Page 63 of Recurve Ridge

I ignored the little voice in the back of my mind. Since when hadMillerstarted backing me?

About the same time as he’d played with my hair. I remembered his tender caress, his furious glares. Unable to understand his motives, I wrapped my arms around myself in the only barrier I could create.

“You are.” Miller smirked, enjoying my discomfort.

“Are you going to add to this little calamity?” Robe asked in a deceptively calm voice, its edge sharp enough to slice through the cloud of bullshit floating around.

“I’m siding with our little stalker-spy.” Alan emerged from behind the bar, way too cheerful for the time of morning. He grabbed my hand, shoved a fresh mug into it that was half filled with ice and black coffee, and filled it to the brim with Macallan whiskey.

“You’re going to turn me into an alcoholic.” I clutched the mug, considering downing the lot in one. Robe’s intensive scrutiny was bad enough, let alone that of the entire household.

“Chug it back.” Alan winked. “It’s been a long fucking night.” He tipped the top-shelf liquor directly to his generous lips, slugging its contents.

Robe made an exasperated noise. “Don’t let him outshine you, Mari. Bottoms up.”

“How is this responsible?” I stared between them, each wearing identical shit-eating grins. “There’s way too much testosterone in this room.”

“Uh-huh. Show us what you got, running girl.” Alan planted lean-muscled forearms on the bar top. “We’re waiting.”

His pose came close to distracting me, but for some reason—maybe the culmination of damaged egos in such a small space—their recklessness drove my own.

Narrowing my eyes at Alan, I saluted first him, then Robe. “Cheers.”

The caffeine in my stomach met a deluge of alcohol at the wrong end of the clock. Refusing to let my gag reflex take me down, I kept swallowing until the empty mug clanged against my teeth.

I smiled, holding my glory for a full second before I started hacking. Whatever had filled my lungs—a mouthful of alcohol fumes and impending doom, most likely—seared my insides as I gasped for breath.

“Nicely done, lass.” Alan assumed that horrible accent again, thumping my back in an unhelpful fashion. “Couldn’t have done better myself.”

“Uh-huh,” I choked out. My eyes watered. “That was fun.”

Robe snorted, though something about the way he looked at me changed, softening a little. “Good girl.”

My tummy flopped, and that had nothing to do with its contents.

“So, about that bounty.” Jon pushed off the wall. Robe’s distraction technique sucked if others resisted too. “Are you going to take this seriously, or are you going to self-implode?”

“And do we have to watch?” Miller snapped.

“You mean do wegetto watch?” Alan shot back, wiggling his eyebrows. “There’s good sport in that.”

Miller shot an irritated glare in my direction, or maybe he’d aimed that one at Alan. He spat on the floor, and the only thing that broke through the echoes of his footfalls as he stormed outside was Alan’s groan.

“You know I have to clean that up, you heathen.” He glared at the glob of spittle on the floor as at a personal affront. “Muppet,” he added under his breath.

“Your British is very convincing.” I beamed at him and swayed on my feet.

“Whoa, sweetcheeks.” Alan gripped my elbow.

I turned toward Robe. “I’m sorry for listening at the door.”

His easy demeanor hardened. “Are you?”

“Damnit, Mari.” Alan sighed and dropped my arm.

Robe’s mouth thinned behind his beard, the motion somehow adding to the flint-hard stare he offered. “Listening at doors, downing grog like a pro, turning up where you shouldn’t be. Is Miller right? Are you some sort of mini superspy?” he mused.

“Hey. That was my idea,” Alan protested from the floor, scrubbing as he stretched each leg out.

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