Chapter 1 #2
Avertom placed a cool glass of water in front of me, unprompted, and I knew not to ask what I owed him for it.
Water was always free, and always offered to a dusty traveler.
It didn’t matter that my travel wasn’t much more than a fifteen-minute hike to them, apparently.
I folded my hands around the glass and contemplated how to broach the subject of hiring a mechanic.
Avertom said nothing more, just continued polishing his already clean glasses with a look of concentration.
When the silence stretched, I had a moment to appreciate the difference between the barkeep and the guy I’d passed on the way into town. He’d practically begged me to ask him to work for me, but Avertom said nothing. He waited patiently and worked casually, as if I weren’t here for a reason at all.
“Do you know if there’s anyone around who could help me fix my pressing machine?
And preferably teach me how to do it myself?
” I was tempted to add that I didn’t have much to pay this mechanic with, but my pride kept those words firmly behind my lips.
They might sense my quiet desperation, but they didn’t need to know the extent of my worries, specifically, my money worries.
Avertom made a humming sound in the back of his throat, raised one long-fingered hand from the glass he was polishing, and pointed.
He said little else, he rarely did, but that single pointing finger still packed a punch.
When I turned in my seat to look at what he was indicating, I discovered that the saloon was not as empty as I’d assumed when I arrived.
In one of the booths, all the way at the back of the saloon, a figure sat.
Their back was turned to me, and all I could really see was the top of their head.
Black hair, braided back, and little else.
Okay then… they had to be hunched against the table or low in the seat, or they were very short like myself.
Otherwise, I’d be seeing much more of them over the edge of the booth.
Then I would have noticed that the saloon was not empty, after all.
With trepidation coiling through my gut, I slipped from the bar stool and nodded a half-hearted thanks at Avertom.
My boots sounded loud to my ears as I crossed the hardwood floor to the booth.
It was very tempting to turn on my heel and bolt out the door.
Very tempting. But if I did that, I’d never get my pressing machine fixed, never create a batch of wine worth selling, and I’d lose my pretty homestead.
I firmed my spine, pulled back my shoulders, and raised my chin.
I could do this, I had to. The booth was occupied by a single person: an Aderian male who had sprawled forward, his head on his arms. He was…
different. Not only because his long hair was tightly braided, but also because the sides of his head were shaved.
A pattern curled over one temple, silvery, not quite a tattoo, not quite a shape in the faint brush of short hairs growing back in.
Silvery-gray streaked one lock of hair, but it did not march down the long braid that lay in curls across the table.
It was marked at intervals with a golden band and was as thick as my wrist.
I thought he was asleep, his breathing slow and even beneath the dark gray stretch of fabric that covered his wide shoulders.
I should have known better. His empathic gift had probably warned him of my approach.
His voice was pleasantly deep when he spoke, without raising his head from his arms or turning to look my way. “What do you want, human?”
As if his strange hairdo hadn’t already marked him as different, the somewhat rude greeting definitely did.
It was such a pleasant surprise that a smile broke out across my face and relief danced in my gut.
Yes! He was rude, that meant he wasn’t going to fawn, smile, or bend over backwards to please me.
This was the guy; I knew it. I wanted to hire him, even if his price was steeper than I’d like.
The thought of getting stoic silence and casual indifference was simply too good to pass up.
This guy wouldn’t pry, there was no way.
“Are you any good with tools? Avertom seems to think you’re the man, eh, male, I should hire to repair my pressing machine.
Are you?” I rushed the words out, no longer dreading it but eager to hear his answer.
I was almost happy when he gruffly said no.
No! Call me crazy, but I actually looked forward to the chance to convince him otherwise.
“I said no. Go away, human,” he said when I asked him again.
He still hadn’t lifted his head to look at me, and it was the giddy happiness at finding someone rude on an Aderian world that made me bold.
I nudged his huge boot with my foot and leaned in across the table on my fist. His scent struck me, rich, warm, with a hint of spice and a good whiff of something that reminded me of motor oil. Damn, he smelled good.
I nudged his boot again with my toe, and finally, he lifted his head from his arms and rose.
Well, not rose exactly, but he went from slumped over to straight-backed, and, well…
that made him tall. Freakishly tall, compared to my frumpy, stocky body.
I thought the hint of gray at the top of his head and the crotchety demeanor meant this guy was old.
He wasn’t. Not young either, but definitely very much in the prime of his life.
Wide shoulders, only partially obscured by a sleeveless tunic.
His biceps bulged with strength, and an enticing vein curled along his forearm, leading toward a big, capable hand.
He was anthracite all over, like Aderians were, and his eyes were that same freaky all-black.
His odd hair, shaven at the temples and braided so tightly, made him stand out.
So did the chiseled line of his jaw and the angry slant of his lush mouth.
He made my breath catch in my chest as I stared like an idiot.
Damn it, he was so damn pretty, like all the guys here were.
Now things were going to feel awkward for a different reason.
It was cowardly and stupid, but I was ready to bolt again.
My boots were already turning, my body angling toward the exit as if the devil were on my heels.
His hand shot out, curling around my wrist and halting me in my tracks.
“You wake me, and now you’re going to run?
I don’t think so. Tell me about this job.
” I swallowed roughly, my eyes dropping to the long, dark fingers that circled my wrist. Why did that look good?
Why did that rough heat twist through my belly in ways I didn’t think I’d ever feel again?
Ah, fuck, and how broadly was I broadcasting that?
With utter mortification filling my cheeks, my eyes went from the stranger with the beautiful hand on my wrist to Avertom behind the bar.