Chapter 1
THE HUMID BALTIMORE air smothered JW’s skin, closing off his pores. Dust and dirt from hardened ground after weeks of no rain, coating his body layer upon layer, had never been as brutal as a summer afternoon in this city. Who the hell came to Baltimore to clear out the cobwebs and have a little down time?
Johnnie Walker Whiskey did, that’s who. But only because he tossed a dart at a map of the United States and vowed to take a couple of weeks wherever that dart landed. He’d been hoping for the Carolinas but man, had his aim been off.
He turned the corner from his hotel, his cowboy boots smacking the pavement as his socks squished. God, this would make his boots smell worse than a horse barn, a week overdue on mucking the stalls, on the hottest day of the year. Two young men wearing polo shirts, bright-colored shorts, and flip-flops strode past. JW never wore shorts. Ever. And he certainly didn’t sport flippy things. Hell, he barely wore sneakers, and only if he had to.
Now, shirtless?
He could do that all day long.
But he supposed the same rules about shirts and restaurants applied in Baltimore as it did in the rest of the country.
He had no idea where he was going, only that he figured he’d pass some sort of bar that served food at some point and a little walk would be good, except he hadn’t anticipated sweating so much. Maybe, he should try a pair of shorts.
The image popped into his head.
Nope. He’d rather be hot.
Leisurely strolling about five blocks, he stood in front Pat’s Irish Pub, glancing over the menu which consisted of your typical burgers, steaks, wraps, and other standard items anyone would expect from a pub. The door swung open as two young girls, arm in arm, scurried onto the sidewalk.
They both turned their heads and smiled. “Best pub in all of Baltimore,” one of them said, batting her eyelashes.
Was that really a thing?
Pretty enough, but if they were a day over twenty-one, he’d be shocked.
“Can’t go wrong,” the other girl said.
He lifted his Stetson, giving the girls a nod. “I appreciate the tip.” But he didn’t need it. The thick aroma of grilled beef, barbeque sauce, French fries, and whiskey sending his stomach on a low, hard growl had told him that this would be his nightly stop for the next two weeks.
If he could stand this city that long.
Not only had he been hoping for the Carolinas, but he preferred the great outdoors, hiking, canoeing, and staring at green mountains.
Not buildings.
He stepped into the pub and glanced around at the packed room. Well, it was happy hour in most places.
“It’s going to be about an hour wait for a table,” the hostess said with a bright smile.
“Can I get dinner at the bar?”
“By all means. Same menu.” The young woman pointed across the room to the back bar, across from a stage where a band looked to be setting up. “That’s Kitty behind the counter. She’ll take good care of you.”
“Thank you, ma’am.” He made his way through the room, staring at the back side of Kitty, the bartender, wondering what the hell Kitty stood for and if she got razzed as much as he did for his name.
He took the open seat at the end and watched her hips sway as she shook two metal containers before pouring them into a tall glass filled with ice. Her long, red hair pulled loosely into a braid, cascading down her back, stopping just an inch shy of her belt. She wore jeans that hugged her hips like a saddle on a bull. A black tank top rested gently at the top of her pants, showing off just a little skin.
She turned sideways, and he damn near fell off the stool as she leaned across the counter, sliding the tasty drink across the wood. Her full ruby lips drew into a killer smile.
“I still can’t believe my baby brother is graduating from college,” she said.
“Thanks to you.” Her brother said. JW assumed that’s who she was speaking to based on his bright red hair, redder than hers, and a matching goatee to go with it.
“Hey babe, our table is ready,” a blond chick waved from across the room.
“Dinner is on me,” Kitty said.
“Someday, sis, I’m going to strike gold and take care of you for a change.”
“I do mighty fine all by myself.” She tilted her head toward the end of the bar. Her pale skin was dotted with cute freckles. Her face and body said she couldn’t be older than maybe twenty-two, which was way too young for his blood. At pushing thirty-four, he didn’t date anything younger than twenty-eight.
That wasn’t true.
He didn’t date.
At all.
He’d spent the better part of last year defending his ex’s accusations that he’d beaten her the night they ended their relationship. The truth had come out, and his name had been cleared, but it had cost him his career as a bull rider, not to mention the respect of everyone in the industry. Even after it had been proven that Bella had hired someone to put bruises on her body, people, especially women, crossed to the other side of the street when they saw him coming.
