by Jo Leigh
What she liked best was the diverse mix of military vets, aging bikers, university students and staff from the nearby hospital who frequented the bar. They were a friendly lot, though they didn’t all know each other by name. Occasionally a few airmen from Nellis stopped in, and if it happened that college women were hanging around that day, she was likely to see the same guys again.
But the Gold Strike wasn’t close enough to the base to attract many active servicemen. At one time the place had been a hard-core biker bar on the outskirts of Las Vegas. When the growing popularity of the city meant residential and business areas kept spreading farther and farther out, the bikers finally said adios. Turned out to be a good deal for Tommy.
“Hey, Cassie.” Pete came from the back and slid onto a stool, leaned forward, swept back a stubborn lock of brown hair and stared at her with serious dark eyes. She knew he was twenty-one but he seemed so young she wanted to card him every time he walked in. “Help me out with something,” he said in a low, nervous voice while casting a cautious look toward the pool tables.
“If I can.” She braced her elbows on the bar and leaned over so no one else could hear. “What’s up?”
“I’m making dinner for this girl. I’ve only been out with her once so I wanna impress her.” He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his thin neck. But his voice creaked from dry mouth and he kept sweeping stealthy looks toward the back. “I wanna buy wine, but I don’t know what kind or how much I gotta spend.”
Cassie filled a glass with water and set it in front of him. This was normal. For some reason people treated her like an information booth. No question was out of bounds, even though the regulars kept trying to stump her or embarrass her, but she never minded. “Does she drink red or white?”
Pete’s eyes narrowed. “How many kinds are there?”
“Do you know if she even drinks wine?”
His lips spread in a boyish grin. “I figure she does. She’s older.” He lifted his chin at a cocksure angle that he probably assumed was macho, and that she really wanted to tell him not to do. “Twenty-three, I think.”
“Ah.” Cassie got herself some water. “Do you know how to cook?”
“Yeah.” Pete shrugged a shoulder, his chin making a sharp descent toward the bar. “What do you mean?”
She would not laugh, no matter what. “What are you planning to make for dinner?”
“I mean, I can probably follow a recipe.” He drummed his fingers on the ancient scarred oak Cassie tried to keep polished. “You have a suggestion?”
“I do.” She picked up his hand. “First, get the grease out from under your fingernails. Seriously. I know you work on cars for a living, but this is a major turnoff.”
He blushed a little, withdrawing his hand, but didn’t argue. He knew the rule, all the customers did. They could ask her anything. But they had to be prepared for an honest answer.
“And don’t try to cook. It’s hotter than hell. Take her someplace—better than McDonalds,” she added, and he rolled his eyes. “Then when it cools off, go for a moonlit walk along Lake Mead. Drink a beer or two in the car. It’s illegal but only if you get caught.” She winked. “Don’t try so hard. If it happens, it happens. Just don’t bring her here.”
Pete almost choked on his water. He used the back of his arm to wipe the dribble on his chin and glanced at his pool buddies, the merciless bunch. “No way.”
She grinned. “Now get out of here. I’m trying to study.”
He hopped off the stool. “You want me to wash this glass?”
“No. Go.” She motioned with a tilt of her head, but her gaze went to the front door when she heard it open.
It was her brother. Sitting in his wheelchair, rolling down the handicap ramp into the room.
Damn him.
Lisa walked up with her empty tray pressed to her hip and gave him the scathing look he deserved. She didn’t say a word, just turned and placed the tray on the bar so that only Cassie could see the hurt and disappointment in her blue eyes.
Unshaven, his collar-length hair poking out in search of a comb, Tommy didn’t bother to acknowledge them as he passed and started to wheel himself toward the back.
“Hold it.” Cassie stepped out from behind the bar, prepared to stop him if he didn’t respond.
But he knew better, and reluctantly wheeled around to look at her. “What?”
