Nightfall (2 page)

Quinn’s brow creased, his eyes flicking up to find Artie. He
still didn’t see him. Yeah, the bar manager was a screw-up, but stealing? He’d
given the asshole the only chance at employment in town. She had to be yanking
his chain.

“But let me guess,” she tapped a well-manicured short nail
against her full bottom lip, “he was the best the area had to offer, and you
figure anything he screwed up, you could step in and fix, because you’re the
kind who thinks he can handle anything.”

Quinn set his jaw. He wasn’t going to respond to any of
this. He should just walk away before he said something regrettable. But even
as she was tearing down his place, he wanted to keep watching her, being near
her. His exhaustion was obviously affecting his better judgment.

Her gaze slid over him. “Your attire—and smell—says ranch to
me, so you’re trying to run both places.” Stepping even closer, she laid her
palm fully on his chest. Not the simple finger tap she’d given Howie. While
Quinn was absorbing the impact of the intimate touch, she went from a discreet
murmur to a low purr. “Sometimes a man has to learn how to give up control.”

Then she pivoted on her booted heel and left him standing
there.

Quinn let out the breath he’d been holding. Aware of people
staring at him, he scowled. “Show’s over, folks. Anyone else who thinks about
brawling in here better think twice. She asked them nicely. I won’t. Next
asshole who tries to break up my place will get his ass kicked into the parking
lot, right into the sheriff’s car. You can spend the night in his little hotel for
drunk and disorderly.”

There were some half-chuckles, rueful looks and raised hands
of acknowledgement, then the noise level started to rise again. They knew he
meant it. He’d fought damn bulls and roped stock for years. Tossing out a
couple drunks was as easy as pitching hay.

Forcing himself not to look where his intriguing female had
gone, he turned his attention to getting up the glass that had been broken,
because it hadn’t occurred to Maria to do it. He’d have told her to get her ass
out from behind the bar, but Artie still wasn’t around and she was serving
drinks. Plus, Quinn found himself too disgusted with all of it to even bother.
He was tired and needed a drink himself, one he wasn’t going to be getting
anytime soon.

Righting the table, he went to find the broom and dustpan.
Despite his irritation, he realized the past few minutes were the longest and
most interesting interaction he’d had with a woman in quite a while. How
pathetic was that? Ever since he sent Annie, his last real relationship,
packing, his life had been unremitting work and more work. He was all too aware
a great deal of that had been his choice, because he’d just plain lost
interest. Every woman seemed the same. Wrong.

“I don’t understand,” she’d said, tears in her eyes. “We’re
good together, Quinn. Really good. And I love the ranch.”

Yeah, she loved the ranch as much as she loved rattlesnakes.
What she really loved was all the money she thought he had. She’d always been
nattering about redecorating the house. Making changes. They hadn’t been good
together, no matter what Annie thought.

At forty-two, he ought to be thinking about settling down. What
good was building up this ranch, doing everything he was doing, without a wife
to share that life with him, and children to pass it along to?

Quinn filled the dustpan as full as he could and carried it
over behind the bar to dump it. As he wove his way through the tables, he noted
none of them had been bussed in quite a while. Every surface was filled with
empty bottles, glasses and mugs. The overturned one probably hadn’t been an
isolated incident. Didn’t Artie or Maria ever think to clean the damn tables
until the end of the night?

Probably not. Quinn had cleared tables at closing many
times, believing Artie when he said they were overworked. But in reality, the
people he hired were just lazy. Artie was nowhere to be seen, and he was
supposed to be managing the bar when Maria was handling the tables. Whereas
Maria had brought some drinks to a table but now just stood there, arms crossed
beneath her breasts to show them off and one hip twitched out in a jaunty
manner. All while she carried on with the cowboys. Quinn thought bitterly she
probably figured flirting was her reward for having to do two jobs.

Sweeping the broken glass into a pile, he got it up and
banged the dustpan against the inside of the trash can to get all the glass
debris from it. When he straightened, he made himself think past his ego about
what his five-foot-tall unlikely bouncer had said about his bar. Though it had
riled him, she hadn’t been shooting off her mouth. She’d sounded like a woman
who knew exactly what she was talking about.

