Page 204 of Screwged for Christmas

Music carried over the clink of glasses, and the lively two-stepping music from earlier died down to a romantic jingle of “I’ll Be Home for Christmas” and everyone with a loved one grabbed their partner for a slow groping session in the middle of the dance floor.

Slowly she wrestled control over her breathing and tuned into what the guys were talking about.

“Either Damon can bring you out or you can catch a ride with your sister when you’re ready, but you have a home as long as you are in town.”

Before arriving in Savage Ridge, the only family she had was her sister. Now everyone she ran into offered a place in their home. Her senses recognized the tickle of nervousness that wanted to swell to the size of a bloated toad in the middle of her throat. “Thank you, Mr. Savage.”

He nodded and watched over the crowd, like a shepherd caring for his flock.

For the next several hours Ivy and Damon worked side by side until the last of the customers slipped out the door and headed home, leaving only her sister in the back wiping off tables and collecting trash in a bag. Ivytsked. That woman would work up until the time the baby was ready to pop out.

Damon flicked the open sign off but didn’t bother with the lock.

“In Houston, you leave the front door open like that and you’re basically inviting someone to rob you.” She rose on her tiptoes and slid various colored bottles into their slots on the back shelf. At least she hoped she was putting things where they belonged. In all the bars she had worked in, the owners always organized by strengths of the alcohol.

“Good thing we’re not in Houston.” Damon leaned on the bar for a brief second with both of his palms splayed out and his eyes bright with a tease. “Everyone is welcomed here, no matter the time.”

Really? She glanced across the bar top at him. “But aren’t you worried about rowdy teenagers out for a good time?” Beyond the double windows lining the front of the bar, the only thing that moved was angry amounts of snow flurries. Everyone had cleared out. Even the stores nestled close on either side of the bar and across the deserted main street stood dark except for the occasional lit Christmas displays.

Okay. So he had a point.

“Besides,” he tapped the side of his nose. “Come morning I would sniff out the troublemakers and they know it.”

Hmm. Good to know. “Once a cop always a cop, huh?”

He nodded in agreement.

“The inner-city crime rate is so high we can’t leave the windows open on the fire escapes anymore.”

“Sounds like you could use a relocation to a safer place.”

He started turning chairs over for the cleaning crew and picking up random bottles, plastic plates, and trash from the merrymaking.

“How long were you a cop?”

“Fifteen years.”

She wrestled back a yawn as a couple of faint chimes rang out to signal the early or late hour depending on perspective. Since her day had started out with a red-eye from Houston, it was one hell of a long day either way.

Damon came up beside her and leaned against the bar, his sleeves rolled to reveal thick forearms and the hint of a tattoo peeking out from the cuff on his right arm. Another from the V collar of his shirt.

“You did good tonight. I would have drowned without your help and the mob would have left me on the floor while sloshing back the booze.”

She looked him up and down. “I doubt that, but glad I could help.”

Her body grew warm standing this close, and her lips pulsed with a dull echo from the feel of his pressed against them. She busied herself with rinsing the last of the shot glass and then set to work on storing the blender.

“Don’t let these small-town folks fool you. They’re wily and will crush you in a heartbeat on cold winter nights like these.”

No doubt. “Cowboys down in Texas can get rowdy but your boys can hold their own.” Her gaze drifted off over the bar. Cowboys sat firmly on the list of topics she rather not talk about though.

“That surprise you about us mountain men?” Damon teased.

Her nose wrinkled up at her own mention of cowboys and caused her glasses to slip.

“Ivy.” Strands of hair slipped from her ponytail after the long night and they brushed against her cheeks, hiding her eyes from his view. He moved the tips of his fingers along the fringes of those loose tendrils. Such tenderness came unexpected and made her take a gulp of air.

He pressed a finger under her chin until she could look into his eyes. “Did I say something wrong?”

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