Chapter Six
CHAPTER SIX
On her break, Keeley sat on a stool at the end of the bar, arching her back to stretch tired muscles. Owen held a glass under the tap, filling it with the clear amber of Cider Mill Hard. There was no denying the air of competence Owen exuded as he moved around the bar. He worked one side while Jen did the other. He must know exactly how long it took to fill glasses from the tap because he didn’t even watch what he was doing. Instead, his gaze was constantly scanning his bar and the floor before returning to the tap at the right moment to cut the flow.
She hoped he saw that people were having a good time. Easy Money was a popular establishment, and Owen had set it up to be comfortable and welcoming. She’d spent many enjoyable hours there. It was a vital part of the Sisters’ community, especially since he sourced much of his food and beverages locally.
An Eagles cover band from the nearby town of Nevada City was performing on the stage and Keeley hummed along with “Peaceful Easy Feeling” while watching dancers out on the small dance floor.
Owen set the trio of glasses filled with cider in front of three middle-age women who looked like they were having a girls’ night out. Keeley didn’t think it was an accident they’d chosen Owen’s end of the bar. Why not enjoy the view? In this case the hot guy working the taps, while having that girls’ night.
Another server moved up to the bar. Josie’d been in the same year as Keeley and Delaney at Sierra High. Keeley had no idea how much time it took Josie to apply her makeup, but it looked flawless. Her skin was radiant and her eyes were an artistic masterpiece. Keeley’s own makeup was nonexistent. Add to that, Owen hadn’t had size medium so the Easy Money polo shirt she was wearing was a large. Keeley figured the combination made her look about twelve years old.
“ How are you holding up, prom queen? This job isn’t for sissies.”
Ah, there it was. Josie had been unhappy ever since Keeley’d shown up, and she’d learned her high school rival was her new coworker.
Back in the day, Josie’d tried bullying her, but Keeley’d had a tight friend group who’d stuck up for her. She recalled overhearing teachers talking and Josie being described as rough around the edges. The assessment seemed right.
Keeley could get along with pretty much anybody, but Josie’d made that a challenge. She saw everything as a competition, whether for swim team captain (which had gone to Josie), GPA (an easy victory for Keeley), or, during their senior year, prom queen.
Josie had not taken it well when Keeley’d been chosen by the student body and earned the prom queen crown, and she had no doubt Josie and her coven of mean girls were responsible for the Montaigne house being TP’ed, eggs thrown against the windows, and a crude chalk drawing of an erect penis with the word “slut” showing up on the garage door the following night.
So here they were, both working at Easy Money, where right off the bat Josie’d telegraphed the message loud and clear that Owen was hers and Keeley better not even think about looking in that direction.
“ It’s Keeley, and I’m holding up fine.”
Josie had gone the opposite direction on the Easy Money polo and was wearing a shirt a size too small. She’d left the buttons undone, and the material pulled tight across her chest showcased her impressive boobs. Points for Owen that he kept his gaze well above the danger zone when he took the check holders with credit cards from Josie .
Cyndi Lomeli, who’d been a couple years ahead of them in school, sat at a stool two seats away. She leaned toward Keeley to whisper conspiratorially, “Let me know if you need any pointers, sweetie. I come in here so often I bet I could run the place myself. Or if Owen doesn’t treat you right. He can be a grump sometimes, but he’s really a big teddy bear.”
Owen was a big teddy bear? She’d seen him moody, growly, and intense. But not once had she thought he acted like a big, cuddly teddy bear. She smiled. “Thanks, Cyndi.”
“ Owen, honey,” Josie cooed as she leaned over the bar, cleavage on full display. “My car is acting up so I had to walk here today. You think you could give me a ride home after we close?” She gave an obvious wink. “I could make it worth your while.”
Owen set drinks on Dion’s tray then took the check holders to Josie. Dion, a college student with beautiful brown eyes and a Don Juan vibe, was the other server for the evening.
Owen nodded to Josie. “I’ll get you home.”
When Owen moved down the bar to mix a drink, Josie turned to Keeley and Cyndi, a smirk on her lips. “And that, ladies, is how it’s done. See the big hands and big feet on that man? You know what that means, right? I’m gonna get me some of that tonight.”
Barf. That kind of predatory pursuit had never appealed to Keeley, but she wondered if it might appeal to Owen. What did she know? Maybe he was a man-whore and was into it.
