Bodie Campbell watched as Ms. I’ve Got This stepped inside his bar. She was wet, her hair had rioted about her face and shoulders, and she looked uneasy as she hesitated just inside. It didn’t surprise him when their gazes met across the tavern. After all, he stood behind the bar. He expected her to move toward him and order a drink.
Instead, she spun on a heel and walked toward the other end of the bar, as far from him as she could get, her big goofball of a dog at her side, taller than some of the smaller tables.
“You’re scaring away the customers again,” his brother Mace said. “Thought you were past that. Didn’t your government alphabet-agency-issued therapist tell you to try to stop alienating people?”
“You take out the trash yet?”
“You’ve got other employees for that. You know, the ones you actually pay.”
Bodie gave him a level look, and Mace sighed. “You’re still mad I told Mom that you were back to running, even though your doc hasn’t said it’s okay.”
Bodie used the same low-pitched voice he had once used on bad guys in his previous profession. “Just remember, I don’t get mad; I get even.”
Mace grinned.
“Just take out the damn trash.” Bodie watched him go, tamping down on the niggle of worry at the back of his mind, because his baby brother hadn’t been acting like himself.
Okay, so none of them had been, including himself. The Campbells hadn’t been okay since Bodie’s dad died six months ago now.
Bodie glanced down at the other end of the bar and once again caught Ms. I’ve Got This’s eyes. She purposefully turned away. Okay then. He took a few orders and wiped down the bar, all while keeping track of everyone and everything. He was good at that, courtesy of his training with good old Uncle Sam.
He had eyes on the back left corner of the tables section, where four twentysomethings were getting loaded, but they were self-contained for now. A young woman, too young, sat alone in the back right corner, either waiting for someone or hiding out. It wouldn’t be the first time an underage kid had tried to order alcohol here. Or the last.
At the bar, the guy to Bodie’s right had hit his limit. If he asked for another round, he was going to be disappointed. The table against the left wall was a rowdy group of bachelorettes. In Bodie’s experience, a group of inebriated women made the worst customers, as they tended to harass the male staff. And sure enough one of them reached out to pat their server’s ass. Jason quickly turned, picked up their empties, and pocketed his tip, all while smoothly avoiding any and all hands. He looked up at Bodie and nodded. He was handling himself.
Normally on a July night, they’d have all the doors open and the front patio filled with tables for outdoor dining. The unexpected snow had taken care of that. Either way, it was a relief everything was running smoothly. He’d been out of the ATF, the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms, for six months, but three of those months had been spent in a rehab facility back east recovering from four gunshot holes in various parts of his body. He wouldn’t say he was as good as new, but he was getting there. Fact was, he knew how to do a few things exceptionally well. Track down bad guys. Keep himself alive under any circumstances. Oh, and fight. All great skills for felons . . . and the people who pursued them.
He’d done the latter for a long time, until his luck had run out. Now all he wanted to do was just be for a while, with a good view. Running a bar on Lake Tahoe was close enough. Except he wasn’t just running it—he owned it. There were four buildings on this lot, five if you counted the ramshackle warehouse behind the bar, and his dad had left one to each of his sons.
Even the dead one.
Bodie had gotten the bar and the warehouse, which had been his dad’s fondest possession. It was impossible for Bodie to stand inside Olde Tahoe Tap and not think of the man who’d indelibly shaped his life and molded him into the man he was. A hard thing to think about while surrounded by a packed house. But, man, his dad would’ve loved this. The bar was making decent money, which meant Bodie could go home and do nothing if he wanted.
But he’d never really gotten the hang of doing nothing. So here he was, licking his wounds, both physical and mental, while trying to figure out how to put his life back together.
His phone buzzed, which he ignored. It buzzed again a few times in quick succession, and thinking it must have been an emergency, he pulled it from his pocket. No emergency, just the Campbell family text thread.
Mom: Bodie, your brothers tell me you’re working too many hours and looking too thin. Have Mace close up tonight and stop by, I’ve got a lasagna for you to take home. Love you. P.S. If you don’t, I’ll come by the bar with Hazel and her daughter Janie to set you two up. She’s very nice.
