Leaving Bluestone (5 page)

The concert was a smash, and Theresa managed to keep right in the front, though her parents sat in the back at one of the picnic tables. Quinn could hear the concert through the open door, but was too busy behind the bar. The place was going to be a mess by the time the concert was done, and it would be a late night. But people were happy and getting along, which made a difference. One of the concerns of the people of Bluestone when this concert series was introduced was security. Bluestone didn’t have a police force, per se. It had a chief and two deputies. Granted, they didn’t usually have a lot to do, but nights like this kept them busy. Quinn bet they’d be glad when the winter came.

He would, too.

After last call, he made his way to the door to watch Maddox play his final set, including the song he’d written for Beth that won her back. He watched his stoic little waitress go all dreamy as she watched her boyfriend, and yeah, okay, maybe that was a little pang of jealousy. Not for Beth, but for what she had, what Leo and Trinity had. What he didn’t know if he could ever have.

Against his will, he scanned the crowd for Lily, who had been helping him out upstairs earlier, but had disappeared. He saw her now in the crowd, staring at Maddox, swaying, and then her gaze shifted to meet his, unerringly, like she’d known he was watching her.

He lifted a couple of fingers off the rail in acknowledgement, then ducked back into the bar to start cleaning up.

Lily joined him after the last song was over, and then Theresa and her parents chipped in. They had the place ready to go in less than an hour. He never would’ve believed it. Then the Parrillas left and Lily started to follow.

“Lil, can you hang back a minute?” he heard himself ask. “There’s something I need to talk to you about.”

The Parrillas looked surprised at his request, and Theresa’a brows drew together, but Quinn just wished them good night and turned to Lily, who watched him curiously.

“What?” she asked.

Only he had no idea. He walked to the bar, trying to think of any reason he could tell her why kept her here.

“Want a Coke? A beer?”

“A beer,” she agreed, sitting on the barstool. “What’s up?”

“Nothing, just needed to unwind a bit.”

Her eyebrows went up. “With me?”

“Figured you could use it, too.”

“Okay.” She took the bottled beer he offered her.

“Looking forward to winter.”

“Less people?”

“Hell of a lot less people.”

“But on the plus side, you’re making good money, and that will look good to anyone who wants to buy the bar.”

“And there’s that.” He took a long swallow, then set his bottle on the bar, still holding onto it. “Rick wants to take Gerry’s place in the bar.”

She stilled. “What? You mean they want to move here?”

He shook his head, focusing on the faded label on the beer bottle. “No, he just wants to buy in and reap the benefits. He wants me to be able to keep the bar.”

“That would be wonderful.”

He lifted his gaze to hers. “I thought you understood. It’s not the money. I’m making good money right now, thanks to all the work you and Trinity and Leo put into this concert thing. But I’m living the life Gerry was supposed to have, and he can’t have it.”

“That’s—” She opened her mouth to say something, then closed it again. “That’s not fair to you, to hold back on your life because Gerry died. It wasn’t your fault. It’s not your fault you lived and he died.”

He braced both hands on the counter and glowered at her. “He had so much more in his life than I did. He had so much joy in life. He had a family who loved him, a dream, a girl he loved.” He saw her flinch. “I didn’t have any of those things. No one would have missed me if I’d died. Maybe for a minute, or a week, or a month, but no one would have mourned me two years.”

She put her hand on his on the table. “Gerry would have. And I would have.”

He looked at her hand and thought about pulling away, but he couldn’t. He’d take what he could from her. “And then you would’ve gotten married and had kids and gone on with your life.”

“I don’t know about that. But we wouldn’t have brooded over you. We wouldn’t have beaten Joourselves up for surviving a horrible situation.” She closed her hand over the tattoo on his bicep and he dropped his gaze. “You deserve to have your dream, too. If living in Bluestone is your dream, let Rick buy in. Let him feel like he has part of his son’s dream.” When he didn’t say anything, she asked, “Is Bluestone your dream?”

He drew away and started wiping down the already-clean bar. “I don’t know. I never let myself have one.” Okay, he had one. Only one. And she sat in front of him, her eyes big and brown and sympathetic and he wanted to kiss her.

