15. Bailey’s on the Rocks

Though the remaining crowd was small, the fact that Noah had to announce last call at midnight meant the Miners Tavern had had a banner night. And bonus: no one had thrown up in either of the bathrooms.

He owed the night's success to his cobbled together staff, Keating's shortsightedness, and the ensuing offer to play for free by the Celtic Knots. Their front man and the guy Luanne had made eyes at all night, Aidan Mooney, clapped Noah on the shoulder and shook so hard Noah's teeth practically rattled in his head.

"Thanks again, man, for letting us set up here and celebrate with your good folk tonight." The man's jolly face was flushed Jameson's red. "Sorry again about the misunderstanding."

"We're sticking with ‘misunderstanding,' are we?" Noah couldn't keep his grin from spreading. He could afford to be forgiving, especially with Mooney's promise to return in the summer and play for half the band's usual fee. They would be a great draw during the busy season.

Mooney's eyes twinkled. "We are because it was my misunderstanding about the benefits of aligning with a shifty lawyer. But you understand now, dontcha, that with us being a humble band based in Basalt and right next door to Aspen, we found it difficult—and possibly career-ending—to refuse his … proposition."

"And what happens if he ends your career anyway?" Noah refrained from adding that he had planned to do the same.

"We pick up and move to Silver Summit." Aidan roared a belly laugh. "We hear they'll be looking for the best acts in the state." He threw a stout arm around Luanne's shoulders and pulled her against him. She grinned up at him. "And we'll be closer to the prettiest Irish colleens this side of the Continental Divide."

"Speaking of Irish colleens …" Sandy-haired Deputy Shane O'Brien spun on his barstool and scanned the mostly empty dining room. "Where's mine?"

"You don't have one," Reece chuffed.

"You're talking blarney. Sure as I'm an Irish lad I do," he said in a bad brogue that made him sound like a poor imitation of the leprechaun hustling Lucky Charms.

"You're as Irish as I am Japanese," Reece tossed back.

Shane had been ogling Hailey since he'd arrived, and while Noah was grateful for his presence because it kept the rowdiness among the customers at a manageable level, he chafed at the blatant way the dude had flirted with her. He'd probably assumed a nonexistent level of interest on her part when she'd handled him like she did the other patrons—with a smile, a wink, and a sidestep that put her out of reach.

Dixie slid a tray onto the counter. "She left."

"Wholeft?" Noah dreaded the answer before he'd finished his curt question.

She jutted a hip and folded her fist on it, her long nails extending past her palm. How the woman could enter data into the POS System was beyond him. "Hailey Bailey. She said she had to get back to Montrose first thing in the morning, so she left with Micky."

"Wait. Hailey left? With Micky?" Shit, shit, shit! And here I was worried about Shane, who's harmless by comparison, damn it!

Charlie, who had spent the last half hour of the band's high-tempo set slow-dancing with a cutie he had just met—and whom he was letting put her hands all over him—suddenly raised his head. His expression was one of shock and dismay. "Without saying good-bye?"

Noah stuffed down his own surprise and disappointment because his inner alarm still roared at full throttle. "Where's Amy?"

"Well," Dixie drawled, "she claimed she'd had one too many wines and asked Micky to drive her home, which means she went with them. Had you worried, didn't I?" She wore a proud little grin.

Fuck me! He wouldn't give Dixie the satisfaction of showing his relief. "Yeah. I was worried about getting Amy paid. I'll catch up with her tomorrow."

Dixie's lips formed an O, but nothing came out.

Noah Hunnicutt, one. Dixie Dobbs—never mind. She had so many points on him it would take him a lifetime to catch up.

He stroked his beard. "Huh. If Hailey was preoccupied with getting back to work, that might explain why she—" Dixie crashed into his sentence before he could finish it with a comment about Hailey's elusiveness.

She narrowed an accusing gaze at him. "She didn't get preoccupied until after you and Ursula holed up in your apartment."

"She's gawahwahwahwan," Shane howled at the ceiling. The tune was an off-key rendition of the old Hall and Oates tune "She's Gone." Maybe.

Noah dipped an eyebrow at Reece. "You're driving, right?"

"Oh yeah."

Noah turned his attention to his manager. "We didn't hole up. I was in there with Ch—the dog, and she barged in."

"Well, while you and the empress were doing whatever you were doing up there, Hailey probably got ideas." Dixie sniffed.

Except Hailey had no idea who Ursula was or what she meant—correction, didn't mean—to him. Or did she?

"Thanks for that newsflash, Dix." Sarcasm dripped off his words.

