Page 2 of Bountiful
When I chanced a glance at the copper-haired hottie, he shot me aknowinggrin.
And once again that smile did funny things to my insides. Something told me the girls never turned this guy down. Not only was he a looker, he was slick in a way I couldn’t really put my finger on. Maybe it was the shiny watch on his wrist—the truly expensive kind the locals never wore. Or maybe it was just the confident glint inhiseye.
He was about my age or a couple years older. Thirty, maybe. And I couldn’t help but notice that he was in fantastic shape. He had broad, muscular shoulders that strained his cotton polo shirt. And the swell of his biceps made me want to run my hand over his smooth skin to test the strength of the musclebeneath.
I wasn’t about to do that. Not that he’d offered. If hedidoffer,though…
Pushing that thought away, I went to the back to grab another keg of Long Trail. I had a bar to run, and no time forfantasies.
The next person to walk into the bar interrupted my lustful thoughts, anyway. He took the middle barstool and ordered a Corona with lime. Actually, he didn’t order it. He just said, “Beerme,sis.”
Ladies and gentlemen, my twin brother,Benito.
The familiarity of his demand annoyed me just as a reflex. There was nobody on earth I knew as well as Benito. He liked his coffee with the barest splash of milk, which made no sense because you couldn’t even taste the difference. He had a scar over his left eyebrow from the time he jumped off the swings at school and landed on his bicycle. And he had another doozy of a scar on the side of his rib cage from the time he was knifed during his first and only tour of dutyinIraq.
Benito was a daredevil. Even though I was only twenty-eight, I already had four gray hairs. And I’m sure at least three were becauseofhim.
“How’s your Friday going?” my twinaskedme.
“Can’t complain. Well—hang on—I guess I can. Uncle Otto is on my case to switch beer distributors, because he’s got it in his head that North Corp is ripping him off. But we’ve been through this before, and they’re still the best dealintown.”
My brother rolled his eyes. “I’m sure you’ll set them straight. Youalwaysdo.”
“Yeah, but it’ll take two hours ofmylife.”
“You could always quit. That wouldshowhim.”
“I think about itall.The.Time.”
But we both knew I wouldn’t go through with it. In spite of family aggravation, I had a pretty sweet deal right now. Not only did I run this bar with only occasional interference from its owner, but my uncle let me live in the tiny apartment upstairs for free. The place wasn’t worth much, but free was a pretty hard price to beat. If I didn’t work here, I wouldn’t be able to afford my own place and still add to my nest egg. Unless I moved in with either my mom or—wait for it—my overbearinguncles.
Noandno.
And anyway, thinking about my crappy prospects wasn’t good Friday-night conversation. “What’s happening in your life? You don’t usually stop here onweekends.”
“I have news.” He grinned, and I braced myself. News could be good or bad, but you could never tell with Ben. “I finally talked my way into a job at the DEA, Zara. Got the offer this afternoon. I head down for some training in twomonths’time.”
“Oh,Benny.” It came out sounding more distraught than I meant it to.But here we go again. My brothers had bad luck with dangerous jobs. While Benito had only sustained the one knife wound, our older brother Damien nearly got himself killed inAfghanistan.
My brother’s face fell. “I think you mean, ‘CongratulationsBen. Nice work nailing down the job that you’re under-qualified for, but you worked your ass off to getanyway.’”
As it usually did, my temper flared. Being half of a set of twins meant always wanting to hug him and punch him simultaneously. “Iamhappy about your job offer,” I said, my tone making a liar out of me. “But therearecareers where nobody shoots at you! Now I’m gonna worry that you’ve run afoul of a Mexican drug cartel. I don’t want to wake up to a telegram informing Mom and me thatyou’redead.”
“They don’t have telegramsanymore,Z.”
“Don’t be an asshole,” Igrumbled.
“If I’m an asshole, why do you care if I’m dead?” Benitoasked.
From two barstools away, my redheaded observer chuckled. He didn’t even try to pretend he wasn’tlisteningin.
Benito and I just stared at each other for a moment, years of history passing between us. Looking into his dark eyes was like looking in a mirror. I saw struggle there. Small victories and just as many defeats. Our family usually landed on its feet, but nothing evercameeasy.
The worst part was knowing that some of Benito’s earlier troubles had been my fault. I’d once robbed my brother of happiness. At least once. So I probably owed it to him not to be a dick about the new job. “Just stay safe, okay?” Iwhispered.
A smile flickered across his lips. “I’malwayssafe.”
That was categorically untrue. He drove his motorcycle like a crazy man, and that was only the most convenient example. But for once in my life I didn’t argue the point. “You owe me six bucks for the beer,” I saidinstead.
