She reached down to the fridge and grabbed a bottle, turning to the opener screwed to the wall.
“I prefer to open it myself.” The stranger pulled his keys out from his bag. A bottle opener was attached to the ring, along with a pile of other keys. Rachel raised her eyebrows before leaning over and handing him the unopened bottle. This was a new one on her.
“Don’t you trust me?” Her voice rose up a little at the end. Jeez, was she flirting with this guy?
“Don’t take it personal, sweetheart. I don’t trust anybody.” Though his words were serious, there was a lightness to his tone. She could feel her lips drying up again. Was it normal for a heart to beat that fast?
“I bet you never drink draft.”
“Depends where I am.” He passed her the cap, their skin glancing briefly as he transferred the metal disc into her hand. She closed her fingers around it, the jagged metal edges biting into her palm. Moistening her lips again, she tried not to stare at his mouth and the small scar leading from the corner to his jaw. She really wanted to ask him how he got it.
Every scar told a story; life had taught her that. If she traced it with her fingers, she wondered if she’d be able to read him like a blind man reading braille, the raised skin telling secrets his lips never could. When he tried to sleep at night, did his scar burn as much as hers?
She turned away, throwing the cap into the trash can beneath the bar, swallowing away the bitter taste of her memories.
“Shit, I needed that.” His voice was low and mellow, his beer already half gone. If Rachel had drunk that much in one go, she’d be weaving all over the bar by now. The way she was feeling, maybe it would have been a good idea.
“You new in town?” She leaned on the counter, resting her chin on her hand.
The stranger looked at her through dark green eyes and placed the bottle down in front of him. His lips were damp with beer, foam clinging to them like jetsam to a wave. He licked it away with a swipe of his tongue.
“I’ve got some business in Addison. I took a wrong turn back on the highway and ended up here.” Running a large finger around the rim of his bottle, he glanced up at her. “The weather isn’t looking too hot, so I thought I’d take a break.”
She wondered what kind of business he had in the next town over.
“Is it looking like snow?” A native Bostonian, she was used to the cold weather. It made her laugh every time snow ground things to a halt.
“Cold enough to.” He took another mouthful. “I guess we’ll see.”
“I’m Rachel, by the way.” She offered her hand to him, and he shook it fiercely. Her cheeks burned when they touched.
“Murphy.”
She assumed it was his surname, but his short words and his large body made her afraid to ask. He seemed closed off, filled with muscle and adrenaline. Energy radiated from him, washing over her skin, making her feel edgy and out of sorts. She wasn’t sure if she liked the sensation.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Murphy.” She was reluctant to pull her hand away, liking the way his fist warmed her skin. For a moment she stood still, her eyes fixed on his, and gave her body up to the strange feelings shooting through it.
“I’m fixing for one last drink, honey,” Jace called from farther up the bar. “Can you make it a pint this time?” Unlike Murphy, Jace drank both bottle and draft, often choosing the microbrew when he had the cash. His win tonight had obviously oiled his wallet.
Rachel pulled her hand back and twisted to grab a fresh glass. Tipping it forty-five degrees beneath the tap, she pulled the handle on the bar until the beer started to flow. It had taken her a while to learn the right way to pour, but now she was an expert, always managing to get around half an inch of foam at the top of the glass.
Jace took the proffered beer and handed Rachel the exact change. His fingers curled around hers and she had to pull back, trying not to notice when he smiled at her in his crooked, half-hopeful way. She shook her head, as much in amusement as denial, and walked back to Murphy. Sometimes, she wondered if Jace would ever get the hint.
Murphy continued to tap against the bar with his large fingertips, even though the music had stopped. For a long moment she wanted to hop over the counter, feed some coins into the jukebox, and get the big guy to dance with her. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d really let herself go.
“That your boyfriend?” he asked, sounding mildly curious.
“Jace?” she clarified, her voice incredulous. “Hell, no. I’m not a cradle robber.”
Murphy raised his brow. “He can’t be much different in age to you. How old are you anyway?”
Rachel laughed, catching his eye again. A half-smile was pulling at his lips, and he was leaning forward, like he really wanted to know. “Didn’t your momma teach you it was rude to ask that sort of question?”
