glass of ice water in front of her. She wondered how
many miles he walked the nights he worked. He leaned forward, elbows on the bar, face
inches from hers.
That warm, fuzzy feeling flared a little, and she reached for her glass of water to
douse it. And managed to spill it all over the bar, and well into her neighbor’s lap.
The man jumped up, flinging icy water off his clothes. Duncan jumped up, too, from
his spot on the floor, thinking this was a fun game, and launched himself at the man’s
leg.
“I’m so sorry!” Stan grabbed a pile of napkins and thrust them at the man as Jake
deftly grabbed a rag and swiped up the water on the bar before it traveled. Stan could
see the hint of a smile on his face as he did so.
The man observed her, then looked down at his soggy pants. Without a word, he took
the napkins and swiped at himself, shaking Duncan off his leg. He was handsome, with
wavy black hair shot through with silver, a tanned face with minimal lines, and a
neatly trimmed mustache. He was also annoyed.
“What happened?” The woman seated to his left leaned forward to see what was happening.
“What a lovely dog! Why is he in the bar? How did I not notice him before?”
“I’m so sorry to be so clumsy.” Stan still felt like crawling under the bar in embarrassment.
“And that’s Duncan. He . . . works here. Again, I’m so—” She broke off as she recognized
the woman. She had been in Emmalee’s kitchen that morning. Leigh-Anne Sutton. The
farmer with the highest heels of all.
The woman recognized her at the same time. “Oh, you’re the lovely little girl helping
Emmy out! Stella, wasn’t it?”
Stan’s jaw clenched and she pressed her lips together. What should she respond to
first—the incorrect name, or the fact that Leigh-Anne certainly wasn’t old enough
to call Stan a “little girl”? She was probably in her midforties—ten years older than
Stan.
Behind her, Jake laughed. It turned into a cough when she aimed her death stare on
him as he continued to swab at the bar, obviously interested in the exchange.
“It’s Stan,” she said. “How are you, Leigh-Anne?” There. She should feel bad that
Stan remembered her name.
“I should go home and change,” the man said to Leigh-Anne.
“I’m so sorry,” Stan said again.
Leigh-Anne wrinkled her nose. “Don’t be a baby,” she told her companion. “It’s only
water. Go stand under the hand dryer in the bathroom.” She pointed toward the restroom
signs. The guy frowned, but obeyed.
“I’m sorry,” Stan said again, finally sitting back on her stool.
“Ah, not to worry,” Leigh-Anne assured her. “He’s just cranky. Most men are cranky.
Right, Mr. Bartender?” She winked at Jake, who raised one eyebrow.
Luckily someone waved him over for a new drink, and he simply nodded at her and moved
down the bar.
“This is a lovely little place,” Leigh-Anne commented. “And such a hunk of a bartender!”
She nodded approvingly, watching Jake’s every move as he whipped up some fruity drink.
Stan frowned. Forgot about water. Picked up her wine and took a long swig.
Leigh-Anne swiped the excess water off the bar stool her companion had abandoned and
perched on the edge. “This seems like the place to be in town. I figured I’d start
checking things out. I’m going to be staying around here to help Emmy during her time
of need.”
“Oh, really?” Maybe you should do her books. She thought Em had declined the offers of help. Maybe she’d changed her mind. “When
you say staying around . . .”
“At the B and B. With all the lovely llamas.”
“Alpacas, you mean? Char’s place?”
“Alpacas, yes.” Leigh-Anne snapped her fingers. “My memory just isn’t what it used
to be. Yes, my farm is about an hour from here, so it doesn’t make sense to drive
that every day. And who knows how long poor Emmy will need the help, right? So I mentioned
as much
many miles he walked the nights he worked. He leaned forward, elbows on the bar, face
inches from hers.
That warm, fuzzy feeling flared a little, and she reached for her glass of water to
douse it. And managed to spill it all over the bar, and well into her neighbor’s lap.
The man jumped up, flinging icy water off his clothes. Duncan jumped up, too, from
his spot on the floor, thinking this was a fun game, and launched himself at the man’s
leg.
“I’m so sorry!” Stan grabbed a pile of napkins and thrust them at the man as Jake
deftly grabbed a rag and swiped up the water on the bar before it traveled. Stan could
see the hint of a smile on his face as he did so.
The man observed her, then looked down at his soggy pants. Without a word, he took
the napkins and swiped at himself, shaking Duncan off his leg. He was handsome, with
wavy black hair shot through with silver, a tanned face with minimal lines, and a
neatly trimmed mustache. He was also annoyed.
“What happened?” The woman seated to his left leaned forward to see what was happening.
“What a lovely dog! Why is he in the bar? How did I not notice him before?”
“I’m so sorry to be so clumsy.” Stan still felt like crawling under the bar in embarrassment.
“And that’s Duncan. He . . . works here. Again, I’m so—” She broke off as she recognized
the woman. She had been in Emmalee’s kitchen that morning. Leigh-Anne Sutton. The
farmer with the highest heels of all.
The woman recognized her at the same time. “Oh, you’re the lovely little girl helping
Emmy out! Stella, wasn’t it?”
Stan’s jaw clenched and she pressed her lips together. What should she respond to
first—the incorrect name, or the fact that Leigh-Anne certainly wasn’t old enough
to call Stan a “little girl”? She was probably in her midforties—ten years older than
Stan.
Behind her, Jake laughed. It turned into a cough when she aimed her death stare on
him as he continued to swab at the bar, obviously interested in the exchange.
“It’s Stan,” she said. “How are you, Leigh-Anne?” There. She should feel bad that
Stan remembered her name.
“I should go home and change,” the man said to Leigh-Anne.
“I’m so sorry,” Stan said again.
Leigh-Anne wrinkled her nose. “Don’t be a baby,” she told her companion. “It’s only
water. Go stand under the hand dryer in the bathroom.” She pointed toward the restroom
signs. The guy frowned, but obeyed.
“I’m sorry,” Stan said again, finally sitting back on her stool.
“Ah, not to worry,” Leigh-Anne assured her. “He’s just cranky. Most men are cranky.
Right, Mr. Bartender?” She winked at Jake, who raised one eyebrow.
Luckily someone waved him over for a new drink, and he simply nodded at her and moved
down the bar.
“This is a lovely little place,” Leigh-Anne commented. “And such a hunk of a bartender!”
She nodded approvingly, watching Jake’s every move as he whipped up some fruity drink.
Stan frowned. Forgot about water. Picked up her wine and took a long swig.
Leigh-Anne swiped the excess water off the bar stool her companion had abandoned and
perched on the edge. “This seems like the place to be in town. I figured I’d start
checking things out. I’m going to be staying around here to help Emmy during her time
of need.”
“Oh, really?” Maybe you should do her books. She thought Em had declined the offers of help. Maybe she’d changed her mind. “When
you say staying around . . .”
“At the B and B. With all the lovely llamas.”
“Alpacas, you mean? Char’s place?”
“Alpacas, yes.” Leigh-Anne snapped her fingers. “My memory just isn’t what it used
to be. Yes, my farm is about an hour from here, so it doesn’t make sense to drive
that every day. And who knows how long poor Emmy will need the help, right? So I mentioned
as much
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