The Bartender's Secret (Masterson, Texas Book 1)

by Caro Carson

  Vincent was just a fraction cooler as he spoke to her. “I wasn’t aware you patronized the place. We’ve never gone there together.”

  Her mother chuckled—elegantly. “With all those Tuesday and Thursday evenings, I assumed you two had tried every restaurant in town by now.”

  Delphinia braced herself. Vincent was going to demand to know what her mother was talking about, and everything was about to explode into a big shower of confessions.

  The beat of silence was terrible.

  “They’ve had quite a few accidents involving MU students at that intersection,” Vincent said.

  “There was quite a bad one last year,” Father said. “It nearly left a young lady paralyzed.”

  “Yes, that’s the one I’m thinking of.”

  That was it? Vincent was letting her mother’s comment about Tuesdays and Thursdays go? It didn’t seem possible.

  Delphinia took a sip of sherry to sneak a look at Vincent. He was looking back. His expression left no doubt that she was going to be required to explain things later.

  Vincent turned his attention back to her father. “That new pub owner isn’t helping matters, I can tell you that. The city council voted to fund fresh paint for the crosswalk, but what does this yahoo do? He tells them it’s not enough. He wants some kind of grand, million-dollar bridge to go from the campus to his side of the street, so the council went back to the drawing board, and no one repainted the crosswalk. Now, look what a tragedy we almost had.”

  “Paint couldn’t have stopped it,” Delphinia said—or interrupted, really—but Vincent hadn’t even been there. “Paint won’t prevent a sedan from swerving into people.”

  The beat of silence that followed was even more fraught with tension. Vincent did not like to have counterarguments made, yet he was supposed to love her. Then again, her father did not like her to interrupt, either, and her father definitely loved her.

  “Did you attend the last city council meeting, and I just didn’t see you there?” Vincent chuckled at his rhetorical question before he turned back to her father. “Imagine the game-day crowd leaving the stadium and being funneled over a bridge to the door of his bar.”

  “Quite a transparent motivation. I’m surprised the city council hasn’t picked up on it.”

  “Perhaps...” Vincent walked away to pour himself a glass of port. He topped off her father’s glass. “Perhaps I should make a point of bringing it up the next time the mayor attends a university event. Joe Manzetti, too, should I run into him. I understand he’s been approached to consult on the construction.”

  “You just missed him on Tuesday,” her mother said. “He was here.”

  “Did I? What a shame.” Vincent looked at Delphinia over the rim of his glass as he drank her father’s port.

  Now that she was home, sitting still, Delphinia ached all over. Wrists, shoulders, back—everything hurt, not just her hands and knees, and she wanted nothing more than to take a hot bath in silence.

  She set down her sherry. “If you’ll excuse me, I think I need to go rest for the evening.”

  “I’ll walk you back to your room,” Vincent said.

  “There’s no need. You must have come to speak to my father about something besides my accident.”

  “I came to see you.” Vincent stood where he was, too close, watching her as she bent down to pick up her book bag while trying not to brush her face against his slacks. “Your side of the house was empty, so I came here. I overheard your story just as I was coming in. Quite a shock for me.”

  “I’m sorry about that, Vincent, but I need to retire for the evening. Good night.”

  She left. She hadn’t made it to the central staircase when she heard Vincent’s decisive footsteps behind her.

  “Delphinia Ray. We have things to discuss.” His words were as clipped as his footsteps. He passed her by a pace and then turned to face her, forcing her to stop. If he’d been a sheepdog, he would have just positioned himself to force her to change direction.

  Which made her the sheep.

  All she wanted to do was go into her bedroom, shut the door and hide from the rest of the world.

  “What Tuesdays and Thursdays?” he asked.

  She wasn’t his sheep to herd around. She called upon what little inner wolf she’d discovered she had this week. “It was nothing. I was asked to cover a few classes for a professor at BCC, that’s all.”

