Deconstructed(34)

At that moment I wondered what the hell I was doing there. This was my biggest weakness—trying to fix things like I was the righter of wrongs. I had no business tying on my Supergirl cape and sobering up Juke, helping my boss, or sitting my dumb ass in the bar of the man who still made me twitchy. After all, I had been trying to cut ties with my family, and in the course of a week, I had called on both Griffin and Juke to help me. Really . . . what the hell was wrong with me?

My mission to better myself, look for new opportunities, and afford a down payment on a house far from my family compound was being jeopardized by my stupid inability to keep my nose out of other people’s business.

I reached down and patted the large canvas bag I had stitched out of an old sari I had found at Goodwill. The crumpled application was inside, and I had already told Juke what I knew about Cricket and her douche of a husband. It was time to bounce. Only problem was, now Ty Walker sat on a shiny stool, sipping a half-full beer, looking as out of place as a debutante at a dirt bike race.

Juke downed the rest of his coffee. “You know, I’m gonna hit the road. You sobered me up sufficiently. Tell your girl to give me a shout when she’s ready.”

Well, it wasn’t like my cousin was going to be a brilliant conversationalist anyway. “Sure.”

The stool made a horrendous shriek of protest when Juke pushed back from the bar. He tossed a ten on the counter and hitched up his jeans, which were saggy, and not in a cool way. “Tell Shirl to keep the change. Maybe she’ll be nicer to me next time.”

“Okay. Bye, Juke.”

Ty leaned back. “Hey, nice to meet you.”

Juke jerked his head toward Ty and then laid a heavy hand on my shoulder. “Good to see you, Roo. Thanks for, uh, the coffee.”

I knew his gratitude wasn’t about the coffee—after all, he’d just paid for it—but I could hear it in his voice. He was barely treading water, and I hadn’t exactly tossed him a preserver. But I had at least acknowledged his struggle.

Ty had leaned forward, cupping his beer and staring at the scores scrolling across one of the television sets, giving me privacy. As much privacy as one can give when sitting elbows to ass next to someone at a bar. But at Juke’s departure, he turned his full attention on me. “What was that about?”

I wasn’t about to blab any information. I didn’t really know Ty, and my trust factor was like a 1.5 on a scale of 100. “Nothing. Just some family stuff.”

Ty looked like he might press me but seemed to decide that I wasn’t the kind of girl who likes to be squeezed. He read me right. Instead he gave me another pretty grin. “So what you been up to since I’ve been gone?”

“Not much. School, work, and I’m doing a little project for my dress for this shindig you’ve talked me into,” I said, darting my twenty-sixth glance toward Dak, who caught my eye. I jerked my gaze back to handsome Ty. Stop it, Ruby Lynn.

“A project?”

“So growing up, I loved to experiment with designing my own clothes. I found this cool dress”—I didn’t say that it was a Givenchy because I wasn’t sure if I knew how to pronounce it correctly, and Ty seemed like the sort of dude who might know that word—“and I’m pulling off the bodice and joining it to this great satin skirt that goes to just above my ankles. I’m thinking about adding an emerald bow or maybe a mulberry cummerbund at the waist. Oh, and maybe some beading just around the neck. I’m going to consult Cricket on that. I’m not sure how fancy Gritz and Glitz is.”

“You’re going to make your dress?”

He made it sound like I was going to show up in a gunnysack with a piece of hay clutched between my teeth. Maybe some boots rimmed with fresh cow patty.

“I was planning on it.” I tried not to sound defensive.

But failed.

Dak appeared and grabbed the half-empty coffee mugs. He glared at Ty, causing my “date” to slide me a what’s-with-this-guy look. After Dak set the used mugs aside, he folded his arms and stared at both of us.

I tried to figure out exactly what Dak was doing. But came up with exactly . . . nothing. So I looked back at him, my jaw clenched.

Finally, Dak said, “If she makes something for whatever the hell you’re talking about, it will be nicer than anything you’ve seen before.”

I fell off the stool.

Okay, not literally, but I might as well have. I’m pretty sure my mouth gaped open like a goldfish as I watched Dak attempt death by glare at Ty before moving to the other end of the bar as if he’d said nothing more than “It’s raining outside.”

Had my ex-boyfriend—the man who had taken my virginity and branded my heart for all time before vowing to never speak to me—just come to my defense?

Ty looked even more confused. “I’m assuming you know the bartender? And making the dress is cool. I didn’t mean anything by that. It’s just that I don’t know anyone who does anything like that. All the girls I’ve dated live for shopping in, like, stores and stuff. It’s awesome that you can make your own clothes.”

But his words sounded like rocks dropped into a tin can—flat and empty.

I decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. “I know the bartender. We grew up together. And no worries. I’m sure you don’t know many people who can do what I do.”