Page 2 of Hitched

“Probably came out to see Laney. Help celebrate her divorce.” I pause. “How do you know about stocks?”

“Don’t let the smock fool you.” He states. “This bar is one of my investments.”

I lift my brows. “And you work here? Why not hire someone to pass the beers around?”

“I could say the same thing to you. I know who you are. I’m an observer of human nature. That’s how come I work here. I’ve also got a five-star restaurant and a hotel in the city. I work when I want. But I’m also heavy into stocks. That’s how I buy these places.”

He’s about my age, with that clear look in his eyes indicating that he’s a man who knows things. He’s not full of shit. I can tell the difference. I decide to go for cocky. “How come you didn’t try to pick Laney McAdams up?”

He holds his hand out for me to shake. “Bruce Sutherington. My wife is Amy Sutherington, the famous chef you see on the Food Network.”

Recognition comes to my face. “No shit. I’ve heard of her. My mama’s told the cooks to use some of her recipes.”

“I’ll tell her that.” He nods, smiling. He releases my hand. “So, what’s your deal with Ms. McAdams?”

I wave. “Ah, you wouldn’t believe me if I told you, man.”

“Is it some Scottish thing?” He jokes, as a waitress brings him a drink order. He’s finished polishing the beer steins and he’s put them away. As he starts filling the order, he hands me another beer, even though I didn’t ask for it.

“Na, it’s nothing.”

“Well, if you ask me, I’d steer clear of her. Like I said, she’s stung a few guys in here tonight.”

I look over at her, and our eyes meet. Her gaze is telling. Although she’s drunk, she’s not here to play. The look says that she’s going to tear me in two if I make any attempt on her. But then I watch her whisper something into Brandy’s ear and rise. Although a tad wobbly, her strut is clear. This is a confident woman, and our gazes are glued together as she walks my way.

Bruce has the grace to mind his business and hand the waitress her drink order as Laney finally reaches me. When she’s inches from me, she sticks her hand out for me to shake. I feel like neither of us needs an introduction. “Laney.” She says. “But I assume you already knew that.” Her Scottish drawl matches mine.

“Yes, I did know that, lass.” I tell her. “Am I a fool if I assume you know who I am?”

“Caleb, right?” She guesses, but something tells me it’s not a guess.

I nod. “I presume our bank accounts look rather similar.”

She smiles all too sweetly. “I never talk about money in a bar.”

“That makes two of us then, lass.”

“So, you’re here to see me then.” She states shrewdly.

“I came for a drink, actually. And to meet a friend.” I half lie. I have every intention of meeting up with Beckett Ford shortly, I just had to lick my wounds first before calling him.

“If that isn’t a lie, I don’t know what is.” Laney says, taking my beer and sipping it, as if I’ve offered. I’m not sure what to make of that. No woman has ever just helped themselves like that. I could have fucking Leprosy for all she knows. Judging by the table she’s at, and the wine glasses strewn about, I’d say that she’s not drinking from a bottle, as I am. Not sure what that move means on her part.

“Alright, fine. I am here to see you.” I admit, testing the waters. “As a matter of fact, my da thinks that we should get married.”

Her expression doesn’t waver. She’s not shocked. She’s not even rattled. I wish I could figure her out. “Well, that would be a match made in heaven, wouldn’t it.”

“So, you’ve thought about it. Or your da wants you to marry me, too.” I guess.

She ignores my comment. “Truth is, I wouldn’t marry any man. I’m not the marrying type.”

“Nor am I, lass.”

Eyes giving me an evaluating glance that strangely tickles me behind the zipper, she scoffs, but the smile on her face is devious. “Tell me, then, Caleb. Why did you seek me out if you’re not the marrying type?”

I go for cute. “I presume your da is a relentless asshole like mine?”

Her lips touch the mouth of my bottle again. She’s drinking nearly half of it, but I’m so intrigued by this woman, that I don’t care. “That’s where you’re wrong, mister Harris. Rupert McAdams is the most caring father in the world. I’ve got him wrapped around my finger. He’d never suggest I do anything I don’t want to do.”

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