“Thank you.”
“You bet, Rowan.” Justin turned and she watched as he grabbed what he needed with ballet-like movements, throwing in a few smooth bottle tosses for effect as he splashed it together. He pressed an orange slice onto the edge of the glass, popped a cherry on top, and slid it toward her.
She nodded her thanks.
“Enjoy, Rowan.” Justin grinned, perhaps hoping for a cookie. “Can I get you anything else, Rowan?”
Trying not roll her eyes, she shook her head and took a long sip. The hurricane was sweet and strong. She’d have to be careful.
Taking her drink with her, she sipped it as she worked her way around the room, greeting folks, laughing at perceived wittiness, making sure their food and drinks were perfect, avoiding ass-grabs, and refraining from punching said ass-grabbers.
When she returned to the bar, her drink was gone. And damn if she wasn’t a little tipsy. Warmth spread to the roots of her hair and her joints and muscles felt a little more fluid than they normally would. She stared at the empty glass before placing it on the edge of the counter.
Henry appeared to her right and plopped down on the stool beside her. His creased face lit up with pleasure. “Bonsoir, ma chère! Buy you a drink?”
“Oh, that’s okay. I can get them for free.” She winked at him. “I know the boss.”
“Yeah, yeah. I hear she a tough one, that girl.”
“Is she?”
The old man laughed, the sound raspy, but pleasant.
“Would you like another one, Rowan?” Justin gave her his high-wattage smile, and before she could answer, he’d turned to mix the next one.
It sat on the bar, dark-red and gorgeous before she even realized it. With a small shrug, she took another sip.
Henry leaned over and she could smell beer and baby powder. “What’s that boy on, miss?”
“I wish I knew.” She sighed and looked up to see Luke staring at her. Their eyes fused, his a lightning-filled storm at sea. A little unnerved at the intensity of his gaze, she frowned but refused to break contact. After all, it wasn’t her fault she saw him without a shirt. He shouldn’t have been traipsing around a woman’s apartment with his lean muscles hanging out all over the place. Scarred or not, the man was chiseled and more than a little yummy.
Uh oh.
“Luke regarde en colère.” Henry’s face drew together, eyes narrowing into nonexistence.
“Sorry?” She pulled her gaze from Luke’s to stare at Henry.
“No, no, I’m sorry. He looks mad.”
“He always looks mad.”
“Good reason.” Henry finished his beer and signaled for Justin. “Bourbon.”
“Yes, sir.” He whirled to grab the old man’s drink.
“And for what reason would that be?” Curious, Rowan studied Henry, wondering what he might know.
Laughing loudly, Henry patted her shoulder. “He don’t like that other boy paying attention to you.”
Rowan raised both brows and took a long pull from her straw. An unsolicited warmth rose up from her belly at Henry’s observation and she stifled a frown. “Why would he even care?”
The sound of fiddles filled the limited space of the bar. An accordion and acoustic guitar rounded it out into a vibrant melody. The band was off and running and the reaction was an instantaneous blend of foot tapping and hustling to the dance floor.
She was pleased to see she made the right call. She’d have to bring them back.
“Don’t matter.” Henry threw back his drink, climbed off the stool, and held out a hand. “Let’s make him a little more jealous.”
Rowan looked at the stubby, gnarled hand, puzzled. With a conscious effort, she pushed the hurricane away from her.
“You ever jitterbug, ma chère?”
“I’m not very good at dancing.”
“No matter. I’ll teach you.” His nut-brown eyes appeared from their folds, bright with expectation.
“I don’t know…”
When Henry’s smile sagged a little, Rowan pushed off her stool and took his hand. She liked the little old man and couldn’t bear to see his light dimming. She’d heard that his wife had passed away a few years back and The Galloping Goose was his refuge. “I can’t promise any kind of grace.”
“That’s all right. Neither can I.”
Before Rowan could ponder this admission, the old man yanked her toward the dance floor. “I’ll be dancing with the prettiest girl here.”
