Chapter 1
Three months later…
Rosie Marlow finished filling a third pitcher of draft beer from the tap and set it on a tray with the first two, just in time to see Brenda hustling over from the center of the packed dining area.
“Tables eight, nine, and ten are happy. And I have six more orders for George.” She reached back to adjust her platinum blond ponytail. “Of all the Friday nights for Tina to call in sick.”
“I can take this.” Rosie nodded at the tray of pitchers. “Which table?”
“One. Thanks so much. If this keeps up, I’ll—” Cheers erupted around the room as dozens of people watched the Cubs’ star slugger hit a home run.
Rosie grinned. She didn’t have a preference for baseball teams but she loved happy customers. And the Cubs winning made people happy. She hefted the tray onto her shoulder and rounded the edge of the bar.
The table was close—actually it was two tables pushed together to accommodate a large group who’d been hanging out since they got out of work. Rosie didn’t know them, like she knew everyone else in Sundown, but they greeted her with smiles as she set the pitchers down. Then again, who wouldn’t smile when you brought them drinks?
Most folks would. But as if to illustrate her point, not the three men who sat at one end of her bar like over-privileged princes. She guessed they were college age. They’d been ordering top shelf alcohol, scanning the room to check out every female under forty—including her—and throwing off self-righteous attitude all night.
But whatever. People like them only showed up once in a while. The majority of the patrons at the Sundown Bar and Grille were a pleasure to be around.
“Thanks, girl.” Brenda zipped past her on her way back out, carrying a full platter of food.
“No worries.” Rosie picked up some empty red plastic serving baskets, ready to toss the wrappers in the trash behind the bar.
“Two more beers when you get a chance, Ro,” said one middle-aged man as she passed.
“Sure thing, Gene.” He and his brother were two of the biggest baseball fans she’d ever met. They watched every game at the Grille, betting against each other every time.
On cue, the college guys ordered another round of tequila shots as soon as she was back at her post. “You got it.” Rosie pasted on her friendly neutral smile. Hey, the more they drank, the better tips she got. Usually.
Moving to the tap, she filled one beer glass, then another, glancing up as Brenda approached with a fistful of new orders. “It’s like folks haven’t eaten all week,” she muttered, as her phone trilled from her pocket. The waitresses weren’t supposed to use their personal phones unless they were on break, but Owen didn’t put up a stink if they just did a quick screen check. “Crap, it’s my babysitter. She never calls.” Worried eyes met Rosie’s own. “I gotta take this.”
“Sure, go. I’ll take these back.” Rosie grabbed the white paper tickets and shoved them in her apron pocket. She brought the drafts to Gene and his brother, then headed to the kitchen to deliver the orders to George.
“Nice to see you step away and come back here, Ro.” George took the papers and held them at arms’ length. “Thank the Lord for y’all’s good handwritin’. Can’t read Owen’s to save my life.”
“We’re so busy tonight.” Rosie massaged the back of her neck. “You good?”
“Always.” George cracked an egg into a pan, starting part one of his famous breading recipes. “I can cook for an army. Oh wait—I already did.” He grinned broadly at the joke he cracked just about every night.
“All leading to this place.” Rosie swept her arm in a circle. “Holler for me or Brenda when you’re ready. I’m going back up front.”
She turned to leave, only to see Brenda appear in the doorway, expression worried. “What is it?”
“My babysitter’s puking. My sister’s out of town. Mom’s working.” Brenda bit her lip. “I gotta go. But we’re slammed here.” She rubbed her temple. “Shit. This is so bad.”
“You go take care of your babies. It’s only an hour until closing time. I can handle it.”
“Girl, no! It’s nuts tonight.” Brenda pulled out her phone. “I’ll call Livvie and beg her to work the rest of my shift.”
“Let me know. I’ll be in front.” Rosie patted her friend on the shoulder and hustled back to the bar.
She was greeted with the sarcastic jeers of the college guys. “Hey. Did you forget our drinks? We’re waiting.”
Rosie smiled and grabbed three shot glasses. They were being assholes but yeah, they’d had to wait. She poured three shots in rapid succession and set them down on the smooth, weathered wood of the bar. “So sorry about that,” she murmured.
“Bout fuckin’ time,” one muttered as he grabbed his glass.
Let it go. Rosie squared her shoulders. “Again, I’m sorry about the wait.” Chances were they wouldn’t be back, and that was fine with her.
She crossed to the other end of the bar in time to see Brenda signaling her. “I have to go. Liv’s boyfriend said they got wasted and she’s almost passed out. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s fine. Go. You don’t want to leave your kiddos with a sick sitter. I got this.” It would add crazy to an already crazy night, but what else was she supposed to do? “I’ll be fine.”
“I owe you, girl. Thank you.” Brenda turned and hurried out the back door.
Rosie spared a quick glance around the bar. Everyone had a drink, no one was empty. Time for a thirty second check on George. She found him whistling as he coated chicken strips with his famous breading, happy as punch and not fazed by the unrelenting orders. “It’s just me and you, George,” Rosie called.
“You got it. I’ll yell extra loud.” He winked and transferred the wings to the fryer.
