Serving Trouble (4 page)

“We'll manage,” he said. “You can come back tomorrow.”

“But I'm here now.” She placed her hands on her hips. Sparring with him felt good. In the past eighteen months since she'd left the intensive care unit to bury her baby instead of raise him, she'd discovered she could only stomach so much pity. She didn't want any more than he'd already offered—­a simple “I'm sorry.” Pity didn't change the past or pay her bills.

“It's only what, ten o'clock?” she continued. “You have hours before closing.”

“That T-­shirt will be soaked through soon,” he countered.

“Damp. My dress was already beginning to dry. And maybe the customers will like seeing a picture of the old mechanical bull.”

His gaze flickered to the picture on the T-­shirt. “Most of the ­people out there never saw it in action.”

But she had—­the night she'd asked him to show her how to ride it. Sometimes she still dreamed about the feel of the bull moving beneath her, about Noah moving inside her . . .

A knock sounded at the back door before she could find her next comeback. She'd been close to marching off to the bathroom, reapplying her makeup, and returning to work. They could argue while she served drinks and collected tips.

“Noah?” The back door opened and Chad Summers poked his head inside.

“Yeah?” Noah called as he walked past her, heading for the rear exit.

The door swung wide and Chad stepped in, followed by another man. They had the same facial features and tall, muscular builds, but the second man was fair-­skinned with bright red, curly hair.

“Sorry to interrupt.” Chad cast a curious glance at her. “But Josh just arrived. He was held up because he offered to swing by a tract of private land Moore Timber plans to clear-­cut. And he found a woman camping out. No car. Just a sleeping bag and pack.”

Josh nodded and his red curls fell across his forehead. “I approached her and, dude, I could tell she'd been living out there for a while. When I talked to her, and basically told her she needed to leave before the crew moved in to harvest, hell, I half expected her to be one of those crazy environmentalists. But she said she was searching for a friend. Before she'd tell me a name, she made me swear I wouldn't breathe a word to anyone. And shit, at this point, I was ready to the call the police. She seemed nuts. But then she said she was looking for you.”

“What's her name?” Noah demanded.

“Caroline,” Josh said. “I told her I knew you. I offered to give you a call. But she started to gather her bag. Said she couldn't trust anyone. Claimed someone was after her and they would come after you too. She told me she had to warn you.”

“Shit,” Noah cursed.

Josie turned to him. She'd been inching back, prepared to sneak away and finish her shift while Noah informed the Summers brothers that they'd found some crazy chick in the woods.

“So you know her?” Chad jumped in.

“Yeah. And if she says someone if coming for us, she's probably right,” Noah said. “Where is she now? Did you give her a ride?”

Josh shook his head. “No offense, Noah, but I didn't believe her story. I went to get my cell from my truck to call you and when I turned back, she'd vanished. Just slipped away without a sound.”

“Caroline's a marine,” Noah said as he withdrew his truck key. “She's fast and quiet. Trust me, I served with her.”

“A marine,” Chad said. “Present tense?”

“Yes,” Noah said. “And I need to find her.”

 

Chapter Four

T
HE SMELL OF
stale beer and a ray of sunlight packed a powerful punch first thing in the morning. Josie opened her eyes to both and wished she hadn't slept in the old Big Buck's shirt that she'd worn for the rest of her shift—­after Noah had slipped out to search for the mysterious Caroline.

She glanced at the window. The white curtains her mother had picked out welcomed the early-­morning light instead of blocking it out.

“I should have asked for blackout drapes,” she muttered. But at five years old she'd risen with the sun.

“Josie?” Her dad's booming voice called from the other side of her door. “Are you awake?”

“Yes.” She tossed off the covers and slid out of bed. Thinking about her mom, about how much she'd needed her these past few years, would only lead to tears. “I'm up.”

“I'm making eggs before I head back to the station,” her father announced.

“I'll be right down.” She opened her duffel bag and riffled through it, searching for a pair of pants and a clean shirt. She couldn't sit down to breakfast with the chief of police smelling like she'd rolled in booze last night.

She walked into the farmhouse kitchen wearing sweatpants and an old tank top. Her father stood by the stove, his gaze focused on a frying pan. With the build of a professional linebacker, her dad looked like a cartoon character wearing an apron and holding the spatula in one hand.

