CHAPTER TEN

Even though the days were getting warmer, it was still nippy at six on a Saturday evening in Eastern Colorado. Bea’s breath fogged into the cool air as she and Austin walked briskly down the main street to Jack’s. She felt good about herself even if her jeans were a little tight in the waist. But it was amazing how confident a pair of red boots could make a woman feel, and the way her khaki fleece complemented her new swishy hair had been the cherry on top.

With a bra and her Saturday panties, she felt like she was walking down the red carpet at Cannes.

“Entrez-vous,” Austin mimicked as he opened the heavy wooden door to the bar, and Bea smiled at him. His answering flirty grin caused her heart to skip a beat.

The low notes of a Waylon Jennings song and a cloud of warmth engulfed Bea as she stepped inside, and she sighed at the instant relief. Heat seeped into her bones and melted her cold face and tingled in the tips of her ears and fingers. She waited for him to shrug out of his jacket and hang it on one of the many hooks near the door while she unzipped her polar fleece but kept it on. With Austin indicating she should precede him again, she walked toward the bar.

She wouldn’t say the place was jumping exactly. Not in an LA way, anyway. But about half the booths were full and half the stools along the long bar were occupied. There was a group of people milling around the jukebox, and some were dancing on the small square of floor to the side of the jukebox obviously provided for the activity. Beyond that, through an open door, she could see more people playing pool.

“Junior!”

Bea’s gaze landed on a good-looking guy standing behind the bar who was smiling at them with a wide grin. Like the rest of him, the man’s smile was very nice. “Hey, Tucker,” Austin said with a sigh as Bea’s gaze wandered to the bartender’s biceps. That was some major arm candy right there.

Two other guys on the stools closest to the best-looking bartender Bea had ever seen—and hello, she’d lived in LA for fifteen years, where almost every bar dude was an impossibly handsome, out-of-work actor—half turned in their seats and also greeted Austin.

“Hey, Drew.” Austin nodded. “Hey, boss.”

Boss? Bea realized Arlo was one of the guys sitting at the bar.

“Isn’t this past your bedtime, Junior?” Arlo asked.

“Quit it, dude,” the guy called Drew said. “I bet he’s got a written note from his mommy to be out past curfew.”

Bea blinked at the easy back-and-forth. These guys were obviously used to this kind of communication, but a part of her—the bit that felt uneasy about their age difference—wanted to leap to Austin’s defense. But, apart from the initial sigh, he took it all in stride, grinning good-naturedly and saying, “Bite me, assholes,” and Bea relaxed.

Okay, this was…smack talk. And Austin could obviously hold his own.

With their banter done, three sets of eyes turned to Bea. “Austin,” Drew said, “I think you need to introduce us to your friend.”

Austin smiled at her as he said, “This is Beatriss.” Even in front of these guys and a half-full bar, he put that sexy little inflection on the last syllable of her name that had Bea melting into a puddle on the floor.

“Hey, Beatrice,” Tucker said, holding out his hand.

“Bea,” she said quickly, accepting a shake from both Tucker and Drew. The latter was also a hottie—tall, broad, and waaaay closer to her age. They all were.

“Arlo. You remember Beatrice. From the other day.”

Arlo frowned for a beat or two, then Bea watched as realization slowly dawned. He looked taken aback for a moment but recovered gallantly to smile and reach out his hand. “Of course, apologies, ma’am. It’s the lighting in here.”

Bea almost laughed out loud as they shook hands. He was being very polite, but she didn’t blame him for not recognizing her. There were better put-together bag ladies in LA than she’d been the day they’d met.

“I keep telling this dipshit”—Arlo tipped his head at Tucker as he continued—“that people need to be able to see where they’re going in here, but apparently, subdued light flatters his tan.”

Unfazed by the dig, Tucker fluttered his lashes and said, “I think you mean my eyes.”

Arlo sighed dramatically, ignoring Drew’s and Austin’s laughter. “He’s in contravention of about a dozen city bylaws. Someone’s going to sue him one day.”

At the mention of breaking bylaws, Bea slid her gaze to Austin to find his already on her, and her nipples, which had only just decided to thaw in the tropical heat of the bar, suddenly tightened again.

“So arrest me, dickhead, or quit whining about it.”

“You see the respect I get around here?” Arlo asked, turning questioning eyes on Bea, a smile hovering on his mouth.

She hadn’t really gotten a good look at Arlo the other day, but he cut quite the figure. He was more RoboCop with his black buzz cut and spare, angular face than Austin’s laid-back you-catch-more-flies-with-honey charm, but she supposed, as chief of police, the safety of the town rested on his shoulders. Luckily, his shoulders appeared to be up to the job.

