a week. They told bad jokes, laughed a little too loud—and were completely adorable. For all Cutter’s outspoken opinions and cranky temperament, Kylee was getting pretty fond of her ancient landlord and savior.
Her eyes swept the room, taking in the expressions and actions of each customer. It was a habit she’d picked up when she was working with Jesse. Even though she wasn’t looking for a handoff or someone who’d make an easy target, she still “cased the joint.”
Only one thing stood out. The ranch worker in the corner was glaring at Fisher with pure, unfiltered aggression. The kind of aggression that usually didn’t end well. Her gaze shifted to Fisher Boone, towering above every other man in the room. His cowboy hat was pushed back on his head and his eyes were narrowed as he watched Jarvis make the shot at the pool table. He had no clue he was being sized up for a takedown.
Whatever the problem was, Kylee hoped the ranch worker would reconsider. Fisher was a mountain of a man. He had a fit build, big hands and wasn’t knocking back alcohol—the way this guy was. If there was a fight, Fisher would win.
“Big fellow,” Cutter nudged her.
She nodded, proud that her boss’s sudden appearance didn’t have her jumping out of her skin.
“Good family, too. Lot of money and land.” Cutter helped himself to a pint. “If a gal had any sense, she’d set her sights on landing that one.”
She stared at Cutter then. “What?”
“You heard me.” His leathered face creased with a grin.
“Guess I’m short on sense,” she murmured.
“Not a troublemaker, either. Even if he is the size of a full-grown grizzly.” He laughed.
“Well, trouble found him.” Kylee nodded in the direction of the man shooting daggers at Fisher.
“George?” Cutter snorted. “Carson is always starting something with someone. Damn fool hothead. Let me know if his drinking gets out of hand. But I wouldn’t worry your pretty lil head too much.”
Good to know. Kylee studied the man. She had a list of rules for their new life in Stonewall Crossing. Number one, no men. Number two, avoid troublemakers. In her experience, however, the two were pretty much the same thing. She glanced at Carson again. Especially the troublemakers with tempers who drank too much.
Number three, become self-reliant. She was still working on number three. The first two were a lot easier to follow.
“Have any luck looking for a new job?”
She looked at Cutter again, frowning.
“Something with better hours. Be better for the boy, too. You can’t enjoy working in this place all that much, while Shawn’s hangin’ out in the break room watchin’ TV,” he grumbled. “Or want to stay in that rattrap apartment.”
Did Cutter want her to leave? Was he telling her it wasn’t working? She knew having her preteen brother underfoot wasn’t ideal, but what other choice did she have? He’d been good, spending more time drawing in his sketch pad than anything else. Shawn was what kept her going, kept her fighting. She didn’t want to move him again. But if Cutter wanted them to move, to start over again, she’d figure it out.
A hollow emptiness formed in the pit of her stomach. If life had taught her one thing it was not to put down roots. Yet here she was, loving the tiny apartment she and Shawn shared. She didn’t care that they lived behind a bar. Better than the nights they’d spent on the street. For the first time in her life, she and Shawn didn’t have to worry about where they were going to sleep that night. They had an actual kitchen, not just a hot plate. And a bathroom they didn’t have to share with everyone else on their floor.
But if Cutter wanted them out, it wasn’t like she had a right to argue with him. She just needed to know. Her tone was cool as she asked, “Do you want us out of the apartment?”
“Did I say that?” Cutter scowled at her. “What the Sam Hill is that about?”
She twisted the towel in her hands. “I know you could get more rent than I can afford to pay you.”
Cutter snorted loudly. “Don’t give a rat’s ass ’bout that. Never said you should leave. Or that you needed to find other work, either.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Givin’ you options. Pointin’ out a single fellow and a more respectable job doesn’t mean I’m kicking you two out, ya hear?”
She relaxed, a little. “Oh.” She glanced at Fisher, who happened to be looking at her, and frowned. “I... I appreciate you looking out for me.” As far as she was concerned, her job was perfectly respectable. If Cutter knew what she’d done for Jesse... She shuddered.
Her hours at the bar weren’t the best, but Shawn didn’t mind staying in the break room watching TV and sketching after he’d finished the workbook pages she made him do. And Fisher? How could she explain that the last thing she wanted was a man to screw things up? Cutter might not get it, but as far as she was concerned, life was good. She smiled at the old man. “I can’t thank you enough for what you’ve given me and Shawn—”
Cutter cut her off with a grunt. “You work hard, Kylee. I’m not giving you nothin’. Life shouldn’t be so hard.”
She gave Cutter an awkward one-armed hug. “Well...thanks. I’ll get back to work.”
* * *
“YOU’RE UP.” JARVIS leaned closer to whisper, “Try staring a little harder.”
Fisher was a good foot taller than Jarvis so he made a point of looking down at him before quipping, “Watch out. I don’t want to step on you.” He wasn’t staring at Kylee. He’d just been looking that way.
“Harsh, man,” Jarvis sighed, stepping back. “You’re the Sasquatch.”
Fisher leaned across the table, lined up the cue ball and sent the green six ball into the upper-right corner pocket. Mario laughed, Jarvis groaned and Fisher searched out the next best shot. He adjusted his aim, leaned forward and set his cue.
But Jarvis’s muttered, “Looks like Fisher isn’t the only one interested in the new bartender,” threw him off. He missed pocketing the yellow one. When he straightened, Jarvis was laughing.
Fisher scanned the bar, but all he saw was Cutter talking to Kylee. “You’re cheating now?” he asked Jarvis.
Jarvis shrugged. “Didn’t think it would work.”
Fisher finished off his beer and glanced back toward Kylee. She was looking at him, frowning. He smiled at her, saluting her with his beer bottle. Not that she seemed to care. She turned away, her scowl still in place.
“Ouch,” Mario whispered.
Fisher shrugged. “Can’t win ’em all, I guess.”
“You didn’t even make it out of the starting gate with that one.” Jarvis sounded way too pleased about that. “Must chap your hide, being rejected by something so curvy and soft. That long black hair. Those big blue eyes.” Jarvis shook his head. “Maybe the lady’s not into sasquatches. Maybe she likes normal-size guys.” He elbowed Mario, who laughed—albeit reluctantly.
“You’re just pissed I’ve been kicking your butt all night,” Fisher said, laughing off their teasing. The three of them had been working together for years, but they’d been friends even longer. The kidding was part of it. So was his beating them at pool. But it wasn’t about the winning, it was about the chance to relax after a long day.
Relaxation didn’t exist once he got home—not since Archer had moved in. His brother needed a place to stay while the water pipes in his place were repaired. Since the family’s Lodge was booked solid and his other two brothers had a families of their own, Fisher felt obliged to take him in. Problem was that Archer had only one setting: intense. If Fisher was spending more time at Shots, it was because he needed a break from his brother.