Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
Thankful for the diversion, Betsy figured a game of pool with Steven and his friends would give her time to decide whether she wanted to share a pizza with Cain or not. Would give her time to come up with a good excuse to go home. The need-to-be-at-work-early ploy would only last so long.
Betsy glanced in Cain’s direction as he stood at the counter, one leg resting on the footrail.
He pushed the sleeves upward on his formfitting black thermal shirt, then leaned forward and braced his forearms on the polished oak top.
His jeans were tight around his thighs and backside.
She swallowed the flutter in her throat and sighed.
Last week she’d seen him working out at Main Street Gym.
She had no doubt as to the muscles beneath the clothes tonight.
From behind her she heard someone groan, probably over a missed pool shot. Steven walked up beside her. “Ms. Peyton, are you gonna play or keep staring at Mr. Connery?”
“Shhhhh...” She grimaced as the sound came out of her mouth.
Cain turned to look at her. The tilt of his head along with his raised eyebrows said he’d heard everything. In fact, he might have already known he had her attention.
Her mind scrambled to find a believable response to his “gotcha” moment. “I’ll have you know I was watching the game on the television mounted in the corner.” There...that sounded believable, didn’t it?
Cain glanced up at the monitor, then back at her as he grinned. “You mean that detective show with the cops and robbers running around?”
A slow-moving heat spread across her shoulders and headed south. “Someone must have changed the channel. Or…or maybe it was just a commercial about a game and I assumed that—”
“No disrespect, Ms. Peyton, but you should hush.” Steven leaned in her direction. “You’re just making it worse.”
Music from the jukebox blared forth with a country-rock number revved enough to break the embarrassing tension. She’d lost her composure tonight, but she still didn’t intend on letting Cain into her life.
Falling head over heels in love with Phillip Peyton, her almost-ex-husband, now deceased, had been a big enough blunder for one lifetime. Love had blurred the fact of his drug use prior to their marriage. Living with him had blaringly laid everything bare.
Once she’d had an inkling of his drug use, she followed him one night. Saw him meet a guy at the auto dealership. Watched the buy happen. Made it back home, back to bed, before Phillip got back home. She’d stay single forever before she’d chance being in that type of situation again.
Cain raised a finger and pointed at the pool table. “I think it’s your play, Betsy. Be careful you don’t miss your turn.”
Careful? She was always careful when she played a game. Or did business. Or thought about having fun. Or men. Especially a man like Cain Connery. He was temptation in a pair of jeans, never mind his pull-you-in-and-lay-you-down blue eyes.
She’d played that game before. She’d lost. Lost in more ways than one.
* * *
When had sitting down to a meal with a pretty lady become so difficult? Cain bit into another slice of the large Friday night special sausage, pepperoni and double cheese pizza he’d ordered. Before long, he’d eaten nearly the entire pizza by himself.
Joanie walked back out and set a large pizza box next to Cain. “Marcy Bradley called and said her husband JB is stopping by to grab dinner for them. She paid over the phone. Can you make sure he gets the right order?”
“Sure thing. Maybe he’ll at least have time to talk.” Cain glanced across the room in Betsy’s direction. For a second, he could have sworn she let her eyes skim his way, then she turned to talk to the people at the next table. “Nobody else seems interested in my company tonight.”
“You hang in there.” Joanie laughed. “Sooner or later, she might give you the time of day. That is, if you hang around Crayton for a year or two.”
“Won’t be around that long. Soon as I finish remodeling the house my dad signed over to me, I’m putting the place on the market to sell.
After that, I’m headed to St. Louis.” He reached for his flat warm beer, but Joanie poured it out and got him a new cold mug, filling it to the same level as what she’d poured out.
His first night back in town, he’d made a deal with her. Any time he came in he’d have one beer, two at the most, and nurse it all night. But every so often he’d order a cold one and they’d pour him one to his throw-away level, then charge him for a full beer. Worked for him. Worked for the house.
“Say, who was that guy who picked up a pizza right before I came to the counter?” Cain asked. “I haven’t seen him around before.”
Joanie shook her head. “You’re just like JB. In fact, all you lawmen are constantly on the lookout for anything out of the norm.”
Cain shrugged. “Old habits…”
“Yeah. Anyhow, I don’t know who he is. He calls in a pizza order every so often. Picks it up and leaves. Seems like a nice enough guy.”
