by Meghan March
Laughter bursts from my lips, drowning out whatever she says next, which is probably for the best. I wipe the tears from my eyes with the sides of my fingers so I don’t smear my eyeliner.
“Thank you, Myrna, for giving me exactly what I needed. You don’t have to admit it, but I know you miss me.”
She harrumphs, and it’s almost as good through the phone as in person. “If I did miss you, it’s only because the couple who moved in across the hall have a fondness for curry, and I’m choking to death on air freshener to get rid of the smell. If I die from this, I’m blaming you.”
Surprisingly, I don’t actually want to argue that it’s her own fault she’s stuck with the scent of curry.
“Good night, Myrna. I hope you wake up tomorrow.”
“If you feel the urge to bother me again, do it at a decent hour.”
The phone clicks, and I’m left with a small smile on my face. I really do miss the old lady. I always know how she’s going to treat me, because she never veers from it.
Unlike Logan lately.
My smile fades away, and I give myself a mental slap for thinking about him. What I need is another distraction. One that serves alcohol.
Greer said there is a bowling alley within walking distance from here. A hike, but walkable. I shift the car in reverse, determination rising to the surface.
It’s time to see what Gold Haven has to offer in the way of distractions.
Chapter 29
Banner
The neon sign says PINTS AND PINS, but the N in PINTS is unlit, so it reads PI TS AND PINS. Considering the peeling paint on the outside of the building and the rutted gravel parking lot, this place has definitely seen better days.
But beggars can’t be choosers, and this is the top of my list of options, especially because it seems to be the only thing open in this town. I’m not going back to that hair salon to knock on the window and ask Logan to keep me occupied tonight, that’s for damn sure.
As I walk inside, I wonder if my skinny jeans and even skinnier heels are a bad choice. You can see through my long black blouse to the black lacy cami beneath. In New York, I would have gone more scandalous, wearing only a bra under it, but I don’t want to cause any heart attacks in this town. From the looks I’m getting as I walk in the door, apparently my idea of conservative and Gold Haven’s idea of conservative are two different things.
The curious eyes scanning me from head to toe belong to both men and women, but I don’t slow my stride. I go directly to the bar. A woman is singing karaoke on a small stage, and I’m reminded that this is where Holly Wix got her start. Quaint.
“You look like trouble,” the bartender tells me.
She’s a heck of a lot tougher looking than I am . . . or maybe that’s just the impression her scar gives off. It starts at her jaw and wraps around to the opposite side of the base of her throat. Her dark hair is pulled away from her face in a bun, but not a messy, sexy one you might see on a bartender in Manhattan. Hers is tight and no nonsense.
I meet her direct stare. “I’m really not that much trouble.”
She sets a shot glass on the old wooden bar in front of me, scans me from head to toe, and then turns to grab a bottle of Ketel One from the top shelf. She pours the shot and slides it toward me.
“What’s this for?”
“It’s not on the house, if that’s what you’re thinking. That shit comes out of my paycheck, which is a joke to begin with.”
“So why would you give me something I didn’t order?”
“You were going to order some kind of fancy vodka cocktail that I don’t have the patience to google, so I’m cutting out all the time we would waste going through that song and dance.”
Surprisingly, I like her gruff, take-no-shit attitude, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to let her think she knows anything about me.
“What is it with bartenders thinking they know everything? I mean, I could’ve come in here looking for a cold beer.”
She shakes her head, and her brown eyes meet mine. “You’re so full of shit. I’d bet all my tips tonight that you never order beer.”
I think about ordering one just to prove her wrong, but it’s a waste of posturing. “You’re right. I wouldn’t.”
I pick up the shot glass and pour the vodka down my throat. The burn and then the warmth it leaves in its wake both give me the distraction I’m needing tonight.
“Another?” she asks.
“You’re not going to assume?”
She gives me a single shake of her head. “Nah. That party trick only works once.” She wipes off her hands with the bar rag and holds one out to me. “I’m Nicole.”
I shake her hand and realize it’s one of the only sincere greetings I’ve gotten in this town. “Banner.”
Her eyes widen. “No shit? I’ve already heard of you.”
I push the shot glass across the bar toward her. “You better pour me another.”
She reaches to refill the shot. “You’re the one from up north that apparently rode Logan Brantley’s dick all last night.”
I choke on the liquor as I toss it back. Her lack of filter reminds me of me.
“You pay a lot of attention to gossip?” I ask when I’m done coughing.
“I can’t avoid it, working behind this bar. But that’s only part time. I work swing shift at the furniture factory too. I pick up as much extra work as I can, including sometimes changing oil for Logan at the garage when he needs an extra set of hands.”
An older man sidles up to the bar wearing a VFW trucker hat, a flannel shirt, and wrinkled black slacks. “I need another beer, Nicole, and Rosie is MIA.”
“Sorry, Joe. Her kid’s been sick lately, so she’s had to leave a lot. I’ll fix ya right up.” She pulls a pint glass from behind the bar and slides it under the tap.
