CHAPTER 1
The Present . . .
“Order up!”
Kristin Moore cringed as Ned, the cook at Shamrock’s Bar and Grill, slammed another plate down at the service window. The grumpy old man got the job done, but he made sure everyone knew he didn’t like the fact that he was behind the bar instead of in front of it. Ned was a drinker, and Kristin didn’t know from one day to the next whether he’d show up for work. Today was one of those days she wished Ned, along with his shitty attitude, would have stayed home.
My lucky day! He decided to come to work.
She finished doing two beers on tap, slamming the lever back in place when she had filled both frosty mugs. Shamrock’s had great beer. It was one thing she could say about the bar. They used a lot of local vendors, something her dad had done from the day he opened the place a few decades ago. Small-business owners here in Amesport tried to support each other whenever possible.
After quickly delivering the drinks, she went to snatch the plate Ned had almost broken, looking down at the sad state of the daily special. The Reuben sandwich looked soggy instead of nicely browned on both sides, and the onion rings were overcooked.
Dad has to get rid of Ned before his crappy cooking runs him out of business.
Problem was, her dad was distracted, his brain too full of worry about other things to be bothered with hiring another employee.
Kristin would have done the cooking, but that would leave Ned to handle the bar, and that wasn’t happening. He’d drink more than the customers.
Fighting the unsanitary urge to straighten up the food items on the plate so they at least looked better, Kristin delivered the food to one of the tables. Ned had been cooking badly for months. Today, since Shamrock’s had a lot of business, she hoped his food tasted better than it looked.
Please order dessert.
She smiled at the middle-aged gentleman as she gave him his food, hoping he’d be hungry enough to try the daily special dessert.
Since Kristin had made it herself, using some of her best friend Mara’s incredible products, she knew the wild-blueberry cheesecake was good. It was her mom’s recipe, and she’d been making it for years.
Glancing up at the clock, Kristin noticed it was only five p.m.
Four more hours!
She was already dragging, having put in a full day at Dr. Sarah Sinclair’s office as a medical assistant. The time between now and closing seemed like an eternity.
She was tired.
Her feet were killing her.
She was stuck with a grouchy burger slinger until the dinner hour ended.
And, for once, Shamrock’s was actually slammed with customers. It was a Friday night, and the whole weekend would be busy since Amesport was hosting a local art festival. Main Street was closed to traffic, and artists and vendors would be setting up their booths to showcase their art early in the morning.
Apparently, all of the artists decided to show up early.
Getting the locale for the event was an attempt to keep the tourists coming, even though summer was long over in the Maine coastal town. Luckily, it was looking like the snow would hold off, so it might be chilly, but the festival should be a success. The town had a backup plan to set up at the Amesport Youth Center if the weather was bad, but it had been an unseasonably warm fall and early winter.
Amesport really needed some off-season winter events because so much of the town counted on summer tourism. Grady Sinclair, one of several of the billionaire Sinclairs who had settled in Amesport, was doing everything he could to help his wife, Emily, liven up the slow seasons.
“Order up!”
Kristin flinched as the plates hit the steel counter. Jesus! She should be used to Ned’s crotchety, loud voice and his preference to try to break the plates rather than get them to the customers, but she still startled with every noisy, disruptive bellow the man let out before he whacked the food down. Probably because his declaration was shouted loud enough to hear next door, and she was right in front of him at the bar.
It wasn’t like he had to shout. She was only five feet away from the mean-tempered cook.
Be patient. Be patient. Be patient.
She tried to rein in her redheaded Irish temper, just like her father did. Her mother was nearly a saint in Kristin’s eyes, and she knew she was much more like her dad: slow to anger, but when she finally reached her melting point, she went off like fireworks on the Fourth of July.
At the moment, with the place so busy and her body so weary, Ned was pushing her closer and closer to Independence Day.
“You don’t need to call out the order so loud,” Kristin told the ornery cook as she lifted up the plates and balanced them on her arm.
Ned looked up and glared at her. “Yes, I do. It’s the only way I can get through the night. Hate this job. In Boston, at least I had some pretty waitresses in short skirts to look at. Don’t have that here in this miserable bar.”
Kristin gaped at him, her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. What in the hell could she say to that? Her temper flared, not really because he was insinuating that she was nothing to look at, but because her father had given Ned a chance, even though he had very few references.
No doubt, the obstinate jerk had been fired from previous jobs for his drinking problems. Her dad had trusted that Ned would straighten himself out.
He hadn’t.
Kristin knew he’d already been arrested for drunk driving in Amesport, and it was obvious he had no desire to quit drinking.
Studying him from a medical perspective, he had the red nose and bloodshot eyes of a longtime alcoholic, that bleary-eyed stare of a man who couldn’t get on the wagon.
She felt sorry for Ned, but she was also angry at him.
Alcoholism was a disease, but her dad had taken Ned at his word that he’d work to straighten himself out, and he hadn’t put in a single bit of effort. Her father and the present cook were old Navy buddies, and when Ned had called, her dad had helped . . . as usual. Dale Moore had assisted his friend by finding him a reasonably inexpensive place to live and giving him a job without too many questions. In return, Ned had taken advantage of her dad’s friendship and kindness, never even attempting to get help or to attend one single AA meeting.
