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Nicky accepted Matt’s redirection of the conversation and Matt liked him all the better because of it. Neither of them mentioned Tara, who’d returned home around noon looking tired and not very happy. She’d fixed lunch for the two men before disappearing upstairs without a word. Matt didn’t see her for the rest of the day, but every now and then he wondered what had made her unhappy.
It was nearly six o’clock when Matt finally got into his truck and drove back to town. But he didn’t go home. Instead, he went to the grocery store, bought a sandwich and a Coke, got into his truck and started driving again, following a gravel road out of town.
He didn’t have it in him to go to the Owl for dinner. As much as he appreciated what Luke was trying to do for him, he didn’t feel like talking and he didn’t have the energy to dodge Becky’s come-ons. He didn’t want to spill his guts and he didn’t want to pretend to be normal.
He just wanted to have a little time to himself, alone, and try to think about…nothing.
“HEY, BABE, I HATE to ask, but can you fill in at the bar this evening? Maggie and Becky both called in sick with that damned flu, which leaves me a staff of exactly none.”
Jack’s gravelly voice actually sounded desperate, causing Tara to frown as she balanced the phone on one shoulder and attempted, unsuccessfully, to pound the lid back onto a can of walnut stain. She gave up, put the hammer down and took the phone in one hand as she brushed strands of hair back from her face with the other.
“What time?”
She did not want to fill in at the bar. She had so much to do, and it was Friday. The regulars would be out in rowdy force, but there was no way she could leave Jack in a lurch.
“Six would be okay.”
“I’ll be there.”
“I’ll make it up to you. I promise. Oh, and babe?”
“Yeah?”
“Check in the mirror for paint smudges before you come.”
Tara smiled as she punched the end button and surveyed the room. So much for getting the trim primed tonight.
FOR A PERSON who avoided crowds, she was spending way too much time surrounded by people, Tara mused as she pushed her way through the mob in the Owl Club, balancing a tray of drinks. Usually when she filled in for Jack, she manned the bar while the other waitresses hauled the orders, but tonight she shared the bar with Jack and delivered drinks whenever a restaurant order came in. In the bar area, people got their own drinks—thank goodness, Tara thought as she squeezed sideways between two large men.
She nearly dropped her tray as some fool, who was either new to town or too drunk to recognize her, firmly pinched her butt. Tara didn’t stop to see who it was—she didn’t have time to deal with the jerk. It was payday at not one, but two of the nearby gold mines, and too many people wanted to celebrate getting their check by spending their check. Tara had never understood that particular philosophy, but she was more than willing to help them achieve their goal.
She delivered the drinks to the table of revelers with a polite smile that faded as soon as she turned and faced the throng of people spilling out of the bar.
“Hey, sweet cheeks, get me another. Okay?” A very drunk Eddie Johnson waggled his glass at her, and she barely restrained herself from shoving it into his leering face. Instead she took the glass without a word and headed for the bar. Eddie would figure out soon enough that she wasn’t coming back. Jack wouldn’t serve him in the condition he was in and she needed the glass, which would certainly have to be washed and reused before the night was over.
And it was going to be a long, long night.
THE LAST THING Matt expected when he went to the Owl Club for dinner was that he’d have to wait for a table. Or so he thought until he finally took his seat and saw Tara Sullivan push through the crowd carrying a tray of drinks. She was wearing Levi’s that weren’t exactly tight, but somehow molded to her in a way that made every male in the room take notice. She also wore a red satin shirt unbuttoned into an enticing V and again the pendant dangled on the chain between her breasts. Matt was suddenly very curious about that pendant. He was also curious why she was playing barmaid after a full day of painting the interior of that monstrous house.
None of your business.
But, man, she did draw the eye.
Even the women watched her. Her dark hair wasn’t braided tonight, but was instead twisted up onto the back of her head and held in place with a big silver clip. Little strands escaped, curling around her temples, giving testimony to both the heat of too many bodies and the number of trips she must’ve made through that crowd. It looked as if everybody there was having hard stuff with dinner. Not him. He didn’t want to be responsible for Tara having to push her way through that mob again.
“If you touch me or call me sweet cheeks again, Eddie, you will be sporting your cojones somewhere in your abdominal cavity.”
