by Meg Benjamin
“Well maybe I’ll check out the Faro then. But Dee-Dee’s not really the barmaid type.”
The concierge shrugged. “She’s the only new girl I’ve heard of around here. You could always try Johnson City, I guess. I don’t know the people over there.” She made it sound like you needed a passport to get there.
“Thanks for all your help anyway.” Craig laid a twenty-dollar bill on the table, then headed for the door, never noticing the concierge’s flat-eyed stare at his back.
Clem wasn’t upset about what had happened in the bar the night before. If anything, she seemed to be elated. “It’s all over town,” she whooped when Deirdre took her seat at the kitchen table after lunch. “The place should be full tonight. Everybody’ll want to see what you look like. Did you know two of the guys Tom threw out of here ended up in jail? Nando Avrogado hauled them out of the Silver Spur. Helen Kretschmer said they were frat boys from Austin.”
Deirdre stared down at her chicken salad sandwich, wondering where her appetite had gone. “Terrific.”
“Oh buck up.” Clem grinned. “It doesn’t hurt to be a little notorious in this town. It gives you a leg up over the competition. I’ll bet Sylvia is gnashing her teeth at this very moment. Besides, you’re helping Tom, and that’s a good thing.”
“Helping him?” Deirdre raised an eyebrow. “How exactly does this help him? Doesn’t it make the place look bad?”
“It’s a bar, honey. A roadhouse, like I said. Fights come with the territory. And anything that gets people in the door helps us, particularly if they’re local. We can’t depend on the tourists forever. We need to get people from town coming in. Somebody besides the Steinbruners. We need regulars.”
“How will coming down here to stare at me turn them into ‘regulars’?”
“Like I said, you’re getting them in the door. After that, it’s up to Tom. And me. And everybody else. The food and drinks are better here than the Silver Spur, and god knows everything about the place is better than the Dew Drop Inn. All we need to do is convince some of the locals that they don’t need to stay loyal to Ingstrom or Tolly Berenger. Then we’ve got our base. They’ll bring in others.”
“I see.” Deirdre forced herself to take a bite of her sandwich. “So I’m a door buster special. Sort of like a cheap widescreen TV.”
Clem’s grin widened. “Not a bad comparison. Come on, Deirdre, it’s kind of a compliment if you look at it in the right way. You’re the girl they were fighting over at the Faro. I mean, have you ever had men fighting over you before?”
Deirdre paused, chewing. Now that she thought about it, having men fight over her was definitely a novel experience. “That’s an interesting approach.”
“Right. Those guys were the assholes, not you. Anybody who sees you will know that. And believe me, a lot of people will want to see you. Plus now the word is out, nobody’s going to try anything. Not that they’d try anything normally. Not with Chico around.”
“Actually, Tom’s the one who threw them out.”
Clem blinked. “Tom? That’s interesting. Usually he leaves the policing to Chico. He’s too busy behind the bar. How did he know what happened?”
Deirdre shrugged. “I don’t know exactly. Maybe he was watching. But right after that guy…grabbed me, he was there with a pool cue in his hand, telling them to get out.”
There was a moment of silence as Clem stared down at the table. “Tom came to your rescue? I have no idea what that means.” She looked back up at her, frowning.
Deirdre felt a quick flutter in her chest, a feeling she really didn’t want to analyze too much. “Are you and Tom…? I didn’t know. Honest. And there’s nothing going on between us. I mean he walked me home, but that was just because it was dark.”
Clem stared at her, eyes widening. Then her lips spread in another grin. “He walked you home? Tom walked you home? Oh man.” She shook her head, chuckling.
“Clem, look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…”
She raised a hand, still chuckling. “Forget it. And FYI, I play for the other team. Plus I’m in a committed relationship.”
“You play for the other team? I don’t understand.”
Clem shrugged. “My partner’s name is Lucinda, Deirdre. That team.”