She plumped her brassy do. "Anytime, boss."

I think I just forfeited my point. "Is she coming back?"

Dixie blinked, and her electric-blue eyeshadow flashed him. "No, but she checked on your dog one last time and left the box with the names for you." She pointed at said box on a back table.

He didn't care about the box. He only wanted the girl—even if he shouldn't want the girl.

"Hey, would you spell me here? I need to check on my pooch." When she nodded, he pulled his phone from his back pocket, realizing only then he didn't have Hailey's number. But he knew who did.

Charlie had returned to grinning at the girl who was skimming her hands up and down his body as though he was a golden retriever and whispering to him under her breath.

Noah rolled his eyes. "Charlie, I sent you Hailey's number the other day but forgot to put it in my own phone."

"Yep, with you in a sec." Without breaking eye contact with the woman who'd soon be horizontal under him, Charlie slid his own phone from a back pocket and handed it off.

Noah entered his brother's password, texted himself the number, and handed it back. A moment later, he strode to his office and tapped out a text: Hey, didn't know you were planning to go or I would've driven you myself.

Long minutes passed before her answer appeared: Seemed like a good time for me to leave. You had plenty of help.

If a text could convey the cold shoulder, this one did, and all of him wanted to ask if she was mad. But he hadn't known her long enough for them to qualify as a "they," and the question seemed out of place under the circumstances. Then again, while he wasn't in a relationship with her, he wasn't averse to exploring the possibility of one blooming. They'd already knocked the kissing question out of the way, coming through with flying colors. So where, exactly, did that leave him?

Right where he should be: absolutely nowhere.

Regardless, he wanted to see her again, so he thumbed, Can I stop over and say good-bye? More backspacing, and he replaced the last word with "good night," which seemed more open-ended and much less … permanent. Preserving pride wasn't his top priority.

Hailey: Now?

But maybe he needed to switch those priorities.

Noah: Yeah, or thirty minutes from now.

He could probably convince Charlie to stick around longer, especially since the girl plastered to him didn't seem to want to go anywhere but between the sheets.

Hailey: I'm tired, Noah, and I have a big day tomorrow. Some other time. Thanks again for everything.

The finality in her answer hit him like a brick square in the chest. A "some other time" wasn't in his future. Mentally, he scrambled, looking for something, anything to bridge the distance.

Noah: Roads probably aren't safe.

Hailey: Shane said I can get to Montrose. So did Aidan. That's the way they came.

Noah: How about breakfast in the morning before you go?

Hailey: Appreciate the offer, but no time. My day is jam-packed.

Noah: Do you want me to send you updates on Chance?

He backspaced and typed "Rover" in place of Chance,adding: Like learning what his name is?

Hailey: Dixie promised to let me know. I'm glad he's got his forever home. Thanks for everything.

Rereading his words made him cringe. He sounded so fucking desperate! Just like he'd once been with Ursula. Dejection morphed into irritation, and he told himself to man up.

"Message received, loud and clear," he muttered aloud. "Next time you get stuck in a snowstorm, call someone else, babe. I'm done prostrating myself so women can walk all over me with their pointy-heeled boots."

Charlie surprised him when he stuck his head in his office. "Who are you talking to?"

"Nobody," Noah snarled. "And stop sneaking up on people."

"Lighten up, man. I didn't sneak. And I might be working for nothing, but I still get bathroom breaks."

"Doesn't look like you're working at all, bro," Noah bit. "And I wouldn't call it nothing when you've got your hands full of hookup."

Charlie held up his hands in a surrendering gesture. "I see how it is, asshole."

Noah glared at him.

Charlie struck a look of fake apology. "Oh. Did I say ‘asshole'? I meant to say, ‘you big asshole.'"

"Shut the fuck up."

"He said to his free help. What the hell crawled up your butt anyway? You were yukking it up just a few minutes ago. Are you mad because Carly and I—"

From out of the hallway's shadows, Dixie appeared. "Someone with the initials U and J crawled up his butt and sucked all the happy out of him," she whisper-shouted on her way to the ladies' room. "And I'm not talking about the good kind of sucking," she added right before shutting the door.

Charlie chuffed at Dixie's joke before turning narrowed eyes on Noah. "Did Ursula jack you up again? How did I miss that?"

Noah's chest deflated. As his eyes slid to the dried-out mistletoe, he decided not to tell Charlie that, for reasons he didn't comprehend, it was a different woman messing him up. It sounded too depressing. "You were too busy flirting with Carly to notice. Sorry you caught the brunt just now."

"Yeah, Ursula's definitely your kryptonite."

