Page 47 of No Going Back

Branna smiled. “I’ve worked in a pub my whole life. Serving, cooking, clean up, ordering. Everything.”

Ginny grinned, and her eyes lit up. “That’s perfect, and not just for today’s ruse. Did you know we have an old saloon right down the street that’s crying out for someone to love it?”

Troy laughed as he sat in the booth with Flynn. “I didn’t say a word to her, I swear.”

And Sean wouldn’t have minded if he had because the comments had Branna’s shoulders relaxing a fraction.

* * *

Branna was used to quick back-and-forth banter from working at the pub and working with her parents. They’d been the masters of banter with customers and with each other.

The banter that was suddenly flying around the diner was almost the same. Inside jokes with each other. Gentle nudging and silly persuasion to get Branna to start a pub here in Phail.

It was clear they were all on board with having the saloon open up. It was also clear they were monitoring the world outside of the diner.

Flynn exaggerated his Texas drawl when he tipped his hat to her. “Come on, darling. How could you resist the charm of a town named Phail? You start a business here, and the only place to go is up.”

“You could name it Phailed Saloon and open it as a pub.” Joe grinned at her from his seat. Or maybe that was Nico.

“What’s the difference between a pub and a saloon, anyway?” Nico, or Joe, wanted to know.

She didn’t have an answer, but it didn’t matter because the group starting calling out answers.

No Guinness in a saloon.

No cowboys allowed in a pub.

Phail ancestors are Scottish. Is having an Irish pub even legal in Phail?

Would she have to decorate it in Phail plaid?

There could be a secret password for the good stuff that she’d only serve to locals.

You’ll need a set of swinging doors if it’s going to be a saloon.

Despite the situation, she was grinning when she spotted Marcus on the street. She’d only seen the deputy in his uniform, so he looked different in his jeans and padded flannel jacket. He wore a knit beanie on his head and focused on his phone as he strolled.

Manuel called from the back. “Order up, Branna.”

She jerked around to find him grinning at her and handing her a plate. “Enchilada for Flynn, the cowboy.”

Glad to at least feel useful, Branna delivered the meal and then came back to grab a coffee carafe. Walking around the diner had her relaxing a bit into the role.

Sean’s eyes moved between her and the window, ready to spring into action from where he stood like a guard near the kitchen door.

Sam patted the stool next to him. “You’re not blending in, Falcon. Sit here where you can watch the door or have a seat in the first booth where you can stop his retreat.”

Sean nodded and sat beside Sam. “Why don’t you stay behind the counter, Branna?” His voice was a growly rumble.

Instead of the other men laughing at his overprotectiveness, they all nodded and agreed. There was no lack of testosterone in the building.

Feeling both relieved and cowardly, Branna moved behind the counter. “He’s already shot and killed at least one person. What if he shoots through the window and hits one of you?”

Half the men looked at her with raised eyebrows while the others maintained their vigilant watch on the windows. Sean took her hand. “The only person he’s looking for is you. He won’t notice anyone else, and he’s not getting a chance to hurt you or anyone.”

Okay, that was a good point, but it didn’t help her relax. She wanted Prince to show up now to get it over with. At the same time, she wanted him to never arrive in Phail.

Manuel called her name again and handed her a plate of veggie tacos. “Sam. The one who looks like he could fight in Wakanda.”

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