скачать книгу бесплатно
Her bar?
Finn let his gaze travel down her body again, a little more intrigued this time.
It fit. The impractical shoes were a perfect complement to the armadillo spinning lazily overhead. Her jeans were well worn and molded to her body. She might be small, but it was obvious she had curves in all the right places. And the black T-shirt she wore, emblazoned with the logo of a local craft beer, emphasized that fact.
As she leaned closer, the pressure from her finger increased. That was really beginning to irritate him.
“You have to leave,” she reiterated.
He could argue with her—actually, Duchess was legally allowed to be on the premises. But considering his purpose for being at the Kentucky Rose in the first place, it probably wasn’t a smart idea to piss off the owner. Yet.
So he’d try to cajole.
“I just ordered a beer.”
“Too bad. Your dog isn’t welcome.”
Or maybe not.
Crossing his arms over his chest, Finn stared down at her. “My dog is a highly trained military working dog. She’s a decorated war hero. She’s a hell of a lot better behaved than half the people in this tacky excuse for a bar.”
The minute the words were out of his mouth, Finn realized he’d made a tactical error. She might have been angry before, but now she was downright pissed.
Her skin flushed a deep pink. Her eyes turned glacier, but somehow still had the ability to burn straight through his skin.
“Tucker.” Someone yelled the name out across the crowd. He didn’t realize the voice was addressing the woman in front of him until the brute attached to it appeared behind her. You could’ve fit her inside the man’s clothes twice and had room to spare. But the guy was all frickin’ muscle.
Not that it particularly mattered to Finn. He’d fought guys bigger and badder than this one and come out on top.
“You need help with this guy, Tucker?” he asked, keeping his gaze trained on Finn.
Tucker. That was interesting. He’d never have pegged her for a Tucker, although something about the name fit. Unusual and dynamic, just like the woman.
“Nope. He and his dog were just leaving.” Her eyes flashed a warning. For some strange reason, he really wanted to ignore it, just to see what she’d do.
But out of the corner of his eye he saw several more men who were obviously the brute’s backup slide into place on either side of him. Finn’s mother hadn’t raised a complete idiot.
“All right.” Finn held up his hands. “Duchess and I will go.” For now.
But they’d both be back. Because the Kentucky Rose was the first real lead in finding and stopping the meth that had cost them several soldiers in the last two months.
He wasn’t about to walk away from that.
* * *
BLOWING A BREATH that fluttered her bangs over her eyes, Tucker watched the door slam shut behind the soldier and his dog.
It was a shame he’d been such an arrogant asshole—bringing a dog into a bar—because he was a gorgeous one.
She didn’t mean to study the way his jeans clung to his tight ass as he’d walked away. Or the bulge of his strong biceps beneath the tight edge of his T-shirt. Or the sexy stubble that covered his cheeks and did nothing to hide the dimple in the center of his chin.
There was no question, the man was rough around the edges. She hadn’t needed him to tell her he was military, she’d known it before he opened his mouth by the way he held himself. That alert, prepared-for-anything way his gaze had moved around the room.
She’d grown up with an airman, her dad the only real family she’d ever had. And while she loved him, she also knew damn well she wanted nothing to do with any more soldiers. She’d had her fill of the uncertainty and fear that came with living that life.
Which possibly made opening a bar right outside an Air Force base a little like selling water on the edge of the desert. A smart business decision, but terrible for her personal life, considering the majority of the men she met were ones she refused to consider dating.
Maybe she should’ve opened the Rose somewhere else, but San Antonio was familiar...comfortable. It was the first place in her entire life that had felt like home. She loved the Texas twang in everyone’s voices. The Southern charm of the people who inhabited the city. The green landscape against the wide open skies. Hell, she even liked the humidity in the summer.
She’d spent enough of her life moving from one base to another, never really feeling like anywhere was home. Or being left behind while her only living parent was in the middle of a war zone. Growing up with that stress and uncertainty...nope, not interested in courting more.
The Kentucky Rose was her chance to finally grow some roots, have a place all her own that no one could ever take away from her.
Turning on her heel, Tucker took a second to let her gaze travel across her bar. Taking in the happy patrons and hardworking staff, a sense of pride and satisfaction filled her. This was what was important.
She’d done this. Built this all by herself with hard work and sheer grit.
There was one rowdy group of guys, apparently in town celebrating a bachelor party. They’d been slamming back shots since they walked in the door. She’d have to tell Matt to stay close in case they got stupid drunk and made trouble. She also made a mental note to send Kayla over with some nachos on the house. Hopefully, the food would soak up the alcohol and slow them down a bit.
The first strains of The Devil Went Down to Georgia pumped into the room. From every corner, waitresses started whooping. The patrons, especially the regulars who knew what was coming, joined in. As one, the girls moved toward the bar, jumping up onto the wooden surface Tucker had spent hours sanding herself. In perfect unison, her team began to kick and stomp to the music, following the choreography they’d spent hours learning.