“Come on. You can’t be any older than twenty-five.” Murphy winked at her.
“I’m twenty-eight, and Jace is twenty-one. It isn’t happening.”
Glancing sideways in Jace’s direction, Rachel thought it wouldn’t happen even if he was older. He’d lived in Hillbrook all his life, gone to school with the same boys he worked with, and knew the first names of pretty much everybody who lived in the town. He thought of Rachel as a “purty” lady with a strange accent, a nice simple girl like the ones who worked in the mine offices.
But she was anything but simple. Sometimes she looked at those girls, ones with nice names like Becky and Laura, and could feel her chest contract with jealousy. She wished she could sit in the diner with her legs swinging and her nail polish chipping, flirting with the boys in the booth across from her. Like the guys from the mines, the girls aged fast—hair whitened and teeth yellowed by a mixture of poor nutrition and plump babies. But there were worse things in life than growing old alongside a man who thought the world of you. Rachel knew that from experience.
No, it wasn’t only age separating her and Jace; it was a whole gulf of experience.
Murphy leaned farther across the bar until his face was only a few inches from hers. “I’m thirty-five, so our age difference is the same.” His breath warmed her skin when he spoke.
She licked her lips, considering his words. As different as she and Jace were, there was a similarity between her and Murphy she couldn’t quite put her finger on. The same way a child knew the difference between a tiger and a striped cat without being able to say why, she could tell Murphy was one of her own kind. Maybe it was his accent, or the way he held his body, but there was something about him that reminded her of home.
That wasn’t necessarily a comforting thought.
“It doesn’t matter so much when it’s that way round.” Her voice was soft. He had to strain to hear her, moving his face closer to hers. She wasn’t sure she liked this new proximity or the way he invaded her space; the change made her heart race uncomfortably fast. It almost came as a relief when he drained the last of his beer and placed the empty bottle on the bar, throwing down a bill and wishing her a good night. The way he’d been looking at her—with a regard that seemed a little too close for comfort—was making her feel skittish and exposed, and she didn’t like it one little bit.
Chapter Two
The next evening, Rachel was down in the cellar, fixing up a new keg of Amber Ale while Buddy held the fort at the bar. When she walked back inside, she was still breathless and a little heated from manhandling the barrel. Salty perspiration beaded her upper lip.
Murphy was sitting at the bar again, this time leaning on the wooden counter and talking to Buddy. He held his broad back tense and straight, like he was hyper-aware of his surroundings, a lion ready to pounce the moment he was threatened. Rachel looked at him for a moment, studying his clothes and the way he stood. He didn’t have to open his mouth for people to know he wasn’t from around here; the cut of his top and the color of his jeans were enough to mark him out as a stranger. His pants weren’t pale and over-washed like the good ol’ boys’, and his Henley was no checkered shirt. As Buddy might say, he looked as out of place as a chicken in a church. The thought made her want to laugh.
“The keg’s changed.” She flashed a smile at Buddy. He walked slowly to the tap handles, pulling a pint glass from the shelf above and placing it beneath the spout. His pale, wrinkled hand wrapped around the wooden handle, pulling it toward him until the draft started to flow. The first glass from a new keg was always “for the bar”—a tumbler full of foam they threw away.
“Good evening.” Murphy’s deep voice took her attention away from Buddy and the taps. She glanced over at him, nodding slightly, her lips pulled back into a thin, worried line.
“I didn’t expect to see you around here again.”
He gave the barest hint of a smile. His body was still and his face wary, like Rachel was a stray dog he was trying to tame. “My business is taking longer than expected. I’ll be here a few more days.” He wrapped his fingers around his bottle and brought it to his mouth, his head tipping back as he drank.
“Something to do with the mines?” She picked up some empty glasses left on the bar and transferred them to the washer.
“What makes you think that?” He was leaning on the bar again, his grey sleeves pushed up to above his elbows. His forearms were thick and strong, defined by long tendons running down to his wrist. He seemed stronger and more powerful than the boys in Hillbrook. Despite their hard, manual work, they tended to run soft around the belly and thin in the legs.