If this—Tucker, Arlo, Drew, and Austin—was a typical sample of the Credence men, then maybe she should have put her faith in the throw of a dart a lot earlier.

“What can I get you to drink?” Austin asked, interrupting the smack talk.

“I’ll have a Bud, please.”

“Two,” he said, motioning to Tucker.

The bartender nodded. “Coming right up.”

“So,” Drew said as Bea settled on the empty stool beside him and Austin settled on the stool on her other side. She was hyperaware of Austin’s scent and the warmth of his thigh that was almost touching hers, and she shifted slightly so their legs touched because…well, just because. “Are you…passing through or…?”

“No, I’ve just moved here. From LA.”

A frown flitted across Drew’s brow, then his eyes slowly widened. “Ohhh.” He pointed at her. “You’re the cat lady.”

Bea laughed. “Apparently, yes. Although I can assure you, I don’t have any cats.”

Tucker put the beer bottle down on the bar in front of her. “I heard you were a spy from the department of agriculture.”

What the hell? “The department of agriculture has spies?”

Bea took a mouthful of her beer. She may be looking at and talking to the very dazzling Drew, but he was not who was overheating her system. She was only really aware of Austin, of the feel of their thighs pressed together. Things were running hot inside her right now, and a cold beer was just what she needed.

“According to Don, the mayor. Something about corn rebates.”

“I wouldn’t know one end of an ear of corn from the other. I’m an ex–advertising executive taking a break from LALA land.”

“Really.” Drew sat a little straighter in his chair and eyed her speculatively. “You might be just the person I need for my business.”

Now, if Austin had said something like that, Bea would have slid right off her stool, but Drew saying it did nothing but pique her curiosity. Why, she had no idea. He was her age, he was her type—professional, obviously a business owner—he was very easy on the eyes, and he was flirting. Yet…nothing.

Austin, on the other hand, was revving her engines just from his nearness.

“Oh?” She took another sip of her beer. “Why’s that?”

“I run a funeral home here in Credence and, well, as you can imagine…that’s not a particularly sexy profession…”

Drew was in the funeral business? Honestly, if Drew had said he was a garbage man, she’d have been less surprised.

Arlo and Tucker groaned. “Not this again,” Tucker complained.

Bea tried not to smile at the sidekicks who’d clearly been here before. “I guess it’s kinda hard to get laid if you’re a funeral director,” she said sympathetically.

Even one who looked like Drew.

He turned to his friends. “Now see? Bea’s been here for five minutes and she already understands my conundrum.”

Bea shrugged. This was what she did. Or what she’d done anyway. It was what she’d been good at. Identifying what the client needed even if they didn’t know what it was.

“We understand there’s nothing sexy about the word mortician,” Arlo said derisively. “We’ve just heard you talking about it a million times.”

“Yeah.” Bea winced. “Mortician is a hard sell. What you need is a rebrand.”

A portal opened up in her brain just then as images for an advertising campaign she could run for this guy who should be able to sell just about anything—even coffins. But she quickly shut it down. She was at a bar in her town of choice, having a beer and meeting people. This was her world now, not the one she’d left behind, because it had chewed her up and spat her out without so much as a thank-you.

“Yes.” Drew took a swig of his beer. “I’ve been trying on alternative names for a while now, but nothing seems to pop.”

“What have you come up with so far?”

“I was leaning toward bereavement agent,” Drew said.

“Personally, I thought life celebrant was a winner,” Tucker offered with heavy sarcasm.

“Nope.” Arlo shook his head. “Afterlife liaison has been the best yet.”

Bea blinked at the suggestions and the banter. It was clear these three guys knew one another well. “Right…well, they’re a good starting point.”

Arlo and Tucker laughed as Drew sighed and took a big swig of his beer. “Wait,” Tucker said, “I got one. How about”—he palmed the air as if he was reading a sign—“Drew Carmichael, your local last responder?”

There was more laughter, but Drew was clearly unamused. “Oh yeah. That’s hysterical. You should totally give up your day job for stand-up comedy.”

“Hey.” Tucker feigned insult but ruined it with a huge grin. “Della thinks I’m hilarious.”

Arlo snorted. “My sister thinks you poop sparkly unicorn glitter.”

“Dude, I do poop sparkly unicorn glitter!”

Bea, waiting to get a word in edgewise, glanced at Austin. He rolled his eyes, then winked at her, and her pulse skipped. Why was it that, sitting in the midst of these truly remarkable-looking guys who were all about her age, it was twenty-five-year-old Austin who made her heart pump a little faster? He was looking at her like she was the best thing that had happened to him today, and Bea felt that right down to her toes.

