video poker and slot machines. Every place in Vegas had machines. Gas stations, supermarkets, diners. He’d figured a bar without the ability to lose a paycheck would be mostly empty, but the evidence proved him wrong.
He worked on his beer, less worried about staring at Cassie now that the place was so packed. Clearly she was well liked. People stopped to say hi or to ask her a question or tell a joke. She rolled her eyes at a bawdy riddle, then grinned and kept working, her hands plunged in sudsy water, while waiting for pitchers to fill with beer.
When a young woman in pink scrubs asked for pretzels, Cassie put her to work loading bowls for every table. Cassie herself stayed on task, juggling mixed-drink orders, keeping the draft flowing and carefully checking glasses she’d just washed.
She wasn’t only attentive, she moved fast and was quick-witted. Maybe she owned the bar.
“Hey, Cassie.”
Her head came up, her gaze going to someone in the corner. “Hey, what?”
“Where’s the cheapest gas today?”
“The Pilot on Craig.”
“Thanks.” The man chuckled. “You owe me five bucks,” he said to his companion, who started to argue about the accuracy of the information.
Several others booed him. An older man in a wheelchair with two mixed drinks in front of him swore Cassie was never wrong.
John hadn’t given the guy more than a passing glance but now he noticed his ball cap. It read Retired Air Force. He’d finished his career a sergeant was John’s guess. A permanent frown was etched on the old-timer’s grizzled face, reminding John of Master Sergeant Henry Ludlow. The man had already put in his twenty by the time they’d met. John had been a young lieutenant, still green and way too cocky. It was Ludlow who’d whipped him into shape. The man had never disrespected John’s rank but he sure hadn’t taken his crap, either. Thinking back, he smiled.
“You okay over there?” Cassie’s voice brought him around.
He checked his beer, surprised that he’d already downed half of it. “I’m good for now.”
She nodded, a faint smile tugging at her lips as she turned her attention to the slip the waitress set in front of her.
He’d chosen the ideal stool at the end of the bar. Although if he moved over one she’d be in his line of sight at all times. At the moment he couldn’t see her lower half. Just as well. He wasn’t trolling. And even if he was, she wasn’t giving him an interested vibe.
She did intrigue him, though. He wasn’t accustomed to a woman trying to get rid of him, and now he was curious about the whole Q&A thing she had going on. Was she that knowledgeable? Or was it just a parlor trick? They sure hung on to her answers.
Using the back of her wrist to brush a curl off her flushed cheek, she looked up, her narrowed gaze panning the room. “All right, who ordered the piña colada?”
John glanced over his shoulder.
A hand slowly raised. With a wince, the last woman to come in said, “It’s me, Cassie. But if it’s too much trouble, that’s okay.”
“Oh, that’s right. You just got back from Hawaii.” Cassie thought for a moment, her lips pursed.
John stared too long at her lush mouth and had a reaction he wasn’t prepared for. He shifted positions on the wooden bar stool. What the hell was wrong with him?
Cassie bent over and pulled out cans of tomato and cranberry juice. “Sorry, Beth. I don’t have all the ingredients.”
“Never mind. Really. Make it my usual.”
Cassie straightened. “I’ll pick up the right mixes and you can have one the next time you come in.”
“Please, don’t worry about it. You have enough on your plate this month.”
Cassie just smiled and went back to pouring drinks. He’d bet the next time the woman ordered a piña colada she’d get it. As if it mattered what he’d bet. He didn’t know the bartender from the woman who delivered his laundry.
The door opened again, letting in heat, and two men wearing jeans and blue uniform shirts. Grease smeared their faces and arms. More of the dart-playing mechanics, evidently. This was the damnedest assortment of people. The only thing the different groups seemed to have in common was Cassie and not gambling.
She shook her head at the newcomers. “Really, guys? You couldn’t have washed up first?” She jerked a thumb toward the back. “Go use some soap.”
They grumbled, insisted they had tried to clean up, but did as she