He glanced up, toward the bar. Just in time to see two of
his so-called customers leaning over the service station, helping themselves
from the beer taps.
Shit.

Putting the dustpan and broom aside, he strode behind the
bar, sending those customers skedaddling with a fierce look before he stomped back
into the kitchen area. “Damn it, Artie. Where the hell are you?”

He was practically shouting, at the end of his rope. Then he
noticed the cracked back door and smelled tobacco. Taking an hour-long smoke.
Of course.

Artie slid in, crushing the butt out in the door frame.
“Yeah, boss?”

Quinn pinned him with every bit of pissed-off he could level
on him. “We’ve got customers out there serving themselves while Maria is
flirting like she’s turning tricks. Get your ass in gear.”

Had the man always been such a disgrace? As Artie hurried
past, Quinn noticed how the man’s T-shirt was covered with unidentifiable
stains and his jeans had spots worn through. Quinn paid the man enough he could
buy himself some decent clothes. But she’d been right. He smelled like an
alcohol-soaked sponge.

He knew Artie had a drinking problem, but…aw shit. He could
keep telling himself the barn was clean enough, but every day the manure was
rising higher and higher. Eventually he wouldn’t be able to avoid having it
right in his face.

Quinn took a deep breath, calming himself down. He’d get
through tonight, then maybe he’d do some hard thinking after closing. Sam’s
wisdom aside, it might be time to call it quits on this.

For now, he returned to the floor and made one more pass at
the shattered glass on the floor. Grabbing the big serving tray from behind the
bar, he started bussing the closest tables. But as he carried the empties to
the bigger trash bin, his attention was caught by a customer coming up to pay
his tab. Narrowing his eyes, Quinn gripped the dustpan hard as he watched Artie
open the drawer—without ringing up a sale. He gave the man waiting with beer
bottle and cash in hand whatever change he was expecting.

She was right. The motherfucker was stealing from him.

Maybe it had been happening for a while and her pointing it
out had taken off the blinders. Either way, he saw red. He considered himself a
civilized man, but at the end of the day there was a code for dealing with this
kind of shit. It didn’t involve lawyers or calling the cops.

In the time it took to blink, he’d crossed the floor,
slammed the dustpan and tray on the end of the bar and lifted Artie from the
spot where he was standing. He shoved him against the wall.

“Not only are you lazy and a slob,” Quinn spat, “but you’re
a goddamn thief. How much of my drawer goes into your pocket every night,
Artie? How the fuck much?”

“B-B-But, Quinn,” the man blubbered.

“But nothing, you ass. I should—”

Quinn broke off. He realized he was honestly mad enough to
do the man real harm, his hands just itching with the need to break and
bludgeon. It was then he found out where the delicate-looking woman with steel
blue eyes was sitting. At the table right next to where he had Artie pinned.

She’d picked the spot that had a full view of the floor and
the door, and was backed up to a corner. It was the table the sheriff preferred
when he came to drink, and any of the active military guys on leave.

When Quinn glanced down and to the left, she was less than
two feet away. Even so, she hadn’t vacated her seat. She didn’t seem flustered
by him slamming Artie against the wall hard enough to make it vibrate right
behind her head. She had her gaze on Quinn, and what he saw in those eyes
steadied him.

Cool understanding.

Reaching out, she hooked her slim fingers in Quinn’s jeans
pocket, giving his hip bone an intimate stroke. She tilted her head, a subtle
shift toward the door that said volumes.

He’s not worth it. Kick him to the curb and be done with
it.

Unbelievably, his cock had sprung right back into a hard jam
against his fly, just from that brief contact. But his reaction to her was more
than physical. Though the touch aroused him, it also settled that enraged core
that was about to do something he couldn’t undo. She held him until he
steadied, gave her an answering nod. Then she leaned back, letting him go.

Looking at the sniveling mess he was holding, Quinn dropped
the man from his grip. “You’re fired. Don’t ever let me see your miserable face
again.”