Mace: Go Mom!
Zeke: Mom, wait until I get there. I need to get a pic of Bodie’s face.
Jesus. Zeke, their older brother, had a smart, hot attorney wife, three kids, and a white picket fence and was annoyingly perfect—according to their mom. And the US government should hire Mom Campbell, since her intimidation techniques were better than anyone he knew. Hazel was her BFF, and she’d been attempting to set her daughters up with the Campbell boys for years. Janie was perfectly nice, but he wasn’t. Plus, he needed another complication like he needed . . . well, this stupid text thread. He hit reply:
Bodie: Mom, I love you and your lasagna, but if you try to set me up on a date, I’ll work 24/7 AND stop eating.
Mace came back from taking out the trash, tucking his phone into his pocket with a grin. Which faded when he looked across the bar and saw his ex, Shay, sitting calmly at a table, steadfastly ignoring him. “She just get here?”
“Yep,” Bodie said, pleased to see someone else miserable. “I’m about to text Mom to let her know that you’re ignoring the love of your life so she can get down here and facilitate your reconciliation.”
Mace didn’t bite. Nor did he take his gaze off Shay. “Why does she look like a cartoon?”
Bodie looked at Shay and felt a stir of amusement and affection for the woman they’d all grown up with, the one who still held Mace’s heart in the palm of her hand. “She’s dressed up as Velma.”
“Who?”
“Velma, the cutie-pie detective from Scooby-Doo.”
Still nothing from Mace.
“It’s book club night,” Bodie said. “The theme was fictional female detectives. Man, you should know this about your woman. Or read the family newsletter Mom emails us weekly.”
Mace’s expression was pure broodiness. “Shay’s not mine anymore.”
“Look, whatever you did, go grovel and get her back. She’s been your better half for years.”
Mace made a sound like a snarl, shook his head, and continued to take in Shay’s short skirt, the wig, the high heels. “She was always after me to join the book club. I never did.”
“Because you’re an idiot.” Bodie shook his head at Mace’s hound-dog expression. “Just go over there.”
“Can’t.”
Mace and Shay had been high school sweethearts, then college sweethearts, perfectly paired and wildly in love until about a month ago, when it was suddenly just over. Bodie hadn’t been able to pry the story out of either of them, but hell, if those two couldn’t make it work, the rest of the world was doomed. “Are you ever going to tell me why she dumped you?”
Mace’s mouth tightened grimly, but he said nothing.
“Fine,” Bodie said. “Don’t talk to me. But talk to someone.”
“Oh, like you talk about what happened to you? You think I don’t know you stopped seeing that therapist the ATF was paying for?”
They stared at each other.
Chris, one of their chefs and also their cousin, put two plates up on the warmer station and hit the bell for Jason. “You’re both messed up. But Bodie’s worse.”
Mace held out his hand, like, See?
“Though not by much,” Chris said.
Bodie did the exaggerated hand-out gesture right back at Mace.
Chris shook his head. “Look,” he said to Bodie. “Are you all broody and shit? Yeah. And we get it. You lost your longtime work partner through no fault of your own, and now you run a bar where the toughest decision you have to make anymore is when to cut off a drunk. You’re also deflecting.”
That this was true was little help at all. Well, except for the part where it hadn’t been Bodie’s fault that Tyler was killed. Because it had been.
“And,” Mace added helpfully, “he also doesn’t have to make any real connections because everything in a bar is superficial. Like what happens here, stays here.”
Chris nodded. “He’s also struggling with getting involved with anyone, not wanting to expose the fact that beneath that sharp edge of his, he’s lost.”
Bodie narrowed his eyes at both of them. “Seriously?”
“It’s the college classes I’m taking,” Chris said. “You’re classic Psych 101.”
Mace snorted.
Bodie gave both of them a classic middle-finger gesture and turned away.
