Page 203 of Screwged for Christmas

She put the twenty from the generous old man in the tip jar at the corner of the bar where Damon now busied himself again.

Anxious to get the topic off herself for good, she returned to what the old man at the counter had said. “Hey, what did the old man mean by it’s been four years since anyone else stood behind this bar anyway?”

Damon tipped his chin to acknowledge her question. But his frown was a red flashing light when he didn’t answer. True Ivy style, she bulldozed past the yield sign that warned of an avalanche and the ground was made of glass.

They’d worked most of the night passing booze and sliced lemons but not much talk. Granted, neither had too much of that to spare with drink orders coming in like fast food orders.

Pain, clear as the night sky beyond the front windows, rolled over his expression and stayed there if one knew what to look for. His hands slowed as he mixed a whiskey sour, the ribbons of amber liquid a mirror to the razor-sharp shards of color in his irises.

Her heart filled with the sorrow she recognized in his gaze instantly. Damn. What was wrong with her? She sighed wearily and planted her hands on the bar. “Look. Sorry. I get it. It’s none of my business,” she retracted fast in a low voice so no one else could hear.

He flicked her apology away, shaking his head. “Pay no attention to Theron Cougar. He’s just nosy with nothing better to do but whittle away his day out at his farm or get drunk.”

She opened her mouth to respond, but before she could speak, she was interrupted by the scraping of the stool on hardwood.

“Good race today,” a voice boomed as the dark-haired man who owned it approached through the throng of people hugging the bar. He smelled of pine, which she now associated with Savage Ridge, strong cigars, and good whiskey. Broad shoulders encased in soft denim shouldered between two guys, and Ivy smiled when she caught a glimpse of old worn jeans outlining a well-kept body of an older man.

Ivy raised her gaze from the frothy foam of the beer at the end of her tap and slipped a practiced, patient smile in place.

He burst into raucous laughter and greeted several handshakes with a smile that brought out the delicate lines around his eyes. Savage senior, she reasoned. The father of the Savage crew.

He clasped hands with Damon. Light poured over him and caught in the sexy brush of silver through his sideburns and coarse beard as he claimed the now empty stool with an easy grace.

He grabbed a handful of nuts from the fresh stash she’d just supplied and threw back a couple.

“Thank you, Mr. Savage,” she offered, half of her attention moving to the people.

Smoke from cigars and the occasional cigarette trapped the soft light of the bar blocking a clear view into the darker corners.

She closed the tap after filling three more mugs, the feel of eyes on her coming from somewhere in the deepest corner as if someone watched from the shadows. Tables of people laughing and enjoying the shared time with friends filled every inch to the back wall but still she couldn’t find the source of the unease.

“Pop. What can I get ya?”

She turned a half ear on what the men were saying while cleaning a few mugs for the rack.

“Same old, your momma wants to head home soon and set up a room for you.” He motioned his glass toward Ivy, and she turned her full attention on him.

“Me? Nah, don’t worry about me, Mr. Savage. There’s no need for the extra work.” She didn’t do sleepovers and family feely times. Period. The hotel she saw down the road would do just fine for the three days she would be in town.

Intense eyes swiveled her way. “I’ll just grab a room at the hotel. I’m only staying a few days anyway.”

“Nonsense.” Big beefy hands clasped hers over the bar, and Ivy nearly choked on her own shock. “You’re family, girlie. Can’t leave you in some dingy hotel room.”

He patted her hands a couple of times as if his word was law. They probably were. For family. She wasn’t family.

What the hell did she say to him? She busied herself with the newly filled mug Damon poured and replaced her trapped hand with the frothy goodness instead. Savage senior was a king in this part of the world. As a direct descendant of the people who established this town way back before even her great-grandparents were conceived people looked to him for leadership. So essentially she’d just been offered—and refused—a room in the king’s home. King might be a strong word, but still it all felt very surreal. Though she was probably the only one that viewed it that way.

Two days ago she was filling out legal paperwork on the death of a patient under her care. She took a long breath and one more to calm her nerves and steady her pouring hand. Today she was slinging beers in freaking Alaska of all places and speaking with a king. Couldn’t contrast her life anymore if she tried. That had to count for something on her bucket list.

Damon inhaled deeply beside her, and she cast a glance at him from beneath a few strands of hair that slipped from their hold to brush the side of her face. If his father was king, that made Damon a prince?

A prince for Christmas. Her glasses slid a bit, and she took her time pushing them back into place. She needed to find her contacts because the damn things drove her crazy.

“You look like something is on your mind. Everything okay?” Damon placed a light touch on her lower back, his lips close to her ear and the roughness of his voice the last temptation she needed.

Unable to resist, Ivy reached out and pressed a finger in the slight dip in his chin. Was it bad she wanted to melt into the tender touch and find out what his high-on-sex voice sounded like?

“Yep.” She dodged his questioning look by moving away to clean a spotless area of the counter.Breathe, girl, breathe. In and out.

---