“Nice hat,” Kitty said, her hand waving across the counter with a white rag.
He watched her clear off the space in front of him, mesmerized by her movement, and trying to ignore the fact he noticed she wasn’t wearing a wedding ring. “Why thank you, ma’am.”
She tossed the cloth over her shoulder with an arched brow. “Not sure anyone has ever called me ma’am.”
“First time for everything.” He took his hat off, setting it on the counter, realizing he stuck out like black lab in a sea of yellow ones. “Are you Kitty?” He ran his fingers through his short, dark hair. Only time he took off his hat was when he showered, went to bed, or when the pastor at his church made him.
She leaned back with a scowl. “Who’s asking?”
“JW, and the hostess over there said Kitty would take good care of me.” He hadn’t meant to put her on the defensive. “Can I call you Kitty? Or would you prefer, ma’am?”
Her smile returned. “I’ll answer to either. What can I get you?”
“How about a Stella and shot of Johnnie Walker, and whenever you get a chance, a menu.”
“Sure thing.” She reached under the counter, her arms pressing against the sides of her breasts, enhancing her cleavage which he couldn’t help but notice.
He dropped his gaze to his lap.
“What’s JW stand for?” She snagged a Stella glass and pulled back the lever dispensing the brew.
“I’ll tell you on two conditions.”
“I’m not sure I want to know that badly,” she said with a slight laugh.
“Well, I want to know if someone named you Kitty or if that’s a nickname, and I kind of want to know badly.”
“What’s the second condition?” She flicked the foam off the top with a quick snap of her wrist.
“When you’re on a break, you take a few minutes to tell me what in this town I should do and see.” Well, shit. He’d meant to say: you can’t make fun of my name.
She pushed the beer in front of him as she turned and grabbed a bottle of whiskey. “I don’t socialize with customers.”
“I’m not asking you to. Just asking for recommendations of things to do. I’m here for two weeks, and all I’ve got on the docket is an Oilers game.”
“I can make some recommendations while I’m working.” She nodded her head at another customer. “Good enough compromise for condition number two?”
He nodded with a big smile. He hadn’t had this much fun talking with a lady in over a year. Of course, she hadn’t a clue who he was, and if she did, she’d be even more reserved, if she even chatted with him at all.
And he must not forget, Kitty was a female, and he didn’t need one, especially a young one.
“All right then. Kitty is my nickname. My real name is Cat. Just Cat. Not Catheryn or Caitlynn or anything sweet like that.”
He stifled a laugh as he raised his shot. “That’s really cute.”
“Adorable,” she chided with a sarcastic grin.
“Is there a reason your parents named you just Cat and call you Kitty?” He downed the rich liquid in one gulp, enjoying the burn as it pooled in his gut. He told himself he was simply being polite with the nice bartender, nothing else.
“That wasn’t part of the deal.” She nodded to another customer who waved at her from the other end of the bar. “Can I get you another Johnnie Walker?”
“This Johnnie Walker will take another shot of his namesake.”
“JW stands for Johnnie Walker?” When she laughed, her nose crinkled, and her lips puckered, and all he could think about was kissing them. “I’ve got to hear why your parents named you that.”
“Only if you tell me why yours named you Cat, Kitty.”
“It’s a deal, right after I take care of another patron.” She poured him another shot before making her way down the bar, attending to all the customers, making sure they had what they required while another bartender made drinks for the waitresses.
He should have been spending his time nursing his beer and going over the menu instead of gawking at the cute Kitty with a personality of a tiger and a wicked sense of humor. When she glanced his direction, catching his gaze, he quickly snapped the menu, ducking his head behind it like an idiot who had never mastered how to pick up a girl in a bar.
“Have you decided?” She asked, her hip resting against the counter, arms folded over her chest.
“What do you recommend? What’s your favorite?”
“I’m a partial to the corn beef and cabbage.”
He drew in his lips, scrunching his face. “Not only am I not Irish, I can’t stand that shit.”
