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As much as he hated to admit it, he liked her. Hell, if he believed men and women could be friends without sex getting in the way, he might just say she was the closest thing he’d had to a friend in years.
If she ever suspected, she’d never let him hear the end of it.
“Slow night,” Sadie commented, joining him.
“Not too bad,” he said. “The birthday ladies alone are making us a lot of money.”
“Only because every guy under the age of fifty keeps buying them drinks. Men. Always so hopeful they’ll get lucky.”
“It’s what gets us through each day. Any of them getting pushy?”
“If they do, Julie will let you know.”
He expected that. Was glad his employees knew to come to him if there was a problem. He kept an eye out for everyone in his place. Took care of them.
He’d been in Shady Grove less than a year and already he was turning into a damned Boy Scout.
For another thirty minutes, Kane filled drink orders, yakking with those who wanted to chat, leaving the ones who didn’t alone with their thoughts and alcohol. The song on the jukebox ended and the familiar opening riff of Nirvana’s “Smells Like Teen Spirit”—a Saturday night mainstay at O’Riley’s, along with Guns n’ Roses’ “Sweet Child o’ Mine” and Bon Jovi’s “Livin’ on a Prayer”—started.
It was a good song. A classic. At one time it had been one of Kane’s favorites.
Until he’d seen people dance to it.
It wasn’t a tune made for smooth moves, but that didn’t stop a small portion of his customers. All that twitching and hopping and head-banging—most of the time simultaneously—could put off even the most die-hard Nirvana fan.
Averting his gaze from the dance floor, he opened a bottle of water and took a long drink. Scanned his domain from his position behind the bar. The booths along the back wall were filled, as were a few of the tables, late diners finishing their meals or enjoying a nightcap before heading home. The in-between stage of the evening meant those who’d come in for good food at reasonable prices mixed and mingled with the drinking crowd.
Shady Grove was a long way from Houston, but if there was one thing Kane had learned it was that people—whether at a honky-tonk stomping their cowboy boots to classic Hank Williams or in an exclusive club shaking their designer-clad asses to the latest techno hit—were the same everywhere. When Saturday night rolled around, they wanted a good time. To forget their problems, lose their inhibitions and seek out the mystical happy place where their pain magically disappeared, their checkbook wasn’t overdrawn and their boss/spouse/parent/kid wasn’t such a douche bag.
Only to wake up Sunday morning hungover and right back where they’d started.
Nothing sucked the life out of a good time like the real world. But, for a few hours he gave them a reprieve from their lives. That the reprieve came with copious amounts of alcohol caused him some guilt. Not so much he seriously considered turning O’Riley’s into a coffee shop or bookstore, but enough that he wanted it to be more than a bar where the locals got hammered every weekend.
He’d come up with the idea of serving meals. Full dinners instead of bar fare—though they offered burgers, wings and a variety of vegetables coated in thick batter and deep-fried.
Turning O’Riley’s into as much restaurant as bar had been a good idea, a smart one. An idea that had increased his business’s revenue over 30 percent since the fall. He wasn’t about the bottom line—that was his old man’s thing—but he couldn’t deny the sense of pride that came with being successful.
O’Riley’s was in the black, and it was all because of him.
Not that it had been a struggling business to begin with. When Kane had first stepped into O’Riley’s, it had a solid customer base, a good reputation and income enough for Gordon, the previous owner, and his one employee.
Now Kane did enough business for him to be more than generous with his six employees and still have money left over.
He should use it to buy some new chairs, maybe have the floors redone or renovate the kitchen. After all, this was his place. Every shot glass, every bottle of whiskey, every damn thing, from the beer taps to the utility bills to dealing with pain-in-the-ass customers who couldn’t hold their drinks or their tempers, was his problem. He knew these people, the men and women—young, old and in between—who came here night after night, weekend after weekend. He was a business owner, a member of the Shady Grove Chamber of Commerce for Christ’s sake.
In a short time, he’d somehow become enmeshed in this small town, a part of it.
He could see himself here next year. And the year after that. His roots digging deeper and deeper into the Pennsylvania ground, his ties to this community, to these people, growing tighter and tighter.
