where Lilly was concerned.
If she’d noticed, she didn’t let on. Or seem to mind. That was more like the lady he’d met yesterday afternoon.
“Since you went the touristy route when I asked for the bars where locals hang out,” she said, “I had to find out where the action really was from Cliff over at Lincoln’s Place.”
He nodded. Solid fact-checking. She knew how to gather her information. He hoped she was a travel writer and not the new journalist, since that might complicate his resolution to quit playing the field. “You play?” He offered her the three darts he held.
She left her hands in her back pockets. “Not much. I’m better at pool.”
He nodded. “Okay, well, if you’ll excuse me, then,” he said, deciding to stay put and let Lilly explore the joint on her own, “I’ve got to teach my man here, Jake, another lesson on darts.”
Ten minutes later, Lilly was back at the bar chatting up Kirby, the local pet controller and town grump. Her nonstop questions, and choice of conversation partners, both well past middle age, made it obvious she wasn’t here to get picked up. Which, surprisingly, relieved Gunnar.
“And what makes you outsiders think you can just walk into our bar like you belong here?” hairy-eared Kirby said, his voice loud and territorial, carrying all the way to the dartboards.
“The bar sign said Open, nothing about members only.” She didn’t sound the least bit fazed. Yeah, that was more like the lady he’d met yesterday than little miss coy snooping around a few minutes ago.
Even though she seemed to have things under control, Gunnar knew Kirby’s sour attitude mixed with a few beers could sometimes take a turn for ugly and, never really off duty, he hightailed it over to them to keep the peace.
“Kirby, my friend, have a bad day?”
The man with iron-colored hair, in bad need of a barber, grumbled to his beer. “I liked it better when we only let locals in here.”
Olaf noticed the scene and was quick to deliver a new beer to Lilly. “This one’s on the house, miss. I hope you’ll come here often.” He smiled at Lilly first, then passed a dark look toward Kirby, who didn’t even notice. Or, it seemed, care.
Lilly nodded graciously. “Thank you.” She glanced at Gunnar, an appreciative glint in her eyes.
Gunnar turned back to Kirby, patted his back. “Cheer up. Why don’t you try enjoying yourself for a change?”
The codger went back to mumbling into his beer, “If you had to deal with what I do every day...”
Gunnar was about to remind the old fart that he was a cop and had to deal with the tough stuff every day, too, but he cut him some slack. Being a cat lover, he understood it must be hard to deal with stray and homeless pets day in and day out, but that’s what Kirby got paid for. And just like Gunnar’s job, someone had to do it to keep order in their hometown.
He gazed at Lilly, ready to change the subject. “You said you were better at pool than darts. Feel like playing a game?” Mostly he wanted to get her away from Kirby’s constantly foul mood because he had the sneaking suspicion she’d tell him where to stick it if Kirby made one more negative remark. And who knew where that might lead, and like he’d maintained all night, he’d come here to let off steam, not be the twenty-four-hour town guardian.
Her expressive eyes lit up. “Sure.”
“What do you say I put my name in for the next table, and in the meantime, I’ll show you around the bar?”
She got off the bar stool, lifted the toe of her left boot, grinding the spiky heel while she thought. “Sure, why not?”
The circular tour lasted all of three minutes since there wasn’t much to show. He used the time to get a feel for Lilly, pretty sure why she’d showed up here tonight. As he spoke, she studied him and seemed to be doing her own fair share of circling him. At this rate, in a few more minutes they might be dancing. He smiled at her, she smiled back. Seeing a shyer, tongue-tied version of Lilly was surprising, and didn’t ring true with how he’d sized her up yesterday. Maybe she was putting on an act.
Gunnar waved down Olaf’s wife, who worked as a waitress. “We’ll have a couple of beers,” he said to Ingé, then turned back to Lilly. “I’ll get this one, okay?”
She gave an appreciative look and after perusing the blackboard ordered pale ale named after some dog Olaf used to own. She made a dainty gesture of thanks and accompanied it with a sweet smile. Beneath her tough-girl surface, maybe she was a delicate work of art, and he kind of hoped it was true.
There was something about those small but full lips, and her straight, tiny-nostriled nose that spoke of classic Asian beauty, and Gunnar was suddenly a connoisseur. Yeah, Asian beauty, like a living work of art, or just like those ink-washed prints back at his house. He liked it.
He pulled out a chair for her to sit near the pool tables while they waited, then one for him, throwing his leg over and sitting on it backward.
“You said you were from San Francisco, right? What’s it like living there?” he asked, arms stacked and resting along the back rim of the chair.
She crossed her legs and sat like she was in school instead of at a bar. “You remembered.”
“Part of the job.”
“Well, for starters, it was a lot busier than I’m assuming living around here is.” Under different circumstances—not giving her a citation—she was friendly and fairly easy to talk to.
“We’re small all right, but there’s lots going on. I wouldn’t jump to judgment on life being any easier or less interesting here.”
“Okay.” And she seemed reasonable, too.
Their drinks arrived. He took a long draw on his, enjoying the full malt flavor. She sipped the nearly white clear ale. Things went quiet between them as he searched his brain for another question. She took another drink from her mug, and he could tell her mind was working like a computer. Before she could steer the conversation back to business, he jumped in.
“You have any brothers or sisters?”
“I’m an only child.”
“So you’re saying you’re spoiled?”
She gave a glib laugh. “Hardly. There’s a lot of pressure being the only child. When it’s just you and two adults, well, let’s just say sometimes they forget you’re a kid.”
“I guess I can see your point.”
“If my dad had it his way, first I’d have been a boy and then I’d be a thoracic surgeon.”
“I see. So what was your major in college?”
“Liberal arts.”
Gunnar barked a quick laugh. “I bet Daddy liked that.”
She went quiet, stared at her boots, took a sip or two more from her beer. “To this day I hate hospitals. Can’t stand the sight of blood. Probably has to do with a Christmas