Kryptonite implied Noah had a weakness for her, which he didn't. "I'd describe her as more of a Lyme disease-carrying tick that I can't tweezer out of my life."

"Whatever. Next time let me know so I'm ready for the brunt transfer, okay? Or is that a bro transfer?" Charlie's mouth twitched with a grin.

How his brother let shit slide off him and keep up his cheerfulness was beyond Noah. Then again, the grin might have something to do with the girl Charlie was about to get lucky with. Sometimes he envied his brother's charisma.

Noah pushed himself off his desk. "It was a bro brunt transfer, I think. Either way, I'm sorry for being a jerk, and thanks."

"C'mon. Let's get you back to your bar so you can have a fresh pour and start counting tonight's receipts. Then you'll find your happy place."

Noah angled toward the bar. "Not sure I'll ever find it again. Women basically suck."

Charlie fell in behind him with a laugh. "Dixie might be on to something. Maybe you need to find the ones that suck the right way."

Noah grunted. While Hailey blowing him off held a wicked sting—God, he had to get away from the BJ metaphors!—it was probably better this way. The last thing he needed was another "fling" that ended in disaster. What business did he have pursuing that girl—any girl—right now?

Absolutely none.

Hailey let herself inside the Loose Moose and leaned against the front door as the roar of Micky's engine faded away. A frisson of regret wormed its way through her body as it hit home that she wasn't part of this community and would never be. Maybe she'd let Bruno Keating chase her from the Miners Tavern, but she hadn't even said proper good-byes to the people that, for just tonight, she'd pretended were her family. Instead, she'd chickened out and fled. How had she become so attached so quickly?

Dropping onto the couch, she toed out of her hiking shoes. At least she'd been able to leave the pointy torture devices behind, though she'd foregone swapping out the sleazy barmaid outfit for her real clothes in her hurry to catch a ride with Amy and Micky. She swung her blistered feet up and onto the armrest as she stared up at the tongue-and-groove ceiling.

Her phone chimed. She slid it from the pocket of her tiny green skirt and scowled at Noah's text. Apparently, he wasn't going to make this easy on her. Hey, didn't know you were planning to go or I would've driven you myself.

"Ha!" she snorted aloud. "How would your girlfriend have felt about that, I wonder?" She tapped out a speedy response: Are you in the habit of kissing women who aren't your girlfriend? And just how many girlfriends do you have anyway? Just as quickly, she deleted her angry words.

But embarrassment, more than anger, was the prevailing emotion whirling in her blender of thoughts. Hailey had always been wary when it came to relationships of the heart. Her parents had been terrible role models, and neither she nor Kaylee had fallen into romantic entanglements—they left you too vulnerable. Well, that had been true in Kaylee's case until Vince, who appeared to be one of the rare honest ones.

Nevertheless, tonight had been a good reminder that trust was fragile and that Hailey needed to guard her heart. She'd let herself be played for a fool, and it left a sour taste. She was also in mourning because, oh, the chemistry that had played between her and Noah! Now she was left to unimagine his mistletoe kiss that had curled her toes beyond their curling capacity.

Flirting with him had been the most fun she'd had in a while. She'd come alive, vibrating with energy, and anticipation had ignited every nerve in her body. To have had a bite at fruit she didn't know was forbidden saddened her. Dormant desire had been wrenched from hibernation, and hope had carried her off on the wings of an amazing kiss she wouldn't soon forget, despite its unfortunate brevity. A new measure had been set for some other man to come along and reach—if he even existed.

And it wasn't just the lip lock that had made her a little swoony inside. She had been lured into Noah Hunnicutt's web by other traits she found appealing. He was so comfortable in his masculine skin. He was broody, yes, but he had a lighter side he let show when he was firing up a pirate podcast in dire circumstances or adopting an abused animal or when he joked and laughed with customers from behind the bar. That glimpse had tempted her. She found herself wanting to be the one that coaxed that part of him out of hiding.

And let's not dismiss the bod and the swivel-hips dance moves.Phew! Back on track, girl.

A big heart beat inside his sculpted chest. It showed in how he treated his family and his staff. It showed in how he had saved her from a storm even after she'd caused him to crash. It showed in how he'd made sure her vehicle made it off the mountain and now sat in the bungalow's driveway. And not to be forgotten by her—ever—was how he'd picked out every single blue MM in the trail mix.

"Who does that?" she asked the room. Noah Hunnicutt.

