All a Man Can Be

by Virginia Kantra

  Exactly. She had thought the same thing. And acted on it. I am the owner.

  So why did it sound so awful coming out of someone else’s mouth?

  “He does more than that,” she protested.

  “Right. He’s good for business.” Kathy puckered her lips at her reflection. “Like the naked lady over the bar in a saloon.”

  She hadn’t seen him naked.

  She’d like to.

  Oh, God. No. She was his boss.

  No, she was his friend.

  Except he didn’t kiss like a friend. He didn’t act like a friend. He was sulking about his damn deer head.

  It wasn’t his deer head, she reminded herself. It wasn’t his bar.

  “Hello? Earth to Nicole.”

  She flushed. “Sorry.”

  In the mirror, Kathy’s eyes sharpened. “You really went off on the naked bit, didn’t you? Is something going on with you and Delicious DeLucca that you’re not telling me?”

  Her cheeks burned hotter. What should she, what could she, say? I kissed him, but he thinks we should be friends?

  Any confession felt like a betrayal, of Mark…and of her own confused heart.

  “I just don’t want to ignore his feelings, that’s all,” she mumbled.

  “My God, listen to yourself, Nicole. His feelings are not your problem. You want to be careful, or you’re going to wind up in another user-loser relationship.”

  “I am being careful.”

  “But you’re not being smart. Remember Charles.”

  Charles, her self-absorbed, graduate-student lover. “That was eight years ago.”

  “And Yuri.”

  The vodka-prone, out-of-work cellist. “We only dated a short time.”

  “Ted?”

  Married Ted the insurance salesman. “He lied to me,” Nicole said.

  “They all lie to you. I remember when you called to tell me about Zack. I warned you the man was a player, and you went on and on about trust and open relationships.”

  Nicole closed her eyes. After her disastrous foray into pseudodomesticity with Ted, Nicole had formed a brief relationship with a long haired indie filmmaker named Zack. For a while she’d found his professed disdain for social convention up-front and fearless. Until she discovered he was using her apartment to shoot porn flicks and have sex with other women.

  “Zack was a mistake,” she admitted. “But we learn from our mistakes.” She had to believe that. “Kevin was reliable.”

  Kathy grinned. “Oh, sure. Except that he broke up with you and fired you. Face it, Nicole. You’re a lousy judge of men.”

  Nicole burned with shame. It was true.

  She had filled in the Guy Assessment Guide—GAG—at the end of Chapter Three, “Are You a Relationship Addict?” She knew she was a chronic relationship junkie with a desperate desire for approval and a humiliating history of recidivism. Her longing for nurturing was achieved vicariously by giving to men who displayed a “need” for her affection but were themselves unavailable, uncaring or unable to love her back.

  Where do you get this crap? Out of some book?

  I don’t have friends. I don’t need friends.

  This is the only comfort I want.

  How did she reconcile what her heart felt with what her mind told her?

  “You did say Mark did a good job for the previous owner,” she said weakly.

  Kathy gave her a pitying look in the mirror. “I recommended him as an employee. Not a boyfriend. Try to keep the two separate.”

  It was good advice.

  If she were smart, she would take it.

  The trouble was, she didn’t know how smart she could be where Mark DeLucca was involved.

  Chapter 8

  She wasn’t giving up her plans for the Blue Moon because of Mark DeLucca.

  Nicole hauled two cans of primer out of the back of her SUV, set them on the gravel and slammed the door. It simply made sense, now that the drywall was patched and the plumbing connected, to divert some of her energy to the upstairs apartment. She couldn’t live with Kathy forever.

  She picked up the gallons of paint, wincing as the wire handles dug into her palms. Actually, after this morning’s mortifying rehash of the life and loves of Nicole Reed, she didn’t want to live with Kathy at all. Things could have been worse, she comforted herself. At least Kathy hadn’t known about the kiss. That mind-numbing, heart-stopping, shattering kiss she’d shared with Mark.