If the word hadn’t come out surly she might have felt more than a tug of sympathy. He was her big brother. Only two years older, yet he’d been as protective of her as a mother bear with her cub throughout their nomadic childhood going from one biker camp to the next. And she in turn had protected him in every way she knew how. But an IED on an isolated Iraqi road had taken his leg and changed him down to the core, leaving this wounded, antagonistic stranger. She wasn’t about to give up on him. No one who loved him could.
“Why are you in the chair?” she asked, blocking him so he couldn’t bolt to his buddies in the back.
“You know why.”
“If I did, would I be asking?” Her gaze fell to the T-shirt she’d given him for his birthday. “Your shirt is inside out.”
He looked down at the words Life is Good and laughed. Raising hazel eyes that were identical to her own, he blew out a sharp breath. “The leg chafes.”
“You had it refitted two weeks ago.”
“It still isn’t right,” he muttered, careful not to glance at Lisa.
“How come it only chafes when you’re feeling sorry for yourself?” Cassie held his gaze.
“Go practice your psychology bullshit on someone else.” He cursed under his breath.
Lisa turned and gave him another sour look before going to check on her tables.
“What’s her problem?”
“Gee, I don’t have to be a psychologist to figure that one out.” Cassie went back behind the bar before she said something she regretted. Part of this was her fault. She’d coddled him too much in the beginning. And when he’d bought the bar, she’d taken on the lion’s share of the responsibility, hoping like hell he’d find his strength in building something of his own. But it had been two years now, and he was still depressed, still stubbornly refusing medication or continued therapy. Unfortunately, she knew all too well that he needed to want to get better. If Lisa, who’d stuck with him through the worst of times, couldn’t get him there, what chance did Cassie have?
“You gonna pour me a beer while I go change this shirt?” He gave her a small smile, half apology, half don’t-be-mad-at-me.
That was the trouble. Maybe if she stayed angry with him long enough for him to grow up, get some counseling, they’d both be better off. He knew she had exams. He should’ve been prepared to cover for her tonight so she could study. But that wouldn’t happen. Not with him in the chair. Instead he’d spend the evening hiding from life and throwing darts with his friends.
And she’d pretend everything was going to be okay. “Yeah, I’ll get your beer.” She reached for a mug, watched him start to wheel away and decided not to let him off scot-free. “I’ll have Lisa bring it to you.”
He hesitated, his gloved hands still on the wheel rims, then without looking back, he shoved off, continuing toward the pool tables.
God, it made her sad to see him sitting in that damn chair. He should be upright, walking, doing things he hadn’t been able to do for two years. He hated the limp, but jeez, he was so lucky. He was alive. He was his own boss, he had people who cared about him. Although she’d never had to face anything that huge, so...
She streamed beer from the tap into his mug as Lisa came up to the bar. She looked defeated. Sad. If she gave up on Tom for good, Cassie wouldn’t blame her. Not even a little.
“Gordon wants another gin and tonic.” Lisa sagged against the bar. “Two more drafts for Mickey and Leroy, with shots.”
“My brother’s a first-class jerk.”
“Yes, he is.”
“Mind taking him his beer?”
“Can’t promise I won’t dump it over his head.”
Cassie smiled. “Might do him some good.”
“Sure couldn’t hurt.” The door opened and they both turned. “Holy...shit,” Lisa murmured. “Ever see him before?”
Cassie shook her head and quickly looked away. Tall, maybe six feet, dark hair slightly longer than a military cut, great body—the guy was too hot for his own good, and she wasn’t about to be one of those silly women who stared.
From her peripheral vision, she saw him take a seat at the end of the bar. She turned her head for just another quick peek and met his whiskey-brown eyes.
2
“A FLYBOY, HUH?”
“Yep.” Cassie concentrated on the gin and tonic she was making, but almost forgot the lime wedge.
“What do you think, a captain? Major?”
“Captain.”
“Fast movers?”
“Please.” Cassie snorted. “Any doubt?”
“He won’t stick around long.”
“Nope.
