All the Right Moves(4)

“If I can.” She braced her elbows on the bar and leaned over so no one else could hear. “What’s up?”

“I’m making dinner for this girl. I’ve only been out with her once so I wanna impress her.” He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his thin neck. But his voice creaked from dry mouth and he kept sweeping stealthy looks toward the back. “I wanna buy wine, but I don’t know what kind or how much I gotta spend.”

Cassie filled a glass with water and set it in front of him. This was normal. For some reason people treated her like an information booth. No question was out of bounds, even though the regulars kept trying to stump her or embarrass her, but she never minded. “Does she drink red or white?”

Pete’s eyes narrowed. “How many kinds are there?”

“Do you know if she even drinks wine?”

His lips spread in a boyish grin. “I figure she does. She’s older.” He lifted his chin at a cocksure angle that he probably assumed was macho, and that she really wanted to tell him not to do. “Twenty-three, I think.”

“Ah.” Cassie got herself some water. “Do you know how to cook?”

“Yeah.” Pete shrugged a shoulder, his chin making a sharp descent toward the bar. “What do you mean?”

She would not laugh, no matter what. “What are you planning to make for dinner?”

“I mean, I can probably follow a recipe.” He drummed his fingers on the ancient scarred oak Cassie tried to keep polished. “You have a suggestion?”

“I do.” She picked up his hand. “First, get the grease out from under your fingernails. Seriously. I know you work on cars for a living, but this is a major turnoff.”

He blushed a little, withdrawing his hand, but didn’t argue. He knew the rule, all the customers did. They could ask her anything. But they had to be prepared for an honest answer.

“And don’t try to cook. It’s hotter than hell. Take her someplace—better than McDonalds,” she added, and he rolled his eyes. “Then when it cools off, go for a moonlit walk along Lake Mead. Drink a beer or two in the car. It’s illegal but only if you get caught.” She winked. “Don’t try so hard. If it happens, it happens. Just don’t bring her here.”

Pete almost choked on his water. He used the back of his arm to wipe the dribble on his chin and glanced at his pool buddies, the merciless bunch. “No way.”

She grinned. “Now get out of here. I’m trying to study.”

He hopped off the stool. “You want me to wash this glass?”

“No. Go.” She motioned with a tilt of her head, but her gaze went to the front door when she heard it open.

It was her brother. Sitting in his wheelchair, rolling down the handicap ramp into the room.

Damn him.

Lisa walked up with her empty tray pressed to her hip and gave him the scathing look he deserved. She didn’t say a word, just turned and placed the tray on the bar so that only Cassie could see the hurt and disappointment in her blue eyes.

Unshaven, his collar-length hair poking out in search of a comb, Tommy didn’t bother to acknowledge them as he passed and started to wheel himself toward the back.

“Hold it.” Cassie stepped out from behind the bar, prepared to stop him if he didn’t respond.

But he knew better, and reluctantly wheeled around to look at her. “What?”

If the word hadn’t come out surly she might have felt more than a tug of sympathy. He was her big brother. Only two years older, yet he’d been as protective of her as a mother bear with her cub throughout their nomadic childhood going from one biker camp to the next. And she in turn had protected him in every way she knew how. But an IED on an isolated Iraqi road had taken his leg and changed him down to the core, leaving this wounded, antagonistic stranger. She wasn’t about to give up on him. No one who loved him could.

“Why are you in the chair?” she asked, blocking him so he couldn’t bolt to his buddies in the back.

“You know why.”

“If I did, would I be asking?” Her gaze fell to the T-shirt she’d given him for his birthday. “Your shirt is inside out.”

He looked down at the words Life is Good and laughed. Raising hazel eyes that were identical to her own, he blew out a sharp breath. “The leg chafes.”

“You had it refitted two weeks ago.”

“It still isn’t right,” he muttered, careful not to glance at Lisa.