Cold touched the back of his neck. His stomach got queasy.
He’d tried ignoring the signs, had pushed aside the sense of unease, which had dogged him for weeks, riding his back like a deranged monkey, screeching, tugging his hair and slapping him upside the head. A man could only escape the truth for so long.
It was time to move on.
He’d given it a good run, he told himself, twisting the lid onto his water bottle and setting it aside to take an order from a fortysomething-year-old guy in khakis and a button-down shirt. He drew a beer for Button-Down, exchanged it for money and added the small tip to the wide-mouth jar under the counter.
Buying this place had been an impulsive move, born of instinct and perhaps heredity. He’d seen an opportunity to take a business and build it up, make it bigger, better and more profitable.
And if that opportunity just happened to be in some small town where no one knew him or his family, far away from Houston and his past? All the better.
O’Riley’s was doing well, better than he’d expected. Despite his best intentions, he’d taken after his father after all. At least in one area: making money.
But staying in one place too long was never a good idea. It made a man comfortable. Complacent. Careless.
Better to stay one step ahead. Always.
First thing Monday morning, he’d call a real estate agent, see about getting the building appraised. Start thinking about where he wanted to go next. Maybe he’d head north this time. It didn’t matter where he ended up, Maine or Greenland or somewhere in between. As long as he kept moving.
* * *
IT’D TAKEN A WHILE, but Charlotte was back on the horse.
Her sneakers squeaked on the gray floor as she walked down the main hallway of Shady Grove Memorial’s E.R. The baby with a high fever in room 3 cried, his scream heartbreaking and eardrum-piercing. Two middle-aged men—brothers by the resemblance between them—spoke quietly outside room 5, their faces drawn in worry.
Char approached the nurses’ station. Okay, so technically there was no horse to speak of, but figuratively she was there, sitting tall in the saddle, ready to gallop after her dreams.
And to think, she’d almost talked herself into believing she’d made a mistake, a big one, in going after what she’d wanted. In planning, scheduling and goal-setting. That she could float along, living the rest of her life taking each moment as it came all willy-nilly without a thought or care about her future.
Oh, she’d tried to do exactly that. Hard not to want to try something different after you’ve been rejected by the man you’d planned on marrying. Throw in a second rejection, this time by a man the complete opposite of what you were looking for, and any woman would question herself, her choices. So she’d gone in the opposite direction of anything and everything she’d ever done.
She’d stuck with it for as long as she could, shoving aside her dreams and goals and letting life happen. She’d gone to the grocery store without a list, didn’t note appointments in her phone’s calendar and spent her weekends zoned out in front of the TV, ignoring the work needing done around her new house. For six long months she’d been laid-back, spontaneous and impractical.
It had been torture. Pure, unadulterated torture.
Until one gloomy Wednesday morning last month when, on her way to the store to buy milk after discovering the empty carton in her fridge, her car had run out of gas. Waiting for her mother to come get her, good sense returned. Once back at home, she’d immediately listed her one-month, six-month and yearlong goals, cleaned and organized her refrigerator, and balanced her checkbook and, just like that, all was right in the world again.
Sitting back and waiting didn’t make things happen. It took planning. Control. Discipline. With those three things—traits she had in spades, thank you very much—anything was possible. Any goal achievable.
She walked around the high counter of the nurses’ station, plugged in her laptop and printed out her patient’s discharge papers. She’d been foolish, idiotic even, to try to be something she wasn’t. Someone she wasn’t.
Someone like her sister.
It’d taken time, but luckily she had come to her senses, Char thought as she gathered the papers and scanned them to make sure the information was correct. There was no way she could blithely toss aside all her dreams and the future she wanted.
Her mistake wasn’t in believing in that future, in working toward it. No, her mistake was choosing the wrong man to share it with. Yes, technically James fit the bill when it came to the type of man she wanted to marry. He was successful and smart, handsome and kind.
It was his kindness that had done it. He’d been so sweet to her when she’d been a gawky teenager, too tall, too thin and way too awkward around the boys her own age. James had assured her those boys were blind and stupid not to notice the wonder and awesomeness that was Charlotte Ellison, and they would, one day, line up for the chance to be with her.