Tucker’s eagle eye watched each of them, looking for any small imperfection they could work on the next time they practiced. Her team often left those sessions dripping with sweat and groaning about how much of a taskmaster she could be. But they looked forward to them anyway. She made sure they still had fun, with lots of laughter and camaraderie.
This might be work, but she regarded every woman on her staff as a friend. Over the last year, she’d made a point to foster the idea that they were family, not just coworkers. And she really believed that. On the floor, it was important to look out for each other, especially during busy nights like tonight.
“Tucker.” Wyatt walked up, his large shoulder brushing against hers. He’d been with her from the very beginning as her head of security. But they’d known each other longer than that. Wyatt had worked at the bar she’d managed while putting herself through grad school.
At one point he’d tried to get into her pants, but she’d shut him down damn fast. Almost as bad as messing with a military man would be sleeping with one of her coworkers or employees. She didn’t mix business and pleasure.
Now they were just good friends. Wyatt often stayed late to walk her out. He’d become the overly protective little brother she’d never had. And since he and Michelle, one of her best waitresses, had been together for almost six months now, everything had worked out for the best anyway.
“Thanks for helping me handle that guy and his dog before.”
“Didn’t look like you needed much help, boss. As usual. You had things well in hand.”
“Yeah, but it’s always better to have backup. At least he was smart enough to realize he was outnumbered and should leave quietly. I would’ve hated to make a scene.”
“But you would’ve done it anyway.”
She shrugged. “Sure. If I needed to.”
Wyatt nodded. They’d worked together long enough to know how the other operated.
“I see you sent Kayla over to defuse the bachelor nightmare that was brewing.” Wyatt tipped his chin in the direction of the bar. The song had flipped over to something about a girl and a tractor. Her team had melted into the crowd, back at it, serving the customers.
Everyone except Kayla. She was sitting on the bar, her tiny shorts riding up and flashing the curve of her ass. She tossed her long mane of red curls and laughed, the throaty sound carrying across the bar.
One of the guys tried to run his hand up the outside of her thigh. Before he could get far, Kayla smacked his hand and let out another peal of laughter like it was a joke.
“Stay close to her,” Tucker said, shaking her head.
A self-defense instructor and rape victim advocate by day, Kayla could take care of herself. But that didn’t mean Tucker was willing to leave her without backup if she needed it.
“You got it, boss.”
“And keep your eyes on your job, not on my dancer.” She smacked his arm, offering a glare they both knew was fake because she couldn’t quite keep her lips from twitching into a smile. Besides she didn’t really mean it. He and Michelle were good for each other.
Wyatt tossed her a grin of his own and wandered closer to Kayla. She glanced up, gave him a little nod and half smile of appreciation before returning her attention to the guys crowding around her.
On a bright note, Kayla should get an amazing tip. The money would definitely come in handy when she had to pay her tuition next semester. It wouldn’t be long before she had her master’s in psychology.
Tucker didn’t suffer any fools. She only hired people who had intelligence and drive. Ambition was a prerequisite. She wanted her business to be a stepping stone to more for everyone who walked through the doors—just like it was quickly becoming the kernel of her own dream come to life.
Growing up, she didn’t anticipate her calling in life would be to own a bar. But her entire outlook changed when she took a bartending gig at a little dive outside her college campus. At first, she was just looking for something that didn’t require a lot of effort and brought home enough to pay her tuition.
But in no time, she’d fallen in love with the life, her coworkers and customers. There was something about the camaraderie that fed her soul just as much as the classes she crammed for each day. And when her aunt left her a decent inheritance, Tucker had decided to combine it with her newly minted MBA and open her own business.
Months of pouring over plans, market research, studying the industry to determine what she could offer that other bars couldn’t...it hadn’t been easy, but it was absolutely worth it. Almost a year later, she was well on her way to success.
Shoving away from the column she’d been leaning against, Tucker headed for the women’s restroom to do a quick check. Pushing open the custom door made from reclaimed wood, she scooted past the line of waiting women with a smile and a murmured, “Excuse me.”
Everyone seemed happy, which is what she always liked to see. A couple of women were crowded around the long mirror, gossiping about a guy and reapplying gloss.
Grabbing a stack of heavy paper towels stamped with the Kentucky Rose logo, she refilled the first dispenser on the far side of the trough sink.
“Those napkin thingies are adorable,” one of the women said. “That’s what I love about this place. It’s the little touches.”
“Like the armadillo!” someone else exclaimed from behind the stall door.
“Thanks,” Tucker said, flashing an appreciative smile. “This is my home and I want it to feel that way for everyone.”
“Nicest bar I’ve ever been to,” someone else said, before slipping out the door.
“Not pretentious or seedy. Welcoming.”
That was exactly what she’d been going for with each and every detail she’d layered into her bar. Tucker turned to fill the dispenser at the opposite end of the counter, but stopped when something caught her eye. Someone had dropped trash along the back of the sinks.