Without another word, she carried the plates to the customers. When she got back, she told Ned quietly, “Just keep your voice down, okay? It’s annoying for the diners.” And me!
She heard him curse none-too-quietly before she turned her back to him and started to carefully mix up some cocktails. She could muddle through bartending, but she was slow with cocktails she wasn’t familiar with making. Most of the locals came here for the beer or simple alcoholic drinks. In the summer, a very large percentage of tourists came in to try the microbrews.
“Mai tai,” she muttered to herself, her brows crinkling as she reached for the cheat sheet she used for fancier drinks.
“I got it, missy,” a friendly male voice told her confidently as he set out a glass on the counter.
She looked up and saw the kindest face she’d seen in quite some time, a man about her dad’s age who winked at her and gently pushed her aside.
Strangely, he looked like he belonged behind the bar more than she did, and that fact kept her silent for a minute, trying to figure out why he was here.
He talked while he worked. “A great mai tai is deceptively hard to make. Anybody can throw the ingredients together, but they don’t always do it right.” The unknown man started tossing glasses and bottles of alcohol in a fancy juggling act as he alternated pouring ingredients into a shaker. “They shouldn’t be yellow or red. A good mai tai is smooth and tan.”
Kristin knew she should step in and ask what in the world the stranger was doing behind her father’s bar, but she was caught up in his showy style of bartending. It was clear the guy knew how to make a drink. In fact, he knew his way around a bar better than anyone she’d ever seen before.
She finally opened her mouth as he garnished the drink. “Who are you? And why are you behind my bar?”
He put a hand on his chest. “My bar now. From the looks of things, you could use the help.”
Kristin looked around in panic, wondering whether the man was crazy. There were a lot of strangers in town for the festival, and he was obviously an out-of-towner. He was wearing a pair of knee-length shorts, a T-shirt, and flip-flops—an insane kind of outfit considering it was almost winter in the Northeast.
Her gaze found and locked with a pair of gorgeous blue eyes that had haunted her wet dreams for months, a guy so stunningly gorgeous that her heart skipped a few beats.
It didn’t matter that she knew him, or that they were unfriendly acquaintances. Involuntarily, her body reacted every single time she saw him again.
Julian Sinclair!
He was leaning against the bar, grinning at her as his too-azure eyes continued to stare at her mischievously. “He’s your replacement for a while. We have a wedding to attend.”
Kristin felt a pang of sadness over the fact that she wasn’t attending Micah and Tessa’s wedding. She’d grown close to Tessa, a hometown Olympian who had tragically lost her hearing years ago. Since her best friend, Mara, was now married to one of the wealthy Sinclair men, Kristin had slowly come to know and like most of the family . . . well, maybe except for Julian. For the most part, he was an annoying pain in her ass.
Tessa was marrying Julian’s older brother, Micah Sinclair. Kristin was one of the few non-family-members invited to the Vegas wedding, and even though Micah was paying all expenses, Kristin couldn’t leave her parents or the bar.
She’d been feeling melancholy since the afternoon, when Sarah had left the office early to fly out to Vegas with her husband.
“I’m not going,” she told Julian with a confused expression. “I already told Tessa I couldn’t make it.”
“You’re going,” Julian answered confidently. “I’m here to pick you up. Tessa would be disappointed if you didn’t go.”
Kristin was more than a little disappointed herself. She’d never been to Vegas, and she had desperately wanted to see Tessa’s happy ending after so many years of heartache.
“I can’t make it,” she told him a little more forcefully, sending Julian a warning glance not to argue with her.
Looking directly at him was a mistake. The man was hot enough to melt glaciers in Greenland. It was no wonder he was in high demand as an actor. Not only was he gorgeous, with his artfully messy blond hair and sky-blue eyes framed with lashes any woman would kill for, but he also had a body so toned and fit that Kristin was fairly certain she could bounce a quarter pretty damn far off almost any muscle mass in his entire body.
No man should look quite as sinfully perfect as Julian Sinclair. The really unfair part was that he was as talented as he was handsome. With one Academy Award under his belt, and a second movie already a blockbuster hit, Julian was probably one of the most recognized A-listers in Hollywood. In addition, he was also filthy rich, a member of the elite Sinclair family.
Unfortunately, he was also a major prick. Cocky. Bossy. Arrogant. Way too used to getting his own way.
Maybe she had seen a little more insightful side of Julian occasionally during their last few encounters, but overall, he was still an antagonistic jerk.
“Your bag is in the car, and my jet is waiting. Mara went and packed a bag for you with your mother’s help. Apparently, your parents are more than willing to have somebody fill in for you. They want you to go. They’re happy you’re getting away for a weekend.”
My parents know I passed up the opportunity to go to Vegas? Bastard! There’s no way Mara would have told Mom and Dad without encouragement from Julian.
