Nothing But Trouble (4 page)

Most importantly, the man hailed from another state. Surely he’d be returning home sometime, and couldn’t possibly interfere with the raising of her child.
Their child,
a voice inside her niggled, but she quickly shoved that thought aside. She wanted nothing from the father of her baby, save his Y chromosome.

Brandon Prince would have been perfect. Absolutely perfect. Except that he seemed to tuck tail and run—
whack!
—the moment he didn’t get what he wanted.

And there was the fact that he was a few years too early.

Whack! Whack-whack-whack-whack!

“It’s just as wel ,” Laura mumbled to herself as she dumped the lime slices into the tray.

“What’s just as well?” Ali asked, passing a tray of dirty drink glasses across the bar.

Laura needed to find herself some half-deaf friends. She tried to come up with a reasonable answer, so she stalled by busily dumping the glasses into the soapy water in the sink.

That done, she raised a brow at Hannah, who nodded, so Laura fil ed her wineglass, too. By the time she’d accomplished that, as wel as fil ed another order, she was hoping Ali had forgotten the question. She hadn’t. She just repeated it patiently.

Laura rolled her eyes and shoved her hands deep into her pockets. “It’s just as wel the guy took off,” she final y admitted.

“Why?” Ali asked.

“Because he’s not part of the game plan.”

“Which game plan is that?” Hannah asked.

“The one that says I don’t have the time or desire to get involved with a man right now.”

“Smart woman,” Hannah said. “I knew you were my friend for a reason.”

But Ali just shook her head and pointed to another citrus drink Laura had just prepared. “It’s all right here. He’s the man for you.”

Hannah and Laura exchanged amused glances. Ali took her psychic ability very seriously, even as she came in night after night to sheepishly admit she’d missed big on another one.

Laura still chuckled over the time Ali had come into the bar, total y glum. She’d done a tarot reading that afternoon for a man with marital troubles. Ali had read his cards and confidently assured him that he and his wife were going to work it out and enjoy a long life together, fil ed with laughter and love and a host of children. That was about the time the man stood in a huff, called her a fake, and informed her that his “wife’s” name was Steven.

Laura and Hannah had one hel of a time making appropriate sympathetic noises. They loved her too much to ever laugh at her, but some of her stories were hard to resist.

Only the fact that she completely believed her ability had been passed down to her through the generations kept them from gently trying to steer her in a new direction.

Like sel ing Tupperware.

Now Laura clucked, slightly exasperated. “How can the pulp in someone else’s drink reveal my fate?”

“Don’t you see?” Ali said. “You’re the one who poured it.”

“Wel , that makes sense,” Hannah muttered.

“It does,” Ali agreed, bobbing her head. “And what your pulp is tel ing me is that you’re meeting the man of your dreams tonight. And since it was obvious right off the bat that you and that man had some serious chemistry, he must be the one.”

Laura opened her mouth to protest.

“Sounds perfectly reasonable to me,” that man said, to her right. Laura’s head whipped around, and she felt her cheeks catch fire. Her heart pounded uncomfortably. Her palms grew slick.

That dimpled grin of his literal y stole her breath.

He seemed to take her speechless shock in stride. “Ms.

Tanner? May I have the pleasure of your company for a moment?”

“I’m busy,” she said.

“We’re all caught up,” Ali blurted.

“This won’t take more than a moment,” he said, crooking his finger. “I just need to show you something.”

Ali quickly stepped aside to give Laura room to come out from behind the bar. “Go. I’l watch out here.”

Laura shot Ali a look that promised retribution. Ali smiled, al innocence. Hannah just looked back and forth between them, her amusement evident in the twitch of her lips.

With an irritated shrug, Laura wiped her hands on a towel, then tossed it on the counter. “This better be quick.”

He held up a hand. “A few seconds, tops.”

Laura ducked under the bar then straightened, hands planted firmly on hips. “Well? What is it?”

He took her arm lightly, and that damn tingle started again, only high enough up that she felt it al the way to her throat and down through her chest to her tummy.

With warm, gentle fingers, he guided her to the bil iards room. She didn’t have a clue what he wanted from her, but she was damned if she’d play pool with him or settle an argument between him and an opponent.

They entered the room, and Laura looked around from one table to the next and to the . . .
Elvis?

