3. Time for an Upgrade

Hours later, Hailey ground her molars as she handed Bruno Keating the form that listed the areas where his bar had failed and what needed to be remedied.

"This is outrageous!" he thundered. "Either I'm being set up or you're doing this to be spiteful!"

"If I were being spiteful, sir, I would have shut you down." She pointed at the report. "I have at least three good reasons." A stretch, maybe, but not by much.

The sour woman whose name and purpose were still mysteries stepped forward and placed a placating hand on Bruno's forearm. She leveled Hailey with a frosty stare but spoke to the fuming owner. "Perhaps you should thank Ms. Bailey for her willingness to work with you."

"Are you shitting me?" he exploded. "This is bogus!"

Fatigue invaded Hailey's bones as she checked her clipboard and gathered up her purse. To her chagrin, Bruno decided to walk her out. Crowding her on the boardwalk that ran the width of the building, he looked around before dropping his voice. Gone were the flames that had been blazing in his eyes. "How about you and I come to some agreement?" In the daylight, lines creasing his mouth and eyes appeared deeper.

She tucked an errant strand behind her ear—why did her bun never hold together?—and hoisted her strap a little higher on her shoulder. "Excuse me?"

"Let's say your report gets a few tweaks before it becomes part of the record. Pretty little lady like you could probably use some extra cash in her wallet to spruce up her appearance." Waggling his eyebrows, he motioned up and down her frame with his hand. "Looking good costs money. Think what a new wardrobe could do for your honey-blond hair and blue eyes. Dress a little nicer, and you could hook some guy with a sizable bank account. Easily. Then you wouldn't have to crawl around greasy kitchens anymore."

Hailey wasn't sure what shocked her more: that he was trying to bribe her or that he was insinuating she was on the hunt for a meal ticket she could land if she dressed "nicer." She mustered all her willpower and squelched the urge to spit his words right back at him. He was the outrageous one.

Instead she put on her steadiest professional voice—like the one Kaylee used on her temper-tantrum-throwing third graders. "I'm sorry, sir. The report has already been uploaded, and there's no way I can pull it back, even I wanted to." A total lie—she hadn't uploaded anything yet—but hey, when doing battle with a cobra, you needed to spit some venom of your own. "Now, if you'll excuse me …"

His face went through the most interesting transformation. First, it turned skim-milk white. Then ballet-slipper pink surged up his neck to his forehead, turning raspberry red, and finally a violent purple. It even showed on his scalp, visible beneath his thin platinum strands.

"I'm a taxpayer who pays your salary, and I want to file a complaint," he raged.

"You'll find the main number for the department on the report. Feel free to call and ask to be directed to the department head. His name is—"

"I'm not talking about a complaint against you. I'm talking about the Miners Tavern. You need to inspect them. Now." He flicked his finger in the general direction of Bowen Street. "No notice, just like the shit you pulled on me."

To say she was confused was an understatement. Nevertheless, this guy was freaking unbelievable. She sucked in a fortifying breath. Her sister would be so proud of the serenity in her tone, and she couldn't wait to tell her—if she ever got to Denver. "Dell's is the only establishment I was directed to inspect today. Now, if you'll excuse me, it's five thirty, and I have a long drive ahead of me."

He barreled ahead as if he hadn't heard her. "They've violated every rule in the book, and no one's had the guts to call them on it yet. You look like just the girl to do the job. So you're not interested in monetary rewards, but how about a nice feather in your cap for busting that bunch?"

Hailey jabbed her thumb over her shoulder, unable to corral her incredulity. "You're talking about the place that just opened on Bowen Street?"

"Oh, so you do know the place." His snakelike smirk returned. "Maybe you're lacking some details, like the fact that the owner has cut so many corners there's no middle left. He's a menace to the public, starting with that old place he supposedly restored. All he did was slop a coat of paint on it. What about the electrical? The plumbing? Who knows?" He threw his hands in the air. "I did everything I could to get the building department to act responsibly, but his brother is in bed with the whole bunch, so guess what? His place got every rubber stamp imaginable. He'll cut corners with his food prep too, and you people will regret that you didn't do something about it when you had the chance."

Wow, if ever a pot had called a kettle black … The guy with the bar falling down around his ears had the audacity to call out someone else?

"Have a nice day, Mr. Keating." Hailey hurried to her driver's side door, flung her stuff into the passenger seat, and slid behind the wheel. Slamming the door a little harder than she'd intended, she cranked on the engine and sped back to Bowen Street. Her phone rang, and she pulled over, safely out of sight of Dell's and its malicious owner.

"How far away are you?" her sister sang when Hailey picked up the call.

"I'm still in Fall River."

"What?"

