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

by Caro Carson

  Delphinia peeked around the wooden door just far enough to see the man who had to be Mr. Murphy—either a large leprechaun or a small Santa—giving Connor an arch look as he spoke.

  Connor. Her heart sped up at the sight of him. So handsome. So...grim. He shut his book.

  Kristopher wasn’t visible at this angle, but his voice was all smiles. “I’ll sound very wise when I help Bridget with her essay.”

  “Ha. I heard that.” Bridget whooshed right past Delphinia. “Hi, everybody. I brought someone to meet you, Uncle Murphy. Where is she?” Bridget spun around and came back out to the hallway. “Come in, come in.”

  Delphinia had no choice. Cheeks flaming but chin high, she walked into the little studio apartment.

  Connor dropped his book.

  Bridget made introductions.

  “Professor Ray? Ah, my dear, I think you have the look of your parents about you. You must be the daughter of Rhea Ray. Hard to forget such a name, and your father’s name? It’s slipping my mind.”

  “Archibald. They remember you, too, Mr. Murphy. Very happy memories.”

  “You must call me Seamus.”

  Bridget got a little indignant at that. “Nobody calls you anything but Murphy. I don’t even call you Uncle Seamus.”

  “But not only is Delphinia Ray a beautiful woman, she’s a beautiful woman I’m no relation to and one who never worked for me, nor sat at my bar as my customer. We’re fresh friends, she and I, and I’d be pleased to have her call me Seamus.” He said everything with such a genuine joy and a twinkle in his eye, it was impossible not to feel like a welcome guest in his home.

  “I see where Connor gets his charm.”

  “Well, now.” Mr. Murphy gave her hand an extra squeeze and sat back, beaming at her with such approval, Delphinia knew she’d said the right thing.

  She looked to Connor, a reflex to share a smile, but he stood at the window, looking out to somewhere far, far away from them all.

  As Mr. Murphy told her a few stories about the pub, she caught Kristopher and Bridget sneaking glances at one another. The course of their true love was running smoothly. Delphinia was glad, not green with envy. Not too green.

  “Anyway,” Bridget said, struggling to look unaffected instead of giddy, “the essay question is ‘Who defeated Othello?’”

  “Iago.” Kristopher sounded certain. “That’s the guy who told all the lies and convinced Othello his wife didn’t love him. Easy.”

  “Dr. Dee warned us that ‘Iago’ wasn’t the right answer.”

  “She’s a tough one, that Dr. Dee.” Kristopher took Bridget’s hand. “Let’s go figure it out over a burger.”

  That was Delphinia’s cue to leave, too, but she had Connor’s truck.

  He remained by the window. She’d made him uncomfortable in his own family.

  I don’t want you to be unhappy. Ever. When he’d said that, his voice had been rough with emotion, sincere.

  She felt the same way toward him. Her will to make any kind of dramatic farewell gesture drained away. “I came here in your truck. Do you want to drive it back?”

  “I’ve got my bike.”

  “He worked hard to save up for that motorcycle,” Mr. Murphy said. “Learned how to do all the maintenance himself, from a book.”

  Delphinia handed the little bag to Connor. “This is the book I promised you. I’ll park your truck in your spot and leave the keys under the floor mat.”

  And with that, there was no unfinished business between them.

  “Goodbye,” she said, more to Connor than to Mr. Murphy.

  She closed the door behind herself.

  * * *

  Connor went straight for the whiskey and poured two glasses. He barely murmured “Slainte” before taking a drink.

  “Never have I seen you so at a loss to know where to look or what to say. It’s a wonder she described you as charming. You must have made a different impression on her somewhere else.”

  Connor took a seat. He knew Mr. Murphy had figured everything out.

  “But I was more interested in how she looked at you. There’s something there, Connor. There’s something there.”

  “I’m leaving it alone. She’d only become another memory. They’re all memories.”

  “I wish I had one like her in my memories. I should have stopped and smelled the roses.”

