Trespass (21 page)

“Good, that’s settled, then… I wonder if either the deputy or the guy from the dairy place will wonder why I changed my hair color.”

“Men aren’t too bright about stuff like that,” Russ offered. “I only noticed your hair because it stank up my bathroom.”

“Oh, thanks very much.”

The warm banter had returned to them, and Russ had to stifle an urge to reach out and touch her—squeeze the nape of her neck or her shoulder, a small taunt to reinforce how familiar she felt to him.

“So,” she said. “You and me are strictly mentor and student as far as everybody’s supposed to know?”

Russ stared straight ahead at the road. “Yeah, I s’pose that’s easiest.” Easy as a bullet to the heart.

“So we’re leaving two parts out, then. Me running away, and us…you know. Hooking up.”

Hooking up. Damn, that stung. An accurate description, but ouch. “Yeah, that’d be the simplest story, don’t you think?”

“Yeah.”

Neither spoke for the rest of the trip and the glare of streetlights pulled Russ from a driving trance as they reached town. The bar’s parking lot was already close to full, a predictably good turnout. Any excuse to get drunk for socially acceptable reasons lured the crowds from their sleepy weeknight routines. Russ recognized the deputy’s cruiser and Jim’s green truck as he parked. He steeled himself.

“Wow, it’s noisy,” Sarah said, unstrapping her belt.

“Yeah. Farmers and ranchers drink hard.” Russ pocketed his keys and they headed for the entrance. He wondered how much of this weird feeling in his chest was nerves, and how much was pride for turning up with best-looking woman this bar had ever seen. He’d been proud to turn up here with Beth, too, of course. She’d been plenty pretty herself, but get a beer or two in her, and she’d curse a blue streak, slap your back just as hard as any man there and spew country war stories with the best of them. But Sarah was something exotic in her stylish and unmistakably not-from-these-parts clothes, lipstick instead of ChapStick, her figure not molded to a shape of broad, hardy sturdiness like most of the women from around here. Russ didn’t know what to make of her himself as he held the door open, a ruckus greeting them.

“Thanks,” she said, the word nearly lost to the music and laughter.

Russ waved to a couple of people then led Sarah toward the bar. “Get you something to drink?”

“A beer’s fine.”

He nodded, muscling his way through a small sea of acquaintances to shout for two bottles. He glanced to his sides, every man suddenly seeming like a threat. He hoped a couple drinks would soothe that sensation.

When the beers appeared, he pulled a fifty from his wallet and handed it to Harry, the regular bartender and the town’s one and only black resident. “For whatever lucky souls come next,” Russ said, and took the bottles. “Minus a few generous tips.”

“Will do, doc.”

“You seen Frank around?” Russ asked, scanning the crowd for the man of the hour.

“Near the juke.”

“Thanks.” He turned from the counter to find Sarah already beset by her first admirer, Ben. Russ had always thought the town’s deputy was a bit annoying and a touch too swaggery, but seeing the way he stood now, thumb hooked behind his belt all cocky…that irritation snowballed into a full-blown grudge.

“Heya, Ben,” Russ offered, handing over Sarah’s beer. “You remember my friend.”

Ben gave Sarah way too eager a grin. “I do indeed. Just asked her how that breakfast turned out.”

Russ blinked.

“At the diner,” Sarah prompted Russ. “After we left the station’s parking lot?”

“Oh right. Yeah, just great.”

“Best in town,” Ben said grandly, eyes narrowing for a fraction of a second. “Where’d you say you were from again?”

“Florida.”

“Oh yeah? You—”

Russ barged in. “You wanna meet the guest of honor?” he asked Sarah.

“Frank’s a bit…” Ben mimed a drinky-drinky motion with an invisible bottle.

“Better catch him soon, then.” Russ led Sarah away by the arm.

“Don’t act too paranoid,” Sarah muttered as they walked.

Paranoid? He wished. This was good old-fashioned jealousy. “Thought I was rescuing you. Ben can be kind of…”

She laughed. “Kind of what?”

“Flashy.”

“He did go a bit cowboy on me,” she said. “And he reeks of smoke, so thank you.”

Russ smiled to himself, edging between a group of farmhands to tap Frank on the shoulder.

Frank turned, and his weathered face lit up with glassy, drunken happiness. “The good doctor! How you doin’, Russ? Who’zis?” he added, spotting Sarah.

