into his personal space. Her finger landed in the center of his chest and she poked.
Her gaze darted behind him, landing on Duchess. Fear flashed across her expression before she tamped it down.
Great. It didn’t happen often, but occasionally Finn encountered people who were afraid of dogs. And while Duchess was one of the sweetest, gentlest animals he’d ever met, there was no getting around the fact that she was big and could be intimidating. That impression wasn’t helped when people learned she was a trained military dog.
Yes, she could take down bad guys, but only on command. Not that this woman wanted to hear that right now.
“You can’t bring a dog into a bar. Get him out of here.”
Finn cocked his head and for several seconds seriously considered picking her up and moving her out of his way. He bench-pressed more than she had to weigh. “Her.”
“What?”
“My dog is a her. Just because she’s big doesn’t mean she’s male.”
Shaking her head, the sprite of a woman said, “She can be male, female or in the process of gender reassignment for all I care. She doesn’t belong in my bar. Get her out of here.”
Her bar?
Finn let his gaze travel down her body again, a little more intrigued this time.
It fit. The impractical shoes were a perfect complement to the armadillo spinning lazily overhead. Her jeans were well worn and molded to her body. She might be small, but it was obvious she had curves in all the right places. And the black T-shirt she wore, emblazoned with the logo of a local craft beer, emphasized that fact.
As she leaned closer, the pressure from her finger increased. That was really beginning to irritate him.
“You have to leave,” she reiterated.
He could argue with her—actually, Duchess was legally allowed to be on the premises. But considering his purpose for being at the Kentucky Rose in the first place, it probably wasn’t a smart idea to piss off the owner. Yet.
So he’d try to cajole.
“I just ordered a beer.”
“Too bad. Your dog isn’t welcome.”
Or maybe not.
Crossing his arms over his chest, Finn stared down at her. “My dog is a highly trained military working dog. She’s a decorated war hero. She’s a hell of a lot better behaved than half the people in this tacky excuse for a bar.”
The minute the words were out of his mouth, Finn realized he’d made a tactical error. She might have been angry before, but now she was downright pissed.
Her skin flushed a deep pink. Her eyes turned glacier, but somehow still had the ability to burn straight through his skin.
“Tucker.” Someone yelled the name out across the crowd. He didn’t realize the voice was addressing the woman in front of him until the brute attached to it appeared behind her. You could’ve fit her inside the man’s clothes twice and had room to spare. But the guy was all frickin’ muscle.
Not that it particularly mattered to Finn. He’d fought guys bigger and badder than this one and come out on top.
“You need help with this guy, Tucker?” he asked, keeping his gaze trained on Finn.
Tucker. That was interesting. He’d never have pegged her for a Tucker, although something about the name fit. Unusual and dynamic, just like the woman.
“Nope. He and his dog were just leaving.” Her eyes flashed a warning. For some strange reason, he really wanted to ignore it, just to see what she’d do.
But out of the corner of his eye he saw several more men who were obviously the brute’s backup slide into place on either side of him. Finn’s mother hadn’t raised a complete idiot.
“All right.” Finn held up his hands. “Duchess and I will go.” For now.
But they’d both be back. Because the Kentucky Rose was the first real lead in finding and stopping the meth that had cost them several soldiers in the last two months.
He wasn’t about to walk away from that.
* * *
BLOWING A BREATH that fluttered her bangs over her eyes, Tucker watched the door slam shut behind the soldier and his dog.
It was a shame he’d been such an arrogant asshole—bringing a dog into a bar—because he was a gorgeous one.
She didn’t mean to study the way his jeans clung to his tight ass as he’d walked away. Or the bulge of his strong biceps beneath the tight edge of his T-shirt. Or the sexy stubble that covered his cheeks and did nothing to hide the dimple in the center of his chin.
There was no question, the man was rough around the edges. She hadn’t needed him to tell her he was military, she’d known it before he opened his mouth by the way he held himself. That alert, prepared-for-anything way his gaze had moved around the room.
She’d grown up with an airman, her dad the only real family she’d ever had. And while she loved him, she also knew damn well she wanted nothing to do with any more soldiers. She’d had her fill of the uncertainty and fear that came with living that life.
Which possibly made opening a bar right outside an Air Force base a little like selling water on the edge of the desert. A smart business decision, but terrible for her personal life, considering the majority of the men she met were ones she refused to consider dating.
Maybe she should’ve opened the Rose somewhere else, but San Antonio was familiar...comfortable. It was the first place in her entire life that had felt like home. She loved the Texas twang in everyone’s voices. The Southern charm of the people who inhabited the city. The green landscape against the wide open skies. Hell, she even liked the humidity in the summer.
She’d spent enough of her life moving from one base to another, never really feeling like anywhere was home. Or being left behind while her only living parent was in the middle of a war zone. Growing up with that stress and uncertainty...nope, not interested in courting more.
The Kentucky Rose was her chance to finally grow some roots, have a place all her own that no one could ever take away from her.
Turning on her heel, Tucker took a second to let her gaze travel across her bar. Taking in the happy patrons and hardworking staff, a sense of pride and satisfaction filled her. This was what was important.
She’d done this. Built this all by herself with hard work and sheer grit.
There was one rowdy group of guys, apparently in town celebrating a bachelor party. They’d been slamming back shots since they walked in the door. She’d have to tell Matt to stay close in case they got stupid drunk and made trouble. She also made a mental note to send Kayla over with some nachos on the house. Hopefully, the food would soak up the alcohol and slow them down a bit.
The first strains of The Devil Went Down to Georgia pumped into the room. From every corner, waitresses started whooping.
