CHAPTER TWO

 

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"TWO HOURS? REALLY?"

"I wish I could get your tire fixed sooner," the burly owner of Mick's Garage told Jordyn. She had to give him credit. From the ends of his handlebar mustache to the wry turn of the toothpick that dangled from his mouth, Mick looked genuinely sorry. "Three of my guys are out sick. Nasty flu going around."

Another unwelcome turn to her crappy day. Jordyn eyed the waiting area with trepidation. Two plastic chairs, a rickety table, and a couple of magazines that had been there since the Bush admiration—Bush Sr.—didn't exactly scream comfort.

As for the man who occupied one of the chairs? He was probably harmless. However, she was put off by the chewing tobacco trickling down his chin—not to mention the mingling of unwashed body and gasoline—tempered Jordyn's desire to spend the next few hours with him in the narrow, box-like room.

Mick seemed to understand Jordyn's dilemma.

"If you want to go across the street to Paddy's Pub, I'll give you a call when your car is ready."

Jordyn peered out the smudged window. Paddy's Pub, a plain brown building with three pickup trucks in the parking lot, looked more like a shed than a place of business.

"Best coffee in town."

The lure of good coffee to a Seattle native was like waving honey in front of a certain bear by the name of Pooh. Jordyn wasn't as insatiable for caffeine as some people she knew, but she could do with something hot.

Besides, she'd been blessed—cursed?—with a wide streak of curiosity. She didn't buy the fact that anything good lurked behind the nondescript front door of Paddy's Pub. But she wouldn't be satisfied until she found out for herself.

Stepping from the garage, Jordyn was happy to see the rain had slowed from a steady downpour to a drizzle. Filling her lungs with the cool, fresh mountain air, she dashed across the street.

The pub was dimly lit—as expected—and Jordyn took a moment to let her eyes adjust. As she looked around the neat, clean room, she was surprised to see so many people looking back. Either the three vehicles parked outside had arrived four bodies deep, or the foot traffic in such a tiny town was impressive indeed.

The woman behind the bar looked to be in her late forties. Solid more than fat, she was tall with strong features. She wore her gray hair short and her right eyebrow pierced by a small, gold hoop.

"Something I can help you with?" the woman asked as she filled a frosty glass from a row of beer taps.

"The bathroom? And a cup of coffee. Please."

"Bathroom's in the back."

Most of the pub's patrons quickly lost interest in Jordyn. However, two men stopped their game of pool to watch her every step—as if they'd never seen a woman before.

Jordyn shut the bathroom door with a firm click, turning the lock. As she washed her hands, she gave herself a critical once over.

Some would say she had been blessed with an enviable gene pool. Jordyn would agree. Yes, she took care of her face. Moisturized religiously. Always removed her makeup before getting into bed. She exercised. Took a daily vitamin supplement. But the way she looked. Her wide-set, dark-green eyes, high cheekbones, full mouth. Even her thick, dark hair—currently worn in an easy, yet chic topknot—came from her father's side of the family. Jordyn merely used a few of the products she sold to enhance the shine and bounce.

Jordyn could have made a very good living as a model—the offers poured in before she reached puberty. But life in front of a camera didn't interest her.

She wanted success. And money. And power. And blessed anonymity. Jordyn knew the price of fame. Her brother was the best third baseman in the game. In her opinion, Spencer was the best—period. He thrived on the attention that inevitably came along with his status. The media attention. The gossip. The rumors.

Spencer was born with a Teflon-plated ego—able to take the good, the bad, and the ugly of fame in his stride.

Jordyn knew herself. She wouldn't be as easy going if everywhere she went, cameras followed. A big reason she never, ever dated athletes. First, they loved the spotlight. Second, feeding an ego—big or small—was too exhausting. Even Spencer—about as down to Earth a man as you could find considering his superstar status—could be a bit much on occasion. How Blue put up with him, she didn't know. Must be love.

Standing back, Jordyn did a slow spin. The mirror wasn't big, but she could see enough. Her black leggings and dove-gray leather jacket made a good traveling outfit. Comfortable. Durable. Wrinkle resistant. She looked presentable. Businesslike. But not stuffy.

Adding a touch of cherry-red lipstick, Jordyn gave herself a nod and left the bathroom.

"Hey, Maisie. We could use another round."

"And I could use George Clooney," the tall bartender shot back at the pool players.

"A week doing what?" countered a man at the bar.

"Anything and everything."