She smiled at him when he pulled her into steps as alien as any foreign language. He whirled her around with the exuberance of a younger man, before holding her close for a moment.
Henry twirled her again and she almost lost her balance, laughing, and a tiny bit drunk. When she knocked into the solid wall of flesh, Rowan almost fell a second time, but strong fingers caught her by the upper arms and she glanced up at the man’s face.
Luke stared at her, face and eyes blank. She wanted to take a step back, her flesh tingling under his hands, but pride kept her in place to jut out her jaw. This man worked for her and she wasn’t about to be intimidated by him.
He looked over her head and nodded to Henry. “This girl’s lucky you didn’t twist her arms off. Seriously, man, what was that?”
“I am the best of the best.” Henry hiccupped and burped.
“The best at what? Maiming your partners?”
The old man scowled, but good humor oozed from around it. “You gonna show this old Cajun how it’s done, boy?”
Luke hesitated and Henry’s scowl morphed into the happy grin he’d been trying to hide.
“C’mon. You know you want to. Jolie jeune fille comme ça.” He turned to the crowd, his voice rising. “Il doit avoir peur!”
Laughter rippled through the small crowd, with a few folks looking as blank as Rowan felt.
“Embrasse moi tchew,” the younger man muttered, but a smile pulled at the corner of Luke’s mouth.
Rowan frowned and blinked. The exchange sounded insulting, but she knew both men were clearly fond of one another, even if she couldn’t comprehend why. She tried to pull away from him, uncomfortable with the shift. Dancing with the harmless little old man was one thing, but she didn’t care to get cheek to cheek, or in their case, cheek to chest, with Luke.
His hands firmed, preventing her escape and she gritted her teeth.
“I don’t think this is a good idea.” She didn’t want to cause a scene, especially as a relative newcomer in her own place. The sudden increase in her pulse didn’t impress her either.
He naturally ignored her and she entertained driving her heel into his instep.
“Give your customers what they want,” Luke murmured. “Just follow my lead.”
Trapped, she clamped down on her discomfort. Pasting on a fake smile, she hissed between her teeth. “I’d fire you if I could.”
His smile was grim. “I don’t even doubt it, ma chère.”
“I’m not your ‘dear.’”
“Oh, you finally caught that, did you? Good for you. Maybe there’s hope.”
Before she could kick him in the shin, he twirled her and brought her back to catch her around the waist with one hand, seizing her fingers and pressing against her palm with his. He pulled her toward him and then propelled her back, swung her around with his arm locked at her waist, and then changed direction. Rowan let her gaze drop to his feet, startled at the ease of his quick steps.
“Look at me.”
She did, finding his midnight-blue eyes locked on her, and she managed to follow the dance through the skill of his moves. The band set the pace, the accordionist taking the lead, the fiddle players and the guitarist building the tune into an infectious blend.
“What the hell did you two say, anyhow?” Rowan was pleased to find her voice steady.
He twirled her around, his mouth pulling to the side.
“Well?”
“He accused me of being afraid to dance with you and I told him to kiss my ass.”
<
br /> Rowan didn’t have time to analyze the exchange. Heart racing, her breath puffed from her. Dizzy, she couldn’t tell if it was the alcohol or the dance. He pulled her close, spun her around and around. A laugh popped from her before she could bite it back. She wasn’t positive, but she thought she caught the quick glint of his white teeth. It was gone before she could be sure.
When the music stopped, Luke didn’t release her and stood perfectly still watching her. His eyes wide, they flitted between hers. Lightheaded, she stared back, warmth rushing her face, too aware of the coiled strength under her hands. Mud filled her brain and she couldn’t connect words, let alone full thoughts.
The cacophony of too many people in too small a space swirled around them, converging together and shifting into white noise.
Her heart galloped in her ears, her body trembling with its intensity, but her gaze remained twined with his. Those amazing dark eyes of his shimmered in heat and something more for the longest moment before his face crumpled.
Dropping his hands from her, Luke turned his back and walked away.
