Because seducing her wasn’t going to be nearly as hard, he feared, as keeping the independent, unfettered state of his heart intact.
He had a feeling Eve was invading it, and that could only spell trouble for both of them.
Besides, his long-term agreement with Mercedes Mackay included two days per week that he pitched in on the upkeep of the inn and grounds. And it was time to cut the grass.
FOUR
Eve could feel a headache coming on.
Right there in her left temple. It was that heaviness that assured her the discomfort had no intention of going away.
And she should have expected it from the lack of sleep, the upsetting meeting with her brother, and the knowledge that no matter how badly she wanted him, Brogan was out of her reach.
To make matters worse, some of the less desirable members of the small Cumberland Touring and Motorcycle Club had taken a table right beside the step that led from the main floor to the bar area. Two of those members were determined that night to push her headache from irritating to migraine status: Donny Sutherby and his lover, Sandi Mikels.
Donny, nicknamed “Bowie” by the club, was barrel-chested with a bearlike body, thick armed and heavy thighed. His straight, conservatively cut dark brown hair was thinning on top, while his pale blue eyes always looked suspicious and mocking.
Dressed in baggy jeans and a dark T-shirt that did nothing to hide his too-thick thighs and biceps, he swaggered when he walked, and even when he was sober one would swear he was drunk.
Sandi, a part-time stripper in Boston, followed him each summer, taking her place on the back of his motorcycle for the summer road “tours” the group took.
How a part-time stripper could afford to take the summer off, Eve hadn’t figured out.
Her overblown figure was poured into snug jeans and the typical summer camisole that was at least one size too small as it stretched across the boob job she was so proud of. Personally, if she were Sandi and she was going to get a boob job, Eve thought, she would have gone with one that more suited her diminutive frame rather than a set of double Ds that made her look as though she were going to topple over forward at any second.
Donny and Sandi were sitting with Poppa Bear. Grady “Poppa Bear” Aarons and his wife, Mary, nicknamed “Momma Bear,” were one of the older couples. Poppa Bear had been a commanding officer in the army, discharged at retirement, and as jovial as they came.
He had a Santa Claus look about him, though his beard was shorter, his eyes dark brown, his laughter booming. Momma Bear was only a few years younger, slim and still a handsome woman for being in her late fifties.
Scattered around the large table with them was Poppa and Momma Bear’s daughter, Baby Bear, a.k.a. Shanna. Also “Hondo” Grael—Eve had no idea of his real name—“Pooh” Yonkers and his sister, “Marbles,” and another brother and sister, Boo and Homer Kennedy.
The table wasn’t overly loud, but Bowie and Sandi were ensuring that each time Eve passed their table, some snide remark was directed toward her.
Returning to the bar, she tried to avoid the table, but it was the most direct path to collect the drink orders she had, and she would be damned if she would let the couple know they were bothering her.
“Hey, Evie, is Brogan avoiding you tonight?” Sandi laughed as Eve passed. “He’s been here for a while now, ya know?”
Yeah, she knew.
Every tall, hard inch of him was there, dressed in jeans, a wide leather belt cinched at his lean hips, a white shirt tucked into the denim, several buttons undone and tempting her fingers to play with those red-gold curls across his chest. A pair of scuffed leather motorcycle boots completed the picture of hard-core sex appeal and danger.
“Come on, Boogie, be nice,” Poppa Bear chastised her, using the nickname he had given her. “Scots might be on the other side of the bar, but he don’t take his eyes off her.” He laughed boisterously.
Edging up to the bar, Eve sneaked a look in Brogan’s direction and saw that Poppa Bear wasn’t lying. Brogan might be talking to John Walker, but he was staring straight at her.
Loading the circular tray with ordered drinks and lifting it until she could balance it with one hand, with the other she gripped the handle of the pitcher and made her way back to the bachelorette party she was serving.