Now it was Deirdre’s turn to blink. “Oh. Oh! Well, good. I mean you’re not…involved with Tom, I guess.” Her cheeks suddenly felt much too warm. “I mean…not that I have any interest in who he’s involved with. Not that I have any right to have any interest in…” She stammered to a halt, cheeks flaming. “Crud,” she muttered.
Clem was grinning again. Widely. “It’s okay, trust me. Tom could definitely do worse than getting involved with you. He’s been dodging Sylvia for the past couple of months, and she’s done everything except send smoke signals. Right now he’s spending all his time on the bar anyway. He’s always seemed to be too busy to have any outside interests. Of course, you’re not exactly outside, are you?”
“But I don’t…I can’t…” Deirdre paused, drawing in a deep breath. “I’m not trying to get together with Tom. He’s a really nice guy. But I’ve got enough complications in my life right now.” Not to mention the fact that he’d shown no interest in getting together with her.
Clem narrowed her eyes. “You’ve got somebody else? Why isn’t he here helping you? What does he think about your father cutting you off?”
“No.” She shook her head. “There’s nobody else. Nobody at all.” There never had been, now that she thought about it, given that Craig Dempsey’s interest had been less in her than in what she could do for him.
“Well then. You’re unattached and so is Tom. Sounds ideal to me. Now we need to find you the right T-shirt for tonight. Something cute, but not slutty, if you know what I mean. Let’s check through a few more of those boxes Ferguson left next door.”
Deirdre closed her eyes, but managed not to pound her head on the table. She had a feeling it wouldn’t do any good anyway.
Chapter Eight
Craig couldn’t decide whether to visit the Faro that night or not. He still thought the idea of Dee-Dee Brandenburg serving as a barmaid was ludicrous. On the other hand, he hadn’t had any luck in locating her anywhere else in town. Docia Toleffson hadn’t bothered to call him back, and none of his other leads had panned out. Either Dee-Dee had gotten wind of his presence in Konigsburg and was hiding out, or he wasn’t looking in the right places. Since he refused to consider the first possibility, he was stuck with the second one.
It was Friday night, and he figured he might have to jostle through a few tourists to get a look at the barmaids at the Faro, but the crowd turned out to be a lot bigger than he’d anticipated.
The place was packed with customers, mostly men but some couples around the edges of the room. All the tables were full, and bodies were packed two deep around the bar. The jukebox in the background was almost drowned out beneath the noise of voices. Craig wedged himself against the bar, grabbing a beer from the harried bartender. Another man was working the other end, but Craig couldn’t quite see him. He glanced around the room, trying to find the barmaids.
The one on the far side was definitely not Dee-Dee. Her blonde hair fell straight down to her shoulders as if she’d been ironing it regularly. Her T-shirt sparkled with sequins above low-slung jeans that managed to show both her navel ring and a significant amount of untoned abdomen. Except for her running shoes, she looked like a standard-issue floozy, and he figured the shoes were a concession to the amount of time she probably spent on her feet.
She looked like she might spend a fair amount of time on her back, too, but he didn’t figure that was any of his business. At least not at the moment.
He scanned the room again, looking for other barmaids. He saw a few women customers scattered around the room, but no one else. Then the line of men at the bar seemed to shift, moving back ever so slightly, and he saw her.
The other barmaid was a knockout. Her lush figure was outlined in worn je
ans and a white T-shirt. Her hair was pulled up in a loose ponytail on the top of her head, with tendrils floating down in the humid air as she moved across the room. Large golden hoops dangled from her ears. Craig swore he could hear a collective sigh from all the men at the bar as she leaned forward to speak to the bartender at the other end.
He said something back and she nodded, then turned to head back to her tables. And for the first time he got a good look at her face.
Damn. Goddamn. Goddamn it all to hell!
