Currant Creek Valley - By RaeAnne Thayne Page 0,11
little sorry for Corey. About six months ago, he had lost his job as a mortgage loan officer because of the struggling economy and hadn’t been able to find anything since.
Though he’d been scrambling to make ends meet and the family had even had a few visits from the Angel of Hope—the mysterious anonymous benefactor who went around town doing good deeds—his wife had finally tired of their ride to Nowheresville and had taken their kids to Grand Junction to stay with her mother.
Things weren’t going all that great for old Corey, but that didn’t mean she was willing to be his consolation prize. He was still married. Even if he wasn’t, she hadn’t been interested enough in anything but a handful of dates in high school and she was less interested now.
“I’m good, Pat. I’m just having mineral water tonight,” she told the bartender, who lived down the road from her.
“Oh, come on.” Corey leaned in close and the blast of liquor on his breath seared her nasal passages. “You need something more than that after a hard day.”
“No, really. Mineral water is enough.”
“You’re no fun anymore, Al. You used to be fun.”
“I’m still fun. I’ve just never needed alcohol to get me there.” She forced a smile, which in retrospect was a bad idea. Corey took that as encouragement.
“What do you say you and me go out back and see just how much fun we can have together?”
Eww. Seriously? She tried to edge away but Corey had won second place in the state wrestling championship for his weight class their senior year and still had a pretty darn good half nelson.
“Yeah, I’m going to have to pass on that charming offer,” she said firmly.
“Come on. We can just make out, if you want.”
The very thought made her glad she hadn’t eaten anything since lunchtime. “No, thanks. Let go, Core.”
Instead, he tightened his grip and leaned his head down to her ear and whispered a filthy suggestion. She decided she didn’t have any sympathy left for Corey and hoped like hell his wife had taken every penny of whatever the Angel of Hope had given the family when she made her way out of Dodge.
“Let go. Now,” she said firmly but Corey ignored her.
Nobody else at the bar seemed to have noticed her predicament, probably assuming it was just a warm chat between old friends. She was trying to figure out whether he would even feel a sharp elbow shoved into his slight beer belly or if she would have to knee him hard where it counted when another voice intruded.
“The lady said no, I believe.”
She shifted her gaze and knew she shouldn’t be so glad to see Sam Delgado standing next to them in all his rough-edged, ex-Army Ranger glory.
She totally had this and didn’t need rescuing, but it was still really, really nice of Sam to step in.
Corey turned his red-rimmed eyes in Sam’s direction. “Mind your own business, asshole,” he slurred.
Sam’s expression didn’t change. She might have thought it almost apologetic, if she didn’t glimpse the hard steel in those dark eyes.
“Technically, this is my business. I’m afraid Ms. McKnight is my date.”
Something in Sam’s tone, his massive size or his deceptively casual stance seemed to pierce Corey’s alcoholic stupor. It was fascinating to watch his bluster trickle away like beer out of a cracked bottle.
He pulled his arm away. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “I didn’t mean anything. Alex and I are old friends, aren’t we, Al?”
She said nothing but Corey didn’t seem to need a response—or maybe was grateful she didn’t offer one.
“Talk to you later,” he mumbled and ambled away with his drink.
Not the most auspicious beginning for their evening together. How was she supposed to put things back on a fun, casual footing now after he rescued her from being pawed by a drunk and disorderly high school classmate?
“Sorry I’m late,” Sam said. He didn’t offer any explanation other than that and she had the odd feeling he was troubled about something.
“No problem. You’re here now. That’s the important thing.”
Oops. That came out more flirtatious than she intended. Apparently it was a hard habit to break.
He looked around The Speckled Lizard, with its high tin-stamped ceilings, the long, gleaming bar and the dark-paneled woodwork carved in elaborate designs.
“Any chance the grill is still open? I haven’t had time for dinner.”
The nurturer in her wanted to take him home and cook something delicious for him, but that sort of offer would almost certainly be misconstrued.