Married One Night

Clint, the giant of a man who had challenged Olivia to a game, had a ruddy face, watery blue eyes and a rough, red beard that was days past the point of trimming. He stood with the back of his extralarge flannel shirt pressed against the wood-paneled wall. Sipping from a bottle of Budweiser, he lifted it to gesture toward Olivia. “You’re never gonna make that shot, sweetheart. Not at that angle.”

Olivia, focused, didn’t budge as she eyed the round, white cue ball with fierce intensity. “You just shut your trap and watch how it’s done, Harbuck.” Pulling the stick back slightly, she tapped it hard enough against the cue ball to send it skidding into the eight ball. The eight ball spun drunkenly toward the corner pocket and sank in with a resounding clack.

A cheer went up through the tavern. As Olivia stood and turned to Clint, victorious, there was a smirk painted on her lips. “That’s an even thirty you owe me this time. You’ll pay up now, not like the last time when you snuck out on me and claimed to have forgotten about it next time I saw you.”

“Aw, hell,” Clint muttered, tossing his cue stick onto the table in frustration. In jerky movements that lent themselves toward impatience, he dug his wallet out of the saggy back pocket of his faded blue jeans and peeled three wrinkled ten-dollar bills from the fold. “Woman’s a regular pool hustler,” he growled, handing them over.

“Thank you,” Olivia said cheerily, making a point of counting the bills before standing on the toes of her high heels to give the man a deprecating pat on the cheek. “Until next time.” She spun toward the bar, then came up short when she saw Gerald in her path. Her smile fled...and wasn’t that a shame?

Olivia’s direct gaze was like a punch to his sternum. She’d put on enough smoky eye shadow to make the effect twice as overwhelming. He towered over her by a foot at least even after the spiky black boots that wrapped her legs to the knees before dark, taut denim took over. Both hugged what he imagined were even finer attributes. While her red halter dipped over splendid cleavage.

Recovering quickly, Gerald dipped his head to her. “Mrs. Leighton.”

Olivia chanced a look around to make sure no one was eavesdropping. “I thought I told you not to call me that.” She groaned as she crossed the few feet between them.

Gerald raised a brow. “Did you?”

She thought about it, then frowned. “Well, I’m asking now. So...stop. Before someone hears you.”

“I was thinking of making an announcement, actually,” Gerald said with a good-natured grin even as her face drained of color. “Every man in this room has taken a wayward glance at you in the short space of time since I walked through the door tonight. And while I can’t blame them for admiring your many attributes, its best they not get their hopes up.”

Olivia’s frown deepened. He missed the light in her eyes he’d seen earlier when she was with her family. Glancing over her shoulder, she caught the eye of a tall and well-built man leaning against the bar. “Deck,” she called and crooked two fingers in invitation. “Would you come here for a moment?”

Deck stood instantly at the summons and strolled over in three quick gaits. Nodding a hurried greeting to Gerald, he shoved his hands deep into his pockets and bent over to Olivia’s level. “Something you need, Liv baby?”

She gripped him by the collar of his striped, polo shirt and pressed her lips to his cheek, leaving a smudge of red from her lipstick. “Why don’t you come upstairs later for a drink? I want to know all about that new contracting job you and the guys were celebrating yesterday afternoon.”

Deck lit up like a theme park at the suggestion. His shoulders straightened and his eyes gleamed as he grinned at her. “You mean it?”

“Of course, I mean it,” she said easily, rubbing a hand over his large biceps. “Stick around?”

“You bet I will,” Deck replied, clutching her around the waist. “Let me just tell the guys I won’t need a ride back home.”

When Deck loped happily back to the bar to relay the happy news, Olivia crossed her arms and gave Gerald a pointed look.

He pressed his lips together. Not normally the jealous type, he was surprised by his reaction to seeing Olivia’s lipstick smudge on Deck’s cheek, her hand on his arm, his arm low on her waist. She’d fired her weapon, straight and true. And Gerald felt the impact of envy down to the bone. It took more time and effort than he would have liked to school his expression into one of indifference. It was harder still to wrangle another good-natured smile onto his lips. “Well played,” he admitted finally.

She lifted a coy shoulder, the smirk touching her lips again. “Decker and I go way back. We met in high school. It wasn’t until I moved in upstairs alone, though, that we started things up. Just the occasional hayride. You know how those things go, don’t you, Gerald?”

“You might be surprised to know that one-night stands are of no interest to me,” Gerald said. There was a gravelly base note in his voice he’d never really heard before. He had difficulty accepting the fact that it was the jealousy talking.

Her brows came down over her eyes. “Then what the hell was I?”

Considering her, he took his time tracing his gaze across her fair, heart-shaped face, down the blond curls tumbling over her shoulders and the shapely form she kept well in tune from the look of her. Words, man. You usually have a way with them. Settling on her searing, emerald eyes, he said, “That’s what I’m trying to figure out, Mrs. Leighton.”

