A stocky man in his forties, balding, with a sweaty upper lip and wearing a t-shirt that read, I Honk for Jesus, stopped Dylan at the bar’s entrance.
“Private party tonight. If you want a drink, head down the road, about four blocks west, to The White Horse Saloon. The owner keeps the beer a little on the warm side. But, hell, alcohol doesn’t need to be cold to give you a buzz. Am I right?”
“Sure.” Dylan figured his best path to Eve was if he agreed and nodded. “I’m here to pick up one of the waitresses, not crash the party. I’ll wait here if you don’t mind. Promise. I won’t get in the way.”
“Can’t be Tammy’s guy. I met him last week.” Eyes narrowed, the man looked Dylan up and down. “Too good looking for Julie. She likes her men a little older and more down at the heels. Easier to keep on a short leash. Know what I mean?”
Dylan could imagine, though he wasn’t thrilled with the picture painted in his head.
“I don’t know Tammy or Julie,” Dylan said. “If you’d let Eve Stewart know I’m here, I would appreciate it.”
“Eve?” The man let out a snort of surprise. “You’re pulling my leg.”
“Believe me,” Dylan assured the man. “I wouldn’t even try.”
“Whatever your selling, fancy pants, pack it up, and hit the road.” The man puffed out his chest as he flexed the muscles of his tattoo-covered biceps. “Eve doesn’t date. Better men than you have tried.”
“You included?” When the man’s bluster faltered and a red stain traveled up his neck, Dylan knew he’d hit the nail on the head.
“You have a problem, mister?” The man asked, his hands balling into a fist. “I wouldn’t mind knocking some shine off your pretty face.”
Tempting as the prospect was, Dylan backed off before he said something that added fuel to the fire.
“You’re right. Eve isn’t interested in me in a romantic way.” Not right now, Dylan added to himself. “We’re friends. Nothing more.”
“Trouble brewing, Len?”
With a paper party hat perched on her head, a woman stopped next to Len and gave Dylan the once over. Third time today, he thought. The residents of Trident must take lessons in how to administer suspicious looks.
“Claims he’s here to pick up Eve.” Len sniffed once, then again for good measure. “Don’t know, Pauline. Seems unlikely.”
“What’s your name, son?” Pauline asked.
“Dylan Montgomery.”
“The football player?” Pauline cackled with delight as Dylan blinked in surprise. “I’ll be damned.”
“I know professional football is a popular sport,” Dylan said with a shake of his head. “But I play for the Knights. Why are so many people in Trident fans of a team from the Pacific Northwest?”
“We do like the game,” Pauline said, the look of belligerence on her face replaced by a stupid grin. Len nodded in agreement. “Trouble is, we don’t have an NFL franchise here in New Mexico.”
“No, we don’t,” Len sighed.
“And we sure as hell won’t support a team from freaking Arizona.” Pauline scoffed at the idea.
“Hell, no.” Just the thought made Len’s eyes bug out and twitch with indignation.
“Our mayor is a transplant from Seattle. We just followed her lead,” Pauline said, finally providing an answer Dylan could understand.
“Eve won’t be ready to leave for another half hour or so.” Len slapped Dylan on the back. “Come on in and have a drink while you wait.”
“If you’re sure no one will mind,” Dylan said as he was practically dragged into the bar.
“I’m the birthday girl.” Pauline grinned. “Meeting you is the best gift I’ve received in many a year.”
“Dylan?” Eve’s eyes widened when she turned form serving a drink. “What are you doing?”
Flanked by Pauline on his right and Len on his left, Dylan was trapped with nowhere to run. When someone placed a bright purple hat on his head, snapping the attached rubber band under his chin, he wondered if he’d wandered into a horror movie.
Death in a Small Town seemed like an apt title. Dylan felt a wave of panic. This, he decided, is how I die.
“Eve?” he whispered.
“Yes?” she asked as she leaned close.
Afraid to give himself away, Dylan tried to send his thoughts to Eve telepathically. When she shrugged, he mouthed one word. Help!
Eve looked at him, a confused frown between her brows. Then, her lips twitched, and Dylan knew he was on his own.
“Would you like a beer?” she asked after Len shoved a chair at Dylan, buckling his legs. “Or can I get you something harder?”
“Water,” Dylan said, determined to keep every one of his wits about him.
“Still or sparkling,” Eve wanted to know, enjoying Dylan’s discomfort way too much.
“Doesn’t matter.” Dylan glared, silently promising retaliation. “Anything is fine.”
“I’ll be right back,” she told him without an ounce of human sympathy.
Resigned to his fate, Dylan watched Eve stop every few feet to take a drink order. Dressed in the same heels and short shorts that she had on the night they met, her bare legs looked amazing—creamy and smooth. He tipped his head to the side and smiled when he realized her backside looked better.
Dylan wasn’t the only one who noticed. As Eve moved toward the bar, a large man, young and handsome in a callow sort of way, reached out and slapped her on the butt.
Outraged, Dylan surged to his feet. Before he could slam his fist into the jerk's grinning mouth, Eve turned, planted her foot in the middle of the man’s chest, and shoved. He toppled backward.
Eve was on the asshole in a flash, planting the heel of her shoe firmly between his legs. Every man, young and old, winced in sympathy. Every
