special about 'em.'
'His eyes? I don't see anything remarkable about his eyes, either,' Perrie lied. 'And as for charming… well, he certainly isn't my type.'
'You know, he rescued a purdy thing off Denali just a few days back. Plucked her right off the mountain and saved her life. He's a helluva pilot, too.'
Perrie's interest was aroused and she leaned forward. 'Really? He didn't mention that.'
'He don't brag on himself much. But everybody likes him. He's generous to a fault. Last winter, he flew Addie Pruett out when her ma fell ill. She didn't have the money to pay for the flight, so Joe told her she could do his laundry for three months in exchange. And he brings me fresh vegetables for my fire hall feeds without charging me for the freight. I 'spect he don't charge me full price for the produce, either, but I don't have proof of that.'
Perrie's journalistic instincts kicked into overdrive. 'What did he do in Seattle?'
A shrug was all Burdy had for that question. The old man cocked his head in the direction of the bar. 'Why don't you ask him yourself? He's sittin' over there at the end of the bar. He's been watchin' you since we sat down.'
She turned to look and found Joe Brennan leaning back against the bar, his pale eyes fixed on her with another disconcerting gaze. For an instant, she thought of looking away, of avoiding his direct stare. But instead, she tipped her chin up and gave him a little wave. His only response was an oh-so-subtle lift of his eyebrow before he turned to talk to the man next to him.
For the first time since she'd met him, he wasn't wearing a cap. His thick dark hair brushed the collar of his flannel shirt and fell in a boyish shock across his forehead, careless and incredibly sexy. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows and her gaze drifted along smooth, muscular arms and strong, capable hands. She noticed how his jeans hugged narrow hips and long legs when he hooked his heel on the foot rail. No doubt about it. Joe Brennan filled out a pair of jeans better than any man she'd ever met.
'You fancy him?'
She twisted around at Burdy's question. 'What? No. Why would you think that?'
Burdy shrugged, a grin quirking the deep grooves around his mouth. 'Haven't met a lady yet mat could resist him. And you seem interested.'
'I'm a reporter,' she snapped. 'Learning deep dark secrets about people is what I'm good at.' Perrie leaned back in her chair. 'And I'll wager you dinner tonight that I can find out what Joe Brennan did in Seattle before he came here.'
'I'd take you up on it, but Joe said you don't have any money.'
She frowned. Burdy was right. How was she supposed to live here in Muleshoe without a penny to her name? Milt had stolen all her money, had forced her into exile. Did he expect her to starve, as well. 'You're right. I don't have any money.'
'Not for gamblin'. But Joe said your boss gave him the okay to pay your way around town. Paddy'll run a tab and so will Louise Weller down at the general store.'
'Well, if I choose to wager a dinner here or there, Milt Freeman can damn well pay for it,' Perrie said. Her chair scraped on the rough wood floor and she stood up. 'This will take me about five minutes. You can order the cheeseburger plate and a beer for me while I'm gone.'
She fixed her gaze on Joe Brennan's wide, flannel-covered shoulders and headed across the room. But she'd barely gotten five feet before a beefy man with a thick black beard stepped in front of her.
He cleared his throat and she watched a blush creep up his cheeks. 'Miz Kincaid. My name's Luther Paulson. I'd be obliged if you'd take a turn around the dance floor with me.'
Perrie opened her mouth to refuse, but the poor man looked so nervous that she didn't have the heart. She smiled weakly and nodded. 'All right. A dance would be nice. But just one.'
'I wouldn't impose myself on you for any more,' Luther said, his expression brightening.
True to his word, Luther didn't ask for a second dance. Nor did George Koslowski, Erv Saunders or the other three single men who came along after them to claim just one turn around the dance floor. She'd tried to remember their names, but after the third, they all became one big blur of facial hair and flannel. And the three brides hadn't fared any better, for they were out on the dance floor with her the whole time, chatting amiably with their partners.
She finally pleaded thirst and at least four men jumped to buy her a beer. But she waved them off and made her way to the bar through the crowd of hopefuls that surrounded the dance floor, refusing more invitations along the way.
The stool beside Joe Brennan was empty now, as were almost all the stools, the former occupants now cluttered around the dance floor hoping for a shot at a female partner. She slid in beside him, sending him a sideways glance.
He smiled. 'You're a popular lady tonight,' he said. He didn't look her way, merely stared into his mug of beer.
'Not so popular,' she said. 'You didn't ask me to dance.'
He chuckled, then took a long swallow of his beer. He set the empty mug on the bar and turned to her. 'Those men out there have a reason for dancing with you and it's pretty serious business. I'm not one to stand in their way.'
'And I suppose you can't think of one reason you might have to ask me to dance?'
'Oh, I could think of a few,' he said. 'But then, I've got more than a few reasons
'And what might those be, Brennan?'
'Well, beyond the fact that you'd talk my ear off and try once again to get me to take you back to Seattle, I also might be thinking that it would give you the wrong kind of ideas about me.'
Perrie slowly nodded. 'You're worried about what I said earlier. About you wanting to kiss me. Well, I won't hold that against you, Brennan. I've been fully informed of your reputation with the ladies.' She reached over and grabbed his arm. 'Come on, then. If you won't ask me, I'll have to ask you.'
He growled softly in protest, but turned and followed her out to the dance floor. Perrie expected more of the same clumsy embarrassment that she'd had from her other partners. But Joe slipped his arm around her waist and pulled her effortlessly into his arms. He moved with the music, as if he'd been dancing all his life, and suddenly she was the one who felt clumsy and uneasy.
Her breath caught in her throat as his hand splayed across her shoulders, then slowly slipped toward the small of her back. His touch sent a tingle down her spine, and for a moment, her knees went soft. 'You dance very well,' she murmured, fixing her attention on his chest, avoiding his eyes once again.
'Surprised?'
'Maybe,' she conceded. 'So what's your story, Brennan?'
'My story?'
She looked up at him, now that she'd managed to start breathing again. 'Yeah, what brought you up here to live in the Great White North? Burdy says you used to live in Seattle until about five years ago.'
'Have you and Burdy been gossiping about me?'
'We were talking about the brides and the subject turned in your direction. He couldn't tell me much more. He says you're a crackerjack pilot, though.'
He lifted a dark eyebrow. 'I do all right. I haven't lost a passenger yet, although I was sorely tempted earlier today.'
'Then you're fearless?'
Joe chuckled. 'We have a saying here in Alaska, Kincaid. There are bold pilots and there are old pilots. But there are no old, bold pilots.'
Perrie smiled. 'I like that. So, who were you before you became a bush pilot, Brennan? And how do you know Milt Freeman?'
He stared over her shoulder for a long moment as if contemplating what he was going to tell her. But then he shrugged. 'I had a job like most folks do. I sat behind a desk and pushed papers.' He glanced down and met her gaze. 'I'm afraid it's a rather boring story for a woman like you, Kincaid.'
She narrowed her gaze. 'And I'm afraid I don't believe you, Brennan. You forget that I've got a nose for a story and I smell one right now. Milt mentioned that you owed him a favor or two. For what?'
