I freeze, raising my eyes slowly to look at Effie. “How do you know about that?” I ask in a low voice.
“Oh, please,” Effie scoffs, waving her hand carelessly. “Everyone knows about the hot soldier who tore this place up last night. You know, you really should consider my offer. You don’t need this stress in your life, why not sell now and live comfortably? I know a man, I’ll call him, and—”
“Th-they do?” I squeak, glancing around the bar, pointedly ignoring her statement about selling Saddles. We’ve had that conversation before. I’m not selling. Apart from a few broken chairs and tables, you’d never know the place had been a war zone just this morning. As for the hot soldier, I couldn’t even begin to think about that right now.
Effie nods smugly. “So, where is he?”
“He’s not here,” I say, moving away to serve another customer. “I suggest you find a table and wait for him.”
“No, I don’t believe I’ll stay,” Effie huffs, climbing off the bar stool, her ass bumping into another customer as she moves past. The young woman shares a secret smile with me as Effie leaves the bar. “Is she always that terrible?” she asks with a grin.
“Oh, no.” I laugh. “She’s usually much worse.”
The young blonde smiles as she places a small purse on the counter and extracts a five-dollar bill. “I’d like a lemon, lime, and bitters, please.”
“You’re new around here, aren’t you?” I ask as I pour the drink and place it in front of the woman. She looks vaguely familiar, but I can’t recall meeting her.
She nods as she takes a mouthful of her drink and sets it back on the bar. “I’m not here for too long,” she admits with a sad smile. “More just passing through.”
I know from my time in the bar that although many people want to share their story, others prefer to stay under the radar. I sense this is one of those times. “Well, my name’s Shannon Harper,” I state with a smile, sticking my hand out expectantly. The other woman seems to hesitate briefly before stretching out her own hand. “Grace,” she says simply, offering no last name.
“It’s great to meet you, Grace,” I say, shaking her hand. “We’re a small town, but I think you’ll like it here. Everyone looks out for each other, so you’ll be happy, for however long you plan to stay.”
Grace smiles tightly but doesn’t say a word.
“Can I get you anything else?” I ask. “We’re a little packed tonight as you can see, so I’ll need to move along. We’re meant to have a new bartender starting tonight, but I can’t imagine where he is.”
“What a way to make an impression.” Grace chuckles lightly, and the tension seems to dissipate for the moment.
“Right?” I laugh as I pour another drink and place it beside Grace’s glass. “On the house,” I say. “To welcome you to our town.”
“Thank you so much.” Grace smiles. “But I really should get back to my son. He’ll be waiting for his dinner.”
“How old is your son?” I ask, thinking surely she wouldn’t leave a small child alone and hungry.
“Fourteen,” Grace answers. “He found some kids to play with at the motel, and their parents offered to watch them at the pool while I came out to get food.”
“That was nice of them,” I say, relief flooding through me. “But if you must go, I insist that you bring your son back here one day for lunch. I’m sure he’d love to meet Stone and Keets.”
“Stone?” Grace repeats, sitting up a little straighter.
“Do you know him?” I ask. Grace’s face is ashen, as though she’s seen a ghost.
“I . . . no,” she stammers, grabbing her purse from the counter and hopping off the bar stool. “I-I’m sorry, I really do have to go.”
“Grace, wait,” I call out, but the woman hurries out without a backwards glance.
What the hell was that about? I’d seen Stone at the bar a few times over the past few months, but never with anyone besides Keets. Hell, I didn’t even realize who he was until this morning. I just assumed he was a lonely drunk. Giving a small shrug, I turn my attention back to the bar and the people waiting to be served. The place is now filled to capacity. The local country band is playing up on the stage, and people are dancing on the floor as I busy myself with serving drinks. By 10 p.m., I’m exhausted. I keep glancing toward the door, waiting for the new worker to arrive.
Where the hell is Stone?
They’re going to break the door down.
It takes a moment of drunk cowering in the corner to realize it’s not the Taliban trying to break into our camp, but someone banging on my front door. I stumble through the messy living area with my half-empty bottle of beer, flinging open the front door to see Keets standing there, looking mighty angry. “Keets,” I slur, staggering against the door. I’m trying to act cocky and self-assured, ignoring the fact that a moment ago I was shaking like a leaf. “What’s up, man?”
