Slow and Steady Rush Read Online Free Page A

hummed, understanding imbued in the noise. “He’s not manipulating Ada. I’ve trusted him with my life and would again.”
    So, they’d served together. She wasn’t surprised. The man had a definite military bearing—all stoic and intimidating. She propped her hip against the counter, but Logan’s eyes stayed fixed on the wallpaper. He never talked about his tours, and she’d learned to let it go.
    “How long is Ms. Evelyn going to stay?” She cocked her head toward the den.
    “All night.”
    Her dread transmitted, and humor sparked on Logan’s face. He said, “Be grateful. It’s the last night we have coverage. After that, you’ll be the night nurse.”
    She slumped against the counter. Anxiety pounded her heart and made her break into a sweat in spite of the air-conditioning. He circled her shoulders with an arm and gave her a quick squeeze.
    “Why don’t you come out to The Tavern tonight? Last night of relative freedom. Wear something … I don’t know”—his finger zigzagged over her T-shirt and cutoffs—“not that. More girly.” He winked. “If you can manage it.”
    The screen door rattled his good-bye before she could fling an answering insult.

Chapter 3
    Sitting in her car in The Tavern’s parking lot, Darcy gripped the wheel so hard her fingers turned white and debated her move. People around Falcon knew too much about everything. She’d done her best not to live up to her name—Wilde. “Keep it between the lines” was her mantra.
    Her mother, on the other hand, lived up to her name and more. Drinking. Drugs. Pregnant with Darcy in high school. Darcy’s father could have been one of any number of boys, and Darcy lived with the aftermath. In Falcon, stories persisted long after the guilty had escaped.
    But there were instances her inner wild child flared. Skinny-dipping satisfied some primal urge probably inherited from her mama. She’d gloried in the feel of the water and wind on her bare skin, out in the open. Impractical, gorgeous underwear no one ever saw was her other indulgence.
    Figuratively pulling up her big-girl panties—in reality, a ridiculously tiny scrap of black lace—she hauled herself out of the car. Only the thought of Logan waiting inside forced her toward The Tavern’s wooden double doors. If she tucked tail and ran, his teasing would be unbearable.
    She’d wrestled her hair into submission with a flatiron and wore a blue tank dress that hit a couple of inches above her knees. Nothing overtly sexy or attention