He made sure of it, marching Artie to the door amid applause
and grating comments like “about damn time”. In the parking lot, Quinn stood
there, arms akimbo and legs braced, watching Artie climb into his junker truck,
grind the engine into gear and trundle out onto the road. As the dust settled,
Quinn tilted his head back, stared up at the night sky. What a fucking mess.
Pinching the bridge of his nose, he massaged, closed his eyes.

Okay. Get through tonight.

But when he turned to face the double doors that would take
him back into After Dark, Quinn realized the only thing that made him want to
go through them ever again was the woman sitting in that back corner.

Yep, he wanted to go right back to her, but there was no
time for that. He didn’t think Maria could handle the rest of the night on her
own. Hell, Quinn wasn’t sure he could trust her to close out the cash register
properly.

But what if the woman disappeared during that time? She was
definitely not a local. Probably on her way to one of the big cities, someone
he’d never see come this way again. He didn’t like the idea of that. But he
couldn’t think of a single thing to say to keep her sitting at that table until
closing time. Nothing that wouldn’t come off crazy and drive her away faster.

When he came back in, he found it wasn’t an issue. She
wasn’t at the table. Feeling a spurt of panic, he looked around, gaze darting
here and there, feet itching to run him back to the parking lot before she
drove away. Then he saw her.

Working.

She was acting as if he’d left her in charge, instructing
Maria to bus the tables with the tray he’d dropped while she took point behind
the bar. She was in the middle of mixing what appeared to be three different
drinks, her head cocked to listen to other orders coming in. With a
professional warm smile, she responded to one of the patrons, popping the top
of a couple beers and sliding them his way. Then she rang up two sales, a cash
and a credit transaction.

Anyone else, he would have been over that bar, demanding an
explanation for what the fuck she was doing, but her competence was as obvious
as a veteran cowhand working stock. He was looking at a woman who’d worked in a
bar for a long time. Or a lot of different bars.

Fine. Yeah, she might present herself better than Artie, but
that didn’t mean he was going to just let her take over without knowing what
she was about. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to know his cock was
interfering with his judgment. He needed to engage his other brain, the
supposedly higher-functioning one, and take a good hard look at this situation.

How he wished he hadn’t used the word “hard”, because that
just made it more difficult to keep that part of him in check.

Libido aside, he had to admit it was difficult to argue with
the proof in front of him. He’d only been out in the lot ten minutes or so, yet
everyone sitting at the bar had drinks and Maria was quickly finishing up the
table bussing, Quinn’s sexy sprite giving her the direction Artie never had. It
made Quinn rethink whether the barmaid was truly lazy. She and Carol, the other
one he’d hired, were barely kids, after all. Maybe they just needed more
supervision, like what he was witnessing.

The woman was ringing up another sale when his muscles
finally unfroze.

“Hey, Quinn,” someone called as he strode behind the bar.
“Nice to see you finally got some class in this place.”

Quinn forced a smile and nodded. “Just for you, Mike.”

The register rang again and she handed back change, but
before she could reach for another empty to refill, he clamped his hand around
her wrist, turning away from the patrons so they couldn’t hear him. He jerked
his head at Maria to take over as he drew the woman toward the back wall. The
position brushed her shoulder against his chest, and put her close enough he could
inhale the scent of her hair. The scent of her, period.

She smelled like cool things. Freshly turned earth in the
shade of an old oak, churned butter pulled from his grandfather’s icebox, and
rain in the fall. All things he liked. “No offense, but I just tossed one guy
taking advantage of me, so what are you doing behind my bar? Where the hell did
you come from? Do you have a name?”

He’d intended to sound gruff and demanding, but as she
lifted long-lashed eyes to study his face, her head barely reaching his
shoulder, he knew he was more curious than anything. She wore a light covering
of lipstick, a coral pink that looked good against her fair skin. That glossy
sheen suggested moist invitation. When she spoke, he smelled mint and the faint
flavor of the Jack. It really was uncanny, how young and old she seemed. If he
was only going on her looks, he’d guess she was at least ten to fifteen years
younger than him. But her eyes said she was quite a bit older.