“Scots likes all the girls, though,” Sandi remarked as Eve passed. “He’s not a one-woman man, Poppa Bear.”
Eve didn’t hear Poppa Bear’s answer as she made her way to the bachelorette party.
The eight women had arrived two hours before, and at the rate they were drinking, Eve had a feeling she was going to be calling cabs for the eight. She had yet to see their designated driver, and if she wasn’t mistaken, the bride wasn’t going to make it until the witching hour, as she had sworn she would.
“Hey, here’re our drinks,” the bride called out, the bridal nerves reflecting in her eyes belying the goofy smile on her face.
Setting the beer on the table, Eve put their drinks out in front of them, then turned and headed back to the bar for another order.
The bar, newly named Walker’s Run, was hopping. The band was incredible, the singers capable of crooning or belting out the latest country hits. With both a male and female singer, the band was able to give the crowd the songs they wanted, the way they wanted them.
Drinks were flowing, the dance floor was full, and the managers, John Walker and his wife, Sierra, were out and about ensuring everything was running smoothly.
It always amused Eve that the owner of the bar, Rogue, had more or less given the bar to her brother and sister-in-law, John and Sierra, while Rogue managed the upscale restaurant, Mackay’s Fine Dining, for Eve’s cousin Janey Mackay Jansen.
The restaurant was just as popular as the bar, though, and no doubt a line was starting to form at the doors there, just as it would be here soon.
Moving back to the bar, she almost changed direction and skirted the dance floor.
John Walker had disappeared, and Brogan had moved to Poppa Bear’s table. He was standing between Donny and Poppa Bear. Sandi was sitting on Donny’s lap, her hand stroking down Brogan’s arm where it lay on the table, a sly smile curling her lips as she spoke to him.
The sight of the blond-haired witch touching him had Eve’s fingers curling tighter around the tray she was carrying and her teeth clenching in anger.
Oh, she did not like that. Donny and Sandi weren’t exactly faithful to each other. They each took other lovers often, and it appeared Sandi had every intention of getting Brogan into her bed.
Serving drinks and gathering payments and tips kept her moving quickly. John had more waitresses coming in the next few weeks, but preferred not to train them on the weekends. That left Eve to fill in for the two girls who had left at the beginning of the summer.
She wished she could get out of it now. Each trip she made past the table, the other woman was touching him, and he wasn’t exactly making her stop.
As Eve approached the table again she avoided Brogan’s gaze. From the corner of her eye she watched Sandi stand and excuse herself.
Eve was almost past the group when she was suddenly thrown off balance and pushed hard into the wood railing that separated the bar area from the tables.
Reacting quickly, she grabbed the railing, righting herself before swinging to face Sandi.
“Oh, my God, aren’t I just so sorry.” Sandi breathed out, her eyes widening in innocence.
“Not a problem,” Eve gritted in irritation, picking up the tray and stepping up to the bar.
“That witch is out for trouble,” the bartender, Dakota Wayne—or Kota, as everyone called him—warned her as he took the orders she’d brought back. “Watch yourself.”
“No kidding,” she muttered.
“Hey, while I’m putting your drinks together, could you run to the back and pull me some Jack and Johnnie Walker?” Kota called out.
“Got it, Kota.” Shoving her tips into the front pock
et of her jeans, she moved quickly to the end of the bar, lifted the hinged top, and entered the “Employees Only” section.
“Keys.” Kota tossed her a key ring before turning back to the drinks he and the other bartender were quickly putting together.
Pushing through the swinging doors, she strode down the short hall before turning and heading for the liquor room.
As she entered the dimly lit, cool confines of the storage room and moved to the back shelves where the whiskey was, she was aware of voices in the office next door.
She lifted the large bottles of liquor and placed them in one arm, and was turning around as the sound of a familiar voice had her pausing.
“I don’t like it,” John protested from outside the storage room. “There are too many variables that could go wrong.”