“You know where he lives?”
She shook her head. “Don’t even know his name. He always places the order under the name Running Wild. Always asks for jalapenos on half the pizza.” Joanie smiled, then slid the cold mug of beer in front of Cain. “Now, I need your opinion on something.”
He nodded a thank you. “Go for it. One thing I’ve got plenty of is opinions.”
She shook her head. “This is a serious question. How do you think folks around here would take it if I changed the name of this place to Joanie’s Too?”
The first night Cain had walked into the place, he hadn’t needed to be told why she was the one behind the bar instead of his high school friend Larry Reynolds.
They'd always called each other by their last names and that would never change. One of the worst days of his life was when he’d received notification on the battlefield that Reynolds had given his life for his country.
To others walking into the restaurant, the tri-folded American flag hanging on the wall above a picture of Joanie’s late husband in his uniform, said everything. An engraved plaque gave the specifics that Reynolds had been killed in a roadside bomb in Afghanistan.
After he died, she’d taken over both sides of their businesses—Joanie’s Pizza, Pub and Pool Room and the cafe next door known simply as Joanie’s.
Cain figured since he’d become somewhat of an outsider around Crayton after more than a decade, he might be the closest thing to an unbiased opinion she’d get.
“First of all, I think most people don’t care what the name is. They just like being here.” He paused for a sip of the cold beer. “Second, if anyone has anything out of line to say, just show them the door.”
Joanie smiled, then as the cook shouted from the kitchen that he needed help, she blew out a sigh. “Gotta go. Thanks for the advice.”
“Reynolds would be proud of you, Joanie.” Cain raised his mug in a toast to her. “One thing he’d tell you to do, though, is hire more help.”
“I think about it every so often. But what else would I do on Friday nights?” Her voice cracked as she swiped the bar towel across the counter, then glanced toward the front. “Looks like JB just walked in. Make sure he gets the right pizza.”
Cain watched her walk through the doorway into the food prep area. Most everybody in town liked Joanie, and when the day came she needed help of any kind, they’d be there for her.
Chugging the rest of his beer, he realized his own friends were few and far between.
Partly because of his work in the DEA, but mainly because trust and commitment had never come easy for him.
But in the past couple months he’d been back in town, Cain had made a couple new friends and reconnected with one from his childhood—JB Bradley.
“You look like someone kidnapped your dog, stole your cycle and wrecked your new truck all in one fell swoop.” JB eased onto a stool at the counter. “I thought you and Betsy might—”
“Steven needed a partner.” Cain nodded in Betsy’s direction, then turned back to his friend. “And I don’t have a dog.”
“Too bad.” JB had been an agent with the FBI before he quit and moved back to Crayton a month before Cain.
Once home, JB had got back together with his wife, Marcy, plus joined the Crayton Police Department.
He was currently the acting sheriff and would probably be the next sheriff once Marcy’s uncle retired.
“Yep. What about you? You’re heading home late.” Cain pushed the pizza box in JB’s direction. “Joanie said Marcy already paid.”
JB nodded then lifted the lid, slid one slice out and took a couple of bites. “Been a long day. I just drove back from the DEA in St. Louis. Had a meeting with them about the influx of heroin.”
“Problem?” Cain flinched the minute the word left his mouth. He kept telling himself that drugs, cartels and runners were not his concern now. He was on a leave of absence. But damn it, he kept falling back into the old questions.
After sliding another slice of pizza from the box, JB leaned closer. “What do you know about Interstates 44 and 70 being prime routes?”
Cain shook his head. “Last I knew, 44 was busy. Got a straight shot up to Chicago that way. But you and I both know that’s been going on a long time. What’s changed?”
“Seems to be picking up. There’s a rumor of somebody trying to make a move on the region’s boss”
“You get the drug captains and lieutenants fighting” —Cain shook his head— “there’s no telling where that can lead.”
JB grabbed the pizza box and turned to leave, then stopped and glanced back. “Yeah, that’s what I’m thinking, too. I’ve got a feeling the police are going to need all the help they can get on this one. Can I count on you for advice?”
Cain didn’t say yes. Didn’t say no. Didn’t take the bait and offer to help. Or flat out tell his friend to take a flying leap. He didn’t even look away from the empty glass on the counter in front of him.
“Good night, JB.”
“Night, Cain.”