by Jo Leigh
His coffee lured him in with its seductive aroma at the same time his cell phone buzzed. He grabbed it on his way to the kitchen and when he saw it was Sam, his pace slowed. The guy was his best friend. And the last person he’d talk to about his predicament. In fact, he hadn’t even told Sam he was on leave.
John thought about letting it go to voice mail, but he’d have to eventually return the call, so what was the point? Besides, Sam normally didn’t call in the middle of the day. Since he couldn’t fly anymore, maybe he was also having second thoughts about staying in another ten years.
Grabbing the carafe, John poured himself a cup as he answered. “Well, if it ain’t Captain Sam Brody. What’s up, Jaws?”
“I was expecting your voice mail,” Sam said, then paused. “Where are you?”
Hell, he wasn’t going to lie. “Home. I just rolled out of bed.”
“Alone?”
“Uh, yeah...as far as I know.”
Sam laughed. “Must’ve had a hell of a night. Isn’t it noon there?”
“Wait.” Coffee sloshed over the rim onto the counter. Cursing, John ripped off a paper towel from the roll suspended underneath the upper cabinet. “Just spilled my first cup of joe. Not a good start.”
“Want to call me back later?”
“No, I’m good.” He disposed of the towel and carried his cup to the living room. He stationed himself at the window and stared at the distant clear blue sky over Nellis. “What’s going on?”
“I got my new orders today. They’re sending me to Holloman. I’ll be teaching newbies how to pilot MQ-9 Reapers.”
“Now? Why didn’t they wait until you re-upped?”
“What? I signed last week.” Silence lapsed long enough for John to realize he’d stuck his foot in it, then Sam asked, “I gather you haven’t.”
“Nah, not yet. I’m on a short leave to take care of some loose ends. So how you feeling about being an instructor?”
“It’s fine. It’ll be good.”
John had a lot of things he could have said about that, but he didn’t. If Sam was cool with teaching, then he was glad for him. “When do you report?”
“I’ll be taking some leave myself after I make the move, but that won’t be for about a month. I haven’t actually finished my training here. You know who lives in Alamogordo, don’t you?”
“Emma.” John pictured Danny’s widow the day of his funeral. Pale, too slender in a plain black dress, trembling, her body jerking every time a rifle fired into the air in farewell to Captain Daniel “Woody” Lockwood. “It’s been three years. She might have moved by now.”
“I don’t think so.”
“So you’re going to see her?”
“I don’t know. I think so, but...the last thing I want to do is open an old wound.”
John sighed. “That’s a tough one, buddy. She made it pretty clear she preferred to be left alone. But that might’ve been grief talking. If it were me, I’d at least give her a call.”
“That’s what I was thinking. She can always hang up on me.”
“Emma wouldn’t do that.” John smiled. She was a nice lady, pretty, patient with Danny, who, in the pursuit of a good time, often forgot he had a wife. “But a call gives her an easy out.”
“If it goes well, I’ll offer to buy her dinner and do some catching up. Hey, maybe you could hop a flight sometime. See my new digs?”
“Very possible.” John sipped his coffee, but still couldn’t hold back a yawn.
“Man, don’t you just hate when sleeping till noon wears you right out?”
John laughed. “Gee, Dad, it wasn’t a school night.”
“So...what do you think...you staying at Nellis?”
“I don’t know.” That was the truth. If he traded his uniform for civvies, the private pilot gig he was offered would keep him on the move.
“They talk to you about testing the F-35C?”
John turned away from the window and back to the kitchen. He hated even the mention of the F-35C. It was Sam who deserved to be in the cockpit, not teaching drone pilots because of his less-than-perfect eyesight.
“You there?”
“Yeah, I’m here.”
“Look, Devil, I’m good with what I’m doing. No need to backpedal. Would I like to get back in the air? Damn straight I would. But that’s gonna take a miracle. So quit it. You didn’t make the rules.”