He snarls and draws back his fist, sending me flying onto my ass, spilling my beer. Fresh pain explodes in my cheek and for a second, I’m dazed.
“What the fuck?” I sputter, touching my jaw.
“Don’t start,” Keets snaps, stepping over me and walking through to the bathroom. I unsteadily lurch to my feet and follow Keets into the bathroom, leaning against the door frame as I watch him turn on the shower. “Hey, wait,” I say, reaching for the beer Keets snatches out of my hand. “What are you doin’?”
“You know, sometimes you can be a real asshole,” Keets sneers, sounding disgusted as he pushes me under the cold water, clothes and all, ignoring my protests as he stands at the door. The water is like ice, and it sends a shock through me. I’m instantly half-sober. And fucking angry. “What the hell, Keets?” I roar, wiping the water from my eyes.
“You royally fucked up,” Keets says, not moving from his position. “You were meant to be at the bar four hours ago.”
What fucking bar? Saddles, right. The bar. Shit.
Realization dawns on me, and my head drops toward my chest as I groan. “I fucked up,” I admit dully.
“Royally,” Keets reminds me. What a great friend he is. “What the hell were you thinking? I put in a good word for you.”
“I know, I’m sorry,” I apologize, raking a hand over my head. I’m surprised at how sorry I actually am. “Can I get out of the shower now?”
Keets studies my face for a minute then reluctantly steps aside and hands me a towel. “I’ll wait for you out there,” he tells me, indicating toward the door with his head. “Five minutes.” He leaves without looking back.
I turn the water off and step out of the shower. My clothes are soaked through, so I quickly step out of them and drop them into the washing machine on the far side of the bathroom, turning it on. A part of me can’t believe Keets shoved me into a cold shower, fully clothed… the other part applauds him. I dry myself and wrap the towel loosely around my waist before leaning my hands against the sink and staring at my reflection. I know I’ve screwed things up, but it’s too late to change now. I’m not the same, naive boy I once was. War turned me into a hard, cold man. I no longer believe the stories of love conquering all, or that the world is full of good, generous people. All I see is a cold, dark, desolate wasteland. Filled with hate, violence and disease from which there is no escape.
“Hurry up, Stone,” Keets’ voice sounds from the living room. “Don’t make me come back in there.”
I grin as I rub my fingertips over the stubble on my chin. My jaw is still tender when I touch it. I step back from the mirror and leave the bathroom, entering the living room where Keets sits on the couch.
“Christ, man, put some fucking clothes on!” Keets shouts, covering his eyes with one hand.
I glance down at myself, belatedly remembering that I’m only wearing a towel.
“Right,” I say, pointing toward the bedroom on the other side of the living room. “I’ll be right back.” I quickly walk behind the couch, holding up the towel with one hand as I push the bedroom door open
and flick on the light with the other.
“You know, you’re a real jackass,” Keets calls out from the living room.
“We’ve established that,” I call back, pulling on a pair of faded blue jeans and a plain black t-shirt. I grab my black boots and walk back out into the living room, sitting on the couch opposite Keets as I pull them on and quickly tie up the laces.
“No,” Keets says, watching me. “I mean you’re really a jackass.”
I sigh and sit up straight, looking my friend square in the eyes. “I know,” I stress, crossing my arms. “But what do you want me to do about it?”
“It’s not about what I want,” Keets states with a shrug, getting to his feet and pulling the keys to his truck out of his jeans pocket. “It’s about what Shannon wants.”
“And what does Shannon want?” I ask, surprised to realize I actually care about the answer.
“Well, now, that’s the question of the century,” Keets says with a soft smile. “I don’t think even she knows what she wants.”
“Do you love her?” I didn’t mean to blurt it out like that. I know it’s none of my business. If Keets wanted me to know about his love life, he’d tell me.
He fidgets nervously with his glasses.
“Sorry, man,” I say. “I didn’t mean to pry.”
“No, it’s okay,” he replies, a faraway look on his face. “I think everyone who meets Shannon ends up having feelings for her. She’s such a sweet girl that it’s hard not to love her.”
“Sweet?” I echo with a laugh. “Tell that to the knife she was holding to my throat this morning.”