Rowan blinked and almost fell, mentally shaking herself off. A thin sheen of sweat touched her forehead and she figured her face was flushed. The AC probably needed some tweaking again.
He had disappeared behind the bar and now served a draft with a full head to a burly bearded man dwarfing the tiny stool under his butt. Luke didn’t bother to look her way again.
Bewildered and annoyed at herself because of it, Rowan dodged and worked her way to the front entry. A little air would flush away the alcohol haze and maybe steady her a little.
Someone caught her by the arm, and she whirled to find Margie’s gaze locked on her, a tiny frown weaving around her eyes. “Are you all right?”
Rowan forced a smile. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were here.”
“I only just got here, honey. You look upset.”
“No, no. I’m … fine. Just need a little air. The crowd’s getting to me all of a sudden.” She peeled the older woman’s hand away, taking a moment to give it a reassuring pat. “I’ll be right back.”
Rowan wove around a few more people before she was able to pull the heavy door open and slide out the front. Sidestepping to avoid getting smacked at the entry, she leaned near the narrow block wall of glass and tried to rein herself in.
Her heart pounded in her temples, blood rushing heavy and hot. Sweat coated her face and trickled down the small of her back. Night air dropping into the low sixties rushed in, but relief was slow, achingly slow.
“What’s the matter with me?” she murmured, the words not even reaching her through primal senses gone awry. Luke had her twisted around and baffled, and it shouldn’t have even been an issue. The man was rude, aloof, damaged, and couldn’t even stand her. Why did a simple dance throw her into such a tangled mess?
In that moment, she wished she hadn’t come to Louisiana. She should have sold the damned tavern instead of hauling herself almost 2000 miles to deal with an asshole employee and a haunted bar.
Haunted.
The jury was still out on that one. Her logical brain continued to vie for a reasonable explanation, sure it could be found.
Her emotions told her another story, but she endeavored to squash it.
Closing her eyes, she pressed her hand to her forehead, expecting it would be pulsing under her fingertips, relieved when it wasn’t. Tomorrow she would call her parents. Just to check in, hear their voices, even if her mother annoyed her.
“You okay, pretty lady?”
Rowan nodded and good manners stifled the urge to tell the Samaritan to go away and be concerned about someone else.
“Sure? You look a little pale.”
She cracked her eyes open, any words lost in a gasp. Jerking backward, she flattened her body against the block glass, inadvertently smacking the back of her head. A spin of dizziness chased a few painful sparkles around her until she blinked it away.
The green-eyed man stood less than three feet from her. He tilted his head and smiled. “Ah, you’re a difficult one, oui?”
“Who are you?”
“An acquaintance of your uncle’s.” He slid one foot forward and his face filled her vision. “His death was very unfortunate for me, but then voilà! Here you are. It’s important for family to take care of family, do you not think so?”
“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.” Rowan kept her voice from shaking and considered it a small victory. Her next victory would be kneeing him in the balls, if at all possible, but her body felt too heavy, too ineffectual. “What do you want from me?”
“I guess this is all very confusing for you, but it doesn’t matter. I’ll make it simple.” He leaned in and she thought she could smell smoke on his breath. “Your uncle owed me. I lost him, so the debt is yours.”
“I don’t have a lot of money…”
The man opened his mouth and laughed. “Well, that’s unfortunate, but there are other ways to pay a debt—”
“Rowan? You okay?”
She swiveled her head to find Justin popping out the front door, goggling at her, and the man who should have still been in her periphery, gone. Nauseated, Rowan bent from the waist and rested her palms on her knees. “Did you see anyone?” Her voice sounded unfamiliar to her own ears, wispy, weak, strength gone.
And it pissed her off.
His brow crinkled, pink rising from his neck. “Um … well, I think a few people may have left.”
“You didn’t see the guy that was standing here a second ago?” She looked up at him, concentrating on her breathing. Slow and steady.
He opened his mouth and closed it again, befuddled.
