the counter. “Is the bull working?”
“Should be.”
The woman laughed. “I meant the pool. The bull...not so much.”
“If you want to play, you won’t have any trouble finding someone to go up against.” He hoped that didn’t sound like a brush-off, even though it was.
“I’m waiting for someone,” she said with a small shrug. “Maybe later.”
Mallory dropped the rag as Mike turned to leave. “Want another beer to take back with you?”
“Nah,” he said, holding up the half-full mug. “This should do me. I gotta get up early tomorrow.”
“Well, don’t be a stranger. Winter should slow you down some at the ranch.”
“You’re right.” Mike fought the urge to glance over at the blonde before he disappeared into the back. It wasn’t just that she was attractive. It was driving him nuts not being able to place her. But it was also obvious she wasn’t from Blackfoot Falls or anywhere nearby. She was most definitely a city woman. So not much chance he knew her at all.
Ah, hell.
He sneaked a look.
And damned if she wasn’t looking right back at him.
Trouble was, she wasn’t just sitting with the guy. They were so close to each other a stiff breeze couldn’t slip between them. Mallory was right, though. The woman didn’t look all that happy with the setup.
He headed back to the pool tables. Chip stood in the corner chalking his cue and frowning. “I was wondering where you were,” he said. “We’re up next.”
Mike set his beer down next to Chip’s mug on the ledge then picked up his own cue. “I haven’t played in a couple of years so don’t expect much.”
“Bet you’re still better than me.” Snorting, Chip downed half his beer in one pull.
“You drink like that when you play the Circle K boys?”
Chip’s sheepish expression was his answer. “How’s your pitching arm these days?”
“My what?”
“I heard about you,” Chip said. “You played ball in high school and in college, too. I ran into Kenny Edwards at the pawnshop the other day. When I told him I was working for you, he said he used to be your high-school coach.”
“That was a long time ago.” Mike watched a lanky young guy in a camo T-shirt sink two stripes on the break. His cocky grin wasn’t doing him any favors. Another tip for Chip—don’t get cocky, especially when booze is involved.
“Kenny said you should’ve gone pro. You were that good.”
“Yeah, well, Kenny’s wrong.”
“Wait,” Chip said. “Weren’t you scouted for a farm team? I can’t see Kenny lying about something like that.”
The other table had only four balls plus the eight ball left, and the two guys from the Lone Wolf seemed evenly matched. He and Chip would be up in a couple minutes. Sooner if the guys would quit showing off for the three women cooing words of encouragement.
They had to be tourists, sipping their fancy drinks and flirting shamelessly. Mike couldn’t listen to them or talk about baseball without thinking of Ellen. He’d known his ex-wife most of his life. Or at least, he thought he had. They’d married the summer after graduating from college. Turned out, though, being married to a professional ballplayer was more important to Ellen than being married to him.
“So? Did Kenny exaggerate?”
“No,” Mike said finally. “I could’ve played for the Billings Mustangs. Just like a whole lot of other guys.” In his heart, he’d known he didn’t have what it took to play pro ball. And it wasn’t as if he didn’t like ranching. Hell, it was in his blood.
Chip’s thick brows lowered into a frown. “A lot of guys? I don’t think so.”
“They’re only a farm team.”
“Yeah, for the Cincinnati Reds. Do you know how many major-league heavy hitters came out of farm teams? Most of ’em, probably.”
“Why are you bringing this up? It’s all history. You should be watching these guys and learning a few tricks.” Mike nodded at the kid in the camo T-shirt. “He’ll need to use inside English on this shot. If he does it well, the ball will curve right into the hole.”
After the shot—perfectly executed—he realized Chip was back to staring at him.
“You know,” Chip said, a hopeful gleam in his eyes. “Sometimes the Circle K guys play softball. How about if you—”
“Not interested.” Mike shook his head.
“Why not? Those guys are all young, probably about my age. They wouldn’t know about you playing baseball back in the day.”
Mike couldn’t help but laugh. “Yeah, maybe you shouldn’t imply I’m old if you want a favor.”
“So, you are thinking about it?”
“Softball isn’t even the same—” Mike saw the blonde walk up to the jukebox and completely forgot what he was going to say.
* * *
SAVANNAH SCANNED THE long list of songs. She hadn’t heard of most of them, but then she’d always been horrible at remembering titles. Or even knowing what they were in the first place. And frankly, she didn’t have time to listen to music. Work managed to eat up most of the hours in her day. During her commute to and from the office, she generally listened to self-help CDs. After all, no matter how much she loved her life and career, there was always room for improvement.
“Hey.”
Startled by Nina’s voice practically in her ear, Savannah turned on her with a glare. “What are you doing? We can’t suddenly be best friends.”
Nina gave her a funny look. “Jesus, you’ve been riding a desk too long. You really need to chill.”
Savannah supposed she might be letting paranoia mess with her head and then, worse, overreacting. “What is it?”
“That cowboy from earlier... I think the bartender called him Mike? He was asking her about you.”
Savannah’s heart nearly exploded. “Asking about what?”
“He wanted to know if she’d seen you before. Said he thought you looked familiar.”
Savannah leaned on the jukebox for support. This was bad. So, so bad.
“Obviously it was just a line,” Nina said, glancing over the song selection. “Oh, and he’s hot and I hate you.”
“Duly noted.” Somehow, Savannah managed to stay calm. “Why don’t you go after him?”