"I haven't left yet."

"Oh no! Why?"

Hailey gulped in air, trying to steady her runaway pulse. "I'm sorry, Kayl. The job took way longer than I planned." It hadn't helped that Bruno Keating had badgered Hailey throughout the inspection while simultaneously trying to keep her from checking all the restaurant's nooks and crannies. He had slowed the process way down.

"Ooh, that sounds like you found stuff."

"Yeah, I found stuff. Not enough to close the place, but if you're ever headed this way and want to stop off for a bite to eat, stay away from Dell's until they pass their follow-up inspection, okay?" Which, with any luck, would be conducted by someone other than Hailey—someone like her new subordinate.

"Thanks for the tip. Meanwhile, I guess I'll see you tomorrow." The dejection in Kaylee's tone was palpable.

"I can still come tonight," Hailey protested.

"No. It'll be dark, you'll be driving mountain roads, and deer and elk will jump in front of you and smash your car. I can't stand the thought of you bleeding out on some deserted highway all alone."

"Gee, thanks?"

"Besides, I don't want to stay up that late waiting for you to get here. Now, if I know you, you're exhausted and starving. Go home," Kaylee insisted. "Get some rest, and I'll see you tomorrow."

Hailey's stomach rumbled on cue.

"I heard that," her sister chortled. "I mean it, Hail. Big sister knows best. Go home."

Hailey groused her agreement. She wouldn't have minded driving the five hours, but ironically, she did mind the nearly two-hour drive home immensely. Probably because her hollow stomach was sending out one SOS after another.

Liveliness down the street caught her eye, and she pondered the Miners Tavern and Bruno Keating's over-the-top rant about the place. Curiosity piqued, Hailey got out of her car and ambled toward the newly minted establishment—not with the intention of scrutinizing the place so much as experiencing an "enemy of my enemy is my friend" moment. What kind of man was this Hunnicutt character who so clearly got under Bruno's skin? Probably another narcissist like the owner of Dell's—or rather, the owner of the LLC that owned Dell's, her "pretty little head" reminded her.

Was the feud a one-sided affair, or did it involve equally hateful combatants? Maybe a quick look-see at the competition would answer the riddle.

The burble grew louder as she closed in on the bar that displayed even more old-world allure up close. A wide, red-brick storefront gleamed with warm, polished wood columns and gold lettering on its windows. At its two-story peak was a stone medallion chiseled with "Est. 1875."

When she stepped inside, she was enveloped in the deafening din of people enjoying themselves. The smell of sizzling burgers and stewing meat wafted up her nose, and her tummy thundered, mercifully drowned out by the happy noise.

"Be with you in a moment, hon," a brassy blond with electric blue eye shadow called out. Hailey took a moment to inventory the place. Neat rows of tables were arranged on a floor made up of old-fashioned white-and-black hexagon tiles, and evenly spaced etched glass chandeliers hung from a pressed tin ceiling. The towering bar, framed by a brick wall, spanned at least twenty feet and was crafted of burled walnut. A mirrored backdrop reflected row upon row of bottles in every shape and color.

Behind the counter stood a square-shouldered man who looked to be in his late twenties. A sage-green T-shirt hinted at a leaner—and much more appealing—frame than the hulked-out one she'd just left. His dark hair was tight on the sides, with longer strands neatly combed back on top. He wore a short, tidy beard and a warm smile as he garnished six cocktails lined up before him. The reason for his smile no doubt had to do with the cute redhead practically sprawled across the counter, obviously flirting with him.

At that moment, he looked up, his eyes catching Hailey's. They narrowed. She sucked in a breath before she could stop herself, but his gaze darted back to what he was doing without seeming to register she existed. He had probably been checking the patrons' comings and goings, and the realization made her ego sink a little … which made no sense.

The brassy blond reappeared. She looked to be in her fifties, and her ample body was clad in a wild print that matched her long fuchsia nails. She wore a name tag in the shape of an ore car that read, "Dixie." Her eyes blinked as they swept Hailey from her tight bun to her practical pumps, flashing their frosted blue lids like a neon sign. A tight smile thinned her lips.

"What can I do for you?"

Taken aback by the icy greeting, Hailey stammered, "I-I was hoping to grab a meal?"

The hostess's eyes sharpened. "Are you one of them food inspectors pulling a sneak attack? We've already had inspections up the wazoo."

It was Hailey's turn to blink. "Excuse me?" Crap! Why hadn't she thought to loosen her bun and her top button to lighten her starchy look? Feeling the weight of the woman's pointed stare, Hailey rushed on. "I assure you, I'm not here to conduct any kind of inspection." From a page straight out of Diplomacy 101, she broadened her smile. "The place smelled so good, I had to duck in."