“Lucky for me,” she muttered.

After a moment’s tension, Gerald asked, “By any chance, is Clint one of your many admirers, as well?”

She wrinkled her nose back toward the corner where the large ginger was currently trying to win his money back with an arm-wrestling match. “Just because I bring tavern men back to my place doesn’t mean I don’t have standards.” Scowling, she looked back at Gerald and added, “Believe it or not, I haven’t slept with every man you see in this bar tonight.”

He cleared his throat and shifted his feet. “I’ll offer my apologies, then, since mine was perhaps an unfair question.”

She jerked her head in a terse nod. “Perhaps you’re right.”

Gerald reached up to scrape his knuckles over the small growth of stubble along his jawline. “I was sent here with a message.”

Lifting a pitcher of beer and a small tray of chips from the bar, she took it to a nearby table. “Let me guess,” she said. “From Briar?”

“She said something about the music being too loud,” Gerald relayed, though he gleaned from the canny look on her face she’d already figured that out.

“What do you think?”

“Pardon?”

“The music,” Olivia prompted, planting an impatient hand on her hip as she turned back to him. “Think it’s too loud?”

How had she managed to turn this around on him? Gerald shifted his feet, glancing over at the blazing red, brightly lit jukebox in the corner. “Happen to have any Queen in there?”

She brushed by him on a wave of vanilla fragrance that toggled all those teasing memories of their time in Las Vegas.

He closed his eyes. If her outfit didn’t drive him to insanity, her scent definitely would.

He watched as she leaned over the jukebox, scanning titles, flipping pages behind the glass with the buttons of the console as she wiggled her foot absently behind her. He couldn’t help but admire the way the denim hugged her bum.

Many attributes, indeed.

She popped a coin in the slot and peered over her shoulder, pinning him with a very effective how-’bout-now? look as the first base notes of “Under Pressure” began to play.

She might as well have hit him over the head with a hammer.

“That just happens to be a personal favorite,” Gerald told her when she crossed back to him.

“Then that makes us all happy,” she said, spreading her hands. When he only looked at her, that wary shadow shifted back into her eyes. She moved her hands to her hips again and looked around. “I’m sure you’re more accustomed to fancier drinking establishments than this.”

“This is all pretty familiar actually,” he said. “Cozy taverns and pubs have always suited me. It certainly suits you,” he said with a knowing smile.

Olivia blinked. “Was that a compliment?”

“Indeed.” He lifted a hand to the walls. “The woodwork is fantastic.”

“My grandfather did it all,” she explained after a beat of breath. “He was a carpenter, the best in the area. When it slows down, I guess I’ll have to give you the verbal tour.”

“Yes, you will,” Gerald asserted. Especially if it meant delaying her having drinks with that Decker chap upstairs.

“I have to get back behind the bar....”

Gerald grinned, looking in the direction of the polished wood counter and the waitress behind it. “Take me with you.”

Olivia’s eyes snagged once again with a frown on his face. “Where?”

“Behind the bar,” he expounded. When she only stared, he chuckled. “I worked at a pub while I was at university.”

“You don’t say,” she said. “What was that, like fifteen years ago?”

Now he laughed wholeheartedly, reaching out to wrap an arm around her shoulders. “Was that a dig at me, love?”

A wry expression crossed her face. “What if it was? You couldn’t keep up with the after-work rush if you tried, Shakespeare.”

“You think not?” He reached down to the cuffs of his shirt, unbuttoning them one by one. “That sounds like a challenge.”

“You’ll just get in our way,” she pointed out. “When it comes to work, I don’t like people getting in the way.”

“If I get in your way, you’ll have the immense pleasure of having one of your score of admirers haul me out of the tavern,” he promised. “But if I out-tip you by night’s end...you agree to go on a date with me tomorrow night.”

She shook her head. “You’re terrible about making bets you can’t win, you know that?”

“Do we have a deal, love?”

Pursing her lips, she watched him roll up his sleeves. “Sure. But when I win, you have to agree not to step foot back in the tavern during your three weeks here. Got it?”

It wouldn’t come to that. Gerald was determined to make that a reality. “You drive a hard bargain. But I’ll accept those terms.”

She grinned widely and meant it by the light in her eyes. “Good.”

As soon as they both ducked behind the counter, an eager face emerged from the crowd on the other side. “Hey, Liv!”

“Hey there, Skeet,” Olivia greeted fondly. “You back for more?”

“Sure thing,” Skeet said. Gerald saw his eyes dart in the direction of the waitress.

Apparently, Olivia did, too, because her smile grew into Cheshire cat terrain. “Monica’s a little occupied at the moment. What’ll it be?”