“That’s the saddest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“So, what, living here is yours? Running the launch company and the rentals?”

She shrugged, not offended. “Sure. There’s more that I want, but that will do for now.”

He leaned forward on his braced arms, aware he was being intimidating but not caring. “What, a husband and kids?”

“And a dog,” she said without blinking. “I’d like a lab, I think. I couldn’t live at the landing then, though, because he’d need a yard, but I’d like a dog.”

“And just live here your whole life. Never see anything outside of Minnesota.”

“Well, you know, vacations, maybe. I’d like to see the Grand Canyon someday, or the Pacific Ocean. Maybe when I’m old I’ll be a snowbird like my folks and head to Florida or Texas. But I’m happy here.”

“What you always wanted to do?”

“I never saw myself doing anything else. When you were a boy in Kansas, didn’t you have a dream? You had to, right, or you wouldn’t have joined the Army.”

“The Army wasn’t my dream. It was a means to an end—getting the hell out of BFE, Kansas—and I ended up being pretty good at it, but I didn’t grow up playing war or anything like that.”

She folded her arms in front of her and smiled. “I have a hard time picturing you as a little kid. I just see this short person with your kiss-my-ass expression.”

He leaned against the back of the bar folding his arms over his chest. Plenty of space between them now. Maybe he could keep himself from doing something stupid like kissing her. “I was a cute kid. Skinny as hell. Always outside on my bike.” Because inside had been dark and dreary and tense.

“But you never thought about what you wanted to be when you grew up.”

“I knew I didn’t want to be in Kansas, didn’t want to be a farmer or any business related to farming. Too unpredictable.”

“Did you work on a farm?”

“My father was a manager on one of the bigger farms near where I grew up. We’d have good years and bad years, depending on the weather.” Lots of bad years. Lots and lots. He pulled out two more beers and passed one over to her.

“Brothers and sisters? It’s weird, I know, I’ve known you for years and don’t know this.”

Because he didn’t talk about his family. “Two brothers and a sister.”

“But you don’t keep in contact.”

He lifted his gaze to hers, surprised she would glean that. “What makes you say that?”

“Just a hunch. You never talk about them.”

“No, I don’t deal with them much. Christmas cards and such.”

“From them, you mean.” She gave him a knowing smile. “I know you don’t send them. You don’t miss them?”

He considered a minute. They’d been his fox-hole buddies, surviving the hell that was his father’s wrath alongside him. He supposed he didn’t need the memories that talking to them brought. “Sometimes.”

“So you’re probably an uncle several times over.”

“Yeah.” His sister had three kids, his oldest brother four.

“Where are you in birth order? I bet second.”

He drew back in surprise. “Why would you say that?”

“Am I right?”

“Yeah, but how did you know?”

“Well, if you were first-born, I think you’d make more of an effort to be involved in your family, kind of like you were their second father and want to keep them together. If you were the baby, I would expect you to be more spoiled, ask people to do more for you.”

“Like you do.”

She inclined her head in agreement. “Like I do. So I had a fifty-fifty shot, but I figured second. And I was right. One of your brothers is the oldest, right?”

“Yeah, Liam, and he stayed in town and followed in my father’s footsteps.”

“You don’t get along?”

He shrugged. “There was only a year and four months between us, so no. We didn’t. He was Dad’s boy, and I was just the screw-up.”

Her expression softened to one of pure sympathy. Not what he wanted, not from her. What he wanted was—he turned away, as if that would help him dispel the image of making love to her right here on the bar.

“So, yeah, I got out as soon as I could.”

“I’m sorry.”

He shrugged. “I managed.”

“This isn’t exactly helping you unwind. I’m sorry.” She hopped off the bar stool. “I know what will help.” She stood on the rail, reached behind the bar, and drew out the deck of cards he kept there. “Let’s play some poker.”

Strip, was his first thought, but he was pretty sure she didn’t mean that. And maybe she was right. A game would take his mind off everything.

***

Except how clever she was. She was vicious.

“I forgot how much you like to win,” he said, eyeing her stack of chips past the row of beer bottles that had collected during the game.

