Page 18 of Sizzling

Stellan rolled his eyes. “She’s found herself another fucking stray. Better hide the silver if she intends to bring this one home too.”

“If she brings Briar here, I will keep her busy,” Thatcher said with a smirk.

“She’s not coming here. She refused to stay one night. My guess is, she’s already packed up and run again,” I replied, trying not to scowl at Thatcher.

“She’s not left town yet. I’d know if she had,” King told us as he stood up.

“You still keeping tabs on her?” Roland asked.

He nodded. “Until I’m sure she isn’t lying about killing that son of a bitch.”

“She killed him,” Thatcher drawled. “It’s in her eyes. The demons that come with it.”

“What the hell do you know about seeing shit in people’s eyes?” Wells asked, amused.

Thatcher’s gaze swung to him. “Enough to know you’re a goddamn pussy.”

“Boys.” Stellan’s firm voice stopped whatever else Thatcher was about to say. “It’s Sunday. We’ve had a busy weekend. Let it go.”

Everyone knew he was saving Wells’s ass. Thatcher had never been a fan of Wells, but he’d managed not to kill him over the years.

Ronan leaned over to say something to Stellan, and the rest of the room seemed to calm. King left to go find Rumor, who had taken their baby girl to nurse earlier. Thatcher followed him out, but I knew he was leaving the house.

The conversation about Briar was over, but I was still thinking about it. I hoped she was gone. Away from Jameson. Not that it was my job to warn her, but someone needed to.

Standing, I followed Thatcher’s exit. I didn’t like Briar Landry, but that didn’t mean I wanted her dead. She deserved to know the man who had tried to kill her was alive. After that, she was on her own.

• Eight •

The blond Greek god could leave now.

Briar

Finishing my first set onstage at Highwater, I made my way down to the bar, where Bash Highwater, the owner and my boss, was standing by Mick, one of the bartenders working tonight. Mick was a good-looking guy around thirty while the other bartender tonight, Sunshine, was mid-twenties with big boobs and blonde hair. Bash was very selective with his bartenders. They all had to be efficient and attractive. I was almost positive he was screwing around with Sunshine. The possessive look she gave him was a dead giveaway. Not that it was my business, but I noticed these things.

“Thirsty?” Mick asked as I stepped up to the back of the bar.

“Yes,” I replied with a smile.

He grabbed a glass from the cooler and added ice, then filled it with water before handing it to me.

“Thank you,” I told him before gulping it down.

“When are you gonna do one of your originals again?” he asked while he worked on filling two mugs with beer on tap.

I shrugged. “Don’t know. I think the crowd prefers what they know.”

And I wouldn’t be here much longer. That was why I’d come down here instead of to the back for my break. I needed to speak with Bash. Let him know tomorrow night would be my last.

“That one you did about the sawdust was a hit. You should do more of your own stuff.”

I loved writing my own music, but typically, I sang it in the safety of my home. Dovie was my only audience, and she loved whatever I wrote. It was safe to sing my songs to her. I wasn’t so brave about doing it to a crowd full of folks who just wanted to hear me cover their favorites while they drank, danced, and flirted the night away.

“Briar,” Bash said in greeting when he turned and realized I was there. “You are killing it up there tonight. I swear our crowds are bigger when you’re scheduled onstage.”

Bash was a nice guy. Mid-forties, very charismatic, successful at keeping the bar his father had built and made popular forty years ago going strong. I hated letting him down. I enjoyed working here, and that wasn’t always the case with jobs like this. I’d dealt with bosses who thought I was theirs to paw at and who said inappropriate things to me. Bash wasn’t like that at all. It would be hard to find another bar like this one. And if we went north, like Dovie had said we should—and she was probably right—I was worried finding a bar who wanted a country singer for entertainment might be more difficult to find. I was sure they had them, but not like they did in the South.

“Thanks, but ladies’ drinks for five dollars on Sunday nights might have something to do with the crowd,” I pointed out.

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