“And if they go wrong, then we’re going to watch good friends suffer,” an unfamiliar voice argued. “We don’t want that.”
She didn’t want to hear this.
Deliberately bumping into a heavy shelf and causing it to smack against the wall, Eve cursed loud enough that she was sure to be heard.
The conversation abruptly stopped, and within seconds John was standing at the door of the storage room and staring into the dimly lit confines.
“Eve?” Narrowing his gaze on her, he watched her, not suspiciously, but curiously. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah, it’s just been a long evening.” She moved more fully into the light, knowing he would be able to detect the signs of the headache she was fighting. There were few men, or even women, perceptive enough to pay attention to facial expressions or changes in them; however, there were too many men in her life who did just that: her boss, her brother, her cousins. The men who had saved her and her sisters five years before, and their very small circle of friends, almost seemed to have a second sense for it.
“Need to take off?” he asked, compassion lighting his pale blue eyes as he watched her intently.
“Who’s going to cover me?” She smiled back at him, appreciating the offer. “You’ll have Sierra out there serving drinks if you lose any more waitresses tonight.”
He grimaced at the thought. “She’ll start a riot.”
“She does every time,” Eve agreed with a little nod as she moved to the door and he backed up.
Closing the door behind her, she let him have the keys when he reached for them, and waited while he locked the door before handing them back to her.
“Tell Kota that if he needs liquor to call back and I’ll bring it out to him,” he offered quietly. “That way you don’t have to lug those bottles.” He nodded to the two in her arms.
“Got it, boss,” she promised, smiling back at him before heading back up the corridor quietly and moving back into the bar area.
Wow, whatever those two were talking about, he didn’t want to risk anyone hearing it again.
She doubted it was anything illegal. She knew John Walker and his wife too well, just as she knew her brother and cousins too well, to ever believe they would work on the wrong side of the law.
John and his friend were up to something, though, and that was scary. Because whatever John got into, then her brother and cousins were sure to follow. It was just the way it was when it came to Mackays and their family or friends. And John, his sister Rogue, and the Mackays, were definitely friends. And then—and she knew this well from the stories she had heard—then Timothy Cranston would get involved. . . .
Damn, she didn’t even want to consider the consequences there.
As she dropped the bottles off with Kota, he was placing the last of the drinks she had ordered on the tray.
Handing over the keys, she gave him John’s message and started to turn away.
“Everything okay, Evie?” he asked her as she paused. “You’re looking tired.”
“Headache coming on.” She sighed. “And I don’t think John liked me being in the back rooms, Kota, so I’d feel better if I didn’t have to do any more runs.”
“What makes you think that?” He tilted his head to the side curiously.
Eve gave a little shrug. “It was just a feeling.”
“Hell, the waitresses always go back there.” Kota frowned.
She gave a negligent shrug. “I just know what he said, Kota, and I don’t want to step on any toes, ya know?”
“Got it, sweet pea.” He gave a quick smile and nod, his expression clearing. “I’ll make sure you stay on the floor.”
Yippee.
Breathing out wearily at the thought, she grabbed the tray of drinks the other bartender, Matteo, pushed to her, and moved back into the throng. Though this time she carefully skirted the table where Brogan and Sandi sat.
She would have loved to know what the hell was going on with John— No, she didn’t want to know, she told herself quickly. She knew his type far too well. He was too much like Brogan, her brother Dawg, and her cousins Natches and Rowdy.
Brogan, John, Kota, and Matteo were cut from the same cloth, and to poke into their business was to invite trouble.
No, it was to beg for trouble.
She’d had enough trouble in her life before coming to Somerset to dare invite more. And she had no doubt in her mind that John was up to something. The group of men her brother was close to was always up to something.
She wasn’t so certain about Brogan yet, though she had hoped to find out. That aura of danger that surrounded him assured her that not knowing was probably for the best, though. This was as dangerous as she wanted her life to get, she assured herself as she evaded male hands attempting to pat her rear, cup a breast, or convince her to dance.