  “At BCC? You were teaching at the community college?”

  “Don’t say it like that. It’s a good school.”

  “Don’t say it like—?” He snapped his mouth shut and cupped her chin. “Aren’t you just full of surprises, my lady professor?”

  Delphinia didn’t answer. His hand was holding her face like a lover’s, but it seemed as if he had grabbed her chin to force her to look at him. When she tried to pull away, he tightened his hold on her chin, holding her in place for a beat, and then, he kissed her.

  It was a real kiss, mouth on mouth, a sudden display of more raw passion than she’d known he was capable of. His mouth demanded her mouth to open, to allow him to explore her intimately. He’d kissed her many times before, and he kissed well, but this was...more. More sexual. More dominant.

  It ought to be thrilling.

  She felt so very little.

  He finished kissing her and spoke quietly in her ear. “I love you.”

  He’d never said that before. She shut her eyes and braced herself for who-knew-what, but Vincent only kissed her forehead. “You’re the perfect woman for me. I’ve always thought so, since I first heard the Rays had a daughter.”

  “This is kind of—I’m kind of overwhelmed. I had such a scare today.”

  “I did, too. Your accident made me realize I’ve been moving too slowly, so let me say it again. I love you.”

  She couldn’t look away, not when he still held her chin, forcing her to look at him.

  “I’ll keep your little community college secret. You won’t give me any reason to tell your parents, anyway. I know you.”

  She’d barely heard her mother’s kitten heels on the wood floor behind them, when Vincent tilted her chin up and kissed her again, closemouthed this time.

  Her mother must have gone back into the salon, because Delphinia heard her say, in a disturbingly singsong voice, “I think I just interrupted something in our hallway, Archibald.”

  Delphinia jerked her chin out of Vincent’s hand.

  Her parents both came into the hallway, and Vincent shoved his hands in the front pockets of his slacks as he gave her parents that sad-puppy look. “I’m sorry, Dr. Ray. Truly. Delphinia is so special, and the realization that I could have lost her today... Well, it’s making me rethink things, rethink my priorities, and...” He laughed at himself. “Listen to me. I wasn’t doing much thinking at all a moment ago, was I?”

  “Please.” Her mother dismissed his apology. “You’re nearly forty. Delphinia is almost thirty, for goodness’ sake. Don’t mind us. We’re just going out.”

  After they passed Delphinia, her father said to her mother, “You remember what it’s like to not be able to keep your hands off one another when love is in its first bloom.”

  Her mother pecked him on the cheek as they headed down the stairs.

  Delphinia would be home alone with Vincent in a moment, and the thought made her stomach clench. “Mother! Father.”

  Her parents stopped.

  “Could you see Vincent out as you go? I need to retire, and I don’t want to be rude and not see him out myself, but...” She lifted the black-smudged side of her skirt, truly miserable.

  Her parents and Vincent all seemed surprised for a moment, but then Vincent, being the gentleman he was, did the only gentlemanly thing he could do. “Of course, sweetheart. You relax for the rest of the evening.”

  He gave her a peck on the ch
eek like her mother had just given her father, then he walked down the stairs with her parents.

  Delphinia made a beeline for her bedroom and shut her door. She locked it, just in case.

  In case of what?

  She was going to have her hot bath and lose herself in a book that was guaranteed to end happily ever after, because she didn’t want to think about Vincent or her parents or relationships that happened unintentionally, without disturbing the routine of one’s life, and with the approval of everyone who knew the couple. She didn’t want to think about how Professor Delphinia Ray’s life was destined to turn out.

  She needed to escape for a few hours. Thank goodness, Connor had thought to give her back her book.

  And that, she thought later, while lying in her bed and staring at the dark, might just be the sexiest thing about him yet. The man had known what she needed before she had.

