“Hey, what’s up?” Ashley asked, sidling up beside Carson at the bar.
Carson saw the silent question pulsing in Ashley’s eyes. She had told Ashley about her plan to stop drinking for a week.
“Nothing. Just hanging, having a Coke,” she replied, picking up her plastic cup and bringing it to her mouth.
“I’ll have a Coke, too,” Ashley said in camaraderie. She poured one from the fountain and they clicked plastic cups. She looked up and Carson could see something had caught her attention. “Oh my Lord,” Ashley said, moving close to Carson’s ear to whisper. “Look who just walked in.”
Carson turned her head to see Blake closing the door behind him. He was wearing his uniform of an old T-shirt and khaki shorts over long, deeply tanned legs. She noticed that his tan was darker and his hair was so long his curls hung low over his head. He looked up and caught Carson’s gaze. She swiftly turned her head away.
“So . . . what’s happened to Mr. Predictable? He’s taking a table in my section.” Ashley nudged Carson in her ribs. “Maybe not so predictable anymore.”
“Don’t call him that,” Carson said. “His name is Blake.”
“Okay then,” Ashley replied saucily. “I’ve got to go see Blake.”
Carson sat looking down at her Coke with a frown. She hated to admit to herself that Blake’s taking a seat in Ashley’s section bothered her. Enormously.
“What’s the matter?” Devlin asked, leaning hard against her. His breath smelled of beer.
“Oh, nothing. My feet hurt.”
Devlin looked across the long bar. Brian’s back was toward them.
“Here,” he said, sliding a shot glass toward her, moving his shoulder as though to hide it. “This’ll help take the pain away. Works for me.”
Carson looked at the golden liquor in the shot glass and felt an almost uncontrollable desire to chug it down. She could almost feel the burn. She took a breath and shook her head. Hell, she had to last longer than this. “No, thanks.”
“Aw, go ahead,” Devlin said, leaning in close to speak in a soft, secretive voice. “I won’t tell.”
Carson slid the shot glass back. “No, thanks.”
Devlin slowly pushed the shot glass back to her, smiling like it was some kind of game. “Go on, Brian’s not looking.”
“It’s not that,” Carson said pointedly. “I’m not drinking. Period.”
“Huh?” Devlin said, screwing up his face in confusion. “Since when? Go on, honey, have a drink. Looks like you really want one.” He pushed the drink closer to Carson with more force than necessary, some of the brown contents spilling over. Carson jerked out of the way and in response, Devlin moved to slip an arm around her shoulders.
“I said no,” she snapped, pushing back the shot glass so hard it fell over and spilled across the bar.
“Hey,” Devlin sputtered.
Carson tried to shove his arm off her shoulder but Devlin was wobbly and held tight so as not to fall off his stool. “What the hell?” Devlin said, his seduction morphing into something darker, sadder. “Whaddya do that for?”
Carson had seen this switch happen before and it triggered disgust more than any sympathy. “I said no,” she said, wriggling from his grip. “Now let go of me,” Carson ground out.
Suddenly Blake was there. He pushed Devlin back so hard he slid from his bar stool. “The lady said no.”
Devlin sat in a daze for a second before he pulled himself up in a rush of drunken fury and propelled himself forward against Blake, pushing him hard. Blake staggered back a few steps, then held his ground and pushed Devlin away. Devlin tottered, then held steady, his chest heaving and his fists balled at his thighs.
“Dev, stop it,” Carson shouted, jumping from her stool.
Brian rushed forward to step between the men. “That’s enough. Take it outside.”
“I’ve got no beef with this guy,” Devlin said to Brian, appeasing him. “He butted his nose in our business.”
“Yeah, I saw that business,” Brian said, his face flushed. “If this guy hadn’t stepped in, I would’ve. You’ve had enough for today, buddy. Go on home.”
Devlin looked at Brian and the steam seemed to seep out of him. His face fell and he took a step toward Carson. Blake took a step in front of her.
“I’m sorry,” Devlin said to Carson. “I didn’t mean nothin’ by it.”
“I know, it’s okay,” Carson said dismissively. “Go on home.”
Brian took hold of Devlin’s shoulder. “I’m driving you home, okay, buddy? Let’s go.” He gave a parting look over his shoulder that told the staff he’d be back.
Ashley looked to Blake, who stood with his hands on his hips, looking uncomfortable. “Thanks, uh . . .”
“Blake,” he replied, and offered a quick smile. “No thanks necessary.”
“Sure they are. How about I get you a drink? A beer, maybe? On the house,” Ashley offered.
“No, thanks.” Blake glanced briefly at Carson. “I better go.”
“Wait,” Carson called out.
Blake paused and looked over his shoulder.
“Thank you,” she said, and smiled tentatively.
“No big deal.” Blake turned and walked out the door.
Carson met Ashley’s gaze. Ashley raised her eyebrows and wagged her hand to indicate she should follow him. Exhaling a plume of air, she trotted after him out the door, where he was untying the leash of a large yellow Labrador sitting under the shade of the picnic table. The dog looked up at her as she approached and gave a short huff, of welcome or warning, she wasn’t sure. Blake swung his head around. For a second, two sets of dark soulful eyes stared up at her.
“Blake, I wanted to talk to you a minute, if you don’t mind.”
Blake rose, the leash hanging loosely in his hand. “Sure.”
“What happened in there . . . It wasn’t what it looked like. Devlin was just drunk. He didn’t mean anything by it.”
A muscle twitched in his cheek as he paused. “He looked like he was manhandling you and, well, I couldn’t just sit by and watch.”
“It was nice of you to defend me. Chivalrous.”
Blake looked down at the dog and didn’t reply.