“Yeah, yeah.” John sighed, wishing he knew what to say. Wishing he knew what the hell he wanted to do for the next twenty years. “My housekeeper will be letting herself in any second, and I’m standing here in my skivvies.”
Sam laughed. “Go.”
“I’ll call you later.”
“Make it sooner.”
“You got it.” John disconnected the call, noticed he had a message waiting.
While he listened, he dumped the lukewarm crap and refilled his mug, making sure to drink it as he carried it into the bathroom. The voice mail was from Towlie, aka Rick, another pilot he worked with at Nellis, confirming dinner tonight, which was a good thing because John had forgotten. Two other guys were joining them on the Strip. Both from other bases who were flying in overnight. John had run into Derek a few times on assignment; the other pilot wasn’t someone he knew. But he had no doubt they’d have a good time, talking shop at dinner and then club-hopping and picking up women.
Goddamn, he must be in rough shape if the thought of that sweet plan made him cringe.
* * *
IT WAS A QUIET AFTERNOON with only four customers in the bar. Mondays between noon and five at the Gold Strike were usually slow, especially toward the end of the month when people were waiting for checks.
Cassie looked up from her book to check on Gordon and his three cronies. The old guys made it easy on her. They always ordered two drinks at a time. On days like this when she worked solo and needed to study, it helped not to be constantly interrupted. That didn’t mean she wouldn’t wring Tommy’s neck. He was supposed to have covered the afternoon shift. But he’d claimed he had bar business to take care of. Bar business, her butt.
He barely wrote or signed checks anymore, or verified invoices or shopped for the garnishes. No, he just dumped everything on her lap. And like a fool, she let him.
Gordon caught her glaring at the door. “Your folks still in Oregon, Cassie?”
“Yep. They’re likely to stay till fall.”
“Can’t blame ’em. This whole valley feels like a damn oven. Hotter than last summer and no one can tell me otherwise.”
Cassie agreed. She’d just paid last month’s electric bill, and wow, had that stung. She’d had to cut into what she jokingly referred to as her salary to cover costs, and tips weren’t always that great. Last night’s thirty-three dollars had been awesome. She hoped John came back. But only because he was such a good tipper. “You guys want pretzels?”
“Nah, we might order a pepperoni pizza,” Gordon said. “You interested?”
She glanced at the clock...already three-thirty. “I’ll pass. As soon as Tommy gets here, I’m shoving off.”
“You need me to watch the bar?”
Sighing, Cassie shook her head. “Thanks, but I don’t know what time he’ll be here.” If he didn’t show up within two hours, she was screwed. Lisa started at five, but she couldn’t handle the after-work crowd by herself, so Cassie would have no choice but to stay.
Gordon gave her his famous raised eyebrow. Which was saying something, because his brows were bushy, pure white and as expressive as a cartoon character’s. “What’s he gonna do without you?”
“Why? Where am I going?”
“Once you get that master’s degree, you won’t be sticking around. You’ve got too many brains to be working here as it is.”
“I don’t know about that.” She pushed her fingers through her tangled hair. “Besides, who’d keep you guys in line?”
Gordon frowned. “Nobody’s gotta worry about me. My hell-raising days are over.”
; Joe muttered something about Gordon being too slow to get into trouble. The other old boys hooted with laughter and added their two cents.
Cassie just smiled. All four were retired military, ornery and gruff when they played poker or argued over the superiority of the air force versus the navy. But they were harmless, and ready to step in and help her out when she was in a bind.
“Shut up,” Gordon said. “Let the girl study in peace.” He tossed a take-out menu across the table. “Are we ordering pizza or not?”
She took another look at the clock, knowing only two minutes had passed, and then stared down at her textbook. Studying psychology wasn’t a hardship. She loved observing people and discovering what made them tick. But it was this extra class on neurorehabilitation that was going to kill her. She’d passed cognitive neuroscience with relative ease, but this one was surprisingly more difficult for her. Maybe because she hadn’t had nearly enough sleep and too little study time.
