Tinsel (Lark Cove #4)(6)

She laughed and kept walking, Camila perched on her hip while Charlie and Collin raced around in the snow, kicking and throwing it at one another.

“Inside, guys!” Logan hollered, getting to the door first and holding it open for us.

Stepping inside and out of the cold, I took a few seconds to let my eyes adjust to the dark interior of the bar. Even with the blinds on the front windows open and the winter sun streaming inside, the bar was dim.

The kids rushed past me, bringing clumps of snow with them.

This was only the third time I’d been to Thea’s bar and restaurant. All of my previous trips to Montana had been for family gatherings, so my time in Lark Cove had been confined to Logan and Thea’s house on Flathead Lake. I didn’t know this bar well, but it didn’t take much of an inspection to know that it hadn’t changed a bit since I’d been here last.

The ceilings were high with iron beams running the length of the open room. The bar ran in an L along the back walls. Behind it were mirrored shelves crowded with liquor bottles. The wooden plank floors matched the wooden plank walls, except while the dark floors were battered and covered in peanut shells, the dark walls were battered and covered in framed photos and the occasional neon sign.

Nothing else matched. Not the chairs or the stools or the tables. It was a mishmash of collectibles and went against every single one of the design principles I’d learned in college.

A strange twinge ran up my neck. It was the same feeling I’d had the other three times I’d been here, the same prickle I’d gotten when I’d ridden the subway once in high school for “fun.” I was convinced that the next black plague would originate from those tunnels.

Maybe that twinge was my body’s way of warning me of danger. Like it knew my immune system wouldn’t be able to ward off the germs in places like this.

Not that the bar was dirty or grimy. It was actually quite clean and dust-free. The bar was just . . . old. And battered. Some might call it rustic. But the only kind of rustic I enjoyed was the brand-new kind you found in Aspen estates.

I’d give Thea one thing: her bar was unique. The jukebox in the corner was ancient, filled with old country music I’d never heard of. There was a set of antlers hanging on one wall with a bra draped from the horns.

As the kids chased each other around a cocktail table in the middle of the room, Logan and Thea took turns grabbing them one by one to help them out of their winter coats.

The twinge in my neck was gone. The clean and refreshing smell in the room had chased it away. I guess this place wasn’t like the subway—not even a little.

Bleach lingered in the air, hinting that someone had scrubbed the bar top not too long ago. They must not have gotten to the floors yet.

Beneath the cleaner, the air was infused with citrus. I spotted a cutting board and a knife on the bar next to the slotted tray of bar fruits. It was overflowing with lemon, lime and orange wedges.

“Hey.” A smooth, deep voice echoed in the empty room as a man emerged from the hallway behind the bar. His long, tanned fingers were wrapped around a white dish towel as he dried his hands. “What are you guys doing here?”

“We’re going on a vacation.” Thea smiled and walked behind the bar. “So I need to grab a couple of things before we leave.”

“Vacation? Like, today? That wasn’t on the calendar.”

She laughed. “I know. I’m being spontaneous.”

“Something you are not.” The man chuckled and a shiver rolled down my spine.

This bar might not have changed since I’d been here last, but this man was definitely new. And definitely sexy.

His onyx hair was short on the sides and longer on top with wide swoops through the silky strands like he’d combed it out with his fingers. His face had this beautiful, odd symmetry that I felt the urge to sketch. His eyes were narrow and set in a harsh line above the wide bridge of his nose. His jaw was made entirely of hard, unforgiving angles. His cheekbones were so sharp they could cut glass. The only thing soft about this man’s face were his full lips.

Apart, the features were all too strong and too bold, but mixed together, he was magnificent.

“Have you met Dakota before?” Logan caught my attention and nodded to the man I’d been blatantly studying.

“Pardon?”

“I’ll take that as a no,” he muttered. “Dakota Magee, this is my sister Sofia Kendrick.”

Dakota jerked up his chin.

“Hi.” I swallowed hard, finding it difficult to breathe when he was looking my way.

Those black eyes scrutinized me from head to toe, giving nothing away about what he found. He didn’t blink. He didn’t move.

I’d had my first boyfriend at thirteen and plenty of others since. I’d been married—and divorced—twice. I’d been on the receiving end of more pick-up lines and catcalls than a stripper headlining a Vegas show.

I knew when a man found me attractive. I knew when I stirred a man’s blood.

But Dakota’s stare gave nothing away. It was empty and cool. He looked right to my core, making my heart boom louder and louder with every passing second that I failed his inspection.

“So since I’m leaving on this last-minute vacation, I had an idea.” Thea’s voice came to my rescue, forcing Dakota to break his stare. “Sofia can help you out while I’m gone.”