As the early afternoon crowd laughed with Maisie—not at her—Jordyn smiled for the first time in hours. The vibe in the pub seemed different—more likely, her pissy attitude had taken a turn for the better.

Friendly, Jordyn decided. Like a neighborhood hangout. Where the regulars looked beyond the dingy floors and wobbly chairs because the place was theirs.

"Still want that coffee?" Maisie called as she pulled a pitcher of beer.

"More than my next breath."

With a snort, Maisie set the pitcher aside, grabbing what looked like a freshly brewed pot of heavenly smelling dark liquid.

"Car trouble?" she asked as she placed the mug in front of Jordyn.

"Flat tire."

"Figured something like that. Your type doesn't stop in Atkins Bend to see the sights."

"My type?"

Unapologetically, Maisie sized Jordyn up.

"Upscale. When you first walked in, I thought any man who took you on needed his head examined. Too high maintenance. But my guess is you can take care of yourself and don't want—or need—somebody to hold your hand."

With a shrug, the bartender delivered the pitcher of beer without waiting for a response.

Jordyn wasn't entirely sure, but she believed Maisie had handed her a compliment. Backhanded. Reluctant. But a thumb's up nonetheless.

A cup of coffee and a personality assessment thrown in at no extra charge.

Taking a sip, Jordyn sighed with pleasure. She rarely imbibed in the hard stuff, touting herbal teas to her friends and family—while practicing what she preached. But the way her day had gone, she needed a cup or two of the full-octane stuff.

"Hey, Maisie! Hasn't the game started?"

Jordyn winced. Partly because she was sandwiched between Maisie and the man who shouted the words. But the main cause of her reaction was the game.

Wherever she went. Rain or shine. The middle of December or the end of March. From the time she was a little girl. She couldn't get away from baseball.

 

With a mental shrug, Jordyn cupped the mug in her hands. Maybe Spencer would hit one out of the park. Watching her big brother perform his magic with a bat never grew old.

A sudden gust of cool air swirled through the room. Glancing toward the entrance, Jordyn watched a backlit figure fill the doorway. A man—from the size of him—his features shadowed as his broad shoulders blocked out what sunlight escaped through cloud-covered skies.

Every occupant in the room, save herself, called out in unison.

"Murph!"

Jordyn's eyebrows lifted. Paddy's Pub, a latter-day Cheers? The first few bars of Where Everybody Knows Your Name ran through her head.

Maisie smiled—by Jordyn's estimate, a rare occurrence.

"Hey, Murphy. Good to see you."

Without asking, the bartender picked up a glass. Her view blocked, Jordyn couldn't tell what she added next. Ice and…? Whatever the concoction, Murphy approved. He downed half the contents in one swig.

"Just what I needed," he growled.

The sound fit. The man was big as a bear—and twice as hairy. At the thought, Jordyn bit the inside of her lip to keep herself from grinning. She didn't want to seem rude. However, her thoughts were right on target. His dark beard was the definition of bushy, totally obscuring the outline of his face.

As for the mop on top of his head? Jordyn knew women who would have killed for hair so thick and wavy. The difference was, a woman would have tamed the wild mass with regular trips to a salon. Or, at the very least, used a comb before she left the house.

The clothing he wore was clean but well worn. Jeans. A thick, plaid shirt in colors of blue and gray with the collar of a black t-shirt peeking out from underneath. Scuffed work boots.

Casual attire for a casually confident man.

Jordyn frowned when she caught herself staring—strangely fascinated. From the moment Murphy entered, the atmosphere had changed. The energy ticking upward.

What was it about him that drew her interest? The other people in the room she could understand. They knew him. A friend they noticed. He garnered their attention. But Jordyn had never met the man. Didn't know him. Never would.

Jordyn dated sophisticated men. Well educated. Well informed. Well groomed. Was she a snob? Sure. Why not? What was wrong with knowing what she liked? She didn't begrudge Murphy his lifestyle. However, he wasn't her type.

Whoa. Jordyn put a brake on her thoughts before they could turn down a road she had no desire to travel—now or ever. As if to emphasize the point, she set her mug down on the bar with a decisive thunk.

Murphy turned his head at the sound. Noticing Jordyn for the first time.

Whoa, Jordyn thought when his eyes locked with hers. Whoa, Nelly. Cool blue, his gaze started a warm heat in the pit of her stomach. She swallowed. Who was this guy? And why did his bottom lip have to stick out so temptingly from his curly beard, almost begging her to bite down?

