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She giggled and tucked a few stray hairs behind her ears. “I think you just experienced that for yourself.”
“Nah.” He lowered his lips to hers and put everything he didn’t know how to say into the brief kiss. “I saw a helluva lot more than that.”
“Thank God I remembered to lock the door or a lot more people could have seen more of me than needed.” She crossed the room and unlocked the door.
She’d barely finished the action when the door she was leaning against flew open, sending her sailing across the small room and against Sean’s chest. He clamped his arms around her, steadying her before she could fall.
The door smacked against the bookshelf and Hailey burst into the office. Her eyes went wide and her gaze ping–ponged from Sean to Natalie and back again. “Carl Brennan is in the parking lot. He’s drunk as a skunk and carrying a shotgun.”
Chapter Ten
Natalie tore out of the reference room at a full gallop, sprinting across the brewery floor and out into the tasting room. Almost every person who worked at the brewery stood with their noses pressed to the floor–to–ceiling front windows. She had to go up on her tiptoes to see over the crowd and spot Carl in the parking lot.
He ambled aimlessly around, bent–legged like he was on a whaler in rough waters. The whole thing might have been somewhat amusing if he wasn’t dragging a long–barreled shotgun in his weaving wake.
“Shit,” Sean mumbled under his breath.
“My thoughts exactly.” Heart thumping in her ears, she skidded to a stop at the bar, grabbed the phone, and dialed 911.
Sean rushed to the front door. “Everybody back,” he hollered as he flipped the deadbolt.
Everyone shuffled a few steps back, but not so far they couldn’t watch Carl’s twisty–turny approach as he stumbled across the gravel parking lot. He held the shotgun’s butt while the long barrel of the business end bounced against the pavement as he lugged it behind him. Even from this distance, she couldn’t miss that he was two drinks beyond drunk.
The operator answered on the second ring. “Salvation 911, please state your emergency.”
“Carl Brennan is outside the Sweet Salvation Brewery with a shotgun. He’s drunk.”
“Is everyone okay?” the operator asked in a no–nonsense voice.
Natalie glanced around at the staff who’d inched closed to the window, despite Sean glowering at them from the door. “Yes.”
In a town where most folks had fired a gun by the time their age hit double digits, just the sight of a shotgun wasn’t going to make them twitch in fear. That and the fact that everyone in town would be talking about nothing else but this for the next few weeks at least had them glued to the glass. The staff would be getting free drinks at the Boot Scoot Boogie all night for telling this tale.
“Good. You said he has a gun?” the operator asked.
“Yeah.” She blinked rapidly in surprise as Carl gave someone only he could see a big hug and then started kissing the air. What the hell?
“What kind of gun is it?”
Natalie stepped around the bar and strode over to the door. Sean sidestepped to stand in front of her and block her body from being a target, but not before she noticed the orange tip on the end of the shotgun. Since she’d gotten a similar firearm for her tenth birthday, she knew exactly what the orange meant.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Natalie ground her teeth practically to dust. Of all the stupid things in the world. Carl had brought a damn toy BB gun to a brewery fight.
“What’s happening?” The operator’s tone sharpened.
Natalie shook her head in disbelief. “It’s a BB gun, not a shotgun.”
“You sure?” Sean whispered out of the side of his mouth.
“Trust me, no one from Salvation would mistake that.” She jerked her head toward the staff, who looked about as scared as a dog napping in the sun. “Why do you think they’re all close enough to fog up the window?”
“Ma’am.” The operator broke up the conversation. “Is he threatening anyone with it?”
Trying—and failing—to keep the annoyance out of her voice, Natalie answered, “You don’t call bringing a gun—even a BB gun—to your former place of employment threatening?”
“Ma’am,” the operator said, speaking in the soothing tone used universally by kindergarten teachers that grated down Natalie’s spine. “I understand your point, but I need to let the deputies on their way know if the suspect is pointing a gun at anyone.”
As much as it pained her, she had to admit it was a valid inquiry. Natalie craned her neck around Sean’s bulk to get a better look.
