Mary Burton - The Arsonist

He didn’t look up from the cash in his hands. “For what?”

Tender emotions weren’t her strong suit. “For letting me come back to work. It won’t be for long. I swear.”

His blue eyes softened. “You’d do the same for me.” He shoved the money into a bank deposit bag. “If you wipe down the bar, I’ll sweep up.”

“Bless you.”

The instant Trevor left for the night deposit box, Darcy realized she’d gotten the short end of the stick. The bar was a real mess. She could have left it until the morning, but she pulled her own weight. She went to the small sink at the end of the bar, soaked the rag and started to clean.

A half hour later, Trevor returned from the bank. “I’m back.” He looked alert and he’d lost the edginess.

Darcy wrung the rag out in the sink. “Good, you can sweep the floor.”

He came into the bar. “I will. Hey, the bar looks good.”

She lifted a brow—amazed at his energy. “Trevor you are the sloppiest bartender I ever met.”

He shrugged good-naturedly. “Yeah, but no one makes a Gin Gimlet like I do.”

No doubt it was a crusher. “So, get to sweeping.”

“If you don’t mind, I need to do a little inventory in the kitchen and then I’ll come back and do it.”

Darcy started to mop down the top of the bar. “You’re slacking, Trev.”

He lifted his elbows as she wiped past him. “Hey, I’m a man of my word.”

God, she was tired. “Fine go, but I’m not sweeping.”

Twenty minutes later, she’d finished cleaning. Her body aching, she started toward the back stairs ready to dive into her bed. She noticed Trevor’s light was on in his office, but she didn’t bother to check in with him. Each leg felt as if it weighed a hundred pounds as she climbed the darkened staircase. She made an effort to move quietly. Her mother had dog ears and she didn’t want to wake her.

Two steps past her mother’s door and she heard, “Darcy, have you checked to see if the front and back doors are locked?”

“I did the front. Trevor will get the back, Mom.”

“Remind him.”

If she’d had the strength, she’d have argued. But the end result would have been the same. She’d have to check the door. “Okay.”

Turning, she flipped on the staircase light and headed back downstairs. As she crossed the empty tavern room, she heard the roar of a motorcycle engine.

Darcy moved to the front tavern window and watched as Motorcycle Man pulled up in front of his garage. She paused and watched as he parked his bike under the streetlight and swung his leg over the side. Pulling off his helmet, he walked to the garage door and pulled it open. He flipped on the light.

There was an arrogance about his gait that reminded her of men in the military or the police force. She’d interviewed enough like that to recognize the look. But his longish hair and scraggly jeans and T-shirt screamed anti-establishment.

“So who are you, Motorcycle Man, and what brings you to this small town?” Her reporter’s mind started to click. Without even realizing it, she’d ticked through a half dozen scenarios for him and had come up with the questions she’d ask if she had the chance to interview him. Hometown? Service record? Reason for leaving your last job? Why the interest in motorcycles?

Of course, she’d never interview him. His story, despite his action hero swagger, wasn’t likely the kind that grabbed headlines. She was after the big game—Nero.

Motorcycle Man tossed back his head, clearing his dark hair from his eyes, and pushed his bike into the garage. She watched as he stretched his long, lean body and reached for the garage door handle. He glanced toward the Varsity and for a minute she thought he was looking right at her. Her heart pounded in her chest. But, of course, he couldn’t see her in the dark.

When he closed the door, she released the breath she’d been holding. He turned off the garage light.

Disappointment flickered. She liked looking at Motorcycle Man and wondered what he’d taste like if she kissed him. Darcy was acutely aware that there’d been no one in her bed since she and Stephen had broken up ten months ago. She missed the touch and feel of a man inside her.

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