She’d been in a few relationships over the years, but she’d never been with a guy who made her feel with one glance like she was the best part of his day, and that was heady.

Maybe it wouldn’t be that crazy to just dive in to Austin and go for it?

“Who poops unicorn glitter?” asked a female voice from behind.

“Oh, Jesus,” Arlo muttered under his breath as Bea turned in her chair to discover the owner of the voice.

“I do,” Tucker said with a smile. “How you doing, Winona?”

Winona was a tall, imposing figure of a woman in that Xena: Warrior Princess way. Bea’s grandmother would call her big-boned. She had a head full of bouncy caramel curls and a mischievous glint in her eyes and held herself like she was the queen of everything she surveyed. Bea liked her instantly.

“Fabulous, thank you, Tucker. Just fabulous. Hey, Drew. Hey, Austin.” She nodded at them both. Her smile became cooler as she acknowledged Arlo. “Evening, Cap’n Nemo.”

“Winona,” Arlo acknowledged. “You’ve been quiet of late.”

She shrugged. “On deadline.”

Deadline? Hmm…interesting. Bea eyed the other woman speculatively. What did Winona do that had her on deadline?

“Have you missed me?” she asked Arlo with a small, wry smile on her lips.

“Nope.” He shook his head. “Not even a little bit.”

Winona clutched her chest in faux shock. “But…I’m such a delight.”

“Yeah, you’re a real treasure. You and him”—he tipped his chin at Tucker—“unicorn glitter everywhere.”

She beamed. “I know, right?” Shifting her attention from a beleaguered Arlo to Bea, Winona smiled and stuck out her hand. “Hi, I’m Winona.”

“Bea,” she said, and they shook.

“Are you here with one of these bozos, or do you want to come sit with us?” She hooked her thumb over her shoulder, and Bea spied Molly and Marley at a booth with another woman she didn’t know. They all waved at Bea. “For conversation that doesn’t involve unicorn poop?”

Bea laughed. “I came with Austin.”

“Austin.” She eyed him speculatively for a beat or two, her gaze dropping to the way Bea’s thigh was pressed against Austin’s before switching her attention back to Bea and nodding approvingly like she was totally on board with whatever was happening.

With Austin. Who was twenty-five. Bea shot her a nothing-happening-here look. Winona’s gaze clearly called bullshit on that notion.

Glancing at Austin, Bea cocked an eyebrow in question. She was quite eager to make female friends and have a girlie chat, but it seemed rude to just abandon the one who brought her.

“It’s fine—go,” Austin assured. “Enjoy. I’ll be here when you’re ready to head back to the apartment.”

“Excellent.” Winona beamed. “Tucker, my book is done and my friends and I want to get boozy. Can we get a round of piña coladas to the booth and keep ’em coming?”

Book? So Winona was a writer?

“Yes, ma’am,” Tucker said with a smile and a salute.

Bea waited for Tucker’s ma’am to go to her ovaries. For his salute to do funny things to her heartbeat. But it didn’t happen. She thought Tucker was cute, but she didn’t want to dribble melted cheese all over his pecs and lick it off.

“Also, a couple of rounds of the house garlic bread.”

“Can do.”

“C’mon,” Winona said. “Let’s go. I’ll introduce you.”

Grabbing her beer, Bea nodded politely at the men at the bar before sliding from the stool and following Winona across the room. “I’ve not seen you around before?” she asked. “Are you visiting?”

“No. I moved here a couple of weeks ago.” Bea braced herself for the inevitable.

“Ohhh. You’re the cat woman.”

Yeah, clearly she was going to need a not-the-cat-lady tattoo on her forehead if she wanted to avoid these conversations for the next little while. “No, I don’t—”

But her protest got lost as they squeezed past some people and then arrived at the table, where she was greeted enthusiastically by Molly and Marley, who fawned over her hair a bit more, and introductions to the other woman in the group were made. “This is Mia,” Winona said. “She’s Credence’s computer fix-it wiz.” Mia had dark hair; dark, studious eyes; and a warm smile.

“Hey,” Bea said as she slid into the booth, about to offer her name, but was beaten to it by Winona.

“This is Bea. The cat lady.”

“She doesn’t have any cats,” Molly jumped in. “That’s not true. It was just a rumor.”

“Like the one about you being a runaway heiress?” Mia asked.

Bea almost choked on her mouthful of beer. “What?” She laughed. “Definitely not true. What other rumors were circulating about me?”

“That you were on the run from the law,” Marley offered.

“Or in the Witness Protection Program,” Molly added.