“Morning, Dad.” She moved around the familiar space, pouring juice and setting the four-­top wooden table. “Thank you for letting me stay here.”

“It's your home.” Her father turned from the stove with two plates of scrambled eggs layered with cheese and herbs. “I would have been here yesterday, but Lewis, he's my new deputy, his wife just had a baby.”

“I managed just fine,” she said as he set a plate in front of her. She missed her father's cooking. After the morning sickness and the initial oh-­shit-­I'm-­having-­a-­baby panic faded, she'd dreamed about coming home and eating at this table. But she'd dreaded the conversation that would follow when he saw her belly. He'd grounded her through half of high school only for her to show up pregnant once she went to college?

Dad, I think you were right about me. I think this whole town was right. I'm always going to be the girl who needs saving, the one who's not strong enough to take care of herself.

No, she couldn't say those words. So she'd tried to manage on her own. And still failed. She hadn't been strong enough. Not even close.

“I saw your note,” he said as he claimed the seat across from her. “You're working at Big Buck's?”

“Noah gave me a job.”

“He's a good kid. And he's doing a fine job with that bar.” He stabbed his fork into the eggs. “It's a big relief for his father having him home. Buck fell a few months ago helping his neighbor set a hunting stand up in a tree. He broke his leg and now he's having a hard time getting around, from what I hear. Good thing his son had come home by then.”

She nodded and focused on eating. Was her father waiting for Dominic to come back? It didn't seem likely now that he'd gone through Ranger School. He might have left for basic training at the same time as Noah—­and Ryan, the third in their trio—­but she suspected her brother was the only one who wanted to be there.

She glanced up from her half-­empty dish. The sound of their forks on the plates filled the otherwise empty kitchen.

“I'm glad you're home,” her father said suddenly. “But if you came back because . . . If there is something wrong, I'd like to know. I want to help.”

Where do I begin?

“I just needed a job and a fresh start,” she said.

She couldn't tell the man who'd spent years questioning her choices about the baby. He'd been right every time. But choosing the wrong guy and losing a baby? This wasn't a mark on her record. It was an F for “failure.” It had broken her heart in ways she hadn't imagined possible. She'd held herself accountable. She couldn't bear to add his judgment too. Not yet.

“W
AITING FOR THE
cases of beer to count themselves?” Josie asked as she pushed through the door leading to Big Buck's back room and headed for Noah. He looked like he hadn't slept since the night the Summers brothers launched the hunt for the mysterious Caroline.

Four days had passed since her trial shift and Josie hadn't learned anything more about the missing marine. But she knew Noah had made it his mission to find her. He was either serving drinks, searching the Willamette Valley for Caroline, or trying to do the inventory when he was too tired to count.

He glanced at her and then turned his attention back to the cases neatly stacked by the back wall. “This new citrus summer ale doesn't sell. I still have . . . so damn much.”

“Five cases.” She reached out and took the clipboard and pen from his hands. She hadn't slept much either between working through the weekend at the bar and getting up in the morning for awkward breakfasts with her father. But she'd rested long enough to count boxes. Unlike her boss. She scrolled down the list, found the summer ale, and wrote the number.

“Cases of this stuff and everyone wants Fern's Hoppy Heaven IPA,” he muttered.

“So get that instead.” She scanned the rows of beer boxes before adding a few zeros to the inventory list. “And we also need light beer.”

“Only a few bars in Portland have the Hoppy Heaven on draft,” he said. “A bunch of the students drive up to the brewery once a week to buy a four-­pack. An hour's drive to buy four cans of beer and they have to wait in line when they get there.” He shook his head. “I need to convince the brewery to let us sell it here.”

“I could help you,” she said, scribbling another zero on the inventory sheet. “I could take over the ordering.”

“Four shifts in and you're trying for a promotion?” Noah said.

“Only if it pays more.” She moved to the kegs and bent over one to read the label. She scribbled another number on the list and waited for him to say something. Maybe a sharp “Not going to happen” or “It doesn't pay a penny more.”

Silence.

“Not that I'm complaining,” she continued. “The tips have been great. It probably helps that I haven't spilled a single drink since that first night.” She glanced up to see if he'd fallen asleep standing up staring at the beer.