“I know she seems a bit rough around the edges,” Keets argues. “But you would be, too, if you’d lived her life.”
I’m suddenly very curious, as I’m being given a perfect opportunity to find out more about the strange woman who has my stomach in knots. “What about her life?” I ask, hoping I sound nonchalant.
“Look, Stone,” Keets starts, suddenly sounding as nervous as the time we found ourselves in the middle of a live minefield. “It’s not up to me to tell you about Shannon’s life. If she wants you to know, she’ll tell you herself.”
“What’s going on?” I ask, tilting my head to the side as I look at Keets. What the hell is with this sudden attitude change? “Is she in some sort of trouble?”
“I’ve already said too much,” Keets says, a shutter coming down over his eyes. “And you need to get to the bar. Come on; I’ll drive you.”
Keets leaves the house quickly, leaving me scratching my head.
What the hell is going on?
“You’re here,” Shannon says blandly.
She looks exhausted, and I know it’s all my fault. Her bun has come loose, leaving curly tendrils to stick to her face and neck. Her face is flushed, her eyes lackluster, changed from a pale sky blue to a deep ocean blue-green. She’s beautiful, and she’s pissed. “Yeah,” I say a little sheepishly, hanging my black leather jacket up behind the bar. “Sorry I’m late.” We’re the last two people in the bar.
“Oh, it’s fine,” she snaps, waving a cloth in her hand as she scrubs furiously at the bar. “I was just closing up. You know, after you left me high and dry all fucking night.”
I flinch as she drops the rag and turns to face me, her small hands curled into fists by her side. “Where the hell have you been?”
“Are you always this angry?” I laugh, stacking dirty glasses on a tray, quickly ducking as the rag flies at my head. “What the hell, Shan?”
“I told you, don’t call me Shan!” she hisses, her chest heaving as she glares at me.
“What should I call you then? You keep fucking hissing like a little hellion cat, but you’re as tiny as a kitten, so I doubt you could do any serious damage.” I click my fingers as a proverbial light bulb appears over my head. “I got it,” I crow. “I’ll call you kitten.”
She pales. “Don’t,” she says quietly, her voice low and menacing. I like a challenge, and she’s opened the door to a whole lot of shit-stirring. “What’s the matter, kitten?” I ask mockingly. “Don’t like your new nickname?”
“I said don’t,” she growls, her upper lip curling in disgust.
“I don’t know what you think you’re going to do about it,” I say, realizing I may have pushed her too far. “But the fact of the matter is, I have work to do, and—”
I don’t get to finish that sentence. She flies at me, her arms outstretched. I try to brace myself, but the attack is so unexpected that all I can do is wrap my arms around her and try to protect her from the fall as we both topple to the cold, hard floor. Shannon struggles against me, and I do my best to grab her fists as they pummel my shoulders. “What the fuck?” I yell, finally latching onto her wrists and holding them down as I flip her onto her back. This bitch has gone crazy. I straddle her hips and glare down at her as she breathes heavily, giving a small, occasional struggle as she tries to pull her wrists free. But I have her now, and she’s not going anywhere until I say so. “What the hell is your problem?” I shout, ignoring the tiny fleck of spittle that flies out of my mouth and lands on her cheek.
Shannon glares up at me, her eyes flashing. “Let me go,” she growls, struggling once more to free her wrists. I don’t know what the hell her problem is. Why is she so pissed about a stupid little joke? It doesn’t make any sense. But right now, she’s furious, defiant…and beautiful. How the hell am I meant to calm her down? She continues to fight me, until I do the only thing I can think of.
I kiss her.
I’m not sure if she’s simply taken by surprise, or if the kiss is effective at calming her down, because all of a sudden it seems as though all the fight has left her body. My lips mold to hers, soft, warm, and pliant. It’s meant to be a brief kiss, designed to calm her down, make her stop struggling. But as it continues, I feel the first stirrings of desire. It really has been too long since I’ve been with a woman. I’m not prepared for the feel of her tongue as it runs along my bottom lip. And I’m definitely not prepared for the shock of desire that slams into my body. Groaning, I release her wrists, moving my hands down to grip her hair as I hold her head still. Shannon moans into my mouth, and my cock hardens in my jeans. She feels so good, so right. I think she’s enjoying it, so I’m surprised when she bites down hard on my bottom lip. I yelp as I taste blood, and she follows it up with a swift kick between my legs. I grunt as I roll off her, grabbing my balls. Fuck shrapnel in my leg. This, this, is the worst fucking pain I have ever felt in my life.