When the lip in question curved upward—as though perfectly aware where her thoughts had wandered—Jordyn felt her cheeks tingle. She never blushed. Never. However, there was a first time for everything.

Thankfully, Maisie called out Murphy's name, diverting his attention. Jordyn took a deep, relieved breath. She needed to get a grip. And get back on the road. And stop the fanciful thoughts.

"The guys want me to turn on the game, Murphy. Do you mind?"

"No problem."

Jordyn frowned. If Murphy had said no, what then? No baseball? Why should one man's preference take precedence? Who was this guy?

The television popped on just as the Cyclones took the field, their white uniforms bright against the green of the field. A picture-perfect setting. For all her grumbling, Jordyn was a fan. When she was a girl, she'd dreamed of playing alongside her brother. The first woman to pitch for Seattle—or any professional team. Reality could be a bitch. She had a killer slider. However, her fastball didn't have enough velocity. And she couldn't throw a curve to save her life.

Combination of chromosomes aside, nobody made the show with only one pitch in their repertoire. Jordyn's career ended around the same time her breasts started to develop.

"The Cyclones need a new catcher," Maisie lamented as a member of the opposing team easily stole second. "Marquis' arm strength is middling. And don't get me started on his accuracy."

"Damn good thing Nick Sanders is at second," the man seated near Jordyn piped in. "Without him, most of Marquis' throws would end up in center field."

"The kid needs seasoning," Murphy said, his eyes on the screen. "Give him time."

"Young pitching staff, young catcher. Not a great combination."

Though she kept her opinion to herself, Jordyn agreed. Like every baseball team, players came and went. Free agency. Trades. Retirement. Change was inevitable. A part of the game.

The core—the veterans—including Nick Sanders, Jordyn's brother at third and Travis Forsythe next to him at shortstop, weren't going anywhere. However, if the Cyclones wanted to defend their World Series title, they needed some of the new guys to step up. Fast.

"Oh, come on!" Maisie shouted when—as if on cue—Marquis sailed a throw over Nick Sander's outstretched hand. The result? Two runs crossed home plate. "Spring training is one thing. What happens when the games count?"

Apparently a man of few words, Murphy's only reply was a shrug.

Jordyn looked inside her empty mug. Before she could decide if she needed a refill, her phone buzzed, signaling her car was ready. Ahead of schedule.

If she left now, she could still make her appointment—a few minutes late. But no problem. Anastasia Perkins had been surprisingly understanding when Jordyn called to explain the delay.

Dropping a five, plus a couple of ones for good measure, on the bar, Jordyn nodded toward Maisie on her way out.

Murphy, casually sipping his second drink, his elbow propped on the bar, didn't give her a second glance. Jordyn was happy to discover his lack of interest didn't bother her a bit. She'd looked enough for both of them.

Jordyn started her car, heading out of town and further up the mountain. With each mile, the memory of Murphy faded—quickly and completely. He'd been a momentary zing to her libido. An oddity she felt no need to explain or explore.

Good humor restored, Jordyn settled back and enjoyed the journey. Before the day was through, she planned to add another must-have concoction to the exclusive items lining the shelves of her growing beauty boutique empire.

Men—even ones as unique as Murphy—were a nice diversion from time to time. Her business was her passion. She didn't have time for anything—or anyone—else.

 

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"ROLL YOUR TONGUE back into your mouth. She was only passing through."

"Who?"

Maisie wasn't fooled for a second by the, I have no idea what you're talking about tone in Murphy's voice.

"The beauty queen you couldn't keep your eyes off?"

"Not my type," Murphy shrugged.

"She's every man's type. Hell, I'm unwaveringly heterosexual, but if she gave me a wink, I'd hesitate before turning her down."

Murphy's lips twitched, but he was a harder audience than most.

"As you said, Ms. Temptation was only passing through."

"What if she'd hung around for a few days?"

"Not interested."

Maisie chuckled, leaving to take care of a newly arrived customer.

Murphy kept his eyes on the game. Sure, he'd noticed the gorgeous brunette, and recognized her for what she was. Long, lean, green-eyed trouble.

A few years ago, he wouldn't have hesitated. Full speed ahead. Without a second thought. Murphy would have done everything in his power to have her—the hell with the price.

He smiled—slow and speculative—as a clear as glass image of the leggy beauty filled his thoughts. Good thing she hadn't stuck around. Though his wild days were behind him, she might have been a temptation he couldn't resist.