The old man takes the stool next to mine, but ignores me completely. “So you heard about the house that blew up on County Line Road tonight? It was next to Millie Freeman’s place, and she’s raising a stink. Cops can’t keep ignoring this shit much longer, because Millie ain’t having it.”
“Another meth house?” Nicole asks.
“That’s what they’re saying.”
“Such a shame. We keep losing employees here and at the factory because they come in high as a kite, tweaking, and can’t barely string five words together.”
Joe nods. “Same everywhere. I swear, it’s a damned epidemic. Someone’s getting rich off it while they poison this town.”
“Do the police have any leads?” I ask, interjecting myself into the conversation.
“Who the hell are you?” Joe asks, swinging his head toward me.
I hold out a hand. “Banner Regent. I’m new in town.”
Old Joe looks me up and down. “Shit, I can tell you’re not from here. What the hell brings you to Gold Haven?”
Isn’t that the million-dollar question?
“I think she’s here to lock down Logan Brantley,” Nicole offers.
I cut my gaze to her. “Really? You’re just going to throw me under the bus like that? And by the way, I’m not here to lock anyone down. I needed a change of place and a change of pace. I’m friends with Holly Wix’s sister-in-law, so she let me use the house in exchange for keeping an eye on it.”
Joe accepts my explanation at face value and nods. “It’s a good thing, because I think these meth houses that’ve been blowing up are usually vacant or abandoned. It would’ve been terrible to see Rosemary’s place go up next.”
That thought, while horrible, actually makes me feel a little better about this whole deal. Maybe I really am offering a useful service to Holly and Creighton.
“That would be a shame,” Nicole says, setting the beer in front of Joe.
“Damn right. Fuckin’ tweakers don’t have a single thought in their head to the damage they’re causing.” He leans forward and whispers to Nicole. “But the cops don’t think it’s possible that it’s just a few random individuals cooking
this shit. There’s too much of that shit moving around this town, from what I overheard.”
“What does that mean?” I ask.
Nicole answers instead of Joe. “It means we’ve got someone in this town running a drug operation while they’re living right under our noses.”
“Shit’s gonna get bad if we start pointing fingers at each other,” Joe says.
She nods. “I suppose that’s best left up to the cops to figure out before people start throwing accusations around.”
“Things are bound to get messy either way, in my opinion. Not that anyone gives a shit what this old man has to say.”
Nicole wipes the towel along the bar again, covering the same spot for the third time. “You better not get shit messy in here, old man.”
Joe takes his glass with a jerk of his chin and heads back to a table filled with men his own age, all sporting hats with names of various ships or VFW posts on them. Several canes lean against the edge of the table.
Nicole follows my gaze. “VFW is closed today, so the whole crew shows up here. It’s a regular thing.”
As soon as she finishes explaining, one of the old men gets up for his turn at karaoke and begins to belt out “Proud to Be an American,” and I can’t help but smile. This is more along the lines what I figured Small Town, USA, would be like. Like a John Mellencamp song.
“So, you want another shot, or are you going to make me google some fancy shit?”
I smile. “What if I just make it myself? I’m not a half-bad bartender. It was my night gig in college.”
Nicole rears her head back. “College girl worked?”
“Shocking, right? I needed money to pay rent and party after my parents cut me off. I got really good at slinging cocktails and getting tips.” I look at her man’s work shirt buttoned all the way to the top. “You said you’re always picking up extra shifts for cash? What if I could teach you how to maximize the shifts you’ve got here?”
She gives me a skeptical look. “You want to work the bar in a bowling alley to teach me how to make more money?”
“Is your boss going to care? You’re short a pair of hands, right?”
Nicole glances in what I assume is the direction of the office. “He’s only going to care if you show up asking to get paid.”
“Nah. But I’m keeping my own tips.”
The door to the bowling alley opens, and Nicole’s attention swings toward the group of six guys walking in.
“Shit. I’m going to need all the help I can get.”
I reach for the top button of my blouse and undo all of them before shimmying it off. “Is there somewhere I can put this where it won’t get dirty? There’s no way I’m trusting it to any dry cleaner here if it gets beer on it.”
She takes it from me and opens a cupboard where I see a purse stashed. “This good?”
“That’ll work.”
I hand her my tiny clutch too, and she tucks it inside. I make quick work of my own drink and suck it down while the men put in orders for food at the window across the way from the bar.
“I’ll play cocktail waitress while you watch and learn. These skills are just as easy to implement behind the bar, I promise.”
“I’ll believe it when I see it.”
I throw her a wink and get to work. The skills I honed in college come back as soon as I take my first order.
Chapter 30
Logan
After I finish with my haircut from Julianne, I head home to shower and change into something that doesn’t smell like my shop.
I sent a reply to Banner as I left the house, telling her to meet me at Pints and Pins so we can talk, but I’ve gotten no answer. I drove past Holly’s gran’s place on the way here, and it was dark, so maybe Banner beat me here. The parking lot is packed, which usually never happens unless Holly is in town singing, or the state bowling tournament quarter-finals are going on.
Holly hasn’t been back in a while, and I know there’s no tournament tonight. So, what the hell is going on to draw such a crowd?