Alas, no lines had ever formed, but she had eventually blossomed—her mother’s word for Char’s miraculous transformation from a skinny, flat-chested, geeky teenager to a fashionably thin, small-chested, personable college coed.
Ah, the miracle of those latent hormones finally kicking in. She’d developed curves—slight as they were—and, more importantly, confidence. James had been right that hot, sunny Memorial Day, the day she fell and fell hard for him. The day she got it into her head he was the only man for her.
How ridiculous.
She’d developed a crush. Well, honestly, what teenage girl wouldn’t when an older, darkly handsome guy smiled at her? Laughed at her jokes? Paid attention to her?
So, mistake number one? Confusing a childhood crush with true love.
Mistake number two? Not realizing the object of her affection was already in love with her sister.
Of course, it was incredibly clear in hindsight. James had always been head-over-heels for Sadie, even when they’d been just friends.
Stupid hindsight. It could have shown up a bit earlier and saved Charlotte a ton of humiliation.
Taking the papers, she went into room 1. After going over the discharge instructions for five-year-old Dallas Morrow with his mother, Char led them through the maze of hallways to the exit. Heading to the break room where she could hopefully—oh, please, please, please—have time for a quick bite to eat, or at least another cup of coffee, she turned the corner and ran into a solid body.
Strong hands gripped her upper arms, steadying her. “Hey there, gorgeous. Fancy bumping into you here.”
At the husky, somewhat familiar male tone, prickles of anticipation, of excitement, tightened her skin. Breathless, her heart racing, she lifted her head. “Oh. Leo. Hi.”
Leo Montesano, all six-plus feet of tall, dark and dazzling, raised his eyebrows as he stepped back. “Ouch. No need to sound so disappointed.”
Maybe she had sounded less than enthusiastic about running into him. Poor guy probably didn’t know what to do with a female who didn’t fall at his feet.
She smiled, both to ease her initial reaction and because, well, it wouldn’t hurt to try her flirting skills on him. God knew she needed the practice. “Don’t be ridiculous. What woman could be disappointed to see you?”
It went against human nature. Shaggy dark hair with just the right amount of wave fell in artful disarray around a face designed to make women thank the Lord for one of His greatest works. Brown, soulful eyes, a sharp jaw, full lips and a Roman nose completed what was, all in all, a mighty pretty package. Throw in an abundance of charm, good humor and the fact that as a firefighter he saved lives for a living, and he was the very definition of Fantasy Man.
Then again, with his perfect, muscular body—honestly, he had to spend a good portion of his day in the gym—he could be dog-ugly and dumb as dirt, and women would still write poetic odes about his broad shoulders, bulging biceps and top-notch rear.
He made a humming sound of disbelief. “Nice recovery attempt, but I saw your face. It’s like you were expecting Brad Pitt and instead, you got stuck with me.”
“Yes, that would be quite the letdown.”
His lips quirked. Clearly the man knew what he looked like. “Who is it?”
“Who is what?” she asked over her shoulder as she walked into the empty break room.
Leo followed, leaned against the door frame. “The guy you’re tossing me over for. It hurts. Really. If you’re not careful, you’re going to break my heart.”
Pouring coffee into her favorite mug, she snorted. Oh, yeah, he was full of charm. And bull. “I highly doubt it.”
He grinned, and she could’ve sworn she heard every female within a mile radius—along with a few angels up in heaven—sigh in pleasure. “Don’t underestimate yourself.”
She didn’t.
But she was smart enough to know her limits. She’d learned her lesson with Kane. She’d tried out for the big leagues when she would have been better off staying on the bench. Kane and Leo were cut from the same cloth: too sexy, too enigmatic and way too experienced for the likes of little ol’ her.
“Did you come in just to boost my ego?” she asked, adding cream to her coffee and pulling out a protein bar from her lunch in the fridge. “Or have your Saturday nights become so boring you’ve resorted to hanging out at the E.R. instead of bars?”
“Hey, now, I don’t just wear this because the ladies love it,” he said, gesturing to his dark firefighter uniform. “I’m on the clock. We brought in an elderly man with chest pains. The new doc is looking at him.”