Matt’s head whipped up at the tight, angry words, clearly audible over the buzz of the crowd even though Tara was in the bar area, almost out of view. Almost, but not quite. He automatically started to rise at the sight of her facing off with some drunken jerk whose surprise was rapidly becoming belligerence as his friends laughed. The guy opened his mouth to say something that would have probably gotten him into a whole lot more trouble when Jack Hamish, the manager of the Owl and resident giant, suddenly appeared by Tara’s side. Matt forced himself to sink back into his chair and let Jack take care of his employee, which he did by escorting the offending patron outside.
When the door closed behind Mr. Sweet Cheeks, Matt pulled his eyes back to the menu on the table in front of him, but adrenaline still charged through his body and his muscles were taut, ready to react.
He let out a slow breath and closed the menu.
Maybe he’d have that drink after all.
But he’d go to the bar and order it from Jack.
MATT CONNORS was at the bar and Tara wondered why, with a zillion people filling the small space, her eyes zeroed in on him. He ordered Scotch straight up and after Jack finished pouring, Matt raised his gaze and unerringly met hers. Her chin went up as she felt a surprising connection between them. He seemed different here, somehow, and he had caught her staring. Tara’s mouth tightened and she got busy filling the rest of her order. She left the bar without looking up again. But she felt him watching her, dammit. And it made her feel ridiculously self-conscious.
The rest of the evening passed in a long blur of shouted orders, sloshed drinks and loud music. Eddie had sneaked back in and Jack threw him out again. He’d had some time to sober up and had not taken his second ejection well.
And Matt had stayed. He stood for a long time, leaning against the wall under Edgar, the stuffed horned owl, watching the crowd, and occasionally her, unnervingly alert behind those wire-rimmed glasses, before finally moving to a vacated stool at the far end of the bar. He didn’t socialize, although a few of the town belles had given him their best shot, and he had switched to club soda after the one Scotch. Tara hadn’t the slightest idea why she noticed these things on such a busy evening.
“You saved my life tonight, babe.” Jack’s voice rumbled from behind her.
“No problem.” Tara gave the bar a wipe as she spoke. It was close to one o’clock and the crowd was finally thinning…but Matt was still there. Maybe this was what he did at night. Maybe he worked for her during the day and spent his evenings at the bar. Watching. She wondered vaguely why he was in Night Sky in the first place. Maybe waiting to get on at a mine. That’s why most single men came to the small town and hung around. Yeah. That was probably it.
Ginny, the graveyard waitress, had breezed in a few minutes before and came out of the back room tying on her apron. She glanced at the swollen tip jar, raising an eyebrow.
“Maggie and Becky are going to be sorry they got that flu.”
“I hear it’s a rough one.”
“Trust me, you don’t want it. Knocked me off my feet for two whole days, then I staggered for two more.”
“Then I won’t get it,” Tara said. “I’ve too many things to do.”
“How’s that house coming?” Ginny asked. “I’m dying to see it.”
“It’ll be done for the reunion,” Tara replied. Ginny was fairly new in town and she had always been friendly. Tara appreciated that, knowing that the woman must have heard all the talk about the Sullivan family, but had still chosen to make her own judgments.
“Invite me for a tour.”
“All right.” Tara gave Ginny a speculative look. “You know, I was wondering if you might have some time when I hire temporary day help.”
Ginny grinned. “Just call.”
“Right now it would only be during the reunion. I can’t pay all that much, but after I’m more established…”
Ginny’s smile didn’t waver. “Call,” she repeated.
Tara nodded. “You have no idea how happy I am to hear you say that.”
MATT WATCHED as Tara Sullivan neatly folded her apron and headed into the back room, reappearing seconds later with a small purse dangling from one shoulder.
“Wait a minute,” Jack said in gruff voice. He grabbed the purse, unzipped it and stuffed as much of the contents of the tip jar into it as would fit.
“I would have come back tomorrow,” Tara protested.
“No. You’ll get busy on that barn you call a house and forget. This way I know you have at least some of the money.”
Tara gave Jack a tolerant smile. “Thanks. But don’t call me again unless it’s an emergency.”
“I have subs lined up for the next few days.”
Tara nodded gratefully. “Good.” She surprised Matt then by glancing over at him, as if checking to see if he were still there, before turning and walking out the door.
Mr. Sweet Cheeks’ friends were bellied up to a table near the door and they had watched her exit with enough interest to catch Matt’s attention. He decided to make certain that she got to her vehicle safely.
Old habits, he thought as he pushed the door open and the warm night air hit his face.
He eased sideways into the shadows after the door swung shut behind him, leaning against the building and keeping his eyes on Tara as she crossed the big gravel lot. Someone needed to tell her to park closer to the door. She had her keys out and was nearly to Nicky’s Dodge when she stopped in her tracks.
