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Adam chuckled. “My wife would probably agree.”
“Mine too.” The big man beside Wyatt smiled and shook Travis’s hand.
Travis took the hand, but moved closer and gave him a hug. “How’s Patrick?” His words were quiet as he studied Brad Bergen. He’d met his son the previous year when he’d come back to Crystal Lake. Little Patrick was sick. Damn sick, and his throat tightened as he studied the father.
“He’s a fighter. Doing better than anyone expected.” Brad took a moment. “We take each day as it comes, and thank the Lord we’re still together at the end of it.”
“That sounds good,” Travis replied with a small smile. He knew the outlook was grim for the boy. “I’ll grab that round.”
Zach slid onto one of the stools, and after introductions were made, Travis headed for the bar to grab a couple of jugs of whatever was on tap. He spied Tiny and veered to the left, deciding he’d rather check out the new bartender than deal with Grizzly Adams. The band was good, the bar area three deep, and by the time he said hello to all the people he knew, which was a lot, and talked hockey to those who cared—it took some time for him to sidle up to the bar.
Adam was right. The new bartender was a looker—a tattooed, edgy woman with a killer smile. She looked at home in torn jeans and white midriff top that did nothing to hide taut abs and—he angled his head for a look—another tattoo that snaked around her right side. Long dark hair was pulled up into a loose bun, with tendrils that fell to her shoulders, and the lady had guns. Her arms were solid.
She must work out more than I do, he thought, clearing his throat and glancing up into dark eyes that regarded him silently.
“What can I get you?” He couldn’t place the accent, but Travis was thinking she was from the South. Maybe.
“A couple jugs of the honey blond.”
“Are you being funny?” Her eyebrow shot up so fast, he was surprised it was still attached to her head. He wasn’t sure what the hell had just happened, so Travis smiled and shook his head.
“No?” She frowned. “Is that the right answer?”
She said nothing, but grabbed two jugs from under the counter and then moved to the taps.
“You’re new in town.” Travis wasn’t used to being shut down so quick, and thought he’d try again.
“Yep.” She didn’t bother looking up.
“I’m Travis.”
“I know who you are.”
Okay. Now they were making progress. He grinned as she set aside the first jug. “Hockey fan.”
“Not at all.” The way she said those three little words, you’d think hockey was the devil’s sport. Huh. He didn’t feel he had to try so hard anymore.
“You got a name?”
“Don’t we all?” She pushed both jugs his way and met his gaze full-on. There was a challenge there, though for the life of him, Travis couldn’t decide for what. And something else. Something that didn’t belong in this place of beer and wings.
“Yeah. I was nice enough to introduce myself, which is what we do here in Crystal Lake, so…”
She was silent for a few seconds, and a strange feeling washed over Travis. He tossed a twenty on the bar and reached for the jugs. He didn’t have time to play games with some strange woman in a bar.
“Honey, you got an order of wings you waiting for?” Nash walked up behind her, and she visibly jerked. She motioned to Travis’s left. The guy who sat there was leaning half off his stool. “He’s cut off.” She grabbed the wings from Nash, and both men watched her head to the other end of the bar.
“Not that I give a damn, but what’s her name?”
“Honey.”
“What?”
Nash shrugged. “Her name is Honey.”
“What kind of person names a kid Honey?”
At the look on Travis’s face, he chuckled. “Hell if I know. I asked her the same thing, and she nearly bit my head off. Told me she was from the South, like that should explain it.”