“We should start up a weekly game,” she said. “I bet Maddox and Leo would play.”

He scowled. He wanted this time with her, not those two idiots. “And Beth and Trinity would love us forever for stealing them one night a week.”

She shrugged. “They could come, too.” She discarded and he dealt her another card. “We might be able to win some money.”

He grinned. “Why are your brain cells are always firing? You always figure out how to involve other people.”

“Not always.” She gave him an exaggerated wink, no doubt fueled by the four beers she’d now had.

He wanted to pursue that line of thought, but had better not. “No, seriously. I mean, I have my theories.” His own tongue was loosened by the four beers he’d matched her with.

“Which are?”

“That you’re lonely. That you want to be busy all the time so you don’t think about it.”

She snapped her gaze to his, and for a moment, a stricken look crossed her face that made him regret what he’d said. Had he hit too close to home? But then her expression smoothed and she turned her attention to her new card.

“I just remember the fun times I had growing up. I want Bluestone to have that atmosphere again.” She heaved a sigh. “And I guess I’m a little lonely since my folks moved away.”

“Planes,” he said, tossing in a couple of chips.

She looked up. “Sorry?”

“I wanted to fly planes. When I was a kid.”

She frowned. “So why didn’t you join the Air Force?”

“Too big to be a pilot. Figured maybe if I went into the Army, I could go for the Rangers.”

“And did you?”

“Nope. Met Gerry. He didn’t have the same idea, and I’d rather be on his team than be a Ranger.”

“That’s—nice. Have you thought about becoming a pilot since? Like maybe a puddle jumper or something?”

“Nah, I didn’t want to fly people around. I wanted to be alone up there. You know, me and the sky.” He waved a hand overhead.

She gave him a funny look. “I think maybe you’ve had more to drink than you think.”

He looked back at his cards. “Maybe. Tired, too.”

“Okay.” She folded her hand and got to her feet. “Let’s get you home.”

“I’m not drunk,” he protested when she rounded the table and took his arm to help him to his feet. “A little buzzed, maybe.”

“I should stick around. Maybe I could learn something.”

He scowled and stood, then stumbled into her. For a moment, the front of her body pressed against his, those gorgeous curves she kept hidden under layered clothes and that ugly camouflage sweatshirt. Her warm, yeasty breath gusted against his throat, and her brown eyes flashed with something—awareness? Of its own accord, his hand went to her hip to steady himself, and he didn’t want to let go. Blood surged south and if he closed his eyes, he could envision covering her mouth with his, backing her against the bar and—

Okay, maybe he didn’t have to close his eyes. He swallowed and waited for her to move away. When she didn’t—he did, nudging his chair out of the way when he did.

“I’m good,” he said, clearing his throat. “I’ll walk you home. It’s late.”

“I live across the street. There’s no traffic at this hour. I’ll be fine. What about you?”

“I’m good. I’ll get this cleaned up and go home.”

But she’d already gathered the bottles and carried them to the recycle bin behind the bar. He picked up her hand of cards and looked at them.

“No wonder you were ready to call it a night. This is a crappy hand.”

“You were dealing.”

He gathered the cards and tucked them in a pocket on the felt table, then scooped the chips together and stacked them in a little slot.

“You aren’t going to sort them?” she asked, returning to the table.

“Not tonight.” He stepped back from the table and gestured for her to lead the way out of the bar. He locked up behind them, then, with a hand skimming the wooden rail, followed her down the stairs.

The sky was beginning to brighten, just a little, and he looked toward the dock where his boat was tethered.

“You aren’t thinking of going out, are you?” she asked, a bit of alarm in her voice.

It would be a perfect morning for fishing. But, “No. Going to crash and hope that I can get through one more day with Gerry’s folks.”

He insisted on walking her the extra twenty yards home, and waited until she had locked the door behind her. But as he turned to his own home, he imagined her stripping and climbing into bed, and wished he was there with her.

Chapter Four

The lunch rush the following day was a little more rushed than usual with leftover concert-goers. Good for business, but damn, Quinn liked a quiet Sunday, especially after drinking too much.