  Everything about him was sexy. The way he’d swept her up into his arms—so much strength—and held her close to his chest—so much tenderness—and carried her to the shelter of his pub—so protective. He was just like the hero of the romance she’d finished in the tub. The hero’s I love you had meant that everything in the world was going to be all right, now that he and the heroine had found one another.

  She rolled onto her side and began drifting off to sleep with a smile on her face, until she remembered that the man who had said I love you and kissed her passionately today was Vincent Talbot.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Delphinia sat in her classroom, brooding.

  It was Friday afternoon. Her students had turned in their midterm papers and bolted for the door to begin their spring break. The building was empty, and the city of Masterson itself would feel like a ghost town while twelve thousand students and half the faculty were away. The businesses that thrived around the college would be operating with only a few employees this coming week. That was life in a college town.

  Her parents had resumed their teasing manner with her—or a little worse than normal, now that they’d seen Vincent kissing her in the hallway. Delphinia had disrupted their sherry-and-port tête-à-tête last night to inquire if they had any bourbon in the house, declaring that she’d developed a taste for Irish whiskey. Their resulting amusement—bourbon was apparently not made in Ireland—had made her feel like that awkward teenager all over again, younger than everyone else at school, more naive than everyone else she knew.

  Vincent had been as busy as she with midterms, but he’d met her for coffee one morning and lunch another day. Both dates had been on campus because of the midterm schedules, so there’d been no passionate kisses or declarations of love. Professors lived at the pace the university set. She and Vincent were from the same world. They understood this.

  But...

  In her imagination, there was a lone wolf who was alone no longer, now that he was living happily ever after with his heroine in a castle by a lake. If the two of them were separated by something as trivial as an acre of smooth grass the way she and Vincent were, not one day would pass without them seeing each other. Not one day would pass without them being in one another’s arms, not one day without a kiss.

  Fiction.

  Delphinia stacked and restacked her pile of midterm exams. The Victorian essayists had done their agriculture-versus-industry thing. Her students had written their essays about those essays, and now Delphinia needed to read and grade every single one.

  Make me.

  She needed a serious attitude adjustment.

  It was five o’clock. Quitting time. Happy hour. Would the Tipsy Musketeer be busy enough during spring break to need Kristopher there? It would be nice to stop by and find out how his Shakespeare performance had gone. Bridget’s, too.

  Vincent hadn’t requested Delphinia to be his plus-one this evening, so she would not need to plead her case to him if she spent time at the pub. She could justify it, though. A Friday evening cocktail was a socially acceptable norm. She was far over twenty-one. She wasn’t driving. She wasn’t going to drink to excess. She didn’t have to go to work tomorrow. She didn’t have to go to work for a week.

  Connor’s calm voice interrupted her litany. You don’t have to justify yourself. It’s your book. You wanted it back.

  A man could make her melt into a puddle by saying things like that.

  It was five o’clock on a Friday, and she was going to take a detour to the Tipsy Musketeer on her walk home.

  Because she wanted to.

  * * *

  Delphinia walked into his bar.

  Connor knew he was in trouble, because her hair was smoothed into a tight bun at the nape of her neck, and the refrain from “Hot for Teacher” ran, unwelcome, through his brain. She looked very professional in a black pantsuit, very sharp.

  She took the seat at the far end of the bar and gave him a little wave.

  “Oh, my God, Connor. You are so funny.”

  Connor returned his attention to the two women in front of him. One was an assistant diving coach at MU. The other, her friend. Both of them? In the mood to flirt, and Connor was the current target for their affection. He didn’t take it personally. It was just part of being a bartender.

  The coach leaned onto the bar and crooked her finger in a come here motion.

  Connor remained standing as he was. The woman wouldn’t care.

  She didn’t. She was all sly smiles. “We need a round of lemon drops.”

  Connor smiled slyly, too. “That’s Kristopher’s specialty. Hey, Kris. Come here. These ladies deserve the best lemon drops in town.” He wiped off his hands and tossed his bar towel into the laundry bin, then he headed toward Delphinia.