Laura’s mouth dropped open. She stared at the white body suit, the sky-blue cape, the big, big, big pompadour. The man—obviously an older version of Elvis, considering his girth—was bent over the pool table setting up his shot, his not-so-slender buttocks swinging in rhythm to “Hound Dog.”

Beside her, Brandon Prince chuckled softly, and she craned her neck to stare up at him. The laughter in his green eyes warred with the triumph. “You ask for Elvis, you get Elvis.”

Realizing her mouth was stil open, she snapped it shut and pursed her lips to keep from smiling. This was outrageous! She had no idea what he’d had to do to find an Elvis impersonator and get him here in record time, but she refused to appreciate the gesture.

“Sheesh, you don’t know the meaning of the words ‘give up,’ do you?”

“Nope. Now wil you go out with me?” he asked, stil grinning.

“When donkeys fly.”

He wrinkled his nose. “That one might be a little more difficult to arrange.”

“Bingo.”

“But trust me, I’l find a way,” he said, then swung on his heel and walked out to the main room.

Laura glared after him. The scary thing was she didn’t doubt those words for a moment.

 * * * 

TWENTY MINUTES later when Brandon returned from his errand, he couldn’t spot Ned, so he slid onto the stool beside the professional y dressed woman at the end of the bar, dropping a smal paper bag on the counter. She directed a cool, assessing gaze at him, and Brandon had the feeling she was sizing him up and finding him wanting. These New York females were beautiful, but tough as nails.

He smiled at her. “Hel o.”

She nodded in return, gave him one more size-you-up look, then turned back to the magazine she was reading.
Vogue.

Figured. She was an attractive woman, more classical y beautiful than that feisty little barkeep, but there was a definite chil surrounding her. In contrast, Laura Tanner tried to act tough, but there was a softness and vulnerability in her eyes and definite heat waves rolling off that petite body of hers.

Brandon shrugged and glanced down the length of the bar.

Laura wasn’t there. He risked being sliced in half by the woman beside him. Clearing his throat, he asked, “What happened to Lau—er, the bartender?”

“She’s on her break.”

The waitress with too much jewelry materialized out of nowhere. “I can help you!” she chirped, with a warm smile.

No, she couldn’t. Not in the way Laura could. He was going to be out one hundred dollars to Ned if Laura didn’t get back here soon. He only had a couple hours left until closing time.

Speaking of Ned, where the hel was he?

Brandon sighed. “How about another draft?”

The woman frowned. “Wouldn’t you like something more healthy? Like a screwdriver? Or maybe a lime rickey?”

Health food alcoholic drinks? Now there was a new concept. “Wel , I don’t usual y mix too many kinds of liquor.”

“Besides, Ali,” the woman beside him piped in, “once you add the vodka, all the vitamins die a quick, painful death.”

“Right,” Brandon agreed faster than a speeding bul et. “Just a draft.”

The woman’s hopeful smile collapsed like a soufflé. “Are you sure?”

He was damn sure. He real y didn’t like drinking hard liquor. But that crestfal en look on her face tore right into his heart. He hated disappointing people. Absolutely hated it.

“Okay, then, a—”

“Screwdriver?” she corrected quickly.

“Right, a screwdriver sounds good,” he lied. 

The woman named Ali positively beamed, and she turned with what almost looked like a skip of victory and began filling a tall glass with ice.

“That’s a mistake,” came the opinion of the woman to his right. “Why?” he asked with a desperate chuckle.

She began to answer him, but she was interrupted by Ned’s return. “Where’d you go this time?” Ned asked.

“Had to run an errand,” Brandon answered, while out of the corner of his eye he saw the woman beside him stiffen perceptibly and scowl. “Where in hel were you?”

“Playing eight ball with Elvis,” Ned answered, tapping the woman on the shoulder. “Wel , look who’s here. Hello, Hannah.”

She didn’t turn around. “If I ignore you, wil you go away?”

Ned grinned, but Brandon knew him wel enough to see a spark of irritation flash in his eyes. “Don’t you wish?”

“With all my heart and soul,” she drawled.

“You two know each other?” Brandon asked. Stupid question. The ice princess was suddenly giving off Fourth of July sparks. This was interesting.

“Unfortunately,” they said in unison.

He raised a questioning brow, but Ned’s only reaction was to shrug irritably and shake his head. Brandon made a mental note to gril Ned later.

