by ML Nystrom
Patrick looked at the pretty woman and could see why Garrett chose to be with her, but that didn’t mean she was good for his older brother. He smiled, but his protective instinct kicked in as he greeted her. “You’re Bertie, then? Garrett’s Bertie? Nice to meet you. Connor tells us you’re not a raving lunatic bitch like the last one.”
“Here now, Patrick. Watch your tongue.” Garrett bristled.
Patrick raised an eyebrow at his brother’s tone. The woman in question diffused the situation by smiling and sticking out her hand. “Yes, I’m Bernadette, or Bertie for short. And no, I’m not a raving lunatic. Bitch only when necessary.”
Patrick paused for a half-second. Her words and her manner told him a lot. Her confidence and calm stated I-have-a-place-here-and-you’re-not-taking-it-from-me. Couple that with Garrett’s defensive stance, meant there might be another sister-in-law in the future. Damn, another MacAteer bites the dust! He threw his head back and roared with laughter. He ignored the hand and enfolded Bertie in a big bear hug. “Great to meet you, lass. It’s about time Garrett found himself a good one. Fuck me sideways, I’m always late to the party. Barkeep! Another round!”
“None for us, Sloane. We need to get going.” Melanie put her empty glass on the bar and Sloane whisked it away as she poured another round of shots.
Patrick watched the woman’s constant motion. She might be small, but she was strong. Each pour filled the small glasses with exact amounts straight from the bottle. No drips or spills. It was clear she’d been behind this bar for a long time. She smiled at customers and did some cute bartender tricks of flipping glasses, twirling tongs around her finger, and bouncing caps off her elbow into the trash can.
“It’s early yet,” Angus protested. He picked up his colored drink and swallowed a good portion of it. “Patrick and I have to catch up a wee bit.”
“Aye, that we do.” Patrick quietly agreed as he reached out to snag one of the newly poured shots. Sloane raised her eyes to meet his, and he winked at her as he tossed the liquor to the back of his throat. Instead of the flirty wink back he expected, she scowled at him. “You starting a tab or mooching off Connor’s?”
Patrick let the woman’s ire bounce off him and turned the small glass over. He pushed toward her with one finger. “Tab, me darlin’. Name’s Patrick MacAteer.”
She stopped working for a minute and gaped at him. “Another one? How many of you are there?”
Patrick leaned on the bar with his elbows and ticked them off. “Connor is the oldest. Owen and Garrett are twins, but fraternal. I think Owen came first, but I can’t remember. Angus and I are next and we’re identical. We had to start wearing our hair differently so people could tell us apart. He’s the oldest by about twenty minutes. I’m the youngest brother, but we have a younger sister, Eva. She’s married to a biker and lives in Bryson City. Ever hear of the Dragon Runners MC?”
Sloane dropped her eyes and resumed her work. “Yeah, I know of them. Good people. I take my car to Ditchdigger’s place. He’s part of the local chapter.” She lifted the spouted bottle high and aimed a stream right into the glass. Perfect pour. Impressive.
Patrick lifted the fresh shot and threw it back in one go. The fire from the first one had already settled into a slow glowing burn in his stomach. The greasy drive-through burger from a few hours ago had long since disappeared and he briefly thought he needed to take it easy. Fuck no, I’m drinking tonight! That’s what Ubers are for.
“If yoor havin’ trouble, lass, I’ll be glad to look under the hood for yoo.” He accompanied the thinly veiled suggestion with a half-smile and another wink. His added accent thickened as he turned on the bedroom charm and turned it up to eleven.
Again the woman surprised him with her reaction. Instead of demurring and making a play of her own, she rolled her eyes and affected her own Irish brogue. “Ah now, laddie, ya think me daft? I have a bar full of thirsty people and no time for yoor blarney. If me hood needs anything, I’ll tend it later meself.”
She winked back at him and turned away to take another order.
For once, Patrick was speechless.
Melanie’s voice grabbed his attention. “We have a babysitter who’s probably watching the clock about now. Love that you guys are here. Talk business and shit. We’ll see you tomorrow at lunch, yes?”