“Never mind.” Straightening, she pushed past him on shaky legs and slid back into the throngs of people. The warmth of the tavern settled around her and for the first time, she took comfort from it.
Chapter Eleven
As he worked pouring neat liquor, mixing cocktails, and drawing drafts, his mind kept wandering and Luke found himself keeping an eye out for Rowan. She’d left the tavern a little too quickly and now concern scrubbed against his brain. He didn’t like her out there alone at night.
His heart hadn’t slowed despite effort to pull in and steady his breathing. Sense memory still had her in his arms, the scent of her light fragrance in his nose, the unguarded surprise in her eyes. It had taken everything he had to walk away.
And now all he wanted was to kick the shit out of himself. Okay, first Henry, then himself. As much as he liked the old man, Luke could have cheerfully killed him in his sleep over that little stunt.
His gaze found its way back to the entry, but still no Rowan.
Wiping his hands on a towel, he took several steps to clear the bar, stopping when that kid Justin pushed outside first. No doubt he was just doing the same damn thing Luke had intended.
Anger and displeasure crept up his spine. Gritting his teeth, the muscles in his jaw throbbed. What difference could it possibly even make? That guy could make a play for her, she could reciprocate, and all of a sudden, Luke’s life would become a whole lot easier.
Naturally, he told himself a fanciful lie even while his subconscious whispered the truth. Every misgiving he held was slowly being pummeled under new affection and new desire. And it scared the shit out of him. He still associated those tender feelings with loss, and he doubted it could ever change. It would always stand as a blockade to happiness for him.
Despite himself, when Rowan reappeared, Luke subtly craned his neck to watch her, frowning. Her face bloodless, she pushed past Justin as if he weren’t there and now worked her way through the crowd. She couldn’t have been more than five-four, so it was easy to lose her. He did manage to catch a glimpse of her red hair or flash of the bright turquoise of her blouse though.
Settling into a booth, she squeezed into the corner, back to the wall, face still wan. Hell, she looked downright sick. It cut him straight to the heart, but he refrained going over w
hen Margie slid in next to her. The older woman tilted her head, brows drawn together. Her lips moved in conversation lost to him.
“Can’t keep your eyes off her, can you, mon ami?”
Luke walked back behind the bar and shook his head. “Henry, you see more than what’s there.”
The old man clucked a tongue and downed his shot, waving him away when Luke went to refill. “Beautiful girl.”
“Lots of pretty women out there.” Luke responded, his voice tight.
“Not always the right ones though.” Henry kept his eyes steady on him, and something in that stare reminded Luke that this wasn’t just any old man. This was a man who’d experienced all sides of life from the cradle to the gutter to Vietnam to now. His wife had been with him for forty-eight years and now he visited the lovingly maintained crypt that neighbored the daughter they’d lost at the age of three. He’d worked as a brick-layer most of his post-war life, with scars and callouses to prove it, had taken painting classes for love, if lack of talent. He still lived in the same little shotgun house he and his wife had shared, the same place they’d raised Andy. And he still tended to his wife’s garden, filled with begonias, lilies, and honeysuckle, despite her being gone close to six years.
Shame flooded Luke again and he said nothing.
“How old are you, Lukas?”
“Thirty-four. Why?”
Those brown eyes stayed on his, searching, knowing, despite the alcohol he’d ingested. “The rest of your life is a long time to mourn.”
Within the cacophony of the tavern, the moment spread as only similar commonality could between two men. Finally, it broke and Henry reached out to slap Luke’s bicep when he didn’t respond. “I think it’s time for me to get lost and get my old ass to bed.”
Yanking his wallet from his trousers, the old man counted out some bills and tossed them on the bar. “Bonsoir, mon ami.”
“Night, Henry.”
****
The last of her customers gone, Rowan locked the front door and leaned against it. The time she’d spent hiding in the corner and brooding had only served to sharpen her determination and temper. She wasn’t a weak little woman and resented being made to feel that way.
Soul Reckoning Page 6