“This is Sarah,” Russ said and watched Frank assault her hand with a very thorough shake. “She’s staying with me for a bit, figuring out if she wants to study equine medicine.”

“Oh yeah?”

Sarah nodded politely.

“What’d y’do before?” Frank asked, attempting to prop an elbow atop the jukebox but missing.

“Bartender,” she said, and quickly added, “In Orlando.”

“Oh yeah?” Frank’s brows bobbed up. “Big city, huh?”

“I guess you’d say that.”

“You prolly know all sorts of fancy cocktails then, huh? Martinis and them things with the cherries and umbrellas’n all that?”

“Sure. All sorts.”

“Well, le’s see it! Mix me up a fancy party drink.” Frank swept an arm toward the bar and Sarah’s eyes widened in tandem with Russ’s.

“Oh, I couldn’t,” she said. “I don’t know if my license covers Montana—”

“Nonsense! Nobody cares about that here.”

Russ thought about protesting as Frank dragged her off by the elbow, but decided against it. If she was sticking around a bit, she might as well get used to the townspeople, and Frank was harmless enough. Russ followed them and watched Frank lift up the gate to the bar and usher Sarah inside.

“She’s a bartender too!” he shouted to Harry.

Harry looked game. He owned the place and had no angry boss to answer to if he bent the rules. “Whereabouts?”

Frank answered for her. “Big city! Sunny Florida! I wanna see her make me some big fancy cocktail with an even fancier name.”

Sarah and Harry exchanged a look, then Harry stepped aside to fill a few beer orders, leaving her to it.

She thought a minute, and Russ saw her go into pro-mode. “How about a Dirty Silk Panties?” she asked Frank, face completely straight.

He hooted and slapped the counter. “Bring it on!”

Sarah inventoried the shelf. She set a large shot glass on the bar and filled a shaker with ice and vodka and some other thing Russ didn’t catch. She strained the concoction into the glass and dripped in some grenadine. Clamping her hand over the lip, she looked Frank square in the eye. “You’ve got a ride, right?”

Frank pointed in the direction of his wife, sipping a Coke by the door amid a gaggle of women.

“Super. Cheers.” She slid the drink over.

Frank took a thoughtful sip, then downed the rest, returning the glass with an almighty
ahhh
of approval. “Another.”

“You should let that one sink in first,” she said.

“One for the good doctor, then.” Frank clapped Russ hard on the back.

“I’m driving. And I’ve barely started this.” Russ held up his beer bottle and fished in his wallet for a five to cover Frank’s dirty panty drink.

“Fine then.” Frank turned to the crowd and shouted “Hey!” at the top of this lungs. People quieted enough for him to announce, “We got a newcomer! Bartender from Florida. Come and see what this little lady can do! Any drink you ever heard of, I bet.”

Russ looked to Sarah, and she didn’t look fazed in the least by being treated like a carnival sideshow. She exchanged a look with Harry, who put his hands out to say his bar was her bar. Russ rankled for a moment, hoping he wasn’t about to lose her company for the rest of the evening. But she looked intrigued by the chance. Happy, if he wasn’t mistaken. She must miss this kind of chaos after leaving it behind to wake up in Russ’s quiet world. He leaned in to address Harry. “You cut her some tips.”

“Naturally. Your girl about to show me up in my own bar?” Harry asked with a grin.

Russ forced a smile. “She ain’t mine, but yeah, I think maybe you’re in trouble.”

“Ain’t yours, huh?” Harry’s eyes darted to Sarah, and even though the man was two decades out of her league and the innuendo harmless, Russ felt a hot little spark prickle up his neck nonetheless.

“Just friends,” Russ said firmly, knowing he had to get that straight in his own head sooner or later. Sarah met his eyes a second after he said it, face unreadable. “Don’t let them monopolize you all night.”

She grinned. “Only until I’ve earned all those new clothes.” She turned to the crowd. “Who wants a Long Slow Screw?”

Chapter Twelve

At a quarter to ten, Sarah counted up the tips Harry handed her. Eighty-eight bucks would do very nicely. Not enough to cover all her new debts, but it’d pay off her sneakers and flats. She pocketed the bills and ducked away before anyone else could ask for a refill. It seemed as though she’d met the entire town, and been flirted with shamelessly by every male on the premises. Every male but one. She spotted Russ by the door, still nursing his second beer, and chatting with a couple about his age whose names she’d forgotten in the melee of glasses and orders and register math. They bid Russ a good-night and exited just as she reached him.