Patrick put the cute acidic bartender out of his mind and bear-hugged his brother’s woman. “Feed me and you’ll be my favorite,” he remarked as he released Melanie.
“Beverly’s cooking. I can’t boil water without burning it.”
Patrick laughed as his brother had informed him about some of Melanie’s kitchen disasters. He let the rest of the conversation float around him as he wasn’t too interested in the lunch plans for the next few days. He was too busy watching the bartender stack a bunch of silver shakers and pour five drinks at once. Damn, she was good.
He noticed Angus sidle up to the pretty yoga woman. His twin offered her a seat and set himself behind her as if staking a claim. Renee? Ripley? Reina? Shit, I forgot already. That left Patrick as the only one there without a woman. Fuck that! Patrick snatched another shot from the row of shots and slammed it back. The bartender growled at him, but he ignored the sound and blew her a kiss.
“Party poopers, the lot of ya. Come, me true loves, dance with me before I grow roots.” He grabbed yoga woman and Bertie and dragged them to the dance floor. If some people found his behavior obnoxious, he really didn’t care. He worked hard and played harder and if they didn’t like it, well, fuck ’em.
He gave the pretty yoga woman a sideways smile and glance. “My beautiful new girlfriend, please don’t leave me!”
She laughed as she danced with him. “I’m not your girlfriend.”
“Oh, but you want to be. I’m cuter than Angus, you know.”
“I thought you were identical?”
“We are, but I’m still the cute one.”
The band started playing their next song and Patrick’s eyes lit up like firecrackers. So many shots in his stomach had stripped away any inhibitions he might have had about being in a new town and a new place. “Holy shit, I love this song!”
No one in the band protested when he hopped on stage to join in. He danced and sang at the top of his lungs. Even buzzed, he managed to get through the rapid complicated lyrics of “The Rattlin’ Bog.” The audience appreciated the skillful show and gave him a big round of applause as he took an exaggerated bow and jumped from the stage. Bertie left to go back to Garrett, but several other women joined him. I have my own fan club going here, he thought as he gyrated and smiled and flirted and charmed.
Yoga-girl matched him dance for dance, but she gave up after a while and took a break to sit at the table his brothers commandeered. A pretty blonde twerked in front of him, and he watched her pumping butt with interest. He and Angus had checked into a cheap room for the night for the both of them, and it wouldn’t be the first time they both brought women back, one for each bed. They had even switched places once to see if the women noticed.
They didn’t.
The band sang their final song and said good night. Most of the dance floor and indeed the pub had emptied, and only a few hard-core partiers were left. It surprised Patrick that his older brothers were still around as they had families to get home to. Then again, it had been a long time since they’d been together.
He galloped up to the bar, sweating from the physical exertion and high on life. “Oy, what a night! Great music. Barkeep! A pint of your finest!”
“Last call happened twenty minutes ago,” she called back without looking up from her work.
“Ah please, my lovely lass, just one wee pint to quench me parched throat.”
She frowned at him. “Nope.”
He smiled big and wheedled. “Please, darlin’? I’m new in town and I’m lookin’ for a warm, wet welcome.”
Sloane stopped her work and looked straight into his eyes. By the annoyed look on her face, she was not impres
sed. Mild intrigue filled Patrick. He usually got what he wanted with a little cajoling and flattery. Seldom had his charm and good looks not worked on a woman. The stare down grew longer, and heat burned on the back of Patrick’s neck. This woman had no intention of giving in and for the first time, Patrick feared he met his match.
Then she flipped the towel she’s been using over her shoulder and crossed her arms over her small chest. “I’ll give you a beer in a bottle for the road if you stand on that table and sing ‘Danny Boy’ so I can post it on the Facebook page.”
Patrick grinned in relief. Both for the release from her intense eyes and that he knew the song well. “Challenge accepted!” He climbed up and caught his balance. She took out her phone to film. He placed his hand over his heart and assumed a dramatic pose while he began to sing.
“Oh Danny boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling
From glen to glen, and down the mountainside
The summer’s gone, and all the roses falling
‘Tis you, ‘tis you must go and I must bide.”