“Dr. Louk?” she asked, proud she sounded casual and barely curious.
Leo lifted a shoulder, not giving her any info about the new physician, such as which room he’d taken the patient to so she could oh-so-casually walk past. After she’d checked her hair and makeup, of course.
“You hear about James and Sadie taking off next weekend?” Leo asked.
Nodding, Char unwrapped the bar, bit into it and wanted to spit the chalky, faux-chocolate thing right back out. “Sadie’s really looking forward to it,” she said around her mouthful.
She swallowed. Considered taking another bite, but no one should ever be that hungry.
“You think it’s a good idea?”
Char tucked the bar into the pocket of her scrubs. “They’re going to a bed-and-breakfast outside of DC. Not traveling to some politically unstable hot spot overseas.”
“No, I mean...” He stepped farther into the room and looked around. She looked, too, but the room was still empty. “Them getting married.”
Charlotte went absolutely still. She laid a hand over her chest to make sure her heart still beat. “Sadie and James are eloping? Oh, she is so dead. The only question is, who’ll kill her first? Your mom or mine?”
“They’re not eloping. James would never do something that spontaneous.”
“Then what—”
“He’s going to propose to her.”
“Did he tell you?” Char asked, for some reason matching Leo’s scandalized whisper with one of her own.
He nodded. “Last night.”
Well, what do you know? James was going to ask Sadie to marry him.
It stung. Just a little. Enough to remind Char that not long ago, she’d dreamed of James getting down on bended knee in front of her. But mostly she was happy for her sister. Really, truly happy.
She and Sadie had made up. It hadn’t been easy or quick, but they were once again as close as they had been before their horrible fight. Closer—both figuratively and literally—now that Sadie lived in Shady Grove instead of traipsing around the country. It was impossible to stay mad at Sadie and, as much as it pained Char to admit it, she had, perhaps, gone a bit overboard with her crush on James.
“That’s so great,” Charlotte said, her smile widening as she imagined her sister’s surprise. Her happiness.
“Yeah. Maybe.”
“You don’t think they should get married?”
“I just don’t see why they want to rush into anything.”
“They’re both thirty-three and have known each other since they were kids. I’d hardly call that rushing.”
Leo’s radio went off and he checked it as he said, “You ask me, it’s always too soon to commit to being with one person the rest of your life.”
“That’s about the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard,” Charlotte faux-gushed. “I hadn’t realized you had such a deep, emotional side. You’re just a big romantic, aren’t you?”
He sent her another grin, this one more devastating than the last. Seriously, if she was made of weaker stuff, she might be swooning about now. “I have plenty of emotions,” he assured her. “And I’m all for commitment—for other people. Me? I like to have options. Lots and lots of options.” He sent her a sharp salute. “See ya later, gorgeous.”
Thank God she hadn’t fallen for him, Char thought as Leo left. It’d been bad enough making that mistake with someone like James, a good guy who’d let her down as gently as possible. Sure, Leo would’ve been kind. He wasn’t a jerk. Just careless with the hearts he held in the palm of his hand.
But women who fell for men like him—men who kept their options open, their bed partners varied and a tight grip on their single status—were only asking for heartbreak.
And she liked her heart in one piece, thanks all the same.
After rinsing out her coffee cup, she went out to triage, picked up a folder and opened it.
“Hello, Charlotte.”
The papers fell from her suddenly clumsy fingers. She picked them up, swallowed, then turned. “Hello, Doctor.”
She winced. Shoot. What was supposed to be a friendly, casual greeting had been more of a squeak.
“Please,” he said with an easy grin. “Call me Justin.”
Some doctors—mostly of the younger generation—preferred to be addressed by their given names, though she’d never do so in front of a patient.
“All right. Justin.” And that was just a bit too dreamy. If she wasn’t careful, he’d think she was one of the many, many nurses—along with a few female doctors and one gay anesthesiologist—who were infatuated with him.
Okay, so she was infatuated. She was living and breathing, wasn’t she? And he looked like a young Nathan Fillion, had a runner’s long, lean body and spoke with the New England accent of a Kennedy. He was also an excellent doctor, passionate about helping people and dedicated to his profession. His patients loved him. His coworkers liked and respected him.
