As he made his way down to the end, he stopped, his gaze landing—and staying—on the last barstool next to the wall. Over the years, there’d been an untold number of people who’d sat on that slightly tucked-away barstool, and yet it was the vision of one person that remained foremost in his memory.
Erin McBride.
He’d heard her brothers mention that their sister had left the Army after her last tour of duty. He’d also heard of their concern when she appeared to have difficulty acclimating upon her return. But until that night, he hadn’t given her a second thought.
If she hadn’t come in with her brother, Rory, he wouldn’t have known who she was. She was dressed simply, not for show. Pretty in a girl-next-door way.
He knew her siblings well, all with the same dark hair and blue eyes. Those blue eyes. Yeah, that’s what had drawn his attention and stayed with him.
Erin had looked as though she wanted to be anywhere else but in a crowd of people with noise and activity all about. Rory had ordered beers, then made his way toward the back where his friends were, as usual drawing the eye of many women. But Erin had stayed in her seat at the very end of the bar, barely sipping her beer. Ignoring those around her, the few times she lifted her gaze and he caught a glance into her deep blue eyes, he could see loss pouring out of her. As smart and wonderful as her family was, he hoped they could not only see her pain but were doing everything they could to assist. Christ, I can still see the haunted expression in her eyes.
Years behind the bar, he’d heard it all. Sob stories, new beginnings and breakups, celebrations and grief, new jobs and unemployment. He wasn’t a sage, not by a long shot. He listened, occasionally tossed out a word of wisdom if it struck him, but mostly he was there to sell drinks while keeping an eye to make sure those who imbibed too much had a safe ride home.
But something about Erin kept drawing his attention. Beautiful? Absolutely. But so unlike most of the women who came into the bar looking for attention. If she could have faded into the woodwork, she would have. Her beer had long gone warm, but he didn’t offer a new one, realizing she was only killing time. Just as he was going to have a word with Rory, her brother walked over and slung his arm around her. As she glanced up at him, her lips curved slightly. It was the first smile he’d seen on her face, and he was slammed with the beautiful vision of the sad Erin McBride experiencing a slice of happiness. Even though he always kept an eye out, she’d rarely returned.
Seeing her running on the track a few weeks ago had shocked him. But it was far from an unpleasant shock. He’d slowed down just enough that if she had wanted to run next to him, she could. Another pleasant surprise. He’d already gathered that she was not a talker, and considering he wasn’t either, they ran in sync and in silence. While few words were spoken, her company had been welcome.
He winced, rubbing his chin to his chest and shaking his head. He’d told her that he ran there most mornings, and if she ever wanted a running partner, she could let him know. But he hadn’t been back since the woman had been roofied, choosing instead to spend his early mornings in the pub, going over his actions that night to see if there was anything he could have done to have prevented the crime. Now, the idea that Erin may have shown up at the track looking for him only to have been ghosted ate at him.
“Fuckin’ hell,” he growled, heaving a sigh.
“Bad enough to be in here talking to yourself, but cussing all by yourself doesn’t make a lot of sense, boy.”
Torin jerked around, smiling despite his bad mood at the sight of his grandfather. His grandfather was tall and wiry, his hair now a little more white than gray. “Gramps, what are you doing here so early?”
Fergus Flanigan grinned in return. “Maeve came over to spend some time with your grandmother this morning. They’re chattering away like magpies, so I figured I’d come down here.” His grandfather walked slowly around the room, but Torin knew it was a stalling tactic. After all, almost nothing