Mace caught his arm. “Look,” he said, softer now. “You were ratted out and betrayed by your CI, had to watch Tyler die, and then were left for dead yourself, all of which sucks and makes the rest of us feel murderous on your behalf. So I’ll ‘talk to someone’”—he used air quotes—“when you talk to someone.”
Bodie shook his head. “You’re the one ‘deflecting.’ You just don’t want to deal with this Shay thing. But fair warning, Mom put Zeke on the hunt for the story of what happened between you two.”
“Zeke can kiss my ass.”
“Agreed. Now get your head in the game and start taking some orders so I don’t have to fire you. Start with Shay.”
Mace took another look at her and shook his head.
“Man, whatever. Cover me.” Bodie slipped out from behind the bar and headed over to Shay’s table. His leg and shoulder ached like hell thanks to the cold weather—and bullet holes—but he ignored them both. Habit had his gaze scanning the room again. The young woman was still there, though she ducked when she caught his gaze. And shit. She was even younger than he’d thought. He’d have to deal with that, but Shay first.
Shay stopped perusing the menu that she surely had memorized after all these years and lifted her face to Bodie’s, not speaking, her eyes a deadpan stare.
“Hey, Velma,” he said, and tried out his best I’m-just-a-normal-guy smile.
She snorted. “Still needs work. Too much teeth. You want to look friendly and open like a bartender, not crazed like a serial killer looking to add to his collection.”
Bodie blew out a breath and gave up on the pretense.
Shay smiled. “You do the silent, mysterious shit better than anyone I know. It’s all that dark, sexy intensity you have going. It works for you. Just stick with that.”
He gave her a long look.
She laughed. “Yeah. That one. It’s good. You could probably get laid every night if you wanted.”
“Those years are long behind me. And stop trying to derail the reason I came over here.”
“Can’t blame a girl for trying.”
“Come on,” he said. “You and Mace have been together since ninth grade. Whatever happened can be fixed, right?”
Shay drew a deep breath and looked away. “Not up to me.” She ran The Book Spot for her grandmother, but everyone thought of Shay as their resident fixer. She could fix anything. Unless . . . She hadn’t been the one to break them.
It’d been Mace. Bodie felt the shock of that reverberate through him, because his brother was a dumbass sometimes, but not usually stupid. “Shay—”
She stood. “Never mind on a drink. I’m going to call it a night.” Her gaze slid across the tavern to Mace, still standing behind the bar.
Mace stared right back.
“I’m sorry.” Bodie gave her a quick hug. “If it helps, he’s miserable. Maybe you could—”
“No.” She gently squeezed Bodie’s hand. “Mace and I said all we had to say.” And with that, she turned and walked out into the night.
He moved back to Mace. “You want to tell me what happened?”
“Nope,” Mace said, popping the P. “Oh, and the pretty woman at my end of the bar with the curls is looking for the keys to the building next door. Apparently she leased it for a bakery. Did Zeke tell you?”
At the time of their dad’s death, his will hadn’t been changed since he’d created it. Which meant that his fourth child, Austin—Mace’s twin—was still in it, despite having been dead for fourteen years. Their mom had gotten the family home and the retirement funds. The remaining assets—the four buildings on Lake Drive—had been divided among the boys. Bodie had been gifted the first building, which held Olde Tahoe Tap and the small warehouse behind it. The second building, soon to be a bakery, apparently, was Austin’s posthumously, and each of them pitched in with it, the profits going by unanimous decision to their mom. Mace, who worked in construction, had been left the third building, which held Shay’s abuela’s bookstore. Zeke, who ran his own property management firm, had been left the last building, currently leased out to an art gallery.
Zeke managed all the financials. Handy, since neither Mace nor Bodie wanted anything to do with that side of things.
Which had made it convenient for Bodie to come home broken, because all he’d had to do was show up and run the day-to-day at the bar.
The three of them pitched in and helped one another as needed, which didn’t go nearly as peacefully as it might sound. Still, with Bodie short-staffed, Mace often stepped in as bartender. And Bodie helped on his construction sites as needed. Neither of them helped Zeke much. Their eldest brother knew everything and they knew nothing, ever—just ask him.