“Something hard and straight,” Skeet replied absently, keeping Monica in his peripheral.

“Hard and straight it is,” Olivia said, reaching for a brown liquor bottle.

Gerald stopped her with a hand on her arm, flashing her a smile. “Allow me.”

After a hesitant moment, she stepped back, hands raised. “Knock yourself out, Shakespeare. But remember—you break it, you buy it.”

Gerald grabbed the bottle by the neck, lifting it from the shelf under the counter. He set a shot glass on the bar. In the other hand, he flipped the bottle over the back of his hand, caught it nimbly and poured the liquor into the glass. With a wink at Skeet, he passed it over the bar. “Liquid courage, my friend,” he said before facing Olivia.

He was pleased when it took her a moment to find her voice. “Well, I’ll be.”

* * *

“LIV, YOU GOT yourself a challenger?”

Olivia rolled her eyes in the direction of one of her regulars, Freddie. “Settle down, settle down. This doesn’t concern you.”

“Too rich for your blood, eh, Liv?” Clint added.

Olivia scowled at him but before she could open her mouth to retort, Gerald replied for her. “The lady and I have ourselves a little arrangement, gentlemen.”

“Uh-oh,” Monica muttered behind them.

Olivia narrowed her eyes on him. “Making a show of it won’t help you. These are my customers. They’d side with me any day of the week.”

“I made a living off tips for four years,” Gerald explained, a mischievous smirk playing at his lips. “I know how to work a crowd.”

Olivia blew out an unbelieving laugh. “You’re a cocky son of a bitch, you know that?”

He moved quickly to toss a bottle her way. The gleam in his eyes deepened as she sucked in a breath, catching it before it shattered on the floor. “You like that about me, love. Admit it.”

“Careful there, pretty boy.” Olivia tossed the bottle up once, caught it smoothly, then flipped it and set it down easily on the bar. “Now I’m going to have to embarrass you in front of an audience.”

Gerald offered her a come-hither motion with his hands. “Let’s go, Mrs. Leighton,” he added in an undertone.

“Stand back, Mon,” Olivia warned, then raised her voice over the noise and spread her arms wide. “Who wants to buy me a drink?”

Men rushed for the bar. Gerald turned to the women who’d already moved forward in curiosity, and offered them a charming grin. “Ladies?”

The bet went on for several hours. Their tip jars began to flourish with wrinkled singles. Bottles flipped in the air with an encore of shot glasses and bottle caps. Blenders churned and the beer taps flowed as Gerald and Olivia tirelessly worked the Friday night crowd.

He impressed her, Olivia thought. He didn’t once falter, tire or hang back for a sip of water. However, Olivia didn’t begin to worry about losing until she realized that the women in the crowd were starting to outnumber the men by a hair and she caught Monica sneaking a five-dollar bill into Gerald’s tip jar.

Olivia watched the smug grin spread over his face, his dimples and sexy crow’s-feet digging deep. He’d rolled up the sleeves of his pricey oxford shirt and untucked it from his suit slacks. His rich laugh rose over the din, beckoning her.

If she didn’t know any better, she’d have thought he’d fallen from heaven right at her feet.

Yeah, let’s not go there, she thought, stifling the stirrings she was beginning to feel more and more toward him.

It was close to midnight when the crowd thinned and finally dispersed, leaving behind the lone form of Skeet Bisbee. Olivia had counted out her tips as Monica cleaned up and Gerald offered to wash glasses. After he’d worked as hard as he had, Olivia was stunned to see him still on his feet, much less cleaning up after her customers. She wouldn’t argue, though. It was nice to put her feet up for a few moments after the record rush.

Word of the challenge had spread from her customers to their friends and family. Olivia couldn’t remember a busier October night that didn’t involve a football game or holiday. Tonight’s challenge would go a long way toward her sales quota for the month.

Olivia eyed Gerald, elbows-deep in suds at the sink. She’d have to thank him for that. However, she had no plans of telling him that she’d sent Decker home early and disappointed.

Skeet’s head was down on the bar and he was tonelessly crooning along with Bad Company’s “Ready for Love.” Olivia got up from her stool and went over to pat him on the back. “You all right, slugger? It’s past your bedtime.”

Skeet lifted his head to reveal a crooked smile and bloodshot eyes. She’d cut him off an hour ago, but he’d remained, mooning after Monica. “I’m a’right,” he slurred. “And I love you, Liv. Did I ever tell you that I love you?”

“I love you, too, honey,” Olivia said, kissing his puckered lips briefly before exchanging looks with Monica. “Come on now. Monica will take you home.”

“Monica.” Skeet gazed, awestruck, at her. “Liv, isn’t she the purtiest thing?”

“The purtiest,” Olivia replied, trying to haul Skeet to his feet.