She tapped his shoulder, and he turned, looking surprised—looking as if he didn’t recognize her for a few seconds.

“They let you go, then?” he asked, and took a sip of his beer.

“I escaped, more like.”

“Sorry about that. Frank can be a force of nature when he’s got a few in him.”

“It was fun to be back behind a bar again. Plus I can put a nice dent in my I.O.U. Though your deputy sure gave me the third-degree. I’d have worried he was onto us, if he hadn’t been so clearly preoccupied with my chest the whole time.”

Russ nodded.

“I promised somebody I’d play pool with them.” She craned her neck to see if the tall man in question was still around. She turned back to Russ. “Unless you’re dying to head home?”

He shook his head. “Night’s still young.”

“Well you come play with me, then, until what’s-his-name turns up. I don’t see him just now.”

Russ followed her to the worn-out table, and she fed it the quarters she’d collected from the register. “You any good at this?” she asked Russ.

“Not really. You?”

“I’m okay.” The kind of “okay” one garnered over the course of a thousand quiet winter nights in a Buffalo bar. She racked the balls tidily and rolled the cue ball across the green felt to Russ.

“Ladies first,” he said, stepping away.

“Alrighty.” She found a stick and a chalk from a rack on the near wall, then leaned over and took aim. She broke the balls with a sharp crack, colors scattering, the three disappearing down the side pocket. “Solids.”

Russ blinked at the table.

She sank five more balls in four turns, a small crowd gathering. She scratched a tricky shot and handed Russ the cue ball.

“I am so royally screwed,” he said.

“Got that right,” a nearby partygoer agreed.

Sarah smiled to herself, feeling at home for the first time in weeks. Usually when she kicked a guy’s ass at pool, the satisfaction came from annoying him, taking him down a peg. With Russ it was much nicer than that. This was her good-natured revenge for watching him do what he did so effortlessly around the horses and the property, a little taste of who she was on an imitation slice of her home turf. It was also a welcome chance to watch Russ lean over. She gave his ass an appreciative glance as he took aim and sank a stripe.

“Very nice.”

He straightened and fixed her with a falsely snide grin. “Don’t patronize me, city girl.”

“Don’t give me a reason to, cowboy.”

He shook his head and set up another shot, missed. The men in the crowd gave him a good razzing.

Sarah effectively played the rest of the game on her own, calling the corner pocket and sinking the eight. Russ clapped along with everyone else.

She smiled at him as she twisted her stick into the chalk cube. “Rematch?”

“Not on your life. Where’s Tyler? He’ll give you a run for your money.”

The name jogged her memory. “Oh, he’s the one who challenged me earlier. Really tall?”

“He went for a smoke,” somebody said. “Think he just came back inside.”

Russ made a beckoning motion with his arm. “Get him over here. He’s our town’s only hope for saving some face here. Hey, Tyler!”

Sarah turned to where Russ had shouted as the tall, gangly man strolled over. He was probably about Russ’s age, nearly handsome in that thin, washed-out, Tom Petty-ish way.

“Still want that match?” she asked.

“Careful, Tyler,” a bystander cut in.

“You got it.” He and Sarah pooled their quarters, and he racked, leaving the winner to break. She enjoyed the way his eyebrows jumped as she sent the balls flying across the table.

“Ringer,” he said with a laugh.

They played an even game, and Sarah lost with dignity by a single ball. She hadn’t been paying very close attention to the game toward the end, her attention glued to Russ in her periphery. He’d had his arms locked over his chest the whole time, a strange look on his face. As she returned her stick and left the table to Tyler and the next challenger, Russ stepped close and took hold of her elbow. “Let’s go.”

“Sure. Can I just finish my beer—”

“Now.”

She felt her brows rise as he led her out the door and into the cold night air, marched her straight to the truck.

“You can let go of my arm, Russ.” She said it with a laugh, hoping to lighten the tension now hovering between them.

He released her and they climbed into the cab. He was pissed, but over what, Sarah wasn’t sure. The thought annoyed her deeply. She’d had a lovely time, the closest thing to a taste of her old life she’d enjoyed in a month. Maybe Russ didn’t think she deserved that. Maybe her overdone triumph at pool or the fun she’d had playing bartender weren’t things he thought she had coming to her.

Whatever. He’d invited her. She stared out the window as he drove them into the country, good mood waning, beer buzz turning her from giddy to grouchy.