Wendy Etherington - Can't Help Falling In Love

Of course, whale-saving had been followed by rain forests, then icebergs, then animal testing in cosmetic manufacturing. He hadn’t heard from them in six months, so for all he knew they could be teaching pygmies in Borneo how to rotisserie chickens by now.

“Hey, buddy,” the bartender said, nodding at Jack and his nearly full glass. “That’s good whiskey. Problem?”

On Friday night, Jack figured the man’s clientele leaned toward guys with a heartier thirst. Bikers, blue-collar workers and slick-tied professionals had draped themselves around the place. A half-dozen women were scattered at the tables. All looked ready to start off the weekend with a bang.

“No problem. I gotta work early tomorrow,” Jack said to the bartender, a barrel-chested, dark-haired man who could have been any age from forty to sixty.

The bartender polished a beer mug. “Haven’t seen you here before. New in town?”

Jack rolled his shoulders, setting aside the problem of Skyler for the moment. “I just signed on with the Baxter Fire Department.” He held out his hand, which the bartender shook. “Jack Tesson.”

“Gus Saunders. I own the Leather and Lace.” He picked up a clean glass, filled it with an amber-colored beer, then sent the mug sailing down the bar. A man Jack assumed was a regular caught the drink, immediately gulping from the glass. Gus grinned. “Quick service saves trouble later.”

Jack nodded, recognizing the wisdom of that philosophy. Because of his size and coolheadedness, he’d been designated bouncer at Grand-père’s bar since he’d turned fourteen.

“Welcome to Baxter.” Gus grinned again. “At least the notorious side.”

Just where I belong. Jack toasted him. “Merci.”

“That accent isn’t Georgia.”

“No. St. Francis, Louisiana.”

“Cajun country?”

“Oui. The bars at home, they’re situated along the bayou. Gators discourage the troublemakers. Keeps things colorful.”

“I’ll bet.” Gus waved his hand. “Hey, you know how to cook? Make some of that Cajun stuff—gumbo and crawfish? On the weekends, I bring in a live band and sell food. I think my customers are tired of chicken wings and nachos.”

“A noncooking Cajun is only half a person.”

“How ’bout next weekend, you make me something Cajun, and I’ll give you an unlimited bar tab.”

Cooking was his second-favorite activity. And with the lovely Skyler off-limits, the chances of him indulging in his favorite looked dim. “Sounds good to me,” he said to Gus.

“Great.” Laughing, Gus filled a few orders before returning to his washing and drying position in front of Jack.

As more customers continued to flood in, Jack asked, “You don’t have any other help?”

“A waitress and busboy, but they aren’t on until nine.”

“Need any help?”

Gus sighed. “Always.”

“I worked in a bar for years,” Jack said, standing. All he had to go home to was Casey—the freckly-faced, eighteen-year-old frat boy hiding out in his apartment. He’d found the kid hiding under his dorm room bed this afternoon. As if Skyler’s brothers wouldn’t think to look there.

“I couldn’t pay much,” Gus said, his expression doubtful.

Jack pushed his glass toward Gus. “How about I work for my drink, for tonight anyway?”

“Deal,” Gus said quickly.

Within minutes, Jack commanded Gus’s bar, leaving the owner to mix and joke with his customers. The work was sweaty, but honest, familiar and comfortable.

Until a certain blonde strode through the door.

JACK ACTUALLY PAUSED with a beer mug raised in the air, on its way to a customer’s hand. Skyler Kimball swept inside the bar with a quiet hush, but nearly every patron of the place turned to see the newcomer, as if they knew something innocent and pedigreed had invaded their midst.

“Hey, man, do I get the beer, or what?” his customer asked.

Disgusted with himself and the sudden swelling in his jeans, Jack set down the beer, sweeping away the money the customer offered, then stuffing it in the register without even counting the cash. What was she doing here?

From the corner of his eye, he watched her walk somewhat hesitantly toward the bar. Dressed in faded blue jeans and a white T-shirt, she looked sexy, approachable. The jeans hugged her slim thighs and narrow waist, and even under the dim bar lights her blond hair shone like sunlight.

Damn, he wanted her. How could she strip away his resolve to resist her so easily?

Ben wouldn’t fire you for just talking to his sister, whispered the seductive devil serving as his conscience.

Right. He could talk to her. His captain was a by-the-rules kind of guy, he rationalized, and technically only the city council could fire him. Just play it cool, he told himself.

He met her gaze. And the impact of those blue eyes staring into his caused a tremor of need to vibrate clear down to his toes.

He wasn’t cool any longer.

She approached him, angling her head and frowning. The two men in front of him jumped off their barstools, scooting them back with a loud scrape across the wooden floor, each holding out a hand for Skyler to take his seat.

Waving their gesture aside, she asked, “What are you doing here?” in such an accusing, frustrated tone, he had to smile. Could this attraction be a two-way street?

“Have a seat, chère. I had no idea you’d come collecting my drink offer so soon.”

“I’m not here to see you.”

Jealousy kicked him hard in the ribs, and he knew he’d been kidding himself about fighting their attraction. He’d taken plenty of risks before. Why should this one worry him?

She accepted one man’s offer of his stool with a brief thank-you, but continued staring at Jack suspiciously. “You never answered my question.”

Jack forced his gaze away from her glistening pink lips. “Huh?”

“Why are you here?”

“Helping Gus. You?”

“I’m—” She stopped and glanced over her shoulder. “I come here all the time,” she said, turning back with a bright smile on her face.

“Uh-huh.” He responded to a couple of shouted orders for refills on drinks, trying to picture Skyler Kimball sidling up to the bar for a whiskey after work. The vision didn’t gel.

Looking nervous, she glanced over her shoulder again.

She was up to something. Something she didn’t want to tell him about. Of course he was a virtual stranger. Why would she tell him? Her business was none of his business.

He stood in front of her, leaning against the bar. Be cool, remember? “So, what’ll you have?”

She set her purse in front of her as her gaze danced down the bar. “A beer, I guess.”

“What kind?”

“Huh?”

I come here all the time. Right. He didn’t mention the slip, but said, “I’ve got Bud, Bud Light, Michelob, and Coors Light on tap. In bottles, there’s—”

She held up her hand. “Whatever you like.”

He drew a Michelob from the tap, placing the cold mug in front of her.

After a brief sip, she smiled. “This is better than the last one I had.”

Momentarily struck stupid by her smile, he didn’t comment. Her parents had named her right. She was an angel who belonged in a pure, cloudless sky. Not being gawked at by a swamp rat, respectable citizen wanna-be like him. But then, there were those non-respectable panties of hers…

He grabbed a towel from beneath the bar and wiped down the wood. When was the last time a woman had affected him so strongly, so quickly? Since…never.

“Are you moonlighting?” she asked after another sip of beer.

“Sort of,” he said, glad to be distracted from his thoughts. “I’m the restless type, I guess.”