I walk inside and stop just beyond the door.
You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.
The scene in front of me gives me an idea of how Creighton Karas felt when he walked into this place and saw his wife entertaining an entire room.
Except Banner isn’t singing. She’s holding everyone’s attention captive just by existing—and apparently serving drinks.
I see Ben shuffle out of his office. “You make a new hire, old man?”
Ben has owned this place for as long as I can remember, but the last few years have taken a heavy toll on him. Rumors are floating around that his health is going downhill fast, and he’s been making inquiries into selling the bowling alley but hasn’t found any takers. Very few people in this town have enough money to cover all their own expenses every month, let alone buy an established business that requires a good deal of cash flow to keep it running. Even I don’t have that kind of capital right now, and God knows I’m not looking to borrow more from the bank.
Ben follows my gaze to the bar area, and we both watch as Banner flits from table to table, taking orders and delivering drinks.
“She sure livens up the place, doesn’t she?”
“You hire her?” I ask again.
He shakes his head. “Nah, she’s one of Holly’s friends from New York City, and said she’d help out for the night if she could keep her tips. Nicole was getting behind after Rosie left to take care of her kid, so it wasn’t like I could say no. Word must’ve gotten around, because I haven’t seen this place this packed since Holly was here last. Shit, I might actually have to try to hire her.”
No way in fucking hell. The words echo in my head, but I keep them from springing free. “Banner’s just having some fun. She’s not staying long, and even if she were, I don’t think she’s the type to work a job like this for real.”
We both continue to watch her, and Ben replies, “She said she waitressed and bartended for four years of college in bars and clubs in New York, so I think you’re wrong about that. She’s got the knack for it, and shit, even the crankiest of the VFW crew is half in love with her already.”
The knowledge that Banner actually worked her way through college surprises me, and maybe that makes me an asshole for assuming she sponged off her mommy and daddy.
What else don’t I know about her?
I don’t have any time to ponder the answer to that question because I see Rusty Mills grab Banner around the waist and pull her down on his lap. He’s a piece of shit for a lot of reasons, and not just because he faked a back injury to collect disability from the state. Asshole has a nicer truck than I do, and he hasn’t worked a day in the last year.
When I charge forward, Ben calls after me, “You do any damage, you’re paying for it.”
Fuck it.
But I don’t get there quick enough, because Rusty’s already got his lips planted on hers. The whole table of his drunk buddies is cheering, but all I see is red.
I lunge for Banner, but she’s one step ahead of me as Rusty rips his mouth away.
“Whoa there, darlin’. You just let go of those right now, and we’ll call it no harm, no foul.”
Banner’s hand is planted in the crotch of Rusty’s loose jeans, and his words clue me in to exactly what’s happening—she has him by the balls.
“I’ve been friendly, Rusty. I’ve laughed at your jokes, brought you your beers, even refilled the bar mix three times because you’re a big fan of that shit. I didn’t put a stiletto through your work boot the first time you ‘accidentally’ grabbed my ass. I didn’t even poison your drink when you made a comment about my tits as I walked away last time. But a girl has to draw the line somewhere.”
Rusty’s face turns even redder, and he lets out a squeak as Banner twists her arm sideways.
“So this line I mentioned, it’s where you apologize and tell me you’re never going to put your hands on another woman without her permission. Does that make s
ense? Am I being clear enough for you, Rusty?”
He squeaks again and nods his head vigorously. “I swear I won’t. Oh my God, you’re going to crush my nuts. Please let go.”
“I didn’t hear an apology,” Banner says with a sweet smile, and the whole table of men around her laugh as Rusty’s face turns a deeper shade of red.
“I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. Please let go.”
Banner releases her hold and jumps off his lap. Rusty bolts up so fast, the chair tips over as he falls to his knees.
She pitches her voice sweetly and says, “That’s too precious that you want to pray about what you just did. That instant repentance must be a Southern thing.”
A roar of laughter comes from Rusty’s friends, and I’m pretty sure no one in this bar will let him live tonight down. Banner probably just became some kind of local celebrity, because Rusty’s been known to have wandering hands on more than one occasion, but no woman has ever put him in his place quite so effectively.
Banner tips Rusty’s chair back up and steps onto the seat in her heeled boots. She surveys everyone in the bar except me, because I’m behind her.
“Anyone else have any questions about whether I want you grabbing my ass or trying to kiss me while I bring you your drinks?”
“No, ma’am.” The shouts go up.
She might not realize it, but Banner has officially been accepted by the town, and I’m damn proud of her for the way she handled herself.
I didn’t have to see that to know she’s one hell of a woman. I’d have to be an idiot not to keep Banner Regent in my life for as long as she’ll let me.
“Good. Right. So everyone understands they’ll be keeping their hands to themselves from now on?”
“I’m sorry, but I’ve got a problem with that,” I call out, and Banner glances over her shoulder at me.
“Is that right?”
“Yeah, that’s right.” I stalk forward and lift her off the chair. “If you haven’t already heard the gossip, I’ve got a pretty powerful need to have my hands on you.”