Craig fought back the quick surge of white rage in his gut when he recognized her. He’d dated Dee-Dee Brandenburg for almost six months, give or take. She’d never worn anything like that around him. He knew, of course, that her figure was good. He’d seen her mostly naked. But she’d never given him so much as a hint that the woman prowling across the Faro right now was lurking somewhere beneath the sober dark suits she wore to the office. She’d never pulled her hair up like that. She’d never worn earrings like that. She’d never worn jeans like that. Hell, he didn’t think Dee-Dee Brandenburg had even owned a pair of jeans.
But clearly she did now. Craig wanted to put his fist through the bar. He wanted to shake Dee-Dee until her teeth rattled. If she’d only looked like that when he’d dated her, he’d have put more effort into the whole relationship. A woman who looked like that would have been someone he could have enjoyed taking to parties with his old teammates. The Dee-Dee he’d known was so reserved it had been embarrassing. Getting her to talk to anybody besides the wives had been more trouble than it was worth. If it hadn’t been for Big John’s money and power and the things they could provide to a future son-in-law, Craig had often thought he’d have thrown in the towel long before they’d actually parted company.
And, of course, any woman who looked like that would have been a tiger in bed. The Dee-Dee he’d known had been more like a timid housecat. A woman who looked like that would be someone worth coming home to. The Dee-Dee he’d known, the old Dee-Dee…
He took a deep breath. No use going there. It wasn’t like it had been any great love affair between them anyway. But it had been a useful love affair until Dee-Dee had screwed it up. Now, seeing what she’d been able to do for herself since she’d flounced out of her daddy’s office, he had something to work for, another reason to get things back on track again, beyond the obvious reason of keeping Big John happy.
As she headed back toward the side of the room with her tray of beers held high, Craig watched the men at the tables lean back slightly to let her pass. Nobody made a move in her direction, even by accident. It was the politest bar he’d ever been in, nobody even trying to cop a feel as she slipped by. Then Craig caught sight of the man leaning against the wall near the pool tables.
He was the size of a small bull. Massive biceps like hams stretched the sleeves of his black T-shirt. His long dark hair was pulled back in a tail and he had a bandana wound around his head. A thin black moustache curved around the ends of his mouth, with a small soul patch in the middle of his lower lip. At first, he looked as if he were drowsing, but only if you didn’t look too close. Craig did. The man was watching Dee-Dee, or rather he was watching the men around her. Every once in a while, somebody would glance his way, but his slightly bored expression never changed.
Craig had known tackles like that. They were very painful men to be around. If the bull served as Dee-Dee’s bodyguard, it meant there’d be no chance of talking to her tonight, at least not without a lot of fancy footwork. He sighed and drained his beer. There’d be other chances. Now that he knew where to start.
Deirdre had to admit that being the center of attention wasn’t as bad as she’d expected. After twenty-four years on the sidelines, only earning her father’s notice when he found something to criticize, she actually enjoyed having people watch her. At least sometimes. Of course, the fact that nobody did anything more than watch had something to do with it. And the fact that both Chico and Tom were guarding her had a lot more to do with it. Still, after the first half hour she had a spring in her step, even though her arms ached from carrying her tray.
The last customer trailed out at one, and Tom motioned her to a barstool, drawing her a Shiner. “We had a good night.”
“Busy, anyway. Is this what Fridays are like usually?”
He shrugged. “Hard to say. Maybe a little bigger crowd than we’re used to. Saturdays are still our best nights.”
She sipped her beer, enjoying the relative quiet. “Why’s that?”
“Musicians. Tomorrow night we’ve got a roots rock combo from Arlington.”
She gazed around the room. “In here?”
“No. Outside in the beer garden. You may want to come a little early so you can get set up.”
“Set up?”
“I want you to take the garden. Sylvia can handle the main room, along with Marilyn. She comes in on weekends, although we may start needing her on weeknights too if this keeps up.”
Deirdre felt the familiar clenching sensation in her chest. “You want me to handle the garden alone?”
“Well, no. You’ll have the band and Chico and hopefully some customers.” He gave her the grin she’d come to recognize as his Trust me look.