“A damn shame.” Lisa was trying to be inconspicuous and failing. “I could stare at him all night.”
“You’re off to a good start,” Cassie murmured quietly, then darted him a look. “I’ll be right with you.”
“Take your time.”
“Oh, my God, that smile, that voice.” Lisa sighed.
Cassie had turned away so fast she’d missed the smile. “So much for Tommy.”
“Screw him.”
“Don’t blame you there. Go take Flyboy’s order if you want. I’ll finish your drinks.”
“You sure?”
“Go for it.”
Lisa glanced toward the back. “Then I’ll take Tommy his beer. If he comes looking for it, he might scare off the best-looking customer we’ve had in six months.”
Well, that was a headache Cassie didn’t need. But Lisa was right. Tommy was fine with enlisted men and retirees, welcomed them, actually. But officers? He had no use for the whole lot of them. He wasn’t necessarily confrontational, but he could make things uncomfortable.
Refusing to watch Lisa approach the dark-haired guy, Cassie kept her head down, making drinks, realizing too late she’d poured an extra tequila shot. A new doctor who’d worked in the E.R. at the hospital had started coming in a month ago. She’d only seen him a few times and he sure was easy on the eyes. But this pilot...he was something.
Still, she didn’t go for the Jon Hamm types with the perfect movie-star looks, all cool and suave. As soon as they opened their mouths you had to wonder how their ego had fit through the door. Not all of them, but enough. Then again those types didn’t go for her, either, so it all worked out.
“He wants a scotch. Neat.” Smiling, Lisa loaded her tray. “Five bucks says he leaves after two sips.”
“I’m so broke I can’t afford to bet a quarter. Did you warn him this isn’t a scotch kind of place?”
“Uh-uh. I didn’t want him to leave that fast.” Lisa picked up her tray and left to deliver the drinks.
Cassie dried her hands, then grabbed the bottle of scotch off the shelf. The only reason it wasn’t dusty was because she kept a clean bar. She reached for a glass, unscrewed the bottle, then sighed. Recapping it, she walked over to the man, who was leaning back and watching her.
Up close he was even more dazzling. Dark, almost black hair. Tan skin. Some combination of eyebrows and jawline and mouth that made looking at him a sensual experience even if you didn’t want it to be. But she didn’t like the intense way he tracked her with those damn sexy eyes, so he lost a couple of points.
She held up the bottle so he could see the label. “This is all we have.”
“Okay,” he said with a slight frown.
“Are you familiar with the brand?”
“No.”
“It probably sucks.”
His laugh was short, surprised. “I’ll take my chances.”
Cassie hated returning points to the plus column but to be fair, the humor in his expression made him look even hotter. “Just remember I warned you,” she said, turning back to get the glass and to pull herself together. She hadn’t expected him to be such a good sport.
Lisa returned to pick up Tommy’s beer. “What was that?” she asked under her breath.
“I gave him an out on the scotch but he passed.” She poured a generous portion. If he could stomach the stuff, he deserved the extra booze. “You can take it over to him.”
“No, go ahead. You seem to be doing just fine with him.”
“Right.” The only reason she didn’t roll her eyes was because he was still watching her. What did he think she was going to do, spit in his drink? “Do me a favor. Don’t go overboard giving Tommy a hard time. I don’t want to deal with one of his moods today.”
Lisa went toward the back, and Cassie took the scotch to the flyboy at the other end of the bar. She almost forgot to set down a cocktail napkin because she didn’t bother for most of their customers. They generally ignored them once they picked up their drink.
“Here you go.” She set the glass on the plain white paper square. “That’ll be three bucks.”
“Can I start a tab?”
“Really?”
“I’ll give you a credit card if you’re worried I’ll run out on you.” That damn smile... How many tight spots had it gotten him out of?
“I’d try the scotch first,” she said, leaning back and folding her arms across her chest. She couldn’t have worn a worse T-shirt. Faded, too snug, it had some geeky cartoon character on the front. But it was a freebie and that fit into her clothes budget just fine.