  A rose by any other name... Connor set his glass aside. Nothing was right, not even the whiskey.

  Mr. Murphy grew somber. “I regret that I never took the time to tend just one rose. It might not have amounted to anything more than a memory, but it might have grown into a whole garden, me and my rose, and a bunch of little roses, besides. I’ll never know. A memory would be better than a regret that there is no memory. Regrets are heavy. You can only carry a few, mark my words.”

  Connor’s heart hurt for someone besides himself. “I didn’t know you’d wanted a wife and kids. I’m sorry.”

  “It was my choice not to look for a wife. Don’t feel too sorry for me, because I was graced with a son nevertheless, or my father never called me Seamus Murphy.”

  Connor felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up. “You’ve never mentioned a child, not once. You have a son?”

  “I do, and I call him Connor McClaine. He’s carrying on the family business. He takes good care of me in my old age, good care of my grandniece, too. I could not be more proud of him. He’s as fine a man as ever walked this green earth.”

  God. God. Connor pinched the bridge of his nose in his fingers, closed his eyes, tried to breathe and not to cry.

  “He broke his old da’s heart, though, by thinking he wasn’t good enough to serve on the council of his own city. Now, my heart is breaking anew, because he thinks he isn’t good enough for a woman who looks at him the way he deserves to be looked at. He’s letting his past take away his future.”

  Connor opened his eyes and saw, truly, that there was love for him in his wiser, older friend’s face. Not affection, but love. He hadn’t let himself see it before. He hadn’t let himself see it anywhere, but on a rooftop with Delphinia, he’d had nowhere else to look, no way to pretend he wasn’t seeing the truth. She loved him; he was lovable.

  Now that he knew it was possible, it was as clear as day that Mr. Murphy loved him. Hell—Hurricane Bridget loved him. And Delphinia...

  “Tell her, lad. She looks at you like you hung the moon and the stars. Tell her, and see how she looks at you then.”

  “I did. I told her everything.” But not that I loved her, too.

  “Well, now.” Mr. Murphy spoke more sternly than he ever had. “If you already told her about your past, and she’s still looking at you like that, then the devil will laugh for all eternity if you let her become a memory.”

  Connor did not shake Mr. Murphy’s hand before he left. Instead, he pressed his forehead to his friend’s and cupped that white-haired head against his a bit harder than he’d intended, a bit longer. “I’ll be back Monday.”

  “I know you will, son. I know you will.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “Don’t you look... Isn’t that a casual look for you, dear?”

  Her parents stood in the kitchen where Delphinia sat, forcing herself to eat a sandwich, forcing herself to read the Shakespeare essays her students had turned in yesterday. Jeans and her burgundy sweater, the one she’d worn the day of the accident, fit her state of mind.

  Who defeated Othello? No one had gotten it right yet.

  Delphinia flipped the page over. The next essay in the stack was handwritten. Her rubric had specified that the assignment had to be typed. She picked up her red pen and wrote across the top of the paper: wrong format,-5 points.

  “I thought you might still be dressed nicely after work,” her mother said, “at least for dinner.”

  “There
’s nothing scheduled.” Delphinia waved her red pen toward the wall calendar as she began to read.

  The only person who didn’t love Othello was Othello.

  A bold opening. Delphinia turned the paper over, but there was no name on it, anywhere. The handwriting looked masculine. That didn’t narrow it down much.

  “I’d like to see one of the new dresses you bought in Austin,” her mother said. “Why don’t you run upstairs and put one on now?”

  Othello testified to the noblemen that his wife fell in love with him after he told her about the ugly hardships he’d survived. He was wrong. She’d already fallen in love with him before then, and he with her. They’d noticed one another from the first, and time after time, she’d returned to him, seeking him out for the pleasure of his company. It was only then that he gave her the details of his youth. If she hadn’t already loved the man he was, she would not have cared about the story of the boy he had been. If he had not already loved her, he would not have shared it.