“How about Shepherd’s Pie?” Her blue eyes danced against her porcelain-like skin. He’d never seen anything so intoxicating. Hell, he’d never seen a redhead with blue eyes in his life.
“What the heck is that?” he asked.
“Layer of mashed potatoes, corn, ground beef.”
“How about I get a bacon cheeseburger, loaded, and chili fries.”
“I had you pegged for a baby back rib kind of man.”
“I’m a pretty simple guy.”
“All right, simple guy. This bartender has to know why your parents named you after a bottle of whiskey.”
“In part because my last name is Whiskey.”
“Ha, ha.” She pursed her lips, shaking her head. “No way is your name Johnnie Walker Whiskey.”
He pulled out his driver’s license and dropped in on the counter. “See for yourself.”
She glanced between him and the counter, leaning forward. “Holy shit. Do you have any siblings?”
He leaned back and laughed. “I have two brothers and a sister. All named after whiskey.”
“I’ve got to hear those.” She leaned over the counter with an attentive smile.
He made sure his gaze never left her pretty eyes, even if he did notice the soft mounds pushing up out of her top.
“Jack Daniel’s, with the apostrophe, but we call him JD. My other brother is Jim Beam.”
“I take it he’s JB?”
“Smart girl. I like that,” he said.
“So, what’s you’re sister’s name?”
“Georgia Moon and we call her by her full name.”
“I bet she hates that,” Kitty said, her big baby blues luring him in like a rope around a cattle horn.
“Not sure what she hates more, the name or having three older and very protective brothers.”
“That would suck too.”
“Your turn.” He knew she’d have to stop talking to him soon, as there were other people seated at the bar, but hot damn, if he wasn’t having the best time. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt this alive.
“The day I was born, my parents were putting names in a hat at the hospital. One for girls and one for boys. But before my father could finish writing one of his favorites, I decided to enter the world so when asked what my name was, my dad reached into the hat and pulled out the one he hadn’t finished.”
“Why didn’t they give you the name he’d meant to write.”
“Because they both liked calling me their little Kitten, so that’s where Kitty came from.”
“What was the name supposed to be?”
She shrugged her shoulders. “They have never told me. I even threatened to run away if they didn’t, but they are more stubborn than me.”
That statement reminded him of how young she had to be. “How long have you been bartending?”
“I’ve been at this job three years.”
“You don’t look like you could be legal for the last three years.” Shut the fuck up. Christ. Ever since the break-up with Bella, JW avoided bars. Partly because the press hounded him and always managed to snap a picture of him that made him look like an ass. But also, he tended to either shoot his mouth off and end up in a fight, or he’d just say stupid shit.
Like now.
“I appreciate the compliment, but I’ve been over the legal age to drink for a little over six years.” She pushed back from the counter.
He quickly did the math.
Still younger than his cut-off.
He mentally sucker-punched himself in the gut. Didn’t matter how smart and adorable this chick was, he’d rather spend the rest of his life with his right hand than take a risk on a woman again.
“I’ve got other customers to attend to. If you need anything, just holler. Your food will be up in about ten minutes or so.”
“Thanks, Kitty.”
“My pleasure.”
Thankfully, she gracefully backed away, and he concentrated his attention on the baseball game. Not that he watched baseball, or even knew anything about the sport, but it was something to focus his mind and eyes on.
That was until she brought him his food. Not only did the food smell like a little piece of hamburger heaven, but the presentation with the fluffy bun off to the side, cheese melting over a hunk of meat, and fries doused in a chili sauce made his stomach roll over and beg.
“Another beer?” she asked.
He nodded as he greedily dug into his dinner. The last thing he’d had to eat was peanuts on the plane, and they weren’t that good. “And how about some recommendations on things to do.”
“Did you come alone?” she asked, her long fingers curling over the lever as she pulled it back. Something in the front of the pub caught her attention and the beer spilled out as she overfilled the glass. “Fuck,” she muttered, wiping off her hand.
He glanced over his shoulder. A tall, slender man wearing a pink button-down shirt entered the pub.
What was it with city men wearing pink.
The man pushed his sunglasses up on top of his head as he scanned the room.
Kitty shoved a foamy beer in front of JW. “I can’t believe he showed his face here,” she whispered.
“Who?”
“My ex-husband.”