Rainshadow Road (Friday Harbor #2)(23)

“Let’s get you out of here.” Reaching for her bag on the counter, Sam handed it to her and said over her head, “How much is the tab, Marty?”

“Her drinks are on the house,” the bartender said.

“Thanks.” Sam glanced at the bikers. “Don’t maim the kid, Duane. He’s too hammered to know what’s going on.”

“No maiming,” Duane said. “I’m just going to drop him into the harbor. Maybe push him under a couple of times. Give him a mild case of hypothermia. That’s all.”

“I don’t feel good,” Paul whimpered.

Lucy almost began to feel sorry for him. “Just let him go, Duane.”

“I’ll think about it.” Duane’s eyes narrowed as Sam began to guide Lucy through the crowd. “Nolan. Watch it with her, or you’re next in line.”

Sam gave him a sardonic smile. “Who made you prom chaperone, Duane?”

“She’s Justine’s friend,” Duane said. “Which means I’ll have to kick your ass if you try anything with her.”

“You couldn’t kick my ass,” Sam said, and grinned as he added, “Justine, on the other hand…” He accompanied Lucy as she plowed through the clusters of people.

Emerging from the building, Lucy stopped on the sidewalk and turned to face Sam. He was as vital and good-looking as she had remembered. “You can go back in,” she said abruptly. “I don’t need any help.”

Sam shook his head. “I was leaving anyway. Too crowded.”

“Why were you there in the first place?”

“I went to have a drink with my brother Alex. His divorce was final today. But he left as soon as he realized there was going to be a Pig War party.”

“I should have done the same thing.” A soft breeze hit the soaked front of Lucy’s shirt and caused her to shiver. “Ugh. I’ve got to go home and change.”

“Where’s home?”

“Artist’s Point.”

“Justine Hoffman’s place. I’ll walk you there.”

“Thanks, but I’d rather go by myself. It’s not far.”

“You can’t walk through Friday Harbor like that. The souvenir shop next door is still open. Let me buy you a T-shirt.”

“I’ll buy my own shirt.” Lucy knew that she sounded ungrateful and rude, but she was too miserable to care. She went into the shop, while Sam followed.

“My goodness,” the elderly blue-haired woman behind the counter exclaimed when she saw Lucy. “Did we have an accident?”

“Some drunk jerk spilled a beer on me,” Lucy said.

“Oh, dear.” The woman’s face brightened as she saw the man behind her. “Sam Nolan. It wasn’t you, was it?”

“You know me better than that, Mrs. O’Hehir,” he chided with a grin. “I always hold my liquor. Is there a place in here where my friend can change into a new shirt?”

“Right in the back,” she said, indicating a door behind her. She gave Lucy a sympathetic glance. “What kind of shirt are you looking for, dear?”

“Just a regular T-shirt.”

“I’ll find something,” Sam told Lucy. “Why don’t you go back there and start washing up while I look around?”

Lucy hesitated before nodding. “Don’t pick out anything weird,” she said. “Nothing with skulls, stupid sayings, or dirty language.”

“Your lack of trust wounds me,” Sam said.

“I don’t know you well enough to trust you.”

“Mrs. O’Hehir will vouch for me.” Sam went up to the elderly woman, braced his hands on the counter, and leaned toward her conspiratorially. “Come on, tell her what a good guy I am. An angel. A sunbeam.”

The woman said to Lucy, “He’s a wolf in sheep’s clothing.”

“What Mrs. O’Hehir was trying to say,” Sam informed her, “is that I’m a sheep in wolf’s clothing.”

Lucy bit back a smile, her mood lightening as the diminutive woman gave her a meaningful glance and shook her head slowly. “I’m sure she knew exactly what she was saying.”

She went into the closet-sized bathroom, pulled off the wet shirt and dropped it into the wastebasket. Since her bra was also soaked, she tossed that as well. It was an old bra, the elastic shot, the straps raggedy. Using hot water and paper towels, she began to wash her arms and chest.

“How did you end up with a biker entourage?” she heard Sam ask from the other side of the door.

“They commissioned me to do a stained-glass window for their church. And now they’ve sort of … well, taken me under their wing, I guess.”

“Is that what you do for a living? You’re a glass artist?”

“Yes.”

“Sounds interesting.”

“It can be, at times.” Lucy threw away a wad of damp paper towels.

“I found a shirt. Ready for me to hand it to you?”

Lucy went to the door and opened it a couple of inches, taking care to keep herself well concealed. Sam reached in to give her a dark brown T-shirt. After the door closed, Lucy held up the shirt to view it critically. The front was decorated with a diagram of pink chemical symbols.