It shouldn’t bother her, but it did. She realized she ran a bar and that most people didn’t treat it like their own place, but what kind of prick just left garbage on the counter when there was a can not three steps away?
Fishing between the wall and the towel tray, Tucker snagged a corner of whatever it was and tugged—but got a hell of a lot more than she’d expected.
It wasn’t just some cellophane from a new tube of lip gloss or even a condom wrapper. There, in her hand, sat a small bag of white crystals.
Maybe she shouldn’t have been surprised—again, it was a bar, after all—but she was. Tucker had a strict rule and everyone who worked for her knew it. No drugs—using or selling—by staff or customers. Anyone suspected of being high was shown the door.
Tucker stared at the baggie in her hand. Small enough that none of the women around her even appeared to have noticed. What the hell was she supposed to do with it?
“Tucker? You in there?” Wyatt yelled through the partially opened door. “We’ve got a problem.”
Crap. Tucker stuffed the bag into her pocket. One problem at a time.
2 (#ulink_e162526e-e12d-5f43-980f-bf026376f3ff)
FINN WAITED FOR about twenty minutes, watching the people come and go from the shadows surrounding his Jeep. Enough time that Tucker would assume he’d left, hopefully get busy with something else and not notice when he and Duchess slipped back inside.
He wasn’t anywhere near finished with the Kentucky Rose—or its feisty owner.
Waiting until a rowdy group of college guys crowded the front door, he melded seamlessly with the group. The guys pushed at each other, laughing and generally making asses of themselves, never even noticing he was amongst them. Idiots.
Blending into the shadows on the outskirts of the room, Finn found a booth that was unoccupied—probably because it was far away from the dance floor, bull and bar. Still, it worked perfectly for his purposes.
Duchess, her paws barely making a sound, curled up beneath the sticky, gouged surface of the table. Her head rested on his feet. To anyone who might spot her, which was unlikely in this crowd, they’d probably think she was napping. But Finn knew she was actually paying more attention to what was going on than half the people in the place.
He’d barely settled before a waitress swept over to his table. “What can I get you tonight?”
He ordered another beer. Maybe he’d actually get to drink this one. Several minutes later, the waitress plopped a frosty glass onto the table in front of him, apparently oblivious to the dog not three feet away.
Good. If he was lucky no one else would notice her, either.
Grasping the cold glass in his hand, Finn settled back into the corner of the booth, propping his legs up across the seat. The beer was good; he’d give Tucker that. A nice selection from a local microbrewery.
Finn watched, taking in the patrons and the staff. Looking for anything that stuck out to him as strange.
It didn’t take long for Tucker to surface again. He watched her move efficiently through the crowd, stopping to encourage some women who were obviously out for a night without kids and husbands to indulge by taking a turn on the mechanical bull. They went from reluctant to whooping and hollering, huge smiles on their faces.
At another table, she nudged a group into purchasing more drinks. At the next, where an inebriated group of professionals had obviously overindulged, she pushed food and glasses of water, instead. She expertly maneuvered each of her customers into having a good time, and the most impressive part was, they had no idea it was happening.
But Finn noticed. Because paying attention was part of his job.
He tried not to let her distract him, but over and over again he found his gaze drawn to her body, her smile, the way her face lit up when she laughed.
Several times he wished he had his camera so he could capture the flash of amusement as it stole through those bright blue eyes. Or the glint of light off those soft, golden curls. His fingers itched to hold the camera in his hands, to view her through the tiny window and see what else a photograph might expose about the woman he couldn’t seem to ignore.
But leaving the camera tucked away behind the seat of his Jeep was the smart move. Having Duchess beside him was conspicuous enough; if he’d strolled in here with an expensive piece of equipment hanging around his neck, too...it would have been too much.
Finn finished his beer, flagged a passing waitress and requested another. He was fifteen or so minutes into the second when Tucker disappeared into the back. The crowd was getting rowdier, typical Friday night. The hand on his watch was creeping toward midnight. The mom crowd had headed home a while ago, to relieve their babysitters, leaving behind only the hard-core partiers and singles searching for a hookup.
The mix of professionals and college students was outnumbered by airmen. Even out of uniform, Finn had no trouble picking them out—both men and women looking for a good time.
Someone cranked the music just a little louder. Darkness draped over the dance floor like a curtain, only broken by the flash of laser lights bouncing off the walls and that damn mirrored armadillo hanging from the ceiling.
People were laughing, singing and dancing. To his left, someone started yelling, the sound loud enough to rise above the crowd. Finn was on his feet before he registered the intention. Duchess was right beside him, her shoulder even with his hip.
Twenty feet away, two large men were shouting at each other. Finn didn’t have to guess; it was obvious to him they were both soldiers. Idiotic hotheads.
Chairs fell backward, clattering to the ground. Coming from opposite corners of the bar, three bouncers were headed for the melee, but it would take them too long to wade through the crush of people.
Finn was closer.
