What a Bachelor Needs (Bachelor Auction Book 4)(28)

“I know. And I might. Jett might drop me as quickly as he picked me up and that will hurt. But he’s not going to hurt me in the same way Boyd did. That is never going to happen to me again. I’d speak out. Get help. I would turn to you this time, I’d confide in you more, and I’d listen to what people were trying to tell me. I’m listening now. To Jett. To my own thoughts. And I’m listening to you. So if you really don’t like Jett Casey or the way he’s treating me, or if you know something about him that I should know, I’m right here and my ears are open.”

Her father closed his eyes and gathered her close. “I don’t know the first thing about the man. Give me twenty-four hours and I’ll know more. And if he steps a foot wrong, you come to me this time. You hear?”

“I will.” Mardie stepped back, tried to pull herself together. “So what do you think of the house now?” Her father hadn’t been its biggest fan. He’d looked at it and seen the work and not the promise in it. “It’s getting better, isn’t it?”

“I think it’s going to be beautiful.”

*

Mardie refused to let her thoughts linger too much on Jett as she worked her shift at Grey’s that night. The snow had settled, the plows had been through and people were out and about again. Their regulars were in their regular places, casual drinkers and diners had come in, bringing voices and laughter with them, not to mention tips. Good trade, steady trade, and along with that, a dozen or so bikers had pulled into town late and taken up residence in the back room of the bar. Reese had frowned when they’d first come in, but they seemed peaceable enough. They drank plenty and tipped well. They kept to themselves and commandeered the pool table and played a few games – badly. Mardie’s fingers itched for a pool cue and some chalk, but Reese shook his head in silent warning.

No hustling this lot – they might not take well to a waitress showing them how the game was played.

“Another round for the bikers,” she told Reese who slanted the group an assessing glance.

“Last one.”

“They’re not going to like that.”

“Sad.”

“There’s a lot of them.”

“Jason’s on his way and so are Bee and Trey.”

Jason, the Saloon’s reclusive owner could be downright scary when he wanted to be. Bee was their only female bouncer, and those she couldn’t sweet talk out of the bar got a glimpse of the dark ops mercenary she’d once been. Trey was a Sheenan – enough said. And Reese could more than hold his own.

“If things go south, you head for the kitchen and stay there,” Reese said.

“My pleasure.” This was the part she didn’t like about working at the bar. The confrontation that flared up occasionally. The violence that rolled in on someone’s shoulders and made everyone uneasy.

She never slept well after a fight night at the bar. Too many memories and all of them ugly.

Mardie slipped behind the bar and started unpacking the dishwasher. She’d unpacked, restacked and started the washer in the time it took Reese to pour twelve shots of vodka.

Reese was on the go-slow when it came to serving the bikers their next round of drinks.

“They’re going to want their beer as well.”

Reese reached for a lone beer glass. “It’s coming.”

“So’s Christmas.”

“Give me five, ten, minutes.”

“They’re going to know. It’s not that busy.”

“They’ll wait.”

Mardie delivered the drinks eventually and the shots were gone before she’d delivered the last of the beers. She snuck a glance at the pool table as she passed the beers around.

“There’s another bar over by the railway called the Wolf’s Den,” she told the leader as she picked up the tray of now empty shot glasses topped with a pile of money. “You’ll get cheaper drinks and better pool tables there and it’s open until three.”

“Sweetheart, we’re not after tourist information.” He was a big, meaty man with hard black eyes and a pock-marked face. “We like it here. Service is a little slow, though. Maybe we should order that next round of drinks now. Unless you’d rather stay and play with us, in which case we might be happy to wait.”

“I’m working.”

“Take a break.”

“Someone’s already played the break. And someone’s got to get you those drinks.”

“Keep the change,” the lead biker said.

No one stopped her as she left, but Mardie’s hands were shaking by the time she reached Reese. She could feel the crawl of hot gazes along her back. She could sense the predator sniffing after prey, and she hated it. “They want another round.”

The news didn’t surprise Reese.

Mardie handed him the tray topped with money and Reese rang the order up and put the money through the till. He handed her back two one hundred dollar bills plus some change. “That your tip?”

“That’s what they said.”

“They want any more food?”

“No. How soon can the others be here?”

“Soon.”

“They wanted me to play pool.”

Reese shot her a sharp glance. “Stay off their radar.”