Page 11 of Claimed and Catalogued
I lean back in the chair and let my arm stretch across the back of it, close enough to brush her shoulder. “What makes you think I’ve got a deal?”
She shrugs, but her gaze doesn’t waver. “You’ve got that look like you’ve seen some things. Like you’re always waiting for the next punch.”
I huff out a low and dry laugh. “Is that right?”
“Uh-huh.” She takes another sip of her beer, then sets it down slowly. “You don’t talk like you’re from here, and you sure as hell don’t move like a guy who sells insurance. So, what’s your deal?”
I don’t answer. I just hold her gaze, letting the silence stretch between us as I contemplate what the hell to say. I should lie. I should give her something easy, something forgettable. The truth is, I’m only in town for a few days, anyway. After I get Colein custody, I head back to Wyoming, back to the life I’ve built, back to where the world makes sense.
“I’m here for work.” I swallow down the lump in my throat as I talk. “It’s temporary. Just passing through.”
She tilts her head. “I figured that part out already. Now you’re telling me where you’re from and what you do there.”
A band steps on stage at the back of the bar and strums out a few chords to test the speakers. I feel it in my boots before it hits my ears. I take a slow sip of beer before settling the bottle down again and say, “Small town in Wyoming. Cold as hell.”
The band kicks into a slow, holiday song I don’t immediately recognize and a few people from the opposite side of the bar get up to dance. “I work in recovery,” I say, voice low. “People who don’t want to be found. I find them.”
Her brows lift. “Like a bounty hunter?”
I nod once, my chest tight. “Exactly like that.”
She whistles, low and impressed. “Well, that explains the broody thing and the arms.”
I laugh… because it’s accurate.
She leans closer, her voice is barely audible over the music as she says, “So what happens when someone doesn’t want to be found? Do you chase them down, pin them up against the wall, and play Chuck Norris?”
“I’m surprised you know who that is. You’re so young.”
She takes another sip of beer and narrows her eyes playfully. “I’m not that young. Besides, my grandma was big on Chuck. She watched the reruns of Walker, Texas Ranger nonstop. Chuck Norris, the news, and then Wheel of Fortune. It was a ritual.”
“Did you get the orange candy slices too?”
“No.” She takes another sip of beer. “My gram was a strawberry candy lady. You know the ones with the creamy center?”
I nod my head back. “Hey, Istilllove those.”
She grins and leans in, whispering low, “Is that a secret too or just the jam making?”
I try not to smile, though for the first time in a long while, I actually want to. “You’re ridiculous.”
“I am,” she announces playfully and takes another swig of beer. “So, I’m going to go out on a limb and say you’re not married. Kids, though?”
“None.” I shrug as the band in the backdrop keeps playing. “It wasn’t in the cards.”
“Why not?”
I meet her gaze, and it’s like the rest of the bar fades away. “Never thought I wanted to be held down.”
“That’s good.” She grins and takes another sip of beer. “Really good. My mom and my sister are going to eat that up.”
“It’s the truth.”
“Right. That’s even better. A big, hot loner, never attached to anyone seriously, who kicks ass for a living,” she leans in and whispers, “and you makejam!All of that means you’re probably connected to your emotions somehow, and I don’t know, but I’m thinking you have all the makings to be a real-life book boyfriend.”
“Book boyfriend?”
“Yeah.” She nods like I’m stupid for not knowing the reference. “The male main character in a book that the reader pretends is real and falls in love with.”