Shannon scrambles to her feet and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, glaring down at me. “Don’t you ever fucking touch me again, do you understand?” she yells.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” I shout, curled up in the foetal position, a hand wedged firmly between my legs. I’m in agony. I’ve seriously misjudged the situation.
“What the hell happened?” Keets gasps as he steps inside the bar and sees us. I can only imagine how this must look.
Shannon seems as though she’s struggling to slow down her breathing, smoothing her hair with one hand. “You need to tell him to keep his fucking hands to himself,” she seethes, pointing at me as I slowly get to my feet, my hand on my balls to make sure she didn’t accidentally kick one up into my asshole. One . . . two. Okay, I think I’m good. Christ, that fucking hurt.
“Oh, man.” Keets laughs. “Don’t tell me he tried to kiss you.”
I look between the two of them as I stand there hunched over, protective hand still on my balls even as my face is contorted in pain. “You’re fucking crazy,” I gasp, looking at Shannon.
“Wow, Shan, you really did a number on the poor guy,” Keets says, smiling as he shakes his head. What the fuck? Is he serious? A brother just got his ass handed to him, and he’s fucking laughing? “Don’t worry. I’ll explain everything to him.”
“Make sure you do,” she snaps as I make my way slowly over to the door, assisted by Keets. The pain is starting to ease, and I straighten up th
en turn to glare at Shannon. “I don’t know what the fuck’s going on,” I say in a low voice. “But if you wanted to get into my pants, all you had to do was ask.” Am I really making jokes at a time like this? I see her lips purse and I swallow hard, ignoring the pain. Determined not to let her see how much I’m still hurting, I turn my back to Shannon and Keets and walk out of the bar, slamming the door closed behind me.
I sigh and sag back against the bar. Reaching up with one hand, I pull the tie from my hair and run my fingers through the soft curls.
“You didn’t have to do that, you know,” Keets says, flashing me a grin as he walks over to the bar and pulls up a stool. I feel bad, but not enough to apologize. I shake my head. “He was a jerk,” I state, turning away from him and picking up the rag up off the floor.
“He’s a good guy, Shan,” Keets answers, swivelling around on the bar stool to watch me aggressively attack one of the tables with the rag.
“Oh, yeah?” I challenge, not looking up. “Tell that to my lips. He attacked them like some primal beast.” They still tingle from the memory. No, stop it, Shannon.
“So? The man’s had some bad luck. Throw him a fucking bone, Shannon. Your life hasn’t been all sunshine and rainbows.”
I sigh and drop the rag on the table. “I know.” I sigh, walking around the bar and into the back office. Taking a seat at the large wooden desk, I glance up as Keets follows me in and sits opposite me with his feet up on the desk, completely silent. I try to ignore him as I pull out the receipts from the day, along with my favorite pen. It’s ridiculously oversized, with a large white feather on top and a white bow appliqué. I’ve often been laughed at for my choice in stationary, but the pen was a gift from my late daddy, and I refuse to use any other. I glance up as Keets lets out a soft chuckle, frowning as the sound annoys me. “Don’t start,” I warn.
“Who, me?” Keets says, trying his hardest to look innocent and failing miserably. “I’m just wondering how many ostriches your father had to go through to get that feather.” I grin as I imagine my burly father chasing down a herd of ostriches, their long legs tangling around themselves as they try to pluck at him. That’s the sort of man Darius Harper was. He’d have given you the shirt off his back if he thought you needed it. He’d certainly think nothing of braving a few large birds to get a feather for his eldest daughter. With my younger sister away at college, it was a surprise to no one that I’d been chosen to take over Saddles. A small ball of paper hits my nose and I jump, startled out of my thoughts. I look over at a grinning Keets and try to frown, pursing my lips together to stop the smile threatening to escape. “Stop it,” I admonish. “I’m still angry at you.”
Imperfect Page 3