  He stopped on the way to refill a soda for a guest. Delphinia had taken the seat at the end of the long bar, where it ended at the wall—or where it began. That barstool was seat one. The wood paneling at her left shoulder had propped up many a person in seat one. Given the way Delphinia liked the snugs by the stage, he guessed she preferred to sit out of the way.

  Connor couldn’t ignore all the customers between them. He could feel her stare as he made a quick vodka on the rocks for the woman at seat four, the executive assistant to Dr. Marsden, the university’s president.

  “You’re the perfect man,” Ruby said. “You always know what I want.”

  He winked at her. “A splash of cranberry in the next one.”

  Ruby turned to her friend. “See? The perfect man.”

  Delphinia had her chin in the air now, displeased about something. He didn’t know what. The bar was full, but thanks to spring break, it wasn’t the usual crazy Friday night. She hadn’t been waiting long for a drink.

  He turned to the mirrored shelving behind himself and picked up the sweet bourbon he’d served her the past two visits. It wasn’t hard to catch her eye, since she was blatantly watching his every move.

  He raised the bottle with the label toward her. Bourbon and Coke?

  “Were you aware that was made in Kentucky?” she called from three seats away. She sounded indignant.

  Connor walked over to her, finally, and set the bottle on the bar. “Yes, I was.”

  At seats eight and nine, the two lemon-drop women were shrieking in delight. “Oh, my God, Connor. Connor! Look at this.”

  He turned to look. Kristopher had twisted a lemon slice tightly, so that it untwisted in the glass and stirred their drinks. The pub was loud and about to get louder. Connor’s best musician this year, a senior at MU, was a singing cowboy named Buck. He’d set his microphone up on the stage and was giving his acoustic guitar a quick final tune.

  Delphinia gave the bar a little slap. “Bourbon is from Kentucky. All of it.”

  “Almost all of it. Everyone knows that.” He tried to suppress his smile, but he could swear she’d slapped his wrist instead of the bar, like a schoolmarm getting a bad boy’s attention. Yes, ma�
�am.

  “No, everyone does not know that. When someone asks an Irish bartender in an Irish pub to recommend an Irish whiskey, they do not expect to be served something from Kentucky.”

  She was lecturing him. Damn, she was cute. And sharp. But cute.

  “I’m Scottish, if anything, but I get your point.” He was having a hard time playing it cool. He hadn’t been sure if he’d ever see her again. One week ago, he’d walked her to that brick mansion and left her where she belonged—but she’d come back.

  There was an expanse of mahogany between them, and the crowd was a decent size for the first Friday of spring break in a college town, so he felt safe enough to risk another one of those intense Are you thinking what I’m thinking? moments. He braced his hands on the bar and leaned in. “What’s your pleasure, then, Rembrandt?”

  The crowd and the noise didn’t matter. He felt it, and he knew she did, too, because that offended-professor posture began to ease from her shoulders. Then the lemon-drop women down the bar got a little loud, and she looked toward them and sat back, still miffed.

  “I want an Irish whiskey and Coke, please.”

  He had other customers waiting, plus the waitstaff’s orders to fill at the opposite end of the bar, but he set a coaster in front of her. “Bourbon goes better with Coke. Maybe Southern Comfort or Jack Daniels tonight?”

  “Even I know those are not Irish. You’re patronizing me.”

  “I’m suggesting something that you’ll enjoy.”

  “I’d enjoy it if I wasn’t made a fool of again.”

  The implication wasn’t cute, even if she’d said it like an offended schoolmarm. “Who treated you like you were a fool?”

  She pressed her lips together. Women were laughing up a storm all along the bar, from the executive assistant to the diving coach, such a contrast to the woman before him.

  He studied her for a minute, then answered his own question. “That someone you’re seeing. He laughed at you about bourbon?”

  “No. Can I just have my drink, please? Your strongest, most Irish of Irish whiskeys and Coke.”