But she wouldn’t beat herself up for being too ambitious. Her only fault had been overestimating Tommy. He knew she’d chosen an aggressive summer schedule, assured her that he was behind her all the way, and then he’d let her down. Was it intentional?
She doubted it. He was a good man at heart, but stubborn. And since he wouldn’t go for counseling, she was left to struggle with his decisions. It wouldn’t be so bad if those decisions didn’t impact her so acutely. On the other hand, he wasn’t actively trying to harm himself anymore, so that was something.
Their parents wouldn’t be here to help him out. They hadn’t believed in him enlisting, much less fighting a war in Iraq and getting his leg blown off. Neither of them were monsters, but they weren’t vying for a parents-of-the-year award, either. They had their own lives, and Cassie appreciated that they didn’t interfere in hers.
The room was quiet enough that she heard a car engine outside. Probably Tommy’s van, which he parked at a reserved spot near the handicap ramp. She stared at the door, and two minutes later, watched him limp over the threshold.
He met her eyes for a second, then swung his gaze toward Gordon and the gang. “Joe, you gotta move your car. It’s taking up two stalls.”
“I did that on purpose,” Joe said, looking up from the menu, his gray-threaded dark hair hanging limply to his shoulders. “I’m saving a space for Spider’s Harley.” He pulled out his cell phone. “I’m calling in a couple pizzas. You eat yet?”
Tommy waved him off and kept walking toward Cassie. “I told you we should be serving food here,” he murmured when he passed close enough for her alone to hear.
“Right. Because I don’t have enough responsibility to juggle as it is.” Her blood pressure skyrocketed when she realized he was headed for the back. “Don’t you dare—”
He stopped, slowly turned. “What?”
“You don’t think you might owe me just the tiniest explanation why you’re late?”
“Can I at least take a piss first?”
“No, you can’t.” She gritted her teeth when the others laughed. She hadn’t meant for them to hear. “Where the hell were you?”
“I told you I had bar business.”
Boy, had he just opened himself up. She bit back the sarcastic remark that came to mind. “Such as?”
“I don’t wanna talk to you about it when you’re in this kind of mood. You’ll just be negative and give me attitude.” He continued on to the back room.
She slipped around and followed him. “You knew I had to study, and you promised you’d cover this afternoon. Now you’re gonna explain what was so damn important that you screwed me over.”
Tommy sighed and turned to meet her gaze. He was clean shaven, not a regular occurrence, and he’d tamed his curly hair. “Can you keep an open mind?”
She glanced at his wrinkle-free shirt, a button-down, not his usual ragged T-shirt. Maybe he was telling her the truth. “Yes, I can.”
“I met with the attorney about the gaming commission. If things go well with the background checks, we could have the license by November.”
“Are you kidding me?” Had he not listened to a word she’d said? The Gold Strike was in no position to consider gaming.
“See, there you go with the attitude.”
“I thought you were joking about this. Even if you could get the license you can’t afford to pay someone to keep the place open twenty-four hours.”
“Do you know how much money those machines pull in? We’ll be able to hire three more people if we want. Put in a kitchen and serve food instead of watching customers bring in pizzas and hot wings. This place could be so much better.”
“Look...it’s not—” Cassie got a false start, breathed in deeply and tried again. She didn’t want to crush his enthusiasm, just inject a dose of reality. “I’m not against making improvements or expanding. It simply won’t happen in the near future. Tommy, the license is a half-million dollars.”
He shrugged and his face flushed. “Len has some ideas about that.”
“What kind of ideas?” She moved closer. “You didn’t have enough in the account to cover the electric bill. I had to dig into my own pocket.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
She stared at him in mute frustration, waiting for him to remember that she had told him. But his personal coffers had also been bare.
Shame burning in his hazel eyes, he looked away. “We can find a way to make it work. We just have to be creative.”
Cassie didn’t bother to argue, or to point out there would be no “we.” Sad for both of them, she watched him walk toward the men’s room, his shoulders slumped. He scared her when he got like this.