Bodie looked down the bar and once again met Ms. I’ve Got This’s gaze. “Zeke told me he had someone starting August 1, and if he wasn’t around, I should give them the keys to get in.” Although he’d said nothing about her being a sassy, feisty, sexy, adorable hot mess. “She’s a week early.”
“Early and annoyed. I told her you’d be with her soon. She didn’t seem thrilled.”
Bodie set aside his towel and reached for his phone to text Zeke.
Bodie: Name of lessor?
Zeke: Harper Shaw. Be nice.
Asshole. Bodie headed Harper Shaw’s way. She watched him move toward her and didn’t waste any time when he got within hearing distance.
“You,” she said.
“In the flesh. How can I help you?”
“My name’s Harper Shaw, and I’ve leased the building next door. A man named Zeke from the management company said I could get the keys here.” She held out a yellow sticky note with Zeke’s unmistakable messy scrawl.
Nice of him to call and let him know. “Sure,” he said. “Do you have some ID?”
She pulled out her driver’s license. “I signed the lease digitally and have a copy if you need to see it. So . . . do you have the keys?”
“I do. Welcome to Sunrise Cove.”
“Thanks.” She shrugged, making a visible effort to relax. “I haven’t been here since I was twelve, but it’s the last place I remember being truly happy, so . . .” She gave a small smile. “Here I am.”
Understanding this more than she could know, he nodded. “Without your lists.”
Her laugh was rueful. “Looking for spontaneity. Fun. Pleasing myself for a change.”
He found his first smile of the night, and a flush immediately hit her cheeks. “I didn’t mean it like that,” she said quickly.
He laughed. So Ms. I’ve Got This would be right next door. He wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing. “You’re early. The building isn’t ready.” They were slowly bringing all the buildings up to par, but this past month alone they’d been swamped with repairs from a small fire in the art gallery. Bodie thought they’d have at least another week to get next door all cleaned up and freshly painted.
“Zeke said it’d be okay for me to show up early.”
Another thing Zeke had neglected to tell him. Probably he’d forgotten with his brain turned to mush by three kids under the age of eight. “He was mistaken. The building hasn’t been cleaned or painted.”
She looked disappointed but shook her head. “No worries. I can clean, and I’d rather pick out the paint colors anyway, if that’s okay.” She put her hand out for the keys and wriggled her fingers in a “gimme” gesture.
Good thing he wasn’t looking for a sexy woman with a bad attitude. Or any woman at all. He went to his office and came back with the keys but didn’t hand them over. It was dumb, but just the keys reminded him of Austin, and hell, he missed that kid so fucking much. “The building’s been empty for a while. We had to turn off the utilities a few months back when a pipe burst. We were scheduled to get them turned on this week anyway, and I can try to make that happen tomorrow. But obviously, you can’t stay there tonight without them. You’ve got someplace to go for a few nights?”
“No worries,” she repeated, wriggling her fingers again. “Look, not to be rude, but I’ve already signed all the paperwork. It’s late, and I’ve just driven a million hours, most of it in the pouring rain, so if you don’t mind . . .”
This was Zeke’s mistake, but Bodie felt responsible for the lack of communication just the same, as well as the mess of a building she didn’t deserve. “Can I offer you a complimentary hot meal first?”
“No, but thanks.”
He leaned over the bar and took in the big, dorky, but beautiful dog sitting at her side, tall enough that his head was even with the barstools. “How about you, big guy? Want a burger to go?”
The dog straightened, ears going up in interest, and Bodie laughed. “Two seconds,” he said, and went into the kitchen. His leg was bothering him today, which he ignored as he commandeered not one, but two burgers—with Chris swearing as he added fries and all the fixings—before heading back to Ms. I’ve Got This. “Here you go, Harper Shaw.”