Dixie's entire demeanor transformed, and she covered her heart with her hand. "Thank the god of mud pies! The boss hates the inspectors with a capital H. And who can blame him? They've made his life a living hell." Then she beamed a smile of her own. "Meetin' someone here, hon?"

Hailey's shoulders eased. "No, I was walking by and realized how hungry I was."

The woman's jaw went slack. "You're here alone? A pretty thing like you?"

Hailey kept the eye-roll to herself. "Yes. Do you have any tables available?" Before the hostess could answer, Hailey changed course. "Actually, if you have space at the bar …"

Dixie glanced over her shoulder. Women were lined up like birds on a wire, admiring the bartender's very fine attributes. Hailey was primed for a little ogling herself. Whoever owned the place had made a good choice when they'd hired this barkeep. His movements fluid and economical, not only did the guy seem to know what he was doing, but he was an attraction all of his own. Was there a Mrs. Bartender waiting for him at home with a passel of little bartenders? Even if he was unattached, Hailey couldn't imagine this man spending many nights alone. The proof was in the audience drooling in front of him.

Dixie startled her from her wayward thoughts. "I'm afraid every last seat is taken. I can add you to the waiting list, but we're about an hour out." The woman gave her a sympathetic look.

"I appreciate it, but I don't think my stomach will hold out that long. Good on you guys, though. This looks like a successful opening."

"A few growing pains, but that's to be expected. The turnout's been way better than we imagined." The woman beamed, her teeth shining white against lips that matched the hot-pink nail polish, and Hailey wondered if Dixie's last name was Hunnicutt. She displayed an obvious owner's pride in the place.

Hailey lifted a chin toward the bar. "Your cocktail slinger seems to know what he's doing, and that's probably the most important job." Never mind that watching him work was worth the price of admission alone.

"People don't mind the food taking a while if you keep 'em good and lubed, and he's a pro at it." Dixie winked.

"Sounds like a keeper." Hailey was about to ask who owned the place, but more hopeful diners entered, crowding her out.

Forty minutes later, as she sat at a drive-through window waiting for her burger and fries, her mind wandered back to the Miners Tavern and how juicy their burgers had looked. Or had their food looked more appealing because of the setting? No wonder the great Bruno Keating had tried to stop the place from opening. Not only was he on a side street in a one-street town, but his hole-in-the-wall didn't even have the credentials to enter a competition against the Miners Tavern.

Mouthwatering food, welcoming atmosphere, and one of the hottest bartenders Hailey had ever laid eyes on. That was a winning combination.

When she finally entered her utilitarian studio apartment located above a bagel shop on one of Montrose's busiest streets, she unwound her hair, donned pj's, and poured a canned vodka mule over ice. She turned off the glaring overhead fluorescent lighting in favor of a few table lamps that highlighted her overflowing bookshelf. Something about their soft amber light softened her otherwise stark, lonely walls.

Flipping open her laptop, she searched the database for the Miners Tavern before uploading her report. Like Dell's, the place was owned by an LLC—Phoenix Rising Enterprises, LLC—and the agent of record was an attorney. Unlike Dell's, though, the law firm had a Fall River address rather than hoity-toity Aspen. Apparently, Phoenix Rising liked to keep things local, which was another plus for the tavern. Its biggest plus, though? Tasty burgers and atmosphere aside, the honor went to the sexy bartender, hands down. Why the man was renting space in her brain was beyond her, but having him there twanged a lonely chord deep inside her she didn't like. It made the distance of her dreams echo in the hollow surrounding her.

"Knock it off," she huffed aloud. "Sure, you're living in a crappy place and you're working a thankless job, but someday Future Hailey will look back and celebrate Present Hailey because it will have all been worth it."

Her work might be dull, but slaving in the underwhelming county office established her gig as a big fish in a small pond, with all the built-in benefits and a bright spotlight that shone on her pretty damn well. Working those advantages would springboard her into something better with even bigger paychecks and hopefully land her in Denver, where she could be closer to her sister, her only family. The position was straightforward and stable, and it afforded her a ton of independence and authority … not to mention a generous pension plan and a hefty paycheck that more than covered her meager bills, leaving enough to feather a nest egg that would one day finance her dream. Where else would she find a situation like that? Overall, her career was humming along.

Her love life, however, needed a serious upgrade. Her various book boyfriends stood by, though, available whenever she dove into a story, and those guilty pleasures scratched her itches—mostly. They would have to do for now.

The dark-haired bartender with the smooth, corded muscles flew to the fore.

Hailey raised her drink to her conjured image of him with a sigh. If she was lucky, he would make an appearance in her dreams later.