“That you’d been in some kind of accident and were disfigured and/or blind, depending on the day and the person telling the story,” Mia said. “Keeping your windows covered seemed to popularize the whole disfigurement thing.”

Winona sighed. “I liked the witch rumor the best.”

Marley laughed. “That’s only because you wanted to taunt Arlo with the prospect of a coven setting up home in Credence.”

Winona grinned. “Serves him right for having a giant stick up his ass.”

Tucker arriving with their cocktails interrupted the conversation, and Bea quickly downed the rest of her beer as she accepted her piña colada. She wasn’t much of a fruity cocktail fan—she was a beer girl through and through—but she could suffer through one.

“Here’s to new faces,” Winona said, picking up her glass in salute. “Welcome, Bea.”

The women all raised their glasses, too, and clinked them together. Bea sipped at her cocktail, given her palate wasn’t exactly in the most receptive mood for something sweet after the beer. But it tasted light and fresh, and Bea knew from experience that she just needed to drink more to get her palate adjusted, and with great company, that wouldn’t be a hardship.

“So, Bea. Tell us about yourself,” Mia invited.

It took about ten minutes for Bea to tell the abridged version of her life and what had brought her to Credence. Not one of her new friends thought it was strange that she would just up and move on the throw of a dart, but then these women had all moved here off the back of a national Facebook campaign. If anybody understood impulses, it was them.

Bea had definitely found her people.

The garlic bread, along with another round of cocktails, arrived just as Bea was getting to the end of her tale, and the women swooped in. “Oh God…” Bea groaned as the buttery, cheesy, salty, garlicky goodness caused the kind of sensation in her mouth that Austin caused inside her day-of-the-week panties every time he said Beatriss. “Carbohydrates are the devil.”

“Amen to that,” Winona agreed.

They consumed the bread—two large triangles each—to the background murmur of the Saturday night crowd and the crooning of Keith Urban. None of them spoke until the bread was gone, which was the kind of reverence that should be given to food that could make the earth move. But once they were done, the questioning resumed.

“So,” Winona said, licking her fingers, “what are your plans while you’re here?”

“Honestly?” Bea shook her head. “I don’t know. I…didn’t think that far ahead. I’m secure enough financially not to have to do anything for a time, so I guess I’ll figure it out as I go along. I just needed to get far away from LA.”

“Okay, but…” Mia quirked an eyebrow. “What have you been doing for the couple of weeks you were locked away while we were all speculating whether you were a Gryffindor or a Slytherin?”

Bea laughed. If only she’d known there’d been such interest, she might have played along. Hung a rubber bat in the window or put a cauldron there for everyone to see. “I binge-watched all fifteen seasons of Supernatural.”

There was a moment of almost reverential silence as the women gaped at her. “Was that the first time you’ve seen them?” Mia asked.

“Yeah.” Bea gave a self-deprecating smile. “Most of the TV I’ve watched in fifteen years was about the ads, not the actual shows. I basically didn’t have a life.”

“Oh…I remember being a Supernatural virgin.” Marley’s hand fluttered over her chest. “Popping that cherry was sweeter than my actual cherry being popped.”

“I can’t think of a better use of your time,” Molly agreed sincerely.

Winona raised her almost-empty glass. “Respect.”

“So, are you Team Sam or Team Dean?” Molly asked.

Bea frowned. Was that a trick question? “Is…Team Sam a thing?”

They all laughed. “Apparently,” Mia replied.

“Oh, well…I mean, Sam’s cute. For sure. And principled. There’s a lot to be said for a bleeding-heart hot guy, right?” Everyone nodded. “I sure wouldn’t kick him out of my bed for spilling crumbs. But he’s impulsive and hotheaded and…”

“Whiny,” Marley supplied.

“Yes.” Bea laughed. “So whiny. And Dean…well…”

“Right.” Winona nodded. “Dean wins.”

“Dean all the way,” Mia agreed.

Molly nodded. “He’s hot.”

“And he’s obsessed with pie.” Bea flicked her gaze around the group. “I mean, you gotta be into a guy who loves pie, right?”

“Hell yes.” Marley raised her glass. “Eat pie, kill demons. Cheers to that.”

Everyone clinked glasses and drank, then Marley said, “If you haven’t seen a lot of TV in the last fifteen years and you’re looking for some other television recs to while away the days, I can highly recommend Friday Night Lights.”

Molly nodded. “God yes. Team Riggins for the win.”

“True Blood,” Winona suggested. “Team Eric.”

“The Walking Dead,” Mia added. “Team Daryl.”

Bea laughed at the rapid-fire suggestions. “Hang on.” She grabbed her phone and opened a new note. “I’d better write these down.”