Ignoring the unsettled feeling, and unwilling to attribute it to jealousy, she stretched her legs. She needed to build up her stamina if she was going to be on her feet and on the move for long stretches of time.
Owen had started her bussing tables, taking the empties through the swinging door. Three cooks worked at the grill and prep station at the far end of the kitchen. Closer to the door was the stainless sink and a heavy-duty dishwasher. She’d already pushed through four loads, mostly glasses .
Wrangling middle schoolers was exhausting, but waitressing was exhaustion on a whole different level. Her mind was still spinning over what had transpired over the past two days.
Was it only yesterday that she’d packed her teacher things into her car, ending up stranded on the mountain until rescue came in the form of the grumpy, sexy bar owner?
And this morning she’d been there when her friends learned they were all pregnant. That was mind-blowing in itself.
And now, only hours later, she was working in a bar for the grumpy, sexy bar owner who thought she might be in danger. Unreal.
In the last hour, Owen had relented and given her two tables. She’d been to Easy Money often enough as a customer she was already familiar with the menu.
In addition to beer and hard cider, the bar served hard liquor and basic cocktails. So far, taking orders had gone pretty well. She’d messed up only once, delivering a gin martini because she’d neglected to specify the customer had ordered one with vodka.
Owen set a glass of ice water in front of her with a scowl. “Drink it.”
“ Bossy much, boss-man?” That earned her another scowl.
She felt like she’d been moving nonstop, carrying trays heavy with drinks and clearing the empties. At a guess, she’d walked back and forth across the floor to the bar at least a hundred times. She arched her back again. Maybe two hundred.
She spun on the stool to take in the ambiance. Easy Money was a popular hangout for both regulars and tourists who visited the mountain towns of California’s gold country where fortunes had been made as often as dreams dashed in the gold rush following the discovery of gold in 1848.
A glass-block three-quarter wall separated the dining area for those who preferred a quieter atmosphere.
Keeley thought Easy Money looked charming with its open beams and the long mahogany bar gleaming in the warm light. The place had been in operation since before the turn of the twentieth century, and she liked how Owen respected its history. He’d made large prints from black-and-white photos showing the early days of the town and hung them in tasteful groupings along the walls.
She also liked how Owen supported local producers, including Walker’s Cider Mill Hard line of hard ciders: apple, apple cinnamon, and pear. The glass Owen was filling was for a customer sitting on Cyndi’s other side, who’d ordered a hard cider for the first time. Sometimes converts were made one sale at a time.
The kitchen at Easy Money had closed at ten and the band that had kept the crowd dancing and singing along was packing it in.
A few customers were having their last drinks before the bar’s last call at midnight. Big city bars might stay open later, but in Sisters, midnight was late enough. Thank god.
Teaching middle schoolers kept her mentally on her toes, but taking orders and serving beers kept her literally on her toes.
The other thing that kept her on her toes? Time and time again she’d look up to find Owen’s sharp blue gaze zeroed in on her. He was keeping an eye on his new employee, but the result was she’d become hyperaware of him.
Of the way he moved. The low timbre of his voice. His competence as he filled drink orders.
She’d had the fleeting thought that killing her tiny crush might be more successful as she got to know Owen better. Like maybe the attraction would sour the more time she spent with him. The opposite was proving to be true, and she realized she was in deep, deep trouble.
The other revelation of the evening? Turned out she was special, and not in a good way because Owen wasn’t grumpy with everyone the way he was with her. He wasn’t what could be described as affable or effusive in his interactions with people. In fact, she’d say he was reserved. But he paid attention and had conversations, real conversations, with the people sitting on stools at the bar .
Keeley knew good and well Ted Alvarez drank only Coke, and most nights occupied the last stool at the bar for a couple hours, but Owen never tried to move him along so a higher ticket customer could have the spot.
On a completely different level was Owen’s habit of bracing his arms against the bar and leaning in. If he was wearing his shirtsleeves pushed up to his elbows, as he often did, the tendons in his arms rippled.
Why she found that ridiculously sexy, she had no idea. He was currently talking with Ted like he was the only person in the room. That was a singularly unique skill, being surrounded by people, but able to tune them out and attend to the individual.
Ted said something and Owen threw back his head and laughed. Sweet baby Jesus, she felt that laugh like an electric current glowed red hot in her belly.
If he kept on being so dang appealing, she wouldn’t last the week, much less the summer, without propositioning her boss for sex.