The frown line between her eyes vanished as she took the two loaded boxes and inhaled deeply with what looked like great pleasure. Then she met his gaze straight on for the first time. “Thank you,” she said genuinely. “For everything. Feel free to stop by Sugar Pine Bakery as soon as I’m up and running for your choice of something sweet to eat.”
That had him grinning again, and she clearly ran back through what she’d just said. “Not that,” she said on a rough laugh, like she was rusty at it. “It’s never going to be that!”
Something else they had in common.
“You tell her the place isn’t ready yet?” Mace asked, materializing at his side to watch Harper and her dog head back out into the night.
“Yeah. She didn’t seem to care.”
“She will when she sees it.”
“She’s not going to stay there tonight, and we’ll get on it first thing tomorrow. Cover me.” He started out to the tables.
“Shit,” Mace said. “Are you limping again?”
Bodie ignored him and headed toward the teen, still at the table in the back. He heard her give a small squeak when she saw him coming. Why was she out this late by herself? Actually, he could think of several reasons, none of them any good. She wore a knit cap with long dark hair coming out of it, was slender to the point of being painfully thin, and was licking the last of a Kit Kat bar from its wrapper.
“The kitchen’s closing soon,” he said. “But we still have appetizers available. Can I get you something?”
She was a deer in the headlights but recovered with admirable spunk. “Whatever you have on tap.”
He raised a brow. “Size?”
“Um . . . medium.”
He had to squelch his laugh so as to not insult her. “How old are you?”
She lifted her chin. “Old enough.”
“Uh-huh.”
“So is that a no on a beer, bartender?”
“Hard no, Kit Kat. How about a ginger ale and a burger?”
She snorted. “Only a grandpa would offer ginger ale.”
“And only someone lying about their age would come into a bar and try to order a medium beer. How old are you?”
“Seventeen.”
He gave her a long look.
She blew out a breath. “Okay, sixteen, but before you get any ideas about making me call home or whatever, I’m emancipated.”
He could buy that she was sixteen. She was shivering and hugging herself. He realized she was wet straight through her thin sweatshirt. Her jeans had holes in them. The kind that were from genuine wear, not artfully precut. “We’ve got a lost and found box in the back,” he said. “Let me get you a coat.”
“No, I’ve got one in the car.”
He eyed her doubtfully. “You have a car?”
“My mom’s at Vons getting us some food.”
There were no Vons in Sunrise Cove. They had only one grocery store. “You mean Safeway?”
“Right. Safeway.”
He appreciated the bravado. Admired it, even. “A burger is my last offer. Take it or leave it.”
She eyed the stand-up menu on the table, clearly trying to figure out how much a burger would cost. She had nothing with her except a ratty backpack at her feet. He figured the chances of her being homeless, broke, and hungry were high, and he felt a pang in his chest. “It’s on the house.”
“Okay.” Her eyes slid to his, hooded and wary. “But what’s it really going to cost me?”
The pang turned to an actual ache. “On the house means on the house.”
She chewed on her lip, clearly debating whether to believe him. “Everything costs something.”
Wasn’t that the truth.
When he didn’t speak, she stood. “Forget it. I’m outta here.”
“Whoa. The food’s completely free, no strings.”
She eyed him for a long moment. “Do you have curly fries?”
Bodie gestured for her to sit back down, and he quickly moved to the kitchen, once again grabbing a burger and fries from the ready shelf, eliciting another long oath from Chris.
“Man, you suck.”
“You can remind me of that when we’re having your next employee review,” Bodie said on his way out.
He brought the plate to the teen, and before he could even release it, she had the burger in hand.
“Maybe,” he said as she began to shove food in her mouth, “after you eat, we can talk about calling your parents.”
She was noncommittal on that, probably because she was inhaling the hamburger. Hopefully because she was inhaling the hamburger.
When she was down to her last curly fry, she looked up at him shyly and gave him a small, conciliatory smile. “Can I have some water?”
He smiled back. “Sure.” He was gone for sixty seconds, but it took only half that time to realize his mistake.
When he got back to the table, she was smoke.