  “Your mother is speaking to you.” Her father sounded displeased.

  “Uh-huh.” Seeking him out? Hadn’t she said those words on a rooftop, seven long days ago?

  Othello told the authorities that she loved him because she pitied him, but he was wrong there, too. He expected her pity and even her disgust, so he was unprepared to hear anything else about his youth. When she told him he’d mastered a superhuman task in a dangerous environment, he did not believe her. When she told him he was the one-in-a-million person to beat the odds, he did not believe her.

  Connor—oh, Connor—was this—? She flipped the paper over again. It had to be his writing. It must be. Had Bridget picked it up by accident? Had he slipped it into Bridget’s papers on purpose?

  Iago did the manipulating, the planting of seeds of doubt, but it was Othello who chose to believe them. Othello agreed that it was impossible for his wife to love him, because he refused to believe he was good enough to be loved by her. Who defeated Othello? He defeated himself.

  Delphinia clutched a fistful of her sweater. Connor knew...everything. The essay brimmed with hard-won wisdom and obvious regret, but there was no glimmer of hope in it. Othello did not end happily ever after. This essay was a dissection of a relationship that was dead. Othello’s, or theirs?

  “Delphinia Acanthia Beatrix.” Her father’s angry recitation of her name dimly registered. “People will be stopping by this evening.”

  “Archibald, not another word.”

  That got Delphinia’s attention. “Another word about what? Please tell me ‘people’ does not include Vincent Talbot.”

  Her parents exchanged a worried look.

  Delphinia came to her feet. “I don’t want him in my house.”

  “Your house?” Her father let those two words hang in the air.

  “I don’t want to be in any room in any house with him. When we broke up, it got physical. He grabbed my wrist and tried to pull me back down. I told you all of this.” Her parents had said they were sorry to hear it. She’d thought that was the end of it.

  “He wanted you to sit down and talk about it,” her father said. “He’s a lawyer. Talking is what they do.”

  “Why don’t you believe me?”

  “Oh, Delphinia,” her mother said. “I do believe he grabbed your wrist, but he couldn’t have meant to grab too hard. He loves you.”

  “He does not.”

  “Then it is up to him to prove to you that he does.” Her father had never sounded more decisive. “Give him the chance to do so. If you had a diamond ring on your finger, you’d feel secure about his feelings toward you. You could move on from this misunderstanding and start planning your lives together.”

  That was the life her parents thought she was destined for.

  She was going to take her destiny into her own hands, although those hands shook as she folded up the essay and slipped it into her back pocket. If Vincent was welcome to come in this evening, then she would go out.

  * * *

  Delphinia walked into the Tipsy Musketeer.

  Spring break was over, so the Thursday night crowd was large. The cowboy was singing on the stage. The servers with their bouquets of mugs wove their way around the tables. All the snugs were full, overflowing, loud with laughter.

  Delphinia had walked straight here, obsessing over the essay in her back pocket with every step. Had it been intended for her eyes? Maybe Connor had been keeping Bridget company so she’d study, and he’d dashed off his own essay as she’d worked on hers, and Bridget had accidentally scooped his up with her papers.

  The paperback heroine would boldly ask. But surely, if Connor had wanted Delphinia to read his essay, he would have put his name on it. And if he had never intended for her to read it, then the kindest thing would be to pretend she hadn’t seen it. So, maybe she shouldn’t ask him.

  Her inner wolf paced one way, then the other. Delphinia doggedly worked her way through the crowd toward seat one.

  Someone was sitting on her barstool. Someone beautiful, someone who had the confidence to call attention to herself in a short, sequined dress. Someone who was laughing with Connor.

  The essay in Delphinia’s pocket might be brimming with hard-won wisdom, remorse and regrets, but its author was having a chitchat with a hot chick.

  “It hasn’t been that many years since you took your diploma and left,” Delphinia heard Connor say in an amused tone. “You don’t need me to be a tour guide.”