Which put his womanizer ways at odds with his "nice guy" attributes. Logic dictated they didn't go together, but cheaters came in an assortment of sizes and flavors and were good at disguising their deceptive sides when they wanted to, right? Bruno Keating and Cliff Meissner were living, breathing proof the statement was true. Noah misleading her even though he belonged to Ursula was, therefore, entirely possible.

And now she had a prince's kiss for the ages to revisit over and over again.

Her phone chimed with another Noah text. He wanted to stop by to say good night. Now? And where was he going to stash Ursula in the meantime? She suppressed the unwelcome sting behind her breastbone.

They traded a few more messages until Hailey essentially ended the back-and-forth with something akin to, "Have a nice life," though worry for Rover made her waver. Not seeing his sweet fuzzy face again weighed her down with regret.

And then there was quirky, abrasive, wonderful Dixie. She'd pulled the stunned woman in for a brief hug, saying, "I have to go, but I really enjoyed meeting you." She'd rambled on about the box with the dog names. A sudden rush of tears had burned her eyes as she'd thrown out a final good-bye. Outside, she'd followed Amy toward a pickup truck puffing clouds of white exhaust steam. She'd given the Miners Tavern with its warmth glowing inside one last glance.

Why had the scene been so poignant? It wasn't as if she belonged here or had known these people her whole life. They were merely acquaintances brought into her orbit by a random snowstorm she'd survived with a random guy who'd taken up a corner of her heart.

So why had ditching them left her hollowed out? Guilt made a bid to flow in and fill in the gaps.

Hold on there just a minute. She reminded herself she'd already repaid Noah by working his tables tonight for free—she'd even dropped her tips inti the tip jar to be shared among the others. Her resolve grew steadier with more reminders: she had no room for cheaters in her life, and Dixie had promised to let her know how the pooch was doing. She would see Amy tomorrow. It wasn't as if she would cut these people out of her life entirely. Well, not one or two of them anyway. With a shake of her head, she turned off her phone and let images and words swirl around her.

Ursula.Who gave their kid a Norse goddess's name? The parents who'd brought her into this world, apparently. And goddess was a fitting descriptor for the stacked stunner. She was one of those flawless women with off-the-charts sex appeal. Every man in the tavern had appreciated that perfection by gluing his eyes to her. Not that Hailey wanted that kind of attention herself, but sheesh! How could you compete with the epitome of womanhood that had been plucked straight from the pages of Elle … or from the peak of Mt. Olympus?No wonder she had the power to lay claim to any man she wanted, including Noah Hunnicutt.

Ursula. Simply rolling the name off one's tongue gave it an exotic, sultry sound. It couldn't help itself. And to top it off, according to Micky, this Ursula was a badass fishing guide. A fishing guide who didn't smell at all like fish and whose perfectly manicured hands didn't show any signs of twisting nylon line or handling stinky, squishy bait at the end of razor-sharp barbs.

Hailey's world consisted of a lonely apartment and a desk mounded with work. Yeah, let's focus on that for a while. Except she couldn't because a dark-haired bartender with a chiseled jaw kept popping up in her brain like an endless whack-a-mole. Good thing Dixie had interrupted them! God only knew how far Hailey's out-of-control hormones might have taken her on the Noah train. Going any farther down that track would have merely added more to her pile of troubles. Problems on problems, like Noah's muscles on muscles.

Stop it! Do not think about his muscles.

Except they were such nice ones, especially when they'd been banded around her.

With a sigh, she loosened the stupid pigtails and got herself ready for bed. It was nearly 1:00 a.m., and she was exhausted. Sleep and oblivion, where she didn't have to contemplate the cocktail of emotions pumping through her bloodstream, beckoned. She would have time enough for regrets at daybreak; they could keep her company on the drive back to Montrose.

Before she snuggled her tired bones under the mound of quilts awaiting her, she paused to shut down her computer. The new mail icon was lit, and when she clicked on it, she let out a curse. It was from Cliff, who hadn't bothered responding to her until this evening when she'd been elbow deep in customers and cocktails.

Her frustration turned to alarm when she read his instructions to stay put. He would be arriving in Fall River tomorrow, and she would assist him on a few inspections that had fallen through the cracks. Would she please book them rooms close together—if not adjoining, with a winky face emoji—at the Majestic?

What?

Suddenly wide awake, she pulled up the department's database but didn't see where any establishment but Dell's had been flagged for inspection. And it had been flagged sometime yesterday, on Saint Patrick's Day, which was only two months after its last passing inspection. The place wasn't big enough to merit more than one inspection within the last few months, let alone two inspectors. But Inspector Cliff Meissner, who considered himself above crawling around kitchens, had assigned himself the job.

She had some work to do.