Mr. Sweet Cheeks.
Matt wasn’t exactly surprised, and as he moved swiftly across the lot, he could see Tara wasn’t surprised, either. After her first startled movement, she took a defiant stance.
“Don’t even think about it, Eddie,” Tara said to the guy who’d sauntered out of the shadow of a pickup. “Just leave me alone.”
“Or…?” he asked in a wicked voice.
“That cojones promise still holds,” Tara said tightly.
The guy laughed and took a step toward her.
“I’m warning you—” She heard the crunch of Matt’s feet on the gravel and sent a quick startled glance his way. Matt ignored her and headed straight for Mr. Sweet Cheeks. The guy also looked startled, then smug. He hadn’t, after all, done anything. Hadn’t even touched her. Matt didn’t let that slow him down for an instant. He hated guys who preyed on women. The next thing Mr. Sweet Cheeks knew he was backed up against the same pickup truck he’d been hiding behind.
“Do…do you got some…some kind of problem, man?” Mr. Sweet Cheeks stuttered.
“No,” Matt answered quietly. “You do.”
Even in the dim light Matt could see the man blanch. Then he got stupid and took a wild roundhouse swing followed by an attempted knee to the groin. Matt automatically blocked both movements, then sent his fist deep into the man’s midsection. The guy doubled over and fell sideways onto the gravel.
Matt watched the man gasp for breath, then glanced over at Tara. The gratitude he expected to see wasn’t there. Instead she looked stunned and irritated.
“What?” he asked.
Tara just shook her head and watched Mr. Sweet Cheeks struggle up to his hands and knees. She grimaced as the guy retched.
“Is he going to be okay?” she asked.
“His private parts are not in his abdominal cavity, so I would say, yes, he’s going to be fine.”
“I guess I should say thanks.”
“I guess you should,” Matt agreed.
Tara’s blue eyes looked silver in the glow of the streetlight. Silver and ungrateful. “Thanks.” The word was clipped, sarcastic.
“I’m overwhelmed,” Matt muttered. Mr. Sweet Cheeks staggered to his feet and away to his waiting friends. He stumbled a few times before he made it to the door.
“I said thanks,” Tara repeated, reading the obvious annoyance in his face.
“And you truly meant it,” he said sarcastically.
Tara didn’t reply, but Matt could see she thought he’d overreacted. Maybe he had, but that didn’t change the fact that he’d helped her out of a dicey situation.
He shook his head and reached to take the keys from her hand. She hadn’t expected it, so he was able to do it. He unlocked the truck door, opened it and stepped back, holding out the keys. Tara took them, her chin up.
“I can understand why you felt the need to…intercede.”
“But…?”
“But that was Eddie Johnson. It’s not the first time I’ve faced him down.”
“And…?” Matt prompted, sensing there was more.
“And I fight my own battles, my own way. I don’t need help,” she stated with an air of finality.
Matt looked down at her from his superior height, wondering why this was the straw that broke the camel’s back. He didn’t need this. Not on top of everything else.
“Well, you know what, Miss Sullivan? You can fight your own battles and you can fix your own porch. Good night.”
Matt had the satisfaction of seeing her beautiful mouth pop open before he turned and started back across the lot to the alley that led to his house. But even as he stalked away he listened to hear the reassuring sound of her door finally slamming shut and the engine of her brother’s truck roaring to life.
Old habits…
CHAPTER THREE
HER CARPENTER HAD fired her.
Tara clenched her teeth as she drove, still having a hard time adjusting to the fact. Half a porch to go, plus several other very necessary jobs, and he had fired her. What was she going to do now? Luke couldn’t help, even though she knew he’d try.
She’d just have to get along without any help. This wouldn’t be the first time she and the Time-Life Home Improvement series had gotten a tough job done together.
Yeah, right. She could do this alone. Who was she kidding?
If only Nicky weren’t leaving next week.
But he was. He needed the summer school credits and, frankly, she needed hands a little more skilled than Nicky’s.
Damn that Matt Connors. And Eddie Johnson. And Martin Somers. And… The list was just too long.
Nicky was sprawled on the sofa, wearing old sweats and watching a hideous Vincent Price movie when she got home.
“Don’t you ever sleep?” she muttered.
He gave her a lazy smile. “You got an e-mail,” he said, lowering the volume of the bloodcurdling screams emanating from the bleached blonde on the television screen. House on Haunted Hill. Nicky’s favorite bad movie. “I printed it out.”