“But I don’t…I mean, I’ve never…”
“You’ll be fine. There aren’t as many tables out in the garden, And Chico will be around to make sure nobody pulls any funny stuff. And you get to hear the music. I’ll take the bar outside, and Harry can handle the traffic in here.”
She started to object again, then paused. She was going to be paid to walk around an outdoor café on a warm Texas night and listen to music. How was this a bad thing? “Okay, it sounds like fun.”
He shook his head. “It’s still work, but it has its points.” He gave her a lazy grin.
His eyes were the color of a hot summer sky. His short golden hair was mussed from his fingers. The lines around his eyes and mouth should have made him look old or tired. They didn’t. Deirdre felt the clenching sensation again, but this time it wasn’t in her chest.
Okay, enough. More than enough. No way was she getting involved with her boss, no matter what Clem said. She pushed her glass back across the bar. “Thanks for the beer. I guess I’ll head home.”
He tossed the bar rag back on the counter behind him. “Okay. Let’s go.”
“You don’t need to do this.”
“And you don’t need to tell me that every time I do. Come on, it’s late.”
A slight breeze ruffled the leaves of the live oaks as they strolled up Main. “What will you do if it rains? You can’t stay out in the beer garden, can you?” she asked.
“It won’t. But if it does, we move the band inside where the pool tables are. Gets a little noisy, but it’s Saturday night in Konigsburg—nobody notices. Except the Steinbruners since the pool table will be gone.”
“Okay.” Friday night in Konigsburg looked pretty sedate, all in all. Most of the downtown windows were dark behind the street lights. “Are you from here?” she asked on impulse.
“From Konigsburg?” He shook his head. “Not hardly. I’m from Missouri. I’ve only been in Texas for a few years.”
“Where were you before Konigsburg?”
“Dallas.” Something about the way he said it told her the subject wasn’t open to further discussion.
“Oh.” She rummaged through her small stock of polite conversation, trying to think of something to say. “I’m from Houston.”
He nodded, as if that information were a little too obvious to be worth comment.
“How did you end up here?”
“Process of elimination.” He turned up Spicewood. “I wanted to settle down and open a bar. Konigsburg seemed promising. How about you?”
“I used to stay here with my aunt and uncle in the summers. It’s a place that had happy memories for me. Plus they need a coffee roaster, according to my research.”
Tom narrowed his eyes at her. “You did the marketing research?”
&
nbsp; “Sure.” Deirdre shrugged. “It’s what I do. Or anyway what I used to do.” Back when her father had been willing to indulge her illusion that she was performing some necessary function at Brandenburg, Inc. “Did you think I’d hired someone else?”
“I guess I figured you just came up here and decided to open a coffee roaster. It’s the kind of thing people do around Konigsburg all the time.”
“That’s not a great way to go about it. You wouldn’t want to open up a store that nobody needs.”
He gave her another of those lazy grins. “I wouldn’t. A lot of other people do, though. Like old Ken Ferguson and his several hundred T-shirts.”
“Well at least we’re getting some good out of them. I mean, I am, anyway.”
“Oh I am, too. Believe me.”
Tom’s grin turned faintly sultry, and Deirdre felt her ears grow warm. She pulled her key out of her purse and fitted it into the lock of the outside door. “I’d better go up. Thanks for seeing me home. Again. You know you really don’t need…”
“Good night, Deirdre.” Tom grinned one last time, then turned and walked back up Spicewood toward Main.
The Friday night Toleffson poker game was running long. Long enough that Jess and Lars had already taken off with their kids in tow, and Docia was feeling vaguely guilty about not heading home with Rolf. Shouldn’t they gather up the baby and go to bed? She watched her husband lay down his hand, chortling.
Janie raised an eyebrow. “You want to go to sleep? I can put you in the same room with Rolf if you want. There’s a double bed in there. You could stay overnight with us and go home in the morning.”
Pete and Janie lived in a house that had once been a bed and breakfast. It came equipped with more bedrooms than any normal couple could ever use.
