The Kentucky Rose was her chance to finally grow some roots, have a place all her own that no one could ever take away from her.
Turning on her heel, Tucker took a second to let her gaze travel across her bar. Taking in the happy patrons and hardworking staff, a sense of pride and satisfaction filled her. This was what was important.
She’d done this. Built this all by herself with hard work and sheer grit.
There was one rowdy group of guys, apparently in town celebrating a bachelor party. They’d been slamming back shots since they walked in the door. She’d have to tell Matt to stay close in case they got stupid drunk and made trouble. She also made a mental note to send Kayla over with some nachos on the house. Hopefully, the food would soak up the alcohol and slow them down a bit.
The first strains of The Devil Went Down to Georgia pumped into the room. From every corner, waitresses started whooping. The patrons, especially the regulars who knew what was coming, joined in. As one, the girls moved toward the bar, jumping up onto the wooden surface Tucker had spent hours sanding herself. In perfect unison, her team began to kick and stomp to the music, following the choreography they’d spent hours learning.
Tucker’s eagle eye watched each of them, looking for any small imperfection they could work on the next time they practiced. Her team often left those sessions dripping with sweat and groaning about how much of a taskmaster she could be. But they looked forward to them anyway. She made sure they still had fun, with lots of laughter and camaraderie.
This might be work, but she regarded every woman on her staff as a friend. Over the last year, she’d made a point to foster the idea that they were family, not just coworkers. And she really believed that. On the floor, it was important to look out for each other, especially during busy nights like tonight.
“Tucker.” Wyatt walked up, his large shoulder brushing against hers. He’d been with her from the very beginning as her head of security. But they’d known each other longer than that. Wyatt had worked at the bar she’d managed while putting herself through grad school.
At one point he’d tried to get into her pants, but she’d shut him down damn fast. Almost as bad as messing with a military man would be sleeping with one of her coworkers or employees. She didn’t mix business and pleasure.
Now they were just good friends. Wyatt often stayed late to walk her out. He’d become the overly protective little brother she’d never had. And since he and Michelle, one of her best waitresses, had been together for almost six months now, everything had worked out for the best anyway.
“Thanks for helping me handle that guy and his dog before.”
“Didn’t look like you needed much help, boss. As usual. You had things well in hand.”
“Yeah, but it’s always better to have backup. At least he was smart enough to realize he was outnumbered and should leave quietly. I would’ve hated to make a scene.”
“But you would’ve done it anyway.”
She shrugged. “Sure. If I needed to.”
Wyatt nodded. They’d worked together long enough to know how the other operated.
“I see you sent Kayla over to defuse the bachelor nightmare that was brewing.” Wyatt tipped his chin in the direction of the bar. The song had flipped over to something about a girl and a tractor. Her team had melted into the crowd, back at it, serving the customers.
Everyone except Kayla. She was sitting on the bar, her tiny shorts riding up and flashing the curve of her ass. She tossed her long mane of red curls and laughed, the throaty sound carrying across the bar.
One of the guys tried to run his hand up the outside of her thigh. Before he could get far, Kayla smacked his hand and let out another peal of laughter like it was a joke.
“Stay close to her,” Tucker said, shaking her head.
A self-defense instructor and rape victim advocate by day, Kayla could take care of herself. But that didn’t mean Tucker was willing to leave her without backup if she needed it.
“You got it, boss.”
“And keep your eyes on your job, not on my dancer.” She smacked his arm, offering a glare they both knew was fake because she couldn’t quite keep her lips from twitching into a smile. Besides she didn’t really mean it. He and Michelle were good for each other.
Wyatt tossed her a grin of his own and wandered closer to Kayla. She glanced up, gave him a little nod and half smile of appreciation before returning her attention to the guys crowding around her.
On a bright note, Kayla should get an amazing tip. The money would definitely come in handy when she had to pay her tuition next semester. It wouldn’t be long before she had her master’s in psychology.
Tucker didn’t suffer any fools. She only hired people who had intelligence and drive. Ambition was a prerequisite. She wanted her business to be a stepping stone to more for everyone who walked through the doors—just like it was quickly becoming the kernel of her own dream come to life.
Growing up, she didn’t anticipate her calling in life would be to own a bar. But her entire outlook changed when she took a bartending gig at a little dive outside her college campus. At first, she was just looking for something that didn’t require a lot of effort and brought home enough to pay her tuition.
But in no time, she’d fallen in love with the life, her coworkers and customers. There was something about the camaraderie that fed her soul just as much as the classes she crammed for each day. And when her aunt left her a decent inheritance, Tucker had decided to combine it with her newly minted MBA and open her own business.
Months of pouring over plans, market research, studying the industry to determine what she could offer that other bars couldn’t...it hadn’t been easy, but it was absolutely worth it. Almost a year later, she was well on her way to success.
Shoving away from the column she’d been leaning against, Tucker headed for the women’s restroom to do a quick check. Pushing open the custom door made from reclaimed wood, she scooted past the line of waiting women with a smile and a murmured, “Excuse me.”
