my hand on his shoulder to steady myself. Our eyes meet as he sets me down gently, and I curse the warm feeling that shoots through me.
Damn, has it just been a long time since I felt a set of strong arms around me, or is this a Colton-specific phenomenon?
Because if this is really about Colton, I need to get myself in check. Fast. I don’t date bartenders, and I certainly don’t date employees. I learned that lesson a long time ago. One bad apple was enough to spoil the bunch, so to speak.
“Thanks,” I say, pulling away as fast as I can.
“Anytime, short stuff.”
I glare at the cocky smile that seems to reach all the way to his eyes. Why does he have to be so ridiculously charming and happy all the damn time?
“How are things looking at the door?” he asks.
“Amazing,” I say, unable to contain my own smile now. “This is going to be our best night ever.”
“Told you so,” he says.
Several women are standing impatiently at the counter, cash in hand. I nod to them. “Are you planning to stand here making chit-chat with me all night, or are you planning to serve some drinks in your spare time?”
He laughs again and grabs a couple beers from the cooler. “Guess you better stop flirting with me, then,” he says. “I have work to do.”
I shake my head and watch as he glides over to hand the ladies their drinks. All frustration melts from their faces and they lean over the top of the bar, smiling.
It’s a scene I’ve watched a thousand times since he started working here a few months back. There’s no doubt hiring him was the right move, and I have my friend Jenna to thank for that. I may have poached him from Brantley’s, but the guy definitely has a way about him. One flash of that smile of his and the ladies are ready to sit at the bar all night just to get another glimpse.
Realizing I’m still staring instead of helping get these people their drinks, I tear my gaze away and start back toward my side of the bar.
But I stop short, frowning. Daddy is struggling with
a credit card at the machine, his hands curled awkwardly around the plastic and his eyebrows cinched together. He tries to run the card and drops it to the floor. He’s kind of a big guy after years of drinking his own wares, and he struggles to bend down to retrieve it. After a couple attempts, he can’t seem to get his fingers to work around the small card.
I rush over, my heart racing. “I’ll get it, Daddy.”
I grab the card and run it through the machine.
“Thanks, Jojo,” he says. He shakes his hand and curls his fingers into a fist a few times, letting them open and close. “My hands aren’t working right tonight for some reason. This crowd has me all nervous.”
He says it with a laugh, but the hint of concern in his eyes sends an uncomfortable zing through my stomach. He’s been having a lot of problems with his hands the past week or so. Just last night he dropped a couple brand new pint glasses on the floor when he was trying to fill them from the tap. I thought maybe he wasn’t paying attention to what he was doing, but this is something else.
I place a hand on his arm and lean close. “Everything okay?”
He shrugs and touches my hand. “I’m fine,” he says. “Maybe my age is just catching up with me.”
“Not getting enough sleep is what’s catching up with you,” I say. I hear those late-night infomercials at two in the morning. He’s had a problem with insomnia ever since Mom left us back in the day, but I thought it was getting better for a while. Maybe he’s just tired and overworked.
“I thought I was supposed to be the parent in this relationship,” he says.
“Someone’s got to look out for you,” I say. I grab his shoulder and go up on my toes to plant a kiss on his cheek. “We’ve got it covered back here for the night, now,” I say. “Why don’t you help Slim manage the huge line outside the door for a while?”
He raises his eyebrows. “There’s a line?”