Nope, still awake. And not looking at the beer. Not unless he expected to find a bottle buried between her breasts.

“I'm not hiding a can of that super special IPA down my shirt,” she teased as she stood up. “But you can stare at my cleavage all you want. Nothing is going to happen.”

Noah looked up from her chest and raised an eyebrow. “Never writing back to me, did that help you forget about the night you rode the bull?”

“No,” she said firmly. “I didn't want to forget. Maybe take back what I said. But now . . . I can't take another ride with you.”

“You're sure about that?” he asked mildly. But she saw the tension rippling through his muscles. This man was close to falling asleep on his feet. But Noah still looked as if he would toss her over his shoulder and carry her straight to his barn.

Do it!

She felt the desire rising up and leaving her wanting what she couldn't have—­him.

“I'm sure,” she said softly.

Because no matter how much I want to touch you, I'm terrified one kiss, one wild night, will damage what's left of my heart.

But she wasn't going to spell out her feelings and fears for him. As much as she hated living with fear, she wasn't going to present a challenge or give him a chance to prove that sometimes desire trumped everything else. Because, oh God, if her longing for Noah and his supersized muscles won . . .

“Nothing will happen,” she continued. “Because I have a history of only falling for total jerks.”

“I can be a jerk,” he said, his tone daring her to prove him wrong as he crossed his arms in front of his chest. His muscles flexed and his Semper Fi tattoo stared back at her as if the marines motto translated into “Bad Boy Material.”

“I'm sure you can,” she said. But she knew better than to travel down that road. She moved to his side and patted his arm. He stared down at her hand as if she'd seared the blond hair. She withdrew her hand and added, “I just want you to know it won't be a problem.”

“The other night, while you were working your first shift
,
I wanted to lick the vodka off your breasts.” He spoke in a low tone and his gaze met hers. The look in his eyes screamed
I dare you to pat me like a freaking puppy again
.

“You wouldn't try now that I'm full-­time.” Her statement hovered close to question-­mark territory.

“Get a bottle and try me,” he said. “I'll probably break my own damn rule about fooling around with the employees.”

Her hand itched to reach for the nearest liquor bottle. But she was too much of a coward. Plus, she didn't think he would do it. She knew jerks, the kind of men who hit, the ones who left, and the guys who didn't give a damn. Becoming a marine, deploying to Afghanistan, fighting—­the experience had knocked the pedestal of perfection right out from under him. But that didn't make him a jerk. Just a good man who'd gone to war and come home a little lost. A former soldier who'd rather give in to desire instead of face his own demons.

She stared at the lines around his eyes. Right now, he looked every inch a good guy who'd rather use her breasts as a pillow instead of a shot glass.

“Maybe later. You're tired,” she said. “Let me finish the inventory while you rest.”

He shook his head. “I'm fine. I've gone days with only an occasional combat nap.”

“This isn't a war zone,” she said softly. “Just because you're searching for someone . . . it's not the same.”

He stared at her as if ready to argue. “No, it's not,” he said finally. “Just one big Goddamn nightmare.”

“Maybe Caroline left,” she said.
And took the nightmare with her.

“No.”

She knew he was right. Problems didn't just fade away. And the nightmares stayed whether you slept or not.

“If you're planning to comb through the woods again tonight,” she said, knowing he would, “you should rest. Take a combat nap. Maybe make this one a double while I finish up here.”

“I could use a few minutes of shut-­eye,” he admitted. “I have a meeting with Fern's Brewery in the morning. Think you can be accurate with the list?”

“Don't worry, I've been counting since grade school,” she said, making a mental note to attend the meeting with him. He'd been joking about a promotion. But one day soon he might need an assistant manager to handle the ordering. And before she had dropped out of college, she'd been on her way to earning a degree in business management and marketing.

“When is the meeting?” she asked.

“Nine,” he said with a sigh. “But they're located up near Portland. Long drive.”

“I could drive,” she offered. “And you could sleep along the way.”

“Jesus, you really are angling for a promotion, aren't you,” he said.

“Is that a yes?”

“I'll think about it.” Then he turned to the door. “I'm going to crash in my truck. Wake me before we open.”