He took a sip, not a cautious one, either. He blinked, swallowed, then slowly nodded, his gaze staying on the amber liquid.
She grinned, got that weird feeling someone was watching her and caught Gordon’s eye from across the room. A quick glare told him to mind his own business, but the customers at the two other occupied tables were keeping tabs, too, so it didn’t matter.
Cassie straightened, but it wasn’t as if she were doing anything wrong. She was friendly with all her customers. “Well?”
Clearing his throat, he slid the glass toward her. “I think I’ll take a beer.”
“I have plenty of that. What kind?”
“Whatever’s on tap.”
“You sure? We have the imported stuff.”
“Tap is fine. What about food?”
She picked up the scotch, frowning at him. Okay, now he was just messing with her. “What about it?”
“Uh...” His eyebrows went up and there was no missing the amusement in his brown eyes. “Do you serve any?”
Was he crazy? If they did, would he eat in a place like this? “We have pretzels for sure, maybe some peanuts. On the house, but that’s it.”
She moved back to her station. As much as she hated to admit it, looking directly into his eyes sparked something inside her that was unsettling. It wasn’t as if she thought the sensation meant anything. He wasn’t just an eleven out of ten, he seemed nice, and she kind of wished he wasn’t. It was so much easier to ignore the ones who were full of themselves.
Cassie found the pretzels right away because she’d put out bowls earlier for the guys in the back. Sadly, she had only three clean mugs left. Sighing, she grabbed one and stuck it under the spout, started a slow stream of beer, then stretched over to the sink and turned on the hot water.
What the hell was taking Lisa so long? Cassie would need her help before the hospital changed shifts and customers piled in. The beer foamed over the mug, and she tipped it to get rid of some of the head. She’d already given him rotgut scotch. She didn’t want to replace it with froth.
She stopped to add dish detergent to the water, then carried his pretzels and beer to him. “If you still want a tab I’ll start one. I’m not charging you for the scotch.”
“Yes, you are.” His dark brows dipped. “You warned me. Fair is fair.”
She set down the draft, and he touched her hand,
though she didn’t think he meant to. But she would’ve missed the cocktail napkin if he hadn’t moved it to accommodate her. The skin around her knuckles was dry and unattractive from washing too many glasses without gloves, and she hated that she noticed. What she did like was that he insisted on paying for the scotch. Even her regulars tried to mooch free beer.
“So? A tab?” She slid the pretzels toward him, keeping her gaze on the tables.
“Yep.”
“All righty, then.” Turning to get her pad at the other end, she dragged her palms down the front of her jeans.
“Wait.”
“Yeah?”
“What do you have going on back there besides pool?”
She hesitated, hoping he didn’t decide to go poking around. Spider and his gang wouldn’t cause trouble. They might make an off-color remark, but only in fun. It was Tommy she didn’t trust. “Intrigue. Desperate deeds. Things that would shock you to your soul.”
“Really?”
“Or as we like to call it, darts. And barely enough room for the gang of mechanics that took it over an hour ago. Sorry.”
“Damn. I was primed for danger.” The corners of his mouth twitched as if he knew she was trying to discourage him.
“Boy, have you picked the wrong bar.” She smiled, knowing she wouldn’t see him again.
“What’s your name?”
“Cassie.” She noticed how his long tanned fingers fit all the way around the mug. He had nice hands, clean, trimmed nails. “The waitress is Lisa if you want another beer and can’t get my attention.”
“You’ll get that busy?”
“Oh, yeah. Any minute now.”
He glanced around the mostly empty room. “I’m John,” he said as she headed back to her station. “For my tab.”
She nodded without looking back. His smoky baritone was enough to fire up her nerve endings. She wondered if he’d given her his real name, or if it was one he used for pizza deliveries. John seemed too plain for a man who looked like him. She’d expected something more dashing, maybe an unusual family name.