  “I’m back through the weekend.” The woman reached over the mahogany to brush an imaginary spec off his cheek with her fingers. “Three whole nights. That’s three whole nights we could spend reminiscing about—”

  “Excuse me.” Delphinia forced her way in between the women in seats one and two. She slapped her palm on the bar. “I’d like a drink.”

  “Hello, Rembrandt.” Her heart contracted at the name, at the warmth in Connor’s voice as he said it. “It’s good to see you.”

  “Yes,” she said. “It’s been three whole nights.”

  The woman in sequins looked at her sharply. Connor bit his cheek as he turned away to take Delphinia’s favorite whiskey down from the top shelf.

  She remained standing between the two women in their chairs. There wasn’t an open seat all the way down the bar. Laughter came from inside the VIP booth, drifting over the open top. There was nowhere private to go.

  What could she say to Connor in the middle of his workday? She couldn’t unfold the essay, smooth it out on the bar in between these two women, and ask him if he’d intended for her to see it, ask him if it meant goodbye, forever.

  He rolled the ball of ice around the glass once before setting it in front of her. “I wish I could join you.”

  “I do, too.” Were they speaking in code? Did he mean he wished he could join her in living the rest of her life, but he wasn’t good enough to? Or did he mean he wished he could join her, but the bar was slammed, and it would hurt his employees if he disappeared right this second to take her upstairs to his bed?

  There could be more moderate options, she supposed, but professors of Shakespeare didn’t think in moderation, and that’s what she was. To heck with EN313. She wasn’t going to teach it next year.

  The woman in sequins folded her arms on the bar and leaned in, all cozy and all cleavage. “So, Connor, tell me all about—”

  “Have you read any good books, Connor? Because I’ve read some interesting things. Today. At work.” Delphinia hoped he understood her code. If he didn’t, then he had no idea his essay had erroneously made its way into Bridget’s papers.

  “Excuse me. Do I know you?” The woman’s tone meant Get out of my space.

  “I don’t know. Do you?” Delphinia had never sounded more like a teenager.

  Connor rubbed his jaw. Delphinia narrowed her eyes at him. He did that when he was trying not to l
augh.

  The woman in seat two said, “Can I get a glass of white for my friend?” More people wedged themselves around the barstools.

  The sequined woman slid a hotel room key across the bar toward Connor. “You’re busy now. Why don’t you find me later, and we’ll dust off a few memories? Freshen them up.”

  Connor picked up the key and handed it back to her with a smile that was kind. Only kind. “Those memories are good where they are, but I’m glad to hear you’re doing well in Dallas. The drink’s on me. It was nice of you to stop by.”

  You are dismissed.

  She took one more sip of her drink, pretended she’d just that second decided to go somewhere else, then squeezed past Delphinia without making eye contact.

  Delphinia took the barstool before any of the other people got the chance. Connor handed Seat Two the white wine, then tossed the sequined woman’s drink in the sink. It was very busy, and he’d stayed at this end of the bar too long already, but he stood directly across from Delphinia and braced his arms on the mahogany, anchoring himself in place, giving her his full attention.

  “Since you asked, I read an interesting book about destiny, three whole nights ago. It had a lot of kissing in it. And wolves.”

  He’d read her book. It was enough to make her melt.

  She picked up her glass and looked at the shades of brown. “Kissing? It had sex.”

  Seat Two got involved. “Sounds like a good book.”

  “More than sex,” Connor said to Delphinia, a serious statement—followed by his most charming wink. “But the sex was pretty good.”

  Delphinia took a sip of her whiskey. Emotions were hard to talk about in code. Sex was easy. She let her gaze drop to his shoulders. “Some of those positions would require the man to have a significant amount of upper-body strength.”

  Connor dropped his head as he laughed. “Ah, Rembrandt. I’m glad you came back.”

  I seek you out. I’m not alone when I’m with you.

  “Did you like the ending?” Delphinia asked. “Together forever. It was hopeful.”