Rosie headed back to the bar, scanning the room beyond. An hour to go and the dining room was still three quarters full. Most eyes were on the game, as the Cubs duked it out against the Cardinals. Some of the guys from the local road construction company were in, laughing and joking as they drained a pitcher. She knew most of them. Some had lived in Sundown as long as she had and had gone to school with her or her older brother.
She’d give it ten more minutes before she checked on the tables or peeked to see if George’s wings finished up. She started to wipe down a section of bar—
Whoa.
Her mind and body stopped. Froze. Her mouth may have dropped open. Because walking toward the bar, cutting a path through the busy country cacophony, was a dark force of nature.
Tall, with a black T-shirt and dark jeans, a man moved toward her from the middle of the crowd. As effortlessly as a wolf on the hunt, he prowled toward her. Purposefully. Powerfully. He had short dark hair that looked like it didn’t want to stay put, and a picture-perfect square jaw. She couldn’t tell what color his eyes were but right now, that wasn’t what riveted her.
Instead, she was drawn to the riot of ink decorating both his arms, from wrist to the thick biceps that were only partially hidden by his short sleeves. As he drew closer, she could make out the well-defined muscles of his chest and shoulders, straining against his shirt. If don’t mess with me was an adjective, that would be this guy, in one thought.
He reached the bar and set his hands on the rounded edge, leveling her with the hint of smile that she couldn’t tell was real or not. Careful, her instincts screamed in a silent stereotype. But screw her instincts. They’d been wrong too many times to count. And he was staring right at her.
“Can I—” Her voice came out half cough, half squeak. What the hell? She cleared her throat. “Can I help you?” Which table had he come from? Why hadn’t she seen him come in? He was arrestingly handsome, with high cheekbones and chest muscles that pushed against the cotton of his tee.
He raised one brow. “Waiting on a drink. It’s been a while and I don’t see the waitress.”
“Oh, I’m sorry about that. What’ll you have?” Crap. How had Brenda not told her this guy was waiting for a drink? Then again, she’d been so distracted, how could Rosie blame her…
“A shot of Jack.” He slid onto a stool.
“I can bring it to your table,” she said, reaching for a glass. “I’m sorry about the delay. We’re a bit short-staffed tonight.”
“Nah. Think I’ll stay here.” He regarded her with eyes that were light in color but intense beyond anything she’d seen before.
Like no one was going to get him back to his table until he was good and ready. His tone, like his eyes, stayed laid-back yet unwavering.
“Okay. Coming right up.” She smiled, forcing her eyes to stay on his face and not on at his tattoos. It looked like he had one large design on each arm, then more higher up…and geez, so much for trying not to stare.
The rest of the place faded to the back of her mind as she turned and poured his drink. Who was he? No one in Sundown looked like him. Sure, some of the guys had ink, but not like this.
Rosie set the glass filled with amber liquid down in front of him. She wiped down the already immaculate spot next to him. “Is this your first time at the Sundown Bar and Grille?”
He leaned forward, elbows on the bar, and the muscles in those forearms flexed, drawing her eyes to script in a foreign language.
“Yep.” He surveyed the rest of the bar patrons, not in a casual way. More in a calculating way, though calculating what, she wasn’t sure. “Nice little place.”
“You visiting?” she murmured, tilting her head and trying to sound like she was making the most casual conversation in the world. Not prying into the life of the tall dark stranger. Nope, not her.
“No.” His lips twitched in the start of a smile and wow, he had nice lips, the lower one fuller than the top. “Looks like I’m staying.”
“Really?” She couldn’t hide her surprise. No one moved to Sundown—they usually moved away. “Wow, that’s great! Welcome to the home of the most winning state title high school football team in the 1970s.”
She instantly winced. That sounded so lame. But it was plastered on the two “Welcome to Sundown” signs on the rural road on the east and west sides of town. Their dubious claim to fame.
He chuckled. “That was a long time ago.”
“Yeah.” She wanted to smack her forehead. “Anyway, nice to meet you. I’m Rosie.”
“Hi, Rosie.” The hint of a smile bloomed into a grin, making her freeze all over again. God. It melted away some of his intensity and brought on a tummy flip. He extended a hand. “I’m Cruz.”
That was a new name. “Hi, Cruz.” She took his hand, which engulfed hers in warm rough skin and a grip that conveyed controlled strength. The tension in his fingers told her he could squeeze someone’s hand much, much harder. “Where are you from?”
“Chicago.”
“Ah, the big city.” Not only did people not move to Sundown, they especially didn’t move here from urban areas. If anything, they moved from other neighboring towns. “Must be quite a change.”
“You can say that again.” He chuckled. “Think it’ll take some getting used to, but it’ll be good.”
“Ro, when ya got a minute.” Gene walked up next to Cruz and laid a hand on the bar. “One more refill. No rush.”
“Oh gosh. Sorry Gene. I’ll get that now.”
“Take yer time.” Gene patted the bar twice and ambled back to his seat next to his brother, Howard.
“I’ll let you get back to work,” Cruz said. “May as well watch the Cubbies try and kick some ass.”
“You best be careful—we’re close enough to Saint Louis to have our fair share of Cardinals fans.” She smiled as she grabbed glasses for Gene and Howard. “I’ll be back.”