***
Keeley groaned when a pounding sound breached her consciousness. She didn’t bother opening her eyes. Any o’clock on a Sunday was too early for someone to be outside making a racket. The pounding stopped, as it should. She snuggled farther under the covers and let herself slide back into sleep.
“ Out of bed, princess.”
“ Shh. Sleeping.”
Dream Owen should let her sleep. In the darkest hours of the night, Dream Owen had been outrageously sexy, leaving her all wet and wanting, and wishing she’d invested in a vibrator. If he was going to be like that in the middle of the night, he could leave her alone in the morning. Dream Owen had lost his chance and now she only wanted sleep .
The quilt and bedding she’d pulled up around her ears was rudely yanked down. “Last chance, sweetheart. Out of bed.”
“ Thought I was princess.”
“ Got that right.”
That didn’t even make sense. She tried to tug the blanket back up, but gave in. “If you’re gonna leave me all hot and bothered again, you can just go away,” she mumbled.
The mattress dipped and she managed to open one eye. A sharp gaze burning with the bluest part of the flame bored into her.
“ You’re not Dream Owen, you’re Real-Life Owen.”
“ Real-Life Owen is interested in what Dream Owen was up to.”
Braced with his hands planted in her pillow on either side of her head, and, yep, arm tendons rippling, he leaned over her. His gaze traveled from the top of her head down, heating her skin like a physical touch. She really hoped her oversize sleep shirt hadn’t slipped down to reveal boob.
Her jaw cracked with a yawn. Yeah, that was sexy. “What are you doing here?”
He closed his eyes, the muscle in his jaw tightening. “Trying my damnedest not to swallow you whole.”
“ Too bad you’re not Dream Owen.”
If he were Dream Owen, she’d tug him down next to her to cuddle while they both drifted back to sleep. Or maybe they’d have sexy times, and then go off to dream land.
But nope, Real-Life Owen wasn’t interested. At least she didn’t think so, but maybe swallowing her whole was a sexy innuendo?
She’d have to think about it after caffeine had been consumed.
He straightened with a sigh as weary as any eighty-year-old’s. “Goddamn it.”
He scrubbed a hand over his face, his whiskers making a nice crinkly sound that gave her goose bumps.
Everything about him, from the way he filled out his faded Levi’s, to the outline of his pecs on his navy knit shirt, gave her goose bumps .
Feeling slightly more clear-headed, she studied him. He looked to be waging an internal war with an uncertain outcome.
He wanted her, that much was evident given the substantial bulge in his jeans. A new development, but his behavior said he didn’t want to want her.
She sat up, pulling the bedding around her shoulders like a shroud. “What are you doing here? Why are you in my bedroom?”
“ I’m here because I promised to help you get your shit unpacked and stowed in the garage. I’m in your bedroom because your fucking door was unlocked.”
She rubbed a fist across her forehead. Sex dreams featuring the man standing in front of her followed by said man in the flesh—no, flesh wasn’t a word she should be thinking if she didn’t want to combust on the spot—was making her feel more than a little like she’d been sucked up by a tornado and then spit out a mile down the road.
“ I didn’t leave my door unlocked. Did you bring coffee?” She had more to say, but it’d have to wait because, again, caffeine. The struggle was real.
“ Me standing here is evidence the door was unlocked.” Real-Life Owen gave a head shake. “You got a coffeemaker?”
She nodded.
“ I’ll put the coffee on, you get your ass out of bed. I’ll meet you in the kitchen in five minutes.”
It was closer to ten minutes before Keeley shuffled into the kitchen.
“ Bunny slippers?” He leaned back against the counter holding one of her white crockery mugs. His face might appear to be perfectly expressionless, but she’d been paying attention and was learning the silent language of Owen Hardesty.
It was subtle, but there was something around his eyes that suggested a hint of humor .
“ Shut up.” She got creamer from the fridge and saw him wince when she poured a generous amount into her mug. “You judging me?”
He wisely shook his head. “Hell no. Why—”
Finger raised to forestall his question, she sipped the ambrosia of the gods. “Too many words.” She pointed to the halfway mark on her mug. “About here. No more words until coffee has been consumed to this point.”
He frowned, which was actually helpful for her equilibrium because it was normal and helped banish her sexy Owen dreams.
She shuffled to the fridge and took out a bag of whole grain English muffins. She held them up with raised brows. He nodded. Communication with no words. Perfect.
Within minutes toasted English muffins on pretty plates, a bowl of sliced bananas, peanut butter, and a jar of the boysenberry jam she’d made the previous summer were all on the little dining table with its cheerful tablecloth.