Another voice joined in and Patrick recognized Angus harmonizing with him.
“But come ye back when summer’s in the meadow
Or when the valley’s hushed and white with snow
‘Tis I'll be here in sunshine or in shadow
Oh Danny boy, oh Danny boy, I love you so.”
Patrick thought Connor had fallen asleep at the table until he stood and joined his brother with a deep baritone. A twinge hit Patrick’s heart as he sorted through a few memories of the brothers all singing together. There had been many times as children when that was their only form of entertainment. They had spent most of their lives traveling from job to job with their father and working on the family construction crew. Campgrounds, the family RV, and temporary accommodations were more the norm than having a house or a home. Many times TV was not available.
“But when he come, and all the flowers are dying
If I am dead, as dead I well may be
You’ll come and find the place where I am lying
And kneel and say an ‘Ave’ there for me.”
A few patrons still hanging around came over and sang with the impromptu performance or hummed the tune if they didn’t know the words. Patrick closed his eyes at the sight and sound and let his voice ring loud and high. The alcohol still ran through his system, making him somewhat maudlin.
“And I shall hear, tho’ soft you tread above me
And all my grave will warm and sweeter be
For you will bend and tell me that you love me
And I shall sleep in peace until you come to me.”
Silence met his ears after the last notes faded. Patrick’s heart dipped, and the shock of tears in his eyes made him sober up.
The sound of a single person clapping came from the bar. The bartender held out two handfuls of cold bottles. “Take ’em home before you open them, boys. Now that’s how you close down a pub.”
The patrons took the offered bottles with thanks as Patrick hopped down from his perch. Congratulatory back slaps and a chorus of “nice job” and “great voice” greeted him as he picked his own bottle of cold, wet beer and twisted off the cap. His intention was to drain the bottle dry in one go; however, he stopped when he saw the woman’s reflection in the bar mirror.
She turned away to straighten the liquor bottles on the back-wall display. Tension pulled her muscles into rigid ropes. She hid herself from the celebrating bar and no one paid attention to the two tears tracking down her cheek. A thin hand came up to wipe them away and Patrick could see the fatigue on her face. Patrick kept his eyes on the struggling woman. He watched her bite her lip in an effort to keep it still and regain control.
Something about the song or the rough night? She had been on her feet serving, pouring, cleaning, and ringing up orders for the bar and the waitresses since before he and Angus showed up and Patrick hadn’t seen her sit down. Not once. He admired she had the power and energy to keep up all night. Long workdays were normal for him as well, but he was a lot bigger and stronger than this tiny woman.
Sloane. Sloane was her name.
As if sensing his perusal, she lifted her eyes and met his in the mirror. Her tears dried up, and she lifted an eyebrow at him in a classic what-the-hell-do-you-want expression. He smiled and winked at her before he lifted the bottle in a private toast and tipped it back.
Chapter Three
“Look out, Sloane. Incoming cougar.”
I groaned at Gordon’s warning as I spotted Maggie Garfield walking in the door this Thursday night. She wore a short red dress on her generous hour-glass figure and her highest fuck-me pumps. There was no doubting her intentions for coming out tonight. Her husband, Sean, must be out of town, leaving her to prowl.
My mouth turned down in a long frown as she seated herself on a stool and flipped her dark hair. Cheating on Sean was a regular occurrence when she had the opportunity. I hated it, but I had no say in what my patrons did in their private lives. I just pulled drafts, made drinks, and took their money. The only time I interfered was if something went down here at the bar. Sexual harassment happened occasionally to my female patrons, and when it did, I put the kibosh on it as quickly as possible. My reputation as a no-nonsense person had grown, and very few people messed with me about it.
Gordon kept his back to me, tacitly refusing to serve the woman. I couldn’t blame him as the few times he had, she came on to him, and he didn’t like that at all. He wanted to ban her ass, but we didn’t have a good reason other than her blatant infidelity. If we banned everyone who came to the bar for a one-night hookup, we’d go bankrupt in a month.