  She staggered along the walk to the entrance. Swinging one can under her arm, she used the opposite hand to tug on the door. Her heart beat faster as she glanced through the glass. Was he in yet? He wasn’t supposed to be. It was only two o’clock. But she noticed—how could she help noticing?—that he frequently came in early and stayed late, anticipated problems, outlined solutions. It was her bar, but in many ways he was still running it.

  I recommended him as an employee. Not a boyfriend. Try to keep the two separate.

  The door banged her hip. Gritting her teeth, Nicole maneuvered her cans through the narrow opening. It widened suddenly, and she almost fell through.

  “Let me get that for you.”

  She glared up at the beaming square face of—she didn’t remember his name, but he was one of her regulars.

  “Thanks,” she said.

  “Not a problem.” The big blond man didn’t add “little lady,” but he might as well have. “Give you a hand?”

  This, she reminded herself, was why she had moved to a small town. This friendliness. This neighborliness. This willingness to help. Well, that and she had wanted to move a million miles away from her mother.

  She certainly couldn’t snap at this guy for adhering to some classic pattern of small-town social behavior…or an outdated code of male courtesy. The author of Losing the Losers in Your Life—Chapter Five, “A Few Good Men”—stressed a woman’s need to be nurtured.

  Maybe this was one of those men, nurturing and kind.

  He was waiting patiently, still bracing the door, one large hand extended.

  She passed him the primer. “Thank you,” she said.

  She deliberately avoided looking toward the bar as they threaded their way through the tables.

  “Where do you want this?” her escort asked.

  Nicole stopped. What should she say? Her new pal might talk like an Eagle Scout, but he looked like a Viking god. Did she really want to invite him up the stairs to her bedroom, however unfinished?

  “Um,” she said.

  “Got it,” Mark said smoothly.

  He lifted the flap and slid from behind the bar. Nicole’s heart did a little tap dance in her chest as the two men faced off: one big, blond and open-faced, the other lean, dark and watchful. Thor and Loki, she thought.

  “Hey, Mark,” Thor said.

  Mark nodded. “Lars. I thought you were out of here.”

  “You two know each other?” Nicole asked. Stupid question. Mark knew everyone.

  “Sure,” said the giant. “Mark and I are both Wofers— Wilderness First Responders—for the county.”

  “Lars Jensen,” Mark introduced him. “And he was just leaving.”

  Jensen raised one thick blond eyebrow. “That way, is it?”

  Nicole frowned in bewilderment. “What are you talking about?”

  “Thanks for the help,” Mark said and took the can of primer.

  “Anytime,” Jensen said good-humoredly. “See you around,” he told Nicole.

  He was leaving, she realized. What had just happened here?

  “I really appreciate—”

  “What is this?” Mark interrupted her, lifting the gallon can.

  “It’s primer.”

  “I can see that. What is it for?”

  He was threatened by change, she reminded herself. And probably worried she was going to paint the men’s room pink.

  “The upstairs. I thought it was time to start painting my apartment.”

  “I paint,” Lars Jensen offered. He hadn’t left. M
ark gave him a hard look.

  Nicole eyed him speculatively. He wouldn’t need a ladder, either. “That’s very—”

  “You can’t afford him,” Mark said.

  Jensen grinned. “No charge. For friends.”

  “You’re not friends. You don’t even know her.”

  “That could change,” Jensen suggested.

  Mark smiled. Not a very nice smile. “I wouldn’t count on it.”

  Nicole blinked. Were they actually…? They were sparring over her. Like a mastiff and a Doberman over a bone. It was thrilling. Embarrassing. Unacceptable.

  In the animal kingdom, the power of choice belonged to the female. That’s what her books all said. Unfortunately the two bristling males in front of her hadn’t read the same experts.

  “That’s one of the things I like about living in a small town,” she said chattily. “Everyone helps everyone else.”

  Both men looked at her.

  “You don’t know much about small towns,” Mark told her.

  She stuck her chin out. “Enough to want to live in one.”

  “Yeah, well, that was your first mistake.”