“If you’re looking for something to do,” Winona said as Bea’s thumbs flew over the touch screen of her phone, “you can come visit me out at the lake. I’m building a house out there, which has taken a bit longer than I’d hoped. I’ve just moved into a caravan on-site this week now that the worst of the weather is over, but I’m happy to show you around. It’s really nice out there. Peaceful and pretty.”

With the recommendations duly noted in her phone, Bea placed it on the table. “You mentioned something to Tucker about finishing a book. Are you a writer?”

Molly grinned. “Winona writes erotic romance novels.”

Bea blinked. She wasn’t sure what she’d thought Winona might write, but this hadn’t been it. Something deep and literary maybe. Or grisly—spy novels or murder and mayhem. Not love and sex. But there was a definite hedonistic bend to the way Winona spoke and ate and drank and laughed and flirted that Bea could imagine went well with writing in the erotic romance genre.

“Really?” Bea asked her. “Like…for a living? You’re published?”

Winona nodded. “Yes, I write full-time and earn decent money. I’ve hit several big lists and won a couple of awards, and I’ve just finished book sixteen.”

“That’s…” Bea didn’t know what to say. She’d occasionally met authors—big-name ones—when the firm had been handling national advertising for particular publishers, and she’d always been fascinated by the tenacity that must be required to finish a book. Her job was creative, too, but in a very different way. “That is awesome.”

“I know, right?” Winona agreed with a grin and took another drink.

“Well, I guess reading one of your books just went to the top of my to-do list.” Once upon a time, during her teen and college years, Bea had read a lot. Now, she was lucky to read a couple of books a year, and that was usually in dribs and drabs at airports and on planes.

“Here.” Winona delved into her bag and handed over what appeared to be a bookmark with all her details on it, including a very interesting tagline. No yucking on someone else’s yum.

Bea glanced over at Arlo, then back at Winona. Interesting…

“Check out my website,” she continued. “If you want me to recommend something, let me know.”

“Thanks.” Bea took it and slipped it into her bag. “I will.”

“Well, that’s one thing sorted for your list,” Mia said. “What else can we hook you up with?”

Bea shrugged. “A cat, I guess. I might as well go ahead and get one, seeing as how everyone around me is under the impression I actually have a room full of them.”

“But do you want one?” Mia frowned. “If you don’t mind my saying, you don’t sound that enthused.”

“I do want one. I like cats. Well…actually, I don’t have an opinion about cats or any other domestic animal, really, because I’ve never owned a pet—” There was a general gasp at the admission, but it was true. Her grandmother disliked animal hair getting everywhere. “But I would like to get a cat now that I have the time to look after one.” She shrugged. “They’re cute and fluffy and low-maintenance. It’s not like I have to walk one or anything, and I quite like the idea of a warm, purring body to snuggle into at night.”

Winona cocked an eyebrow. “I thought that was what Austin was for?”

The other women laughed, and Bea actually blushed as her gaze slid to the man in question, drinking a beer and listening to whatever Drew was saying. As if he knew she was watching, he looked over his shoulder and their eyes met, and Bea felt the same yank of connection she had from the first time she’d laid eyes on Austin Cooper.

She blushed some more as she returned her attention to what was going on in her booth. “It’s not like that,” she dismissed. “He’s just being friendly.”

“Uh-huh,” Winona said drily, and they all laughed again.

Desperate to steer the conversation away from Austin and how friendly she was avoiding getting with him, Bea asked, “So how would I go about finding someone who might have a cat or kitten, even”—how much fun would a cute little fur ball be?—“they want to offload?”

“I got mine from a litter at one of the farms out of town,” Mia said.

“Annie will know,” Winona mused. “People tell her stuff like that.”

“Oh, yes.” The mention of Annie’s made Bea’s tummy grumble despite it being full of cheesy garlic bread, beer, and piña colada. “Good tip, thanks. I’ll ask.”

Bea sucked to the bottom of her second cocktail, making a loud slurping noise. It wasn’t very ladylike, but it was as satisfying as the drink. Maybe she would become a cocktail convert in Credence? Then miraculously, Tucker appeared again, putting another round of five piña coladas in the middle and removing the empties.

“Tucker,” Winona said, “Della is right—you are a god among men.”

He laughed. “Well thank you, ma’am, but I don’t think she’s referring to my cocktail prowess.”

Winona hooted out a laugh. “I don’t think so, either.”

With that, he left, and Bea felt so damn happy to be sitting here, far away from her old life with new friends and a new future ahead of her, she grabbed the third cocktail.

“You ever met a movie star?” Marley asked, leaning in.

Bea grinned, took a long drag of the pineapple-flavored rum through her straw, and said, “Who do you want to know about?”