He’d moved to Shady Grove after his residency in Philly so he could be closer to his older sister and her family in Pittsburgh. He’d quickly become a part of the community, volunteering his time at the local free clinic, sitting on the boards of several charitable organizations.
He was everything, absolutely everything, she’d ever wanted in a husband. They were going to make such a perfect couple.
She hoped it didn’t take him too long before he figured that out as well.
“Dr. Louk,” Regina, the triage nurse, said from behind the counter—not sounding the least bit mouse-ish, damn her, “I made some of those oatmeal cookies you like so much.” She leaned forward, grinned conspiratorially. “I hid a dozen just for you in the cabinet above the microwave.”
Char had to cough to hide a snort. Cookies. Rookie mistake. She’d made cookies for James and it hadn’t done her any good.
“Thank you,” Justin said, as polite as always. “I’d love one, but I’ll have to leave the rest in the break room.” He glanced at Char. “I’m training for a half marathon and I’ve never been good at resisting temptation.”
Ducking her head to scan the chart of the ten-year-old girl who’d come in with stomach pains—and to possibly hide a small, satisfied smile—Char walked away. If she were a better person, she’d feel bad for her coworker. And while she liked Regina, and didn’t wish her any ill will, she couldn’t deny how happy she was the good doctor was going to stay far away from the pretty brunette’s cookies.
Even better, she’d learned something new about Justin. He, too, was a runner.
Could they be any more perfect for each other?
“Charlotte,” Justin called as he caught up with her. “I wanted to thank you again for recommending a real estate agent.”
“You’re welcome. How’s the house hunting going?”
He gave a rueful shake of his head. “Not well. I’m looking for something smaller than what she’s shown me so far.”
“When she looks at you, she probably sees little dollar signs floating around your head.” He stared at her blankly. “Because you’re a doctor,” Char explained. “She might be hoping you have money to burn and want something huge and obnoxious with a big enough commission for her to retire on.”
He nodded sagely. “I wondered why she was so insistent on showing me that six-bedroom mansion on the outskirts of town. I guess I’m going to have to break it to her that until I’ve paid off my college—and med school—loans, I won’t be able to afford anything bigger than a one-story, two-bedroom house.”
He’d put himself through both college and med school, another point in his favor. No, she hadn’t done the same, but it didn’t mean she couldn’t appreciate a man who was financially prudent.
Besides, if her parents hadn’t paid her tuition, she wouldn’t have been able to afford the down payment on her house.
Charlotte stopped outside exam room 8. “It’s tough,” she said, nodding in what she hoped was a commiserative way and not in a way that made her look as if she was having a seizure. “I recently went through it when I bought my house. Luckily, I found a great place over on River Road.”
“River Road...by the big steel bridge?”
Shady Grove, nestled along the winding Monongahela River, had two main bridges separating the west and east sides of town; a steel one north of the highway, and an ornate wooden structure near Washington Square park. “It’s about a mile from it, yes.”
He nodded at Dr. Saleh as she walked by. “That seems like a nice area.”
“It is. I love it. It’s not too far from the hospital, but the houses are spread out so there’s plenty of room for nice-sized yards.” Even if buying her house had eaten into her savings. But oh, well. Some things, such as sticking to her five-year plan, were worth a little sacrifice.
She was still on track. Even if some of the players in her game had changed.
And this player didn’t seem as clueless as James had been. Yay for her. While having a simple conversation at work didn’t quite compare to Justin actively pursuing her, he had initiated said conversation. He was also smiling at her. Interested in what she had to say.
Possibly even interested in her.
“If I see any houses in my neighborhood,” she said, “I’ll be sure to let you know.”
His smile widened. “I’d appreciate it.”
Appreciated it, but not enough for him to give her his cell phone number so she could get a hold of him easily.
For once, why couldn’t a man she found attractive take the lead instead of leaving it up to her to do everything? If she was better at flirting, this wouldn’t be so difficult. She’d drop a few hints and let Justin take it from there. But she’d never developed the art of the come-on, had always felt fake and foolish trying to be coquettish and seductive.