Rachel allowed herself to smile. “It’s pretty much the only business around here.”
There was silence for a minute, a thick, cloying quiet that put Rachel’s teeth on edge. His next words did nothing to calm her feeling of unease.
“You’re not from around here, are you?”
He was looking at her with a strange expression, and the left-hand corner of his lip quirked up, elongating the scar running down to his jaw. It was more scrutiny than smile—the expression a man would have when he was concentrating too hard on something. It reminded her of the way her father used to read the sports pages on a Sunday morning.
“What gave me away?” Her airy laugh was contrived even to her own ears. It made her wince.
Murphy shrugged, his powerful shoulders dragging up the fabric of his top. “Your accent, for one. You sound a little too cultured for Bumfuck, West Virginia.” He didn’t seem to care he was insulting a whole town. “Your clothes, too. You don’t look like you bought them down at the local store.”
Glancing down at her jeans and sweater, Rachel wondered why he thought they weren’t bought around there. She hadn’t met a man yet who knew the difference between designer and low-end. “We don’t have a local store. We do, however, have a Walmart about forty miles south of here.”
Though she said it lightly, his implications were grating on her. He didn’t think she fit in. The thought scared her, made her feel exposed, like a camera shutter left open for a few seconds too long. When a shuffling to her left alerted her to another customer, she turned away from Murphy, grateful for the distraction.
“You want another drink, Eddie?” She waited for a moment until he slowly nodded his head, loosening his grip enough to let her take the glass. She placed it behind the counter, pulling a clean one from the shelf, lining it up beneath the tap. “It isn’t like you to order two in a night.” Her words made Eddie smile, his grin revealing a mouth full of tobacco-stained teeth.
He glanced sideways at Murphy before leaning in to Rachel and whispering, “We heared the outsider was back.”
Rachel bit down a smile, realizing exactly why Eddie was ordering a second drink when one was usually enough. He’d been sent over by the other men, desperate for some gossip in a town where nothing ever happened.
“He sure is.” Though she’d restrained a grin, there was still some humor in her voice. “He has business around here.”
Eddie nodded, watching as she poured the ale. His eyes never left the glass until she’d filled it right to the rim. She’d poured him enough beer to know anything less than level with the top was bound to be rejected.
“Is he staying for long?” Eddie leaned in farther still. Back at his table, the old boys were staring intently at the two of them, preparing themselves for the news Eddie would bring back. On the whole, they were worse gossips than their wives.
“I don’t know.” Rachel responded in a stage whisper, enough to make Murphy smile. She could see his amusement from the corner of her eye. “Why don’t you ask him yourself?”
Eddie shook his head rapidly, grabbing his glass and walking carefully back to the table so as not to spill a drop. As soon as he sat down on his wooden stool, he became the focus of the others’ attentions, strutting like he was a minor celebrity.
Rachel walked over to where Murphy was still sitting, taking his empty bottle. “They’re all talking about you.”
“Did they talk about you like this when you first arrived?” He nodded at the bottle. She took a moment to pull another from the cooler, trying to overcome her discomfort at his question.
“Sometimes, but I think Buddy protected me from the worst of the inquisitions. It helps if the bar owner tells people to back off.”
“Have you known him long?” He leaned his chin on his right hand, his stare as intense as she remembered.
Passing him the unopened bottle, she watched as he opened it with his key ring again. She bit down the questions rising up in her throat, choosing to answer his with a short tone. “Long enough.”
She couldn’t quite place the emotion that danced across his face. It looked a little like frustration, the sort of expression you saw on a kid who couldn’t get the numbers to add up in math class. His brow was furrowed, a deep line imprinted on his forehead. Then he raised an eyebrow and lifted his hands like he was surrendering something. “Hey, I’m only making conversation.”
A wave of discomfort rolled up her body, making her shiver. She let out a deep breath, reminding herself she wasn’t in Boston anymore, that his questions didn’t mean he knew why she’d left. Maybe her carefully built walls were becoming a little too abrasive. She told herself to let up a little. “I’m sorry. I’m not used to talking about myself.” She offered him a placatory smile.