Chapter 3 #2
From behind the counter, the biker-bartender gave a grunt. ‘Is she staying long? Or do I poke the possums in the ceiling for that night-long ambience?’
‘Mean-Rene,’ Samantha said lightly, not even glancing back. ‘Play nice.’
Mean-Rene rolled her eyes and muttered something about bloody bureaucrats with handbags and zero sense.
‘You’ll have to forgive Rene,’ Samantha said smoothly. ‘She’s all bark and slightly less bite these days.’
Taryn raised an eyebrow. ‘That’s comforting.’
At the far end of the bar, the man in suspenders and the fedora raised his glass in greeting. ‘G’day.’
‘That’s Billy,’ Samantha added. ‘Our yardie, bouncer, counsellor, and local card shark.’
Not exactly the typical nightclub bouncer Taryn was used to, Billy, who had to be pushing eighty, looked more like a retired jazz singer. Wearing a mischievous kind of grin of someone who knew all the rules and how to break them.
‘Heard you met my brother, Mickey. Made you walk the long paddock, huh? Blighter, he is,’ Billy said with that mischievous grin.
That arsehole. Did Mickey brag about it?
She glared at Finn, who just smirked behind his beer, leaning his elbow against the counter like he’d been there all day.
‘Listen, luv,’ called out Billy, ‘if you need someone to show you the ropes, I’m happy to do it. Price of a beer will do me.’
‘You’re cheap,’ muttered Mean-Rene.
‘I’ll buy you the beer, Billy, just for the gossip.’ Taryn hoped her sass would pass for charm. ‘But, do you think I’ll survive a walk around town with a local legend in a fedora? What’ll the locals say, you being seen with me, the Fed?’
Billy barked a laugh. ‘Oh, I like this one.’ Tipping his hat to her in an old-fashioned gentlemanly manner.
Even Mean-Rene cracked the ghost of a smirk from her post behind the bar.
Taryn took that as a small win.
Samantha reached behind the bar and grabbed a room key from the hook-board, then tossed it to Finn. ‘The officer has room four.’
‘Billy’s been up there patching the bathroom floorboards. Mostly solid now,’ piped in Mean-Rene.
‘Only fell through once,’ Billy added helpfully.
Were they for real? Or teasing her?
Samantha ignored them, keeping a measured calm as if trying to read beneath Taryn’s skin. ‘You’ve got a week, yeah?’
‘Two.’
Finn groaned, dropping his head as if to drown his sorrows in his beer.
‘Good. Unpack, remember to keep hydrated if you’re not used to our climate, and don’t poke Karma. But he doesn’t mind the company.’
‘Karma?’ Taryn asked.
Samantha nodded at the beer garden door, where a sign hung crookedly above it:
KARMA BITES. DON’T FEED THE PET.
‘He’s a three-legged rescued saltie,’ Billy chimed in. ‘Locals love him, especially on betting days when we feed him.’
‘You have a crocodile in the beer garden?’
‘This is Elsie Creek, luv. It is croc country. So don’t go swimmin’ anywhere, unless you wanna be croc bait.’
‘Naturally.’ WTF? ‘So you have a pool?’
‘Only for Karma,’ replied Samantha. ‘Just so you know, we don’t do breakfast anymore. You’ll find that across the road at the train station’s food van. It opens at dawn. Brilliant coffee, you won’t be disappointed.’
‘Coffee’s good.’
‘You can also help yourself to the coffee and tea in the dining room at any time. We do lunch and dinner, but the chef has strict hours. And trust me, you don’t want to upset the chef.’
‘And it’s not some veganese-vegetarian menu of muck either,’ declared Billy. ‘This is cattle country, girlie. You’ll get your steak the way it comes. And you’ll like it.’
‘Ask for almond milk,’ Mean-Rene cut in, ‘and I’ll show you what I can do with a shovel.’
‘Good to know. I’ll keep my dietary preferences… shovel safe, shall I?’ Was Taryn going to survive her stay?
Samantha chuckled softly with Billy, but it was the grunt of approval from Mean-Rene that made her breathe easier.
Finn finished the last of his beer, set the glass down, scooped up her suitcase, and jerked his head toward the side door. ‘Let’s go, Fed, before Billy offers turndown service and Rene puts you to work.’
Taryn followed him into a narrow corridor that stretched out under pressed tin ceilings, lined with worn floorboards that creaked in protest under Finn’s heavy boots.
The office sat on the right, as the unmistakable scent of frying onions and searing meat drifted from the kitchen at the end of the hall.
It was enough to have her stomach growl like it had a life of its own.
To the left, the dining room sat with wooden tables polished by decades of elbow wear. A coffee pot simmered on the sideboard, near the simple chalkboard menu.
But her attention drifted… elsewhere.
Finn was ahead of her, ascending the narrow staircase two steps at a time. Broad shoulders, rolled sleeves, and a backside that really didn’t deserve to look that good.
Not that she noticed. Much.
Taryn cleared her throat and kept her eyes firmly on the banister, like a professional.
But still…
It was right there, in her face. How could she not peek?
Finn stopped at the top, dropped her suitcase, and nodded toward the room. ‘You’re in here. Fresh sheets, working fan, fridge stocked with bottled water. I’d recommend sleeping with earplugs on some nights, especially Train Days and Fridays.’
‘Naturally.’ Did she ask what Train Days were?
‘Did Tanisha give you the security card to get into the office?’ Finn handed over the keys, his warm, rough fingers brushing hers fleetingly.
It shouldn’t have made her breath catch. But it did.
The touch was nothing. A second. Barely a whisper of skin on skin. And yet her pulse betrayed her, anyway.
‘Um… Yeah.’ What were they talking about?
‘Get some rest, Fed.’ He stepped back from her. ‘Big day tomorrow. Wouldn’t want exhaustion clouding your judgement any more than it already has.’
Taryn blinked. Did he just—
‘Charming!’ She clutched the key to stop herself from launching it at his retreating back. ‘I’ll pencil that in, between taking a nap and defending your career, shall I?’
But Finn was already halfway down the stairs, leaving her standing in the hallway to wrestle with the dangerous fluttering in her chest, along with the rising storm of her own frustration.
Arrogant. Condescending. Impossible. Male.
Completely detached. Completely infuriating.
And somehow—unfairly—attractive from every angle.
How was that even possible?
Add in a truckload of hostility towards her, just for doing her job, and it was shaping up to be one hell of a long fortnight.