Everyone seemed happy, which is what she always liked to see. A couple of women were crowded around the long mirror, gossiping about a guy and reapplying gloss.
Grabbing a stack of heavy paper towels stamped with the Kentucky Rose logo, she refilled the first dispenser on the far side of the trough sink.
“Those napkin thingies are adorable,” one of the women said. “That’s what I love about this place. It’s the little touches.”
“Like the armadillo!” someone else exclaimed from behind the stall door.
“Thanks,” Tucker said, flashing an appreciative smile. “This is my home and I want it to feel that way for everyone.”
“Nicest bar I’ve ever been to,” someone else said, before slipping out the door.
“Not pretentious or seedy. Welcoming.”
That was exactly what she’d been going for with each and every detail she’d layered into her bar. Tucker turned to fill the dispenser at the opposite end of the counter, but stopped when something caught her eye. Someone had dropped trash along the back of the sinks.
It shouldn’t bother her, but it did. She realized she ran a bar and that most people didn’t treat it like their own place, but what kind of prick just left garbage on the counter when there was a can not three steps away?
Fishing between the wall and the towel tray, Tucker snagged a corner of whatever it was and tugged—but got a hell of a lot more than she’d expected.
It wasn’t just some cellophane from a new tube of lip gloss or even a condom wrapper. There, in her hand, sat a small bag of white crystals.
Maybe she shouldn’t have been surprised—again, it was a bar, after all—but she was. Tucker had a strict rule and everyone who worked for her knew it. No drugs—using or selling—by staff or customers. Anyone suspected of being high was shown the door.
Tucker stared at the baggie in her hand. Small enough that none of the women around her even appeared to have noticed. What the hell was she supposed to do with it?
“Tucker? You in there?” Wyatt yelled through the partially opened door. “We’ve got a problem.”
Crap. Tucker stuffed the bag into her pocket. One problem at a time.
2
FINN WAITED FOR about twenty minutes, watching the people come and go from the shadows surrounding his Jeep. Enough time that Tucker would assume he’d left, hopefully get busy with something else and not notice when he and Duchess slipped back inside.
He wasn’t anywhere near finished with the Kentucky Rose—or its feisty owner.
Waiting until a rowdy group of college guys crowded the front door, he melded seamlessly with the group. The guys pushed at each other, laughing and generally making asses of themselves, never even noticing he was amongst them. Idiots.
Blending into the shadows on the outskirts of the room, Finn found a booth that was unoccupied—probably because it was far away from the dance floor, bull and bar. Still, it worked perfectly for his purposes.
Duchess, her paws barely making a sound, curled up beneath the sticky, gouged surface of the table. Her head rested on his feet. To anyone who might spot her, which was unlikely in this crowd, they’d probably think she was napping. But Finn knew she was actually paying more attention to what was going on than half the people in the place.
He’d barely settled before a waitress swept over to his table. “What can I get you tonight?”
He ordered another beer. Maybe he’d actually get to drink this one. Several minutes later, the waitress plopped a frosty glass onto the table in front of him, apparently oblivious to the dog not three feet away.
Good. If he was lucky no one else would notice her, either.
Grasping the cold glass in his hand, Finn settled back into the corner of the booth, propping his legs up across the seat. The beer was good; he’d give Tucker that. A nice selection from a local microbrewery.
Finn watched, taking in the patrons and the staff. Looking for anything that stuck out to him as strange.
It didn’t take long for Tucker to surface again. He watched her move efficiently through the crowd, stopping to encourage some women who were obviously out for a night without kids and husbands to indulge by taking a turn on the mechanical bull. They went from reluctant to whooping and hollering, huge smiles on their faces.
At another table, she nudged a group into purchasing more drinks. At the next, where an inebriated group of professionals had obviously overindulged, she pushed food and glasses of water, instead. She expertly maneuvered each of her customers into having a good time, and the most impressive part was, they had no idea it was happening.
But Finn noticed. Because paying attention was part of his job.
He tried not to let her distract him, but over and over again he found his gaze drawn to her body, her smile, the way her face lit up when she laughed.
Several times he wished he had his camera so he could capture the flash of amusement as it stole through those bright blue eyes. Or the glint of light off those soft, golden curls. His fingers itched to hold the camera in his hands, to view her through the tiny window and see what else a photograph might expose about the woman he couldn’t seem to ignore.
But leaving the camera tucked away behind the seat of his Jeep was the smart move. Having Duchess beside him was conspicuous enough; if he’d strolled in here with an expensive piece of equipment hanging around his neck, too...it would have been too much.
Finn finished his beer, flagged a passing waitress and requested another. He was fifteen or so minutes into the second when Tucker disappeared into the back. The crowd was getting rowdier, typical Friday night. The hand on his watch was creeping toward midnight. The mom crowd had headed home a while ago, to relieve their babysitters, leaving behind only the hard-core partiers and singles searching for a hookup.