Owen took the seat opposite her. He spread peanut butter and jam on a half muffin, eating a good portion of it in one bite.
Peanut butter, banana slices, jam. Yum, she bit into the goodness. Breakfast was her favorite meal of the day. It was twenty minutes where she could savor the simple pleasures of toast and coffee before tackling whatever the rest of the day had in store. And somehow this morning she had the moody and hunky gorgeousness that was Owen Hardesty sitting across from her.
He glanced at her mug. “We safe to talk now?”
She gave him a sunny smile and nodded. “Yep. It’s all good.”
He paused, seemingly snagged by her smile. That was a nice boost to the ego.
“ All good,” she went on, “except for you coming in my house and in my bedroom without an invitation. Why is that?”
“ You weren’t answering your door. I was concerned, so I tried the knob. It wasn’t locked. ”
He said it like that explained everything. “Still not seeing it, big guy. I’m pretty sure I locked my door, but even if I hadn’t, that doesn’t somehow imply permission for you to wander in.”
“ I was making sure you were safe. Someone vandalized your car, remember? Maybe you were targeted. That means you could be in danger. You can’t fucking leave your house open.”
“ Okay.”
“ Okay? That’s all you have to say?” He was back with the scowls and growls.
“ About that? Yes. I should have double-checked that I’d locked up last night. It was late, I was tired, and I must’ve forgotten. I’ll do better.” She took another sip of coffee. “That still doesn’t explain you being in my bedroom.”
“ That’s where you were, so that’s where I went.” His expression shifted, and she had zero trouble reading exactly where his thoughts had gone because his eyes smoldered. Yes, smoldered.
Like they’d done when he’d leaned over her, caging her in with his hands fisted in her pillow. She’d open a window to let in the bracing mountain air if it wouldn’t give away that he’d gotten her hot with merely a look. “You have a sex dream about me, princess?”
Holy smokin’ moly. His already low voice had lowered to bedroom voice, the type of bedroom voice that whispered dirty, seductive words in the darkness.
He quirked a brow and she opened her mouth to reply. Reply what? She had no idea. The front door swung open and she was saved from having to answer.
Wearing a Van Morrison t-shirt and flannel pants, Bruce Montaigne walked slowly into the cottage. His hair was mostly gray and curled around his head in a halo. He’d lost the erect posture that’d always made him seem so tall when Keeley was a child.
“ Hey, Dad. Where are your shoes?”
Bruce looked down at his feet, seemingly surprised to find them bare. “Breakfast? ”
Keeley had noticed her dad not tracking conversations and using shorter sentences, another symptom of his disease. God, she wished she could stop time.
Bruce sat at the table. Before Keeley could push her plate in front of him, Owen was handing him the half of his English muffin he hadn’t eaten.
“ Have some breakfast, Bruce.”
“ Oorah, Marine.”
“ Oorah, brother,” Owen responded.
Keeley grabbed her phone. “I’ll get you some socks.” She rushed to her bedroom. Sometimes her father’s condition hit her harder than others. This was one of those times.
She screwed her eyes tightly closed against the tears, leaning with her back against the wall while drawing in deep, shaky breaths. Wiping her eyes, she texted Abby to let her know Bruce was with her.
Socks in hand, she returned to the table. Owen gave her a searching look. He took the socks and held them up to her dad. “You do these yourself or you need help?”
Bruce raised his bare foot, chewing thoughtfully while Owen pulled the socks on for him, first one foot, then the other.
Damn it . Why did he have to be kind? Why couldn’t he stay grouchy and surly and be generally disagreeable so she could make progress on killing the crush? She needed grumpy Owen back, stat.
“ You got back too late, young lady.”
Keeley raised a brow. She hadn’t heard that tone since she was a teenager.
“ I’m working at Easy Money now, Dad. It closes at midnight, so I get home late.”
He shook his head. “Clock said two forty-two. I heard the car out front. Had my window open a crack. I like the air. I heard you walking around.”
“ I was already home and asleep by two. I wasn’t walking around. ”
“ I heard you walking around.” Bruce’s tone turned bellicose. “I may be losing my mind, but I know what I heard.”
“ It doesn’t matter, Dad.” There were so many things she hated about Alzheimer’s, but Bruce becoming combative was one she hated more than others.
“ Bruce, you and I can look around. See if we find any footprints. If Keeley wasn’t walking around, it could’ve been someone else.”
“ I’ll get his shoes.”