Page 14 of Bartender Daddy's Girl
“That it was,” he says, barely able to get the words out because of how hard he’s panting.
When he finds the strength, Judge wraps his arms around me and gives me another kiss. It carries the same passion as our earlier make-out session, but there’s an equal softness to it that says this is the start of something beautiful.
And I’d be lying if I didn’t agree.
So far, everything with this man has been amazing, and I can’t wait to see what comes next in our journey.
7
JUDGE
I’d have been happy to sleep in, holding Carrie in my arms, but Frasier has a knack for ruining my plans. Not that I was asleep anyway. Early mornings and late nights are part of the norm. I just couldn’t pull myself away from her.
Hard as I tried, I kept sinking deeper into a cuddle. Felt her soft fingers brushing against my skin even while she was far away in dreamland. Couldn’t stop staring at the precious smile that hasn’t left her lips since last night.
If you asked me what I thought about Sugarcreek twenty-four hours ago, I’d have said it’s a dead-end place for dead-end people. A spot for men like me who’ve lived their lives and need a break until the end. All of that changed when she walked through my door. Coming to this little town was the best decision of my life.
And I pray to whatever almighty being rules above that Carrie feels the same way.
“Judge, you up?” Frasier’s voice comes from the door, and his call snaps Carrie from slumber. She jolts forward in apanic, scanning her surroundings until her eyes fall on me. My presence manages to calm her enough to lie back down, panting heavily from fright.
“Give me a second,” I whisper and kiss her against the temple.
I pull on my black boxers and shirt before heading to the door.
Frasier’s outside it with a wicked grin that says he knows exactly what happened here last night. He’s leaning against the wooden barrier meant to keep folks from falling over to the ground floor below, holding a cigarette in one hand and a tray with orange juice in the other.
“Thought you might like some refreshments,” he says.
“Could use it.” I smile, accepting the drink and swallowing the glass down in one big gulp. “How’d it go last night?”
I don’t really care. My priorities were and are elsewhere, and to be honest, they’re far more important. But the old timer wouldn’t be up here this early if something wasn’t weighing on him. Either there was trouble or there’s going to be trouble, and I want to get ahead of it.
“Y’know, when someone says they’re gonna do something for a second.” Frasier drags on his cigarette, offering me the tray to take a glass to Carrie. He turns his head away in some valiant attempt to show me he won’t peek while I do it. “I’d be a fool to think they actually meant a second, right? Maybe ten, twenty minutes, but you’d always think they’d come back.”
I take the juice over to Carrie, and she accepts it, shouting, “Thanks,” to Frasier. He responds, “No problem,” and I meet him back at the door.
“Must’ve been tired. Fell asleep right after we got up here,” I say.
He eyes me up and down and chuckles. “Don’t bullshit a bullshitter, son.” Carrie laughs from inside the room. “But the night went well. Handled what I could, and the youngsters did the rest.”
“Being old isn’t an excuse for being lazy,” I tease.
She laughs again, and the sound makes my insides melt. Soft, innocent, safe. The exact state I wanted to bring her to when she pitched up here.
Frasier gestures with his head for me to join him outside, and though our conversation started light, my suspicions were correct. He’s about to drop something on me.
I close the door behind me and follow him along the upper deck until we reach the end. He looks back at Carrie’s room to make sure she isn’t listening in before he speaks.
“Sheriff Kimble stopped by around one-thirty,” he says.
“For the punks?” I wouldn’t be surprised with the tree-sized stick Larry Kimble has up his ass.
Frasier shakes his head.
“Said some suspicious-looking guys have been hanging around town and asked if they were with you. Rolled in yesterday, booked three rooms at the Gray Hotel, and carry a . . . how did he put it?” He turns his eyes to the ceiling, trying to recall the sheriff’s exact words. “A dirty kind of stink about them.” He takes another drag and ashes the tip onto the tray. “Are we expecting anyone?”
Fuck.