The mix of professionals and college students was outnumbered by airmen. Even out of uniform, Finn had no trouble picking them out—both men and women looking for a good time.
Someone cranked the music just a little louder. Darkness draped over the dance floor like a curtain, only broken by the flash of laser lights bouncing off the walls and that damn mirrored armadillo hanging from the ceiling.
People were laughing, singing and dancing. To his left, someone started yelling, the sound loud enough to rise above the crowd. Finn was on his feet before he registered the intention. Duchess was right beside him, her shoulder even with his hip.
Twenty feet away, two large men were shouting at each other. Finn didn’t have to guess; it was obvious to him they were both soldiers. Idiotic hotheads.
Chairs fell backward, clattering to the ground. Coming from opposite corners of the bar, three bouncers were headed for the melee, but it would take them too long to wade through the crush of people.
Finn was closer.
Gritting his teeth, he was halfway across the space when the first punch was thrown. The crunch of bone against bone echoed around him. Glass shattered on the wooden floor. One of the guys grunted, but Finn had no idea if it was the fool who’d thrown the punch or the idiot who’d taken it.
Unfortunately, it didn’t stop there. Stunned, the punchee shook it off, then threw one of his own, landing a solid uppercut followed by a body shot. The other guy doubled over.
Another bruiser entered the fray, and then a fourth. Fantastic, just what he needed, these knuckleheads drawing attention to themselves and tearing up the place.
Finn was right there, but not fast enough to prevent this from turning into a true clusterfuck. The situation was deteriorating quickly as buddies, fueled by alcohol and big egos, backed up their buddies.
The situation was bad enough, but it got ten times worse when he saw the bright flash of blond hair ahead of him.
Shit. Where had she come from?
“Tucker, don’t!” Finn hollered.
She glanced over her shoulder, saw him and frowned. But she also ignored him, turning away.
Goddammit.
She practically disappeared between the bruisers who were too busy slamming each other into the tables that had emptied around them to notice a woman shoving her way between them.
The first guy went to throw another punch, but Tucker stepped right in front. He was too drunk to react before his fist connected with her jaw.
Tucker’s head snapped sideways. She swore, the low, throaty hum of the sound reverberating through Finn’s chest and making his belly cramp. He watched, helpless, as her body crumpled to the ground.
Finn’s heart thumped erratically behind his ribs. A sense of impending doom he hadn’t experienced since coming home from Afghanistan overwhelmed him. They were going to trample her.
He found a burst of power, wading right between the flailing fists and brawling men, taking a couple of glancing blows across his ribs and shoulder that he didn’t even feel. Reaching down, he gripped Tucker and hauled her up.
Wrapping his arms around her, he pushed his way back out of the melee, using his broad body to protect hers as much as possible.
As he passed one of the bouncers who had threatened to throw him out earlier, Finn growled, “Get a handle on this.”
“Working on it. She okay?” the bouncer asked, nodding his head toward Tucker.
“Don’t know.” She wasn’t fighting him, which was a bad sign. What little he knew about the woman suggested she probably wasn’t one to take kindly to being hauled about. Something he had to respect. But she also wasn’t limp and lifeless, as he’d feared he might find her.
Confident the men Tucker had hired were capable of getting control now that they were close enough to the fight, Finn strode swiftly to the booth he’d been in minut
es before. Duchess gave a low whimper, but was right behind him.
He eased Tucker down onto the vinyl seat, propping her against the wall before pulling back so he could look down at her.
He expected to find her a little dazed.
Instead, those dark blue eyes that always seemed to snag him raged with anger.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
Twice now she’d growled those words at him. He was really starting to hate that question. “Saving your ass, darlin’.”
“My ass didn’t need saving. It’s perfectly capable of taking care of itself.”
“Didn’t look like it from where I was standing...looking down on you sprawled across the floor.”
Pulling her feet back, she tried to jerk up and sit straight.
Finn grasped her calves and pinned her legs right where they were. “Oh, no, you don’t.”
“Get your hands off of me.”
“Gladly, as soon as you promise to stay put.”
“I have to handle the situation.”
Finn threw a glance over his shoulder. Five bouncers had swarmed the area and were each manhandling a soldier in the general direction of the door.
“Your security team has it well in hand.”
“I’m sure they do, but that doesn’t mean I don’t need to be there. This is my place. It’s my responsibility.”
His lips twitched. “I imagine you pay good money for men who can handle this kind of thing for you. Let them earn their paychecks. You had the wind knocked out of you.”
He watched her little button nose scrunch up and her soft pink mouth twist into a grimace. A shudder ripped through her body and she finally sagged against the side of the booth. “God, I can’t believe I didn’t see that punch coming.”
Bowing her head, she started to probe along her cheekbone. He didn’t miss her wince. The skin was already starting to mottle. In a few hours she was going to have one hell of a bruise across her cheek.
“I’m damn impressed.”
Her gaze flashed up to him before dropping back to the table again. “Yeah, my guys are good. I only hire the best.”
Rescue Me Page 2