Dragon and the Dove (26 page)

When a piece of his boat had washed up on
Pukapuka, or Bora Bora, or
wherever, the skeptics had congratulated Stevie on her foresight in
attempting to buy up his tax-delinquent property. But foresight was
hardly the word Stevie would have used. Desperation had been her
motivation, one last desperate chance to get out of debt, and out
of town. This backwater wilderness had held her captive for a
lifetime, which was long enough in her book.

“Hey! Stevie! We need another beer here!”
Kong bellowed.

We?
Stevie glanced over her shoulder.
The last time she’d checked, Kong had been alone. From the hallway
she caught a glimpse of another man’s back. Maybe if she ignored
him, he’d go away. She’d planned on kicking Kong out as soon as she
hung up. Staying open for two late-night loners was a waste of
electricity—and she already had two pink slips from the power
company. One more and she’d be pouring beer in the dark. “I better
get going, Nola. Kong’s shouting down the rafters.”

“Well, you just tell him to hold his horses.
That boy probably has enough beer stored up in that gut of his to
float a battleship.”

“Yeah, and most of it’s mine.” Stevie opened
the beer refrigerator with her free hand. She wanted to finish up
and go home. She mentally tallied up the stock. A case of Bud, half
a case of Molson’s, a couple of Hussong’s . . .

“Are you coming to Sunday supper?” Nola
asked.

“Stevie Lee!” Kong bellowed.

Stevie quietly sighed. “Not this Sunday,
Nola, and you won’t be there either. It’s Memorial Day, remember?
There’ll be tons of people in town buying groceries and booze. Be
sure to remind Mom.”

“Oh, gosh! I forgot. Oh, honey, I’ve got to
go. I need to double my order. Bye.” The phone clicked in her
ear.

Yep, a real helluva night, Stevie thought,
giving the receiver a wry look. Then she hung up and walked back to
the storeroom. With luck, both of her customers would be gone by
the time she refilled the cooler.

Hal watched the hairy giant of a man ease
himself off the bar stool, squeeze himself behind the bar, and
lumber into the dark hallway. Hopefully he’d come back with the
unknown Stevie in tow. And hopefully the bartender would give him a
ride home. One look at the big guy weaving on his bar stool had
convinced Hal not to approach him for the needed favor—that and the
suspicion that the wreck parked out front belonged to him. The car
had seen its share of the bottoms of ditches.

On the other hand, the Mustang out front was
a dream on wheels. Even half-frozen, he’d taken a moment to run his
hand over the cherry-red paint job with white flames scorching the
sides and the word “Dynamite” swirled across the back panel. She
was somebody’s baby all right. With a little luck, she’d also be
his ride home.

Hal stepped closer to the stone fireplace to
warm his backside and looked around the Trail’s End. Small and
shabby, it reminded him of a hundred others he’d seen all over the
world, a locals’ bar. A dart board hung next to the fireplace, but
only someone standing behind the bar could have gotten enough
distance on a dart to hit it. Sure enough, he thought as his gaze
roamed the shelves of liquor on the far wall and found the darts in
a box between the bottles. The board was there for the bartenders,
not the customers. It was strange but not surprising, considering
the lack of business. Maybe if they fixed the place up, they’d do
better. In return for a ride, he’d offer his handyman services for
a day.

A thudding sound drew his attention to the
dark hallway. He listened for a second and, when no other noise was
forthcoming, went back to looking around. He could fix the broken
table stashed in the corner, the busted shelf behind the bar, the
ripped vinyl on the booths flanking both sides of the front
door.

The sound of glass breaking snapped his head
back toward the hall. Curiosity almost propelled him forward, but
the fire was warm, and once again no other sound followed the
second. He brushed off the crash by deciding the unknown Stevie had
stupidly entrusted the big drunk with something breakable. He
returned his attention to the bar. Maybe he’d offer to clean the
smoke and soot off the fireplace. Then again, he thought, his cabin
was only five miles out of town, a distance which shouldn’t demand
too many hours of repayment.

A muffled sound came next, hitting a wrong
chord in his mind, and Hal moved forward a couple of steps. Then a
woman screamed.

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