Kristin’s parents were her weakness, and she knew they’d be disappointed if she turned down a trip to Vegas because she was needed to tend the bar. If she’d told her dad that she wanted to go, he would have closed the bar for a few days if necessary. But she hadn’t wanted to do that. Her parents couldn’t afford to lose the weekend revenues.
She wasn’t sure why she was arguing with him. This all had to be some kind of elaborate joke. Julian liked to screw with her for some reason. He seemed to get his kicks from doing it.
He’s not serious.
“I can’t,” she told him, turning her head to watch as patrons started moving toward the bar, ordering drinks just to admire the skillful new bartender. “Even if the bar is covered, I need to do lunch and dinner this weekend.”
Julian put his arm around a petite blonde next to him and swaggered over to Kristin’s side. “This is Sandie Retzlaff.” He nodded to the bartender. “That’s her husband, Carl. Sandie can cook, and Carl, as you can see, can handle the bar just fine. He’s used to working a busy place. And he loves to show off his skills.”
“I’ll just go check into the kitchen,” Sandie told Julian as she smiled at him and wandered through the door to the food-prep area.
Kristin grabbed the sleeve of Julian’s light-blue sweater. “You’re joking, right? Sandie and Carl Retzlaff own Retzlaff’s Restaurant in California. That’s not . . . them, right?” She nodded her head toward the bartender.
“Yep. That’s the same dynamic duo. Now that Carl has taught all of his skills to his bartenders, he was getting bored. He wanted a challenge.”
“Sandie Retzlaff is a master chef and one hell of a businesswoman.” Kristin had heard of Retzlaff’s. Most people in the bar or restaurant business knew them at least by reputation. The elegant restaurant was famous throughout the nation for their amazing food and showman bartenders who could toss out some elaborate cocktails.
“Carl’s actually damn talented, too. He’s won mixology competitions all over the country,” Julian added amiably. “Now let’s get going. Vegas awaits, and I don’t know about you, but I could use a drink and some food.”
“My bartender is wearing flip-flops,” she answered drily. “Julian, I can’t leave Shamrock’s and just take off for Vegas.”
Leaving on a whim wasn’t possible for her. Maybe Julian could do it, but she wasn’t a Sinclair, and her life just didn’t function that way.
Her waking hours were filled with work.
And she always had responsibilities.
“Tessa’s getting married. You aren’t just leaving, and it isn’t exactly going to affect your parents’ business. I persuaded the best two professionals in the country to run Shamrock’s while you’re gone. I told you once that I owed you for doing me a favor. You weren’t willing to collect. So take advantage of me now.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Kristin could see more and more people swarming around the bar to watch Carl. Since when had bartending become a spectator sport? She could hear Carl talking about his years in the Marine Corps while he was doing some pretty precarious tosses with liquor bottles before he garnished several drinks with a flourish.
“I. Can’t. Leave.” Her voice was tight and irritated. Julian’s ruse had gone on long enough.
She didn’t know why he’d gone to this much trouble to make her feel guilty, but she didn’t really care. There was no need to defend herself or her situation. She just wanted him to leave.
“Of course you can,” Julian said with an annoyingly calm tone.
“My cook is a problem,” she informed him.
As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Ned came flying out of the kitchen and landed on his ass behind the bar.
Sandie leaned into the service window as she warned, “And stay out of the kitchen. If you can’t even make a decent hamburger without copping an attitude, you’re fired.”
Kristin bit her lip to keep from smiling as she watched Ned rise to his feet and limp out the door of the bar.
Obviously, the petite master chef had kicked Ned’s ass in under a minute. Seeing somebody put Ned in his place was almost worth this whole farce.
“He’s not a problem anymore,” Julian finally answered drily as he grabbed her hand. “We’re out of here.”
She tried to shake her fingers from his grip. “No, we are not. You can’t just walk in here, replace the staff, and expect me to walk out the door with you willingly.”
“That’s exactly what I expect,” he contradicted in a sexy baritone that skittered up Kristin’s spine. “Do you really want to disappoint everybody who wants you to be at Tessa’s wedding?”
“Of course not,” Kristin denied, feeling angry at herself for giving in to the guilt Julian was laying on so heavily. “But you can’t just arrange my life to get what you want.” She huffed and started to walk away. “I want to go, but I learned a long time ago that you can’t always get everything you want.”
“You have no reason not to go—other than pure stubbornness.” Julian wasn’t smiling anymore, and his expression was more determined than amused.
She shrugged. “Think what you want, but I resent you trying to tell me what to do. I’m not one of your employees or part of your fan club.”
“No reason to think. Your responsibilities are covered,” Julian remarked casually. “I was hoping to make it easy for you to go. But I should have known you’d still be stubborn. We’ll just have to do this the hard way.” He raised his voice. “Hey, Carl. Quarterback skills. We’re going forced exit.”
Without missing a beat, Carl pulled Kristin’s purse out from under the bar and tossed it over the crowd to Julian. It was a perfect throw and an expert one-handed catch.
Kristin was still trying to yank her fingers from his grip when Julian easily picked up her significant weight and slung her over his shoulder like she was barely a burden, then bodily carried her out of Shamrock’s without saying another word.