Sky had to bite her tongue when he told her that. It was the only way to not break her concrete rule about listening without judgment. She didn’t disagree that a job in law enforcement could be dangerous. How could she when her sister was an attorney married to the local sheriff? Sky knew only too well that Kate suffered through nights when her husband was called away from home.
But Kate would be the first to say that marriage was a partnership, and though partners might not always agree, they should always support one another. Since Kate and Reid would be celebrating their third wedding anniversary in only a few months, Sky had to trust that her sister was more of an authority on the subject of marriage than she was.
So instead of telling Bobby that he had no right to be making career decisions for the woman he claimed to love, Sky only encouraged him to keep the lines of communication open. He promised to do that, then finished his beer, tipped her generously and headed home to his fiancée.
“Does everyone who sits at the bar spill their guts to you?” Kate had asked one night, after listening to Roger Greenway bemoan the emptiness of his life as he sipped his rum and coke.
Sky couldn’t help but empathize with the divorced father who only saw his kids twice a month now that his ex had remarried and moved out of town with them.
“Everyone,” she’d confirmed in response to her sister’s question.
Because it had seemed true at the time.
Before she’d met the handsome—and mysterious—stranger she referred to as John. In the six years that she’d been pouring drinks at Diggers’, he was the lone holdout.
She’d been chatting with Jerry Tate when the newcomer walked into the bar around 9:50 p.m. on a Wednesday night five weeks earlier. But she’d caught a glimpse of him out of the corner of her eye, as he’d paused inside the door and surveyed the room—as if he was looking for someone.
Just over six feet tall, he had broad shoulders that tested the seams of his long-sleeved Henley-style shirt, and muscular legs encased in jeans faded almost white at the stress points. The simple attire did nothing to disguise his strength, and she was helpless to prevent the quiver that reverberated through her system.
And then his eyes had caught and held hers.
She’d started to smile, because she was a friendly person and because it had been a long time since she’d felt such an instantaneous awareness and intense attraction. But he clearly hadn’t registered a similar reaction on his end, because he quickly shifted his gaze.
After scanning the room, he squared those wide shoulders and moved resolutely toward the bar. His pace was deliberate, unhurried, and as he drew nearer, Sky noted that his square jaw was unshaven and his eyes were the color of premium whiskey.
Despite the sting of his visual dismissal, Sky curved her lips again as the stranger edged a hip onto a stool at the bar. “Hi there.”
His only response was a stiff nod of acknowledgment.
“New to town or just passing through?” she wondered aloud, as he perused the labels on the taps in front of him.
“I’ll have a pint of Sam Adams.”
A New Englander, she guessed, as she selected a glass mug and tipped it under the spout. There’d been no hint of an accent in his voice, but his chosen beverage might be a clue.
She set the beer on a paper coaster in front of him.
No “please” or “thank you,” either, she noted, as he wrapped his hand around the mug.
“Are you from Massachusetts?” she asked.
“Or maybe New York?” she suggested as an alternative when he failed to reply, because New Yorkers had a reputation—deserved or not—for being standoffish and unfriendly.
Still no response.
“Rhode Island?” She grabbed that one out of thin air, hoping the random guess would get some kind of a reaction from him.
He lifted his gaze, and she felt another tug, low in her belly, when those whiskey-colored eyes locked on hers.
“I came in for a beer,” he finally said. “Not company or conversation.”
She was admittedly shocked by his blunt response.
And maybe a little hurt.
Because while he was certainly under no obligation to want company or conversation, she’d been a bartender long enough to know that people usually came into Diggers’ seeking one or the other—or both. Those who only wanted a beer could just as easily crack one open under their own roof. Unless there was a reason they wanted to get away from home for a while, such as a nagging spouse or screaming kids.
The Sam Adams–drinking stranger had no ring on his finger and no tan line indicating that one might have recently been removed. Of course, Sky knew from experience that the lack of a wedding band wasn’t necessarily indicative of anything.
Since his remark didn’t invite any kind of response, she merely nodded and made her way to the other end of the bar to refill Ellis Hagen’s empty glass.
As Sky poured another shot of Jack Daniels over ice, Ellis was happy to chat—even engaging in a little harmless flirting that soothed her inexplicably bruised feelings. And because she refused to let the rudeness of a stranger bring down her mood, Sky allowed herself to flirt back.
Of course, it was easy with Ellis, because they’d dated for a while way back in high school. In fact, she’d lost her virginity in the back seat of his Cavalier after the homecoming dance in her junior year. It had been a mostly forgettable experience for both of them, but he was the first boy
