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“Politics.” She grinned.
“Politics. Taxes.” He shrugged. “I’m Cass.”
“Marlowe,” she answered and shook his hand. “What’ll you have?”
“Maybe one more pour of something.”
She eyed him with amusement. “Vague.”
“Dealer’s choice.”
“Oh.” She nodded and spun around to eye the bottles on the back bar. “You just had Lockland, right?”
“I did.”
“Wilderness Trail,” she decided as she selected the bottle. “This is a wheated bourbon.”
She felt his eyes on her as she splashed a finger in his glass.
“Is this your favorite?” He picked the glass up and nosed the whiskey. Marlowe put the bottle back, flicked her gaze over the room, and then satisfied that all was well, she looked back at him.
“Mmm.” She pursed her lips. “If I had to claim a favorite, I’d probably say Lockland. But I do love Wilderness Trail. As well as pretty much all the others.”
He smiled again—Marlowe read it as pure amusement, pure emotion, rather than flirting.
“Okay.” He nodded. “And why Lockland if you had to claim a favorite?”
“Because I’m good friends with the Lockland family.”
“Fair.” He took a sip.
“The women who left just a few minutes ago? They were down the bar there?” She nodded toward the stools Summer and Bristol had occupied. When he nodded, she continued, “Summer Lockland, daughter of the owner. Well, actually, she’s part owner now. And Bristol Miller, manager of the Skeleton Bar.”
“We’re supposed to go to the Skeleton Bar tomorrow. After a tour of Lockland.”
“Nice. They have a nice facility there.” Marlowe grabbed a bar towel and wiped down the area around him. “Which one of you is the groom?”
“The red head.”
“Makes sense.” The red head had been the only one who didn’t pay for any drinks. “Are they coming back?”
“Nah.” Cass shook his head. “They have a bottle they’re going to open at the VRBO. I’m not as into bourbon as they are.”
Marlowe wondered if he had a car here, but before she could ask, Cass spoke again.
“So, tell me about Rodey.”
She tipped her head with a frown. “If you blink, you miss it.”
“Noticed that already.” He nodded. “What else? Give me some town history.”
“There’s not much to tell. I think we’re an off shoot of the Bardstown area. Bardstown was originally settled by Europeans. In the early 1780s, I think? But the town wasn’t formally established until later in the decade. Rodey was established in 1792, I think. Population is 521.”
“And how long has the Iron Stag been here?”
Marlowe swallowed hard when he turned his head to give the place a thorough look. His longish hair curled slightly at his neck. His fingers were still curled around his glass, though his grip was loose and casual. She could see a worn leather bomber jacket hanging on the stool behind him. Would it smell like leather, she wondered? Or him? A mix of his cologne and soap? Something woodsy or maybe tonka bean? Marlowe’s mouth went dry at the thought. She’d smelled a Tom Ford cologne when Christmas shopping in Lexington a few years ago that had given her all kinds of ideas. She had wished then she had a man to buy it for as a gift. Her dad was happy with English Leather, and Way was too young to care about cologne.
Amused by the thought that the only time she’d wished for a man in recent years was after finding the perfect male scent, Marlowe gave herself a mental shake. Cass turned back and fixed those intense dark eyes on her, reminding her he had asked a question.