  Not her first. But she wasn’t going to remind him of that or ask what others she’d committed since.

  Lars Jensen beamed blondly. “Don’t listen to him. Most folks are glad you’re here.”

  “Everyone’s been very nice,” Nicole assured him. She glared pointedly at Mark. “Almost everyone.”

  “Human nature is the same all over,” Mark said. “If you’re looking for different, you’re out of luck.”

  He was cynical. That was sad. Or it would be, if Nicole believed him.

  “So you don’t think people in Eden are warmer? More open? More connected?”

  “Nope.”

  She smiled triumphantly. “Then why do you stay?”

  He met her gaze, and the bleakness in his eyes faded her smile. “I don’t have anywhere else to go.”

  Lars Jensen tutted like an old man. “Listen to him. The world traveler. The war hero. Sure, no place else would have him.”

  “I was no hero. I disobeyed orders.”

  “You led your squad out of friendly fire in Kabul,” Jensen said. “Your sister wrote about it in the paper. You got a medal.”

  “I got busted.”

  Nicole’s head was whirling. Kabul? Mark had served in Afghanistan?

  “You’re a soldier?” she asked.

  His face closed. His shoulders squared. “I was a marine.”

  She was stunned. Lost. Impressed. As if Tom Cruise from Cocktail had turned into Mel Gibson from We Were Soldiers in the middle of the movie. “How long?” she asked.

  “Two tours,” he said.

  “Six years,” Jensen translated.

  She still couldn’t believe it. “And you left because—” I got busted. She flushed and shut up.

  “I left because I took a swing at my division officer. Call it a bad career move.”

  Her eyes widened in sympathy. “You were discharged.”

  “No,” he said. “I was provoked. There were enough witnesses willing to testify that I didn’t get a Bad Conduct Discharge. I got demoted for insubordination and canned to the galley.”

  No more explanation than that. No excuses. But she could tell, from his absolute flat tone and stony face, how much the incident still bothered him.

  Nicole drew in a shaky breath. He was being honest with her. He was taking responsibility for his actions. Both qualities were rare, too rare, in her experience.

  Didn’t she owe him equal honesty in return?

  She twisted the rings on her fingers. “I wish you’d told me this before.”

  “Why? So you could fire me?”

  Lars Jensen—with a tact that made Nicole suspect he wasn’t as dumb as he looked—turned his back and studied the neon beer signs on the walls.

  Nicole lowered her voice. “So I could understand you.”

  “Babe, I don’t expect you to understand.”

  “But I do,” she said earnestly, forgetting Lars. “If someone put people I worked with, people I cared about, in danger, I’d be tempted to throw a punch at him myself.” She risked a slight smile. “Even if it meant I did kitchen duty for it.”

  Mark shook his head. “You still don’t get it. Striking a superior officer is no joke. I was reprimanded for insubordination. It’s in my record.”

  He was right about one thing. Nicole didn’t know enough about the military to understand all the consequences of an official reprimand. But she could see the cost in the tight set of his mouth, the pain and anger in his eyes. Whatever had led to the disciplinary action taken against him, it had hurt his pride, touched his honor and ended his career. Her heart was a lump in her throat.

  She swallowed it. Unlike every other man in her life, Mark wouldn’t welcome her pity. And he didn’t need it.

  “I hardly need your record to tell me you have trouble accepting authority,” she said lightly.

  “No,” he agreed. “You wouldn’t.”

  “It can be a useful thing,” she said. “Sometimes.”

  “Only sometimes.”

  “Well…” She couldn’t possibly confess how much she relied on his opinion. How much she depended on his help. Bravely she met his flat, black gaze. “You were right about the ham-and-cheese.”

  And Mark—thank you, God—Mark grinned. The expression transformed his dark, closed face and almost robbed her of breath.

  “Damn straight,” he said.

  Hugely relieved, she beamed back. The moment stretched between them, sparkling like a strand of web beaded with dew.

  Lars Jensen coughed. “I guess you don’t need my help anymore.”

