For You (The 'Burg #1)(32)
“What?”
“Feb doesn’t… they don’t need me here. I’ll just get home.”
Before he could utter a syllable she slid off her stool and wended her way through the crowd.
Colt forgot about her instantly and looked back at February.
She’d turned and was now standing, facing the shelves behind the bar, both of her hands were up, elbows cocked. She’d lifted up her hair, holding it high at the back of her head, the heavy fall of it was hiding her hands.
She wasn’t moving.
Colt waited and she didn’t reach for a bottle or a glass. She just stared at the shelves, inert.
“Feb, darlin’, tequila,” Jack called, not looking at his daughter.
Feb still didn’t move.
“What the f**k?” Colt muttered as he watched her remain still.
Then he felt that chill that had evaporated at his torso come back and start clawing at his chest. He got up, pulled back the bar on its hinges, slid around, dropped it down and moved to Feb.
He had a hand on her elbow before her entire frame jerked, she dropped her arms and she turned to him.
“You okay?” he asked.
She stared unblinking at his face.
“Feb, I’m talkin’ to you.” His fingers were still wrapped around her elbow and he tightened them there.
“What?” she asked.
“You okay?”
She came out of her trance, dropped her chin and looked away at the same time she lifted her arm bent at the elbow and tried to twist out of his hold.
He tightened his fingers further.
She looked at his hand before her head came back up. “I’m fine.”
“Somethin’ spook you?”
“Cat walked over my grave.”
“Cat walks over your grave, you shiver and get on with it, you don’t freeze then lapse into a trance.”
“I didn’t lapse into a trance,” she lied.
“Somethin’ goin’ on here?” Jack asked from close at Colt’s back.
“Somethin’ spooked Feb,” Colt answered.
“Nothing spooked me,” Feb lied again.
“Somethin’ spooked her?” Jack knew Feb enough to know she was lying.
“Nothing spooked me!” Feb’s voice was getting louder. “I just forgot what I was doin’ for a minute.”
“I thought a cat walked over your grave,” Colt called her on her lie.
“That too,” she returned.
“Which one is it, girl?” Jack asked.
Feb jerked her arm out of Colt’s hold, took a step back but leaned forward now totally loud and shouted, “Both of you, back off!”
Then she pushed through them, rushed to the end of the bar, threw the entry open on its hinges, it collapsed back onto the bar making a loud sound shaking the bar and taking Colt’s beer down with it.
She ignored all this, threw open the door to the office and slammed it shut behind her.
Out of the side of his eye Colt saw Jack turn to him but he didn’t take his gaze from the office door.
“You reckon she’s spooked or bein’ a woman?”
“Both,” Colt answered and walked down the bar to the office.
He went in and closed the door behind him. Feb was standing at the desk, her profile to him. She’d again pulled the hair away from her face and had it held in a fist at the back of her head, exposing the line of her neck, more of her choker and her silver hoop earring.
“I said, back off,” she told the desk.
“What spooked you?”
She didn’t turn, didn’t drop her arm, she just repeated, “Seriously, this is uncool and you know it. Back off.”
He walked up to her and grabbed her arm, pulling it down and she turned to him, her eyes finding his.
“Was it Amy?” he asked.
There it was again. That raw look. Except in the office with the lighting better and her close it was considerably more difficult to witness. In fact, he knew he’d never f**king forget that look on her face.
“It was Amy,” he said quietly and she twisted her arm away from his hand, taking a step from him so desperate to get away but trapped between his body and the desk she bumped into it hard. It tilted and some papers slid off the cluttered top onto the floor.
They both ignored the papers.
“Talk to me, Feb.”
“Did you talk to her?” she asked.
“What?”
“Did you explain the way it is?”
“Explain the way what is?”
“I didn’t put her on my list, but I figured you’d talk to her.”
That cold that was clawing at Colt’s chest found purchase, tearing in, freezing his insides.
“Why would I talk to Amy Harris?”
Her brows came together, those lines forming at their edges this time deeper.
Accusation.
“I don’t believe you,” she whispered, and there it was, plain in her tone.
Accusation.
“Maybe you wanna explain this,” he suggested, treading carefully.
Something was happening here, something he did not get, something that more than spooked her, something that pained her and, whatever the f**k it was, it had to do with him and f**king Amy Harris.
She tore her eyes from his and shook her head.