Ali returned then with the glass fil ed with ice and vodka, and a jug of orange juice. She plopped them down right smack in front of him and smiled again. “You pour the juice.”

This was getting stranger by the second. “Me?”

She nodded. “Just shake up the juice as much as you want, then pour it right in that glass.”

Out of the corner of his eye he saw the woman named Hannah glance heavenward, but she said nothing.

Ali nodded her encouragement, and Brandon hesitantly reached for the jug.

“What’s going on here?” he heard Laura Tanner squeal as she popped up behind the bar.

“This man has decided to have a screwdriver,” Ali said firmly.

Laura grabbed for the jug, her hand landing squarely over his. He would have taken the time to appreciate the surprising softness of it and the contrast in her milky white skin compared to his ruddier coloring, if she weren’t glaring at him as if he’d just tried to rob the place.

“I don’t think so.”

This was becoming more confusing by the second.

Ali tried to pry Laura’s hand loose, but she dug her nails into his flesh and hung on for dear life. He forced himself not to wince.

Through gritted teeth he said, “I’d be happy to let go of the jug if you’d let go of my hand.”

“No!” Ali shouted. She glanced around sheepishly, then back to him. “
You
have to pour the drink.”

“Why?” he asked, truly baffled.

Beside him, Hannah sighed audibly. “Ali wants to read your fortune.”

“Oh?” Now this was intriguing.

Ali gave one decisive nod, still trying to unlatch Laura from his hand. “I’m a psychic, and I want to read your pulp.”

“My—” Brandon choked, but cut it off with a forced cough. “What?”

“Your juice pulp,” Ali elaborated, as Laura’s cheeks pinkened adorably, even if they clashed with the tawny fire in her eyes. “You have to pour it for me to read it properly.”

“Give it up, Laura,” Hannah said, then swiveled to face him. “Ali’s sure that Laura’s meeting her prince tonight, and she’s trying to decide if you’re him.”

Brandon sat speechless for a minute, but then couldn’t help the laughter that spil ed out of him. It took him long, long moments to stop. “Is that right?” he final y managed to say.

“What’s so funny?” asked Hannah.

Brandon grabbed harder on to the jug and, as gently as he could, pried Laura’s hand from his. Ignoring her sputter of outrage, he shook the jug gently. “By al means, read my pulp,” he told Ali. Then, just for fun, he held out his other hand for a shake. “It’s nice to meet you, by the way. If you’re going to read my pulp, we should at least be introduced. My name is Brandon.

Brandon Prince.”

Laura growled a heartfelt, “Damn, damn, double damn.”

Ali whispered a wide-eyed, “Oh, my!”

And from beside him Hannah muttered, “Wel , golly gosh.”

BRANDON POURED the juice into his glass, ignoring Laura’s protesting sputters.

Laura final y found her voice. “She doesn’t do freebies,” she rushed to say.

He smiled, still pouring. “I’m certainly willing to pay for her services.”

Laura’s mouth went dry when she thought of that low baritone murmuring words of love in her ear. She shook it off.

“She’s off duty,” she managed to croak out.

“The shingle’s out,” Ali said imperiously.

Desperation seized Laura, although she didn’t know why.

“Ali, I don’t have a license for this. You can’t do paid readings in here. You’l get me shut down.”

“This one’s free,” Ali announced. “Pure entertainment.

You can’t get in trouble for that, can you?”

Laura wanted to bury her face in her hands. She couldn’t believe she was in this situation. She couldn’t believe Ali was about to practice her voodoo on the man.

Ned sat beside Brandon, and a smal crowd gathered behind him and Ali as she began an intense analysis of his drink. She studied the pulp from above, below, and the sides.

Annoyed, Laura marched the two steps to the waitress station to meet a customer and get her order. Unfortunately, the customer didn’t have an order. She’d simply come to see what the fuss was about.

So Laura busied herself, trying to ignore the smal crowd and most especial y Brandon Prince. While she did a darn fine job of keeping her eyes off them, her ears betrayed her by staying finely tuned to the activity.

Ali was saying “hmm” a lot, but everyone else had gone quiet as mimes.

“What do you see?” Brandon final y asked.

“I see a man who owes me fourteen ninety-five,” Laura said, giving in to her curiosity and swinging back to them.