I tossed my ever-present dish towel over my shoulder and approached the woman. Her eyes were so busy checking out the field, I had to clear my throat to get her attention. She seemed disappointed to see me instead of Gordon. Too bad, so sad.
“Hi, Maggie. What can I get you?” I cringed, knowing what she would order.
“I need a screaming orgasm, pronto.” Her voice rang loud and clear.
I swear whoever named this drink did it solely for the purpose of fucking with bartenders. If she didn’t find a victim soon, she’d be ordering other drinks with sex names. Buttery nipples, leg spreaders, blow jobs, and whatever else she found on the internet that could get her noticed and annoy the shit out of me.
I poured vodka, Baileys, Kahlua, and cream into a shaker just as Patrick showed up. He and his brother had come in the bar nearly every night since they showed up last week. The Facebook post of him singing on top of the table had garnered more had been watched a bazillion times already and some women had come to the bar specifically to find him.
“Greetings, my favorite people!” He wore his typical uniform of jeans, boots, and a dark green Henley with the sleeves pushed up. “Sloane, my love, I’m dying for a drink. Can you pull me a Green Man?”
“Lager or IPA?”
“Lager, darlin’. Love the red hair.”
A little thrill spun in my chest at his compliment. I had to tell myself over and over again that his attention didn’t mean anything, but I did enjoy his notice. His order for the lighter beer told me he drove by himself tonight. Guinness meant Angus came with him, and Jameson whiskey meant someone else would take him home. He impressed me by being that responsible about driving after drinking and knowing his limits.
I finished pouring the creamy drink for Maggie into a short ball glass and set it in front of her. She ignored it as her eyes stapled to the handsome ginger-haired man shaking hands and slapping backs.
“Who’s that?” I swear I could smell the pheromones floating from her pores.
I pulled a large beer mug and tilted it to fill from the tap. “That’s Patrick.” I felt no other need to explain.
“Patrick.” Her breathy voice told me she had found her prey.
I wanted to throw the cold beer at her head. Maybe that would cool her ass down a bit.
Patrick came to the bar and p
icked up the mug. His hair fade seriously needed a trim and he'd pulled the long locks on the top of his head back into a loose bun at the back. It gleamed wetly from a recent shower.
“Sloane, you’re my absolute favorite.” He grinned and winked at me before taking a big slurp.
I admit it. My belly fluttered, and I had to quell the urge to titter. Ugh. Me. Tittering. What a joke. That flutter lasted about three seconds as he turned to the drooling woman beside him.
“And who might you be, pretty lady?”
I didn’t stick around to listen to Maggie’s reply or the subsequent conversation of heavy sexual innuendos. I had a bar to run and booze to sell. Nope, I was not envious of the attention. Not me.
True to form, Patrick talked, smiled, winked, and bought Maggie several more drinks. I had to look up what was in a suck-bang-n-blow cocktail and ended up substituting some ingredients for what I didn’t have on hand. Herbal liqueur? Really?
A few hours later, I saw Patrick put a giggling fucked-up Maggie into an Uber. Then he came back and ordered another beer. I tried. I did, but I couldn’t help myself.
“Too drunk or too old?” I asked when he sat back down, and I set the fresh beer in front of him.
“Too married. Not a place I’ll go.” He took a big drink and slumped over the bar as if his energy finally ran out.
I wiped the top and collected some dirties to put in the washer underneath the counter. He stayed silent for a change, showing me a side of him I’d not seen. It surprised me as the exuberant ladies’ man full of loud life and good times had always been at the forefront anytime he’d been at my bar.
“Maggie’s been here before looking for action. What tipped you off?”
He put the glass on the bar, placed his elbows around it, and ticked off his points finger by finger.
“One, there is an indentation where her wedding rings sits. Dead giveaway. Two, she slipped up and said her husband’s name. I let it go, but I heard it. Third, she worked it way too hard. Ordering sex drinks, pulling at her skirt, licking her lips. Classic plays. Besides that, she wasn’t looking for a good time. That woman is desperate for attention from someone. Even a stranger at a bar. Whoever her husband is, he spends more time doing other things than taking care of his wife.”