Whoever this attorney was, he was outright stealing from Tommy if he was telling him they were in any position to get a license. At least now she knew why Tommy never had a nickel in the bank. The right thing to do would be to track this shyster down and file a complaint against him. Which might save the bar, but could destroy her brother.
Maybe he needed to hit bottom before he’d start living in the real world again. But she wasn’t strong enough to watch him fall.
4
AFTER SUFFERING THROUGH bumper-to-bumper traffic for three blocks, John finally turned on Flamingo. Another minute and he merged onto I-15, glad to be away from the Strip and the tourists. He hadn’t minded leaving Rick and the other two men behind, either.
Dinner with the guys was supposed to have boosted his spirits, remind him of the camaraderie he enjoyed in the air force. Not depress him. Halfway through the meal he knew he wouldn’t be joining them afterward at the Palms for drinks and hunting. Maybe he shouldn’t have left so early. A beautiful woman in his bed might be just the distraction he needed. On the other hand, the mood he was in, he doubted he’d want anyone that close.
It was Troy, the pilot he hadn’t met before, who’d sent John into a funk. In the middle of their discussion about the F-35, he’d gotten a call from his wife. She’d put their two kids on the phone so he could say good-night to them, then Troy told her he loved her and missed her. Seconds after Troy disconnected he asked Rick where they were going clubbing.
No one at the table had batted an eye. Not even John. None of his business, and it wasn’t as if he didn’t know that kind of crap went on all the time, but Jesus, the guy had just talked to his wife and kids. How did a man run cold to hot that fast after telling a woman he loved her?
Granted, John wasn’t an expert on love or marriage. Twice he’d thought he’d been in love, once in college and then again five years ago. Both ended up being false alarms. Greta and Tricia each had been fun, sexy, amazing women in their own way, just not right for him. But while they’d been together, he’d never cheated on either of them, never considered it for a minute.
He sped past the exit for his condo. He hadn’t planned on going to the Gold Strike, so it wasn’t the reason he’d bailed. But he didn’t want to go home, either. It was early, only nine. And he wouldn’t mind seeing Cassie again.
Thin
king about the cute bartender made him smile. He’d be disappointed as hell if she wasn’t working tonight, but he doubted she took much time off. The bar was her domain and the customers her family. Everyone seemed to get a real kick out of trying to stump her with trivia. They put some thought into the questions he’d heard, but no matter how busy she’d been, Cassie had known the answer. He’d never seen anything like it. Like her.
Traffic thinned the farther he got away from the Strip and downtown, and it didn’t take long to get to the Gold Strike. The parking lot was less crowded than last night but he looked for a spot on the street anyway. Maybe he was wrong in thinking the Corvette was safer at the curb, but the stalls were narrow and he’d watched more than a few guys putting away too many pitchers of beer.
At one point early last night Cassie had cut off a burly man with bikers’ tats. John had moved to the edge of his stool ready to intervene, then saw she hadn’t needed help. The guy hadn’t given her any grief. Another man with arms the size of oak trees and wearing lots of biker leather had emerged from the back room. No doubt he would’ve bounced the drunk all the way to the California state line if he’d uttered one wrong word to Cassie.
John parked the Corvette and pocketed his keys on the way to the door. If he’d thought about it earlier, he would’ve changed into jeans. Though he wouldn’t stand out too much in dark slacks and a white oxford shirt, not in that eclectic crowd. In deference to the heat, he rolled his sleeves back another turn and, all right, he hoped he didn’t look too preppy.
As soon as he stepped inside he saw her behind the bar, sitting with her head bowed. Over a book. A couple sat a few stools down from her, both with full cocktails in front of them. His seat from last night was free, and he pulled it away from the bar. Lisa, the waitress, came from the back room and smiled at him. She set her tray near Cassie and said something, probably alerting her that she had a customer, because Cassie’s chin came up and she looked right at him.