Her head was beginning to throb like gremlins were attempting to dig out her brains. And the gremlins were beginning to grow.
Glancing back to the table Brogan sat at, Eve saw Sandi running her fingers through his hair as she leaned toward his ear and said something. Eve’s temples began to pound even more. Anger was rushing through her, crashing through her system and making her headache worse as she delivered the drinks to the proper table.
“Hey, Eve, that party in the corner is talking about rolling, and I don’t see a designated.” One of the bouncers stopped her as she delivered drinks to another table. “Should I call a cab?”
“Let me check,” she suggested. “Someone came in earlier whom I haven’t seen drinking yet.”
Moving to the women laughing and gathering their things together, Eve stepped to the table and caught the attention of the newcomer who had arrived late.
Tall, dressed in a pair of knee-length baggy shorts and a T-shirt, the other woman sat back in her chair watching the group with a smile. Her hair was pulled back in a low ponytail, the long excess pulled through the back of the ball cap she wore.
“Hey, Samantha,” Eve greeted the detective who had just been hired to work with the Somerset police force. “You designated tonight?”
An amused smile crossed the other woman’s strong features as she adjusted the low-profile cap she wore.
“I have them. A friend is waiting outside with another car so we could get them all.” Samantha laughed. “Though I’m wondering if I shouldn’t just arrest the lot of them.”
The women groaned, then laughed as though the detective had just told some incredible joke.
“I’ll leave them to you, then.” Eve nodded.
“Hey, Evie.” One of the partygoers waved at her enthusiastically. “Where’s your sister?”
Eve laughed back. “Which one?”
“The one Samantha was asking Mellie about,” she replied suggestively, her drunken demeanor more insulting than curious. “Samantha is—”
“Fed up with the drunkards.” Samantha rose to her feet, adjusted her cap, and glared back at the others. “Let’s go if you’re going, or your asses can sit here.”
Firm and reminding Eve far too much of the Mackays’ tones when they’d gotten tired of the bullshit, Samantha Bryce had the women moving within seconds.
Eve
shook her head at the tottering group. She stood aside and watched them make their way to the exit as Samantha herded them along like children.
Poor Samantha and whoever her friend was. Getting those women to their respective homes wasn’t going to be done easily.
“You really should give it up and stop casting him those puppy-dog looks.”
Turning around slowly, Eve stared back at Sandi, wondering what she had done for karma to want to kick her ass tonight.
“Go away, Sandi,” she retorted wearily. She was really getting tired of this crap.
“If he wanted you, he wouldn’t be there with us,” Sandi stated then.
“Or he could just be waiting for me to get off work.” Eve turned back to the other woman, her smile deliberately challenging. “Now, if you’ll excuse me . . .”
She didn’t wait for Sandi to excuse her or not. Picking up her tray, she moved toward the bar.
“Brogan’s not white trash, Eve,” Sandi continued behind her.
“You should know, Sandi.” What the hell was it going to take to get rid of this woman?
“At least I didn’t sell myself to some rich pervert, like your mother did,” Sandi stated, disgust heavy in her voice as Eve started to step up from the main floor to the bar area.
Oh, that was it.
Eve swung around so fast, so furiously that Sandi nearly ran into her. The other woman had to back up quickly, nearly tipping and falling on the stilts she called shoes.
“What did you just say to me?” Eve demanded, the anger she had been fighting to keep a rein on all night breaking free.
“Oh, you heard me.” Sandi sneered as Eve glimpsed Brogan rising to his feet, his expression suspicious as his gaze locked on her and Sandi. “I might be white trash, but you and your family are nothing but low-class whores.”
“Like your opinion matters,” Eve mocked.
She wasn’t going to resort to violence. There were other ways to finish this, later. Clenching her teeth, she moved to turn away, determined to wait, to bide her time.
This wasn’t the place for a confrontation, even for her mother’s sake.