She bit back saying, You don’t know what kind of person I am, and moved ahead into the space he’d vacated.
“I’m sorry,” she insisted, completely sincere until he handed over his slip of paper to the cashier and glanced dismissively toward her.
“You will be,” he said.
No, she wouldn’t. Not if he was going to be like that. She radiated her ire up at him with enough power to glaze the side of his face.
He didn’t seem to notice, only touched his hat in a thank-you to the cashier as he finished his transaction, then glanced once more at Meg, letting his green eyes hold hers for a pulse-pounding second.
“See you at the auction.” It sounded like an order.
Chapter Three
‡
He was right. She was sorry. The minute she saw him, regret soaked into her like a hard rain.
“Oh my Gawd,” she drawled, setting down her gin and tonic with a thunk. It spilled across her fingers and she licked her knuckles dry, gaze fixed on the man who’d just walked into Grey’s Saloon and now owned the place.
“Oh my Gawd,” Liz repeated beside her as she followed Meg’s gaze. Liz had ordered soda water with lime, claiming that her role as designated driver was the reason. “Who is that? He looks like a movie producer.” She snatched up the brochure that gave all the details on the bachelors being auctioned tonight.
“He looks like James freaking Bond,” Meg corrected, taking in the charcoal suit that was definitely tailored to thrill. No tie. He’d left his white shirt open at his throat, but he’d shaved his beard so his cheeks were smooth and a small indent in his chin was visible. The heavy sheepskin coat he’d been wearing the other day had disguised a seriously lean, mean body. Linc might have ended up in boardrooms, but his years as a roughneck had shaped him well.
He went straight over to the bottom of the stairs, where Lily was coming down. Lily smiled as she spoke to him, used the cap of her pen to touch the face of her watch on her wrist, then pointed up the stairs. She turned to let her gaze linger on him as he climbed to the upper level. Who wouldn’t?
Meg still hated her a little bit for daring to admire what she had already called in her head. It had been almost a week since their run-in and she hadn’t stopped thinking about him. She still felt foolish, but she was even more attracted now than she had been in those few seconds when they’d first met.
He disappeared behind the handful of men leaning on the rail overlooking the bar. “Did I tell you this used to be a bordello?” Meg asked Liz. “That’s where the ladies used to hang out—pun intended—inviting men to come up and see them sometime.”
“Really? That’s funny. You must know all of the bachelors, then. You and Blake always seem to know everyone,” Liz mused.
“Pardon? Oh, yeah, I guess we do.” She was searching the upper level for a glimpse of Linc but dragged her gaze back to the main floor. It was practically a Marietta High School reunion in here. Dillon Sheenan was behind the bar. Ryan Henderson had just appeared in chef whites. He was auctioning off a world-class meal. Rachel Cassidy was back in town after her divorce, which was great. Female doctors were a godsend for any small town. Rachel was sitting with her sister Susie and the rest of their circle, Lexy and Dayna, and—Oh, hey. Hannah was pregnant. Meg hadn’t heard that, but she looked five or six months along. Good for her.
Beau Bennet walked in with Heath McGregor. She’d always had a soft spot for Beau, not that he knew it or knew her as anything more than one of Andie’s cohorts. The way they’d lost their brother, Ben, in a drowning accident had always stuck with Meg, though. It was the first local news story she’d ever followed and, to this day, she thought about him and Andie when reporting a tragedy, always mindful there were affected friends and families behind headlines.
“It says he’s Lincoln Brady,” Liz read.
“Yeah, um—” Hearing his name made her flick her gaze upward again. “I don’t really know him, but I did meet him briefly the other day. He’s our new neighbor.” And he preferred Linc. Maybe he only let his friends call him that. He probably expected her to call him Sir.
Liz gave her a considering look, seeming to read significance in Meg’s fascination with the upper lounge.
Meg dropped her gaze, which was another involuntary revelation of guilt.
“The Circle H guy?” Liz murmured, looking upward herself, head cocked with fresh assessment. “I thought the consensus was that he seemed to know what he was doing, but he looked more like a city slicker. Takes one to know one, right?” Liz added with a self-deprecating grin that wrinkled her nose.