“Allow me.” Gerald stepped in. The scent of his aftershave teased her nostrils. “Come on, son. Let’s get you back on the wagon.” He hooked an arm under Skeet’s shoulders and all but dragged him to the door with Monica and Olivia in pursuit.

“So?” Monica whispered, bumping an elbow into Olivia’s ribs. She admired Gerald’s rear as he bent over to help Skeet into the passenger seat of her old, beat-up, two-door Saturn. “What’s the skinny on Mr. Shakespeare?”

Olivia shook her head. “It’s complicated. I don’t feel like getting into it.”

“He’s all over you.”

“You think?” Olivia asked, curious despite herself.

“Like white on rice,” Monica informed her. She dug her keys out of her purse. “I’m gonna take the little boy home.”

Olivia stopped her before she could get behind the wheel. “Take it easy on him.”

Monica chuckled. “I’m going to get him some hot coffee, give him a cold shower, then a religious experience.”

Olivia smiled and shook her head. “No shame.” As Monica shut the door and cranked the car to life, Olivia waved to Skeet. The car pulled out of the parking lot, and she turned to Gerald. “Thank you,” she made herself tell him. “It would have taken both me and Mon to haul him out of there. He might be a lightweight, but he’s big enough to be a linebacker.”

Gerald’s verdant eyes gleamed with laughter in the dark. He’d undone a couple of buttons on his shirt. Not that she was looking at the skin beneath. So not looking... “He revealed to me his intentions to marry her.”

Olivia laughed. Really laughed for the first time that night. “I can’t wait to see how that goes over.” When he only eyed her in the low light, she felt that stir underneath her skin. His effect on her combined with the chill in the air made her shiver. “We’d best go inside. I’ll finish cleaning up.”

“And perhaps you could give me that tour,” Gerald suggested, opening the door for her.

“Oh, right. Well...” She’d told him she would, hadn’t she? No use trying to get out of it. Lifting her hand to encompass the west wall, she began her spiel. “The profiles are explorers and original settlers. The Spanish arrived first, around fifteen-hundred. They fought the Muskogee tribes who lived here first, circa fifteen-forty.”

Gerald peered closely at a line of text under one of the more prominent profiles. “‘Bahía del Espíritu Santo.’ Bay of the Holy Spirit?”

“That name changed when the French came through in the early seventeen-hundreds to establish Fort Louis de la Mobile,” Olivia continued, on a roll now as he looked at her with interest. “They made Dauphin Island a seaport and founded the French Louisiana capital at Mobile. Then, of course, the land was bought up by the American government. Alabama eventually became a state but decided to cede from the Union in 1861 when civil war broke out. And that led to the Battle of Mobile Bay in August of 1864.”

Gerald glanced over the most intricate carvings in the room—seven late-nineteenth-century ships. “And these were the vessels lost?”

“Their wrecks still lie on the floor of Mobile Bay,” she explained. “My grandfather researched the ships carefully in order to re-create them.”

“It’s impressive work,” he mused, running his fingertips over the bow of the CSS Gaines.

Olivia swallowed hard when she caught herself staring at his hands—again. They were nice hands, she had to admit. But she wasn’t going to think about the many things they’d done to her on their wedding night. No sirree. Turning, she walked to the other side of the tavern and the map etched on the opposing wall. “This is my favorite. You can see all the bay’s cultural landmarks, down to the cotton. It was the bay’s chief export in the nineteenth century. Here’s the Fairhope Pier. And here are all the Eastern Shore townships, and across the bay the cities there and the USS Alabama.”

“Was this fort used in the Civil War, too?” he asked, pointing to the star shape at the bottom of the map.

“Mostly in the War of 1812,” she told him, meeting his stare with a catty expression, “when you British attacked during the Battle of New Orleans.”

“Ah,” he said, unable to fight a grin. “Yes, well, there’s no use apologizing for my ancestors. So which hurricane is this?” he asked, pointing to the large rotated eye at the entrance to the bay.

“Frederic,” she answered. “That was 1979 and it was pretty catastrophic. Memories of it were still fairly fresh when my grandfather first started carving the tavern walls. That’s actually sort of where my parents got the name for this place—Tavern of the Graces. They were interested in buying the property but thought that Frederic would level the building as well as Hanna’s Inn when the storm came through. But by the grace of a higher power both were still here after Frederic passed through. They took it as a sign and put all their money into renovating it.”

“And ‘Jubilee’?” Gerald said, pointing to the word scrawled into the wood vertically along the Fairhope shoreline. “What does that stand for?”

“It’s a natural phenomenon that takes place at night in the summertime. Fish, shrimp and crabs gather close to shore in hoards and make it easy to catch them in large numbers.”

“And it only happens here?” he asked, surprised.

“It’s been reported elsewhere, but Mobile Bay is the only place where it happens regularly each year,” she said. “It’s the fourth largest estuary in the country.”

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