  Nicole jerked back to the present, “Oh, I, um—”

  “Nope,” Mark said.

  She glared at him, and the snake still looked amused. Relaxed. Her heart skipped. Happy.

  But her mother hadn’t raised her to ignore her social obligations. And she wasn’t turning away a customer, either.

  She smiled at Lars the Viking god. “Can I get you something to drink before you go?”

  He looked surprised. “Thanks. A beer would be good.”

  They sat at the bar.

  Mark slid a mug in front of Lars and then looked at Nicole. “What’ll you have?”

  Her pulse pounded. “Surprise me.”

  He narrowed his eyes and went away to fix her drink. He set it in front of her, a tall clear glass of something that fizzed faintly.

  She sipped—club soda—and sighed in disappointment. At least it made a change from diet cola.

  “Do you come here often?” she asked Lars and then cringed.

  But he didn’t seem to notice the pickup line. Either he was a little thick or he had excellent manners.

  “Couple times a week.” He reached for his mug. “It’s a nice place you’ve got here.”

  Nicole watched as Mark—without asking, of course, where she wanted him to put them—retrieved her cans of primer and carried them in the direction of the storeroom.

  “What? Oh, thank you,” she said.

  “So, you’re fixing the upstairs into an apartment?”

  She nodded.

  “You live alone?”

  Mark’s warning rang in her brain. If you don’t see any problem with a young, single, attractive woman living alone over a bar, it’s not my job to educate you.

  But she didn’t see anything in Lars’s broad, mild face to alarm her. Maybe it was a trick of size, but he looked dependable. Kind and safe and dependable. Exactly the sort of man all her books said she should be looking for.

  Where was Mark?

  “Or is that about to change?” Lars asked wryly.

  She blinked. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”

  He sighed and set down his mug, a nice man with broad shoulders and big square hands. When she met his gaze, she felt nothing: no zings, no tingles, no shivers or surges of lust.

  “Never mind,” he said. “
What do I owe you for the beer?”

  “Oh.” She pulled herself together. “No charge for friends.”

  He was too polite to look disgusted, but he pulled out his wallet.

  What was the matter with her?

  Mark reappeared at the register and her heart zinged plenty. Wouldn’t you just know it, she thought glumly. But it was hard to stay glum while her nerve ends tingled, her body shivered and her blood surged with lust.

  She slipped off her stool and sidled along the bar, responding to the lure of Mark’s presence like a paper clip sliding helplessly toward a magnet.

  Beside the register, in place of the regular tip jar, was a hand-lettered can that read, Save Petey. Next to it was a clipboard with almost a page of signatures. Nicole regarded both with approval. This was the kind of community outreach she had been talking about, evidence justifying her decision to move to Eden.

  She stuffed five dollars in the can and signed her name with a flourish.

  Behind the bar, Mark went very still.

  Lars was eyeing her with a mixture of confusion and admiration. “You’re a good sport.”

  She flushed with pleasure. She’d never played team sports as a child, never been described that way before. But she didn’t want to make a big deal out of it. She didn’t want to seem an outsider.

  So she shrugged. “All for a good cause, right?”

  Lars laughed.

  Mark just stood there, his gaze fixed on her face.

  Discomfort crawled under her skin. “It is a good cause, isn’t it?”

  She looked again at the signatures on the clipboard, recognizing the names of many of her regulars, small-town residents rallying to save one of their own, a child, maybe, or a brother. It gave her a good feeling.

  “Who’s Petey?” she asked.

  Blond Lars looked away, embarrassed.

  Mark was silent.

  “Come on, guys. Who is Petey?”

  Lars shuffled his feet. “He, ah, it—”

  “The pike.” Mark’s tone was abrupt, his eyes dark and oddly regretful. “Petey is a fish—the stuffed pike hanging over the bar.”

  “Boy, did you screw up,” Lars said as both men watched Nicole stalk off.

  Big-time, Mark thought.

  “It was a joke,” he said, not excusing it.

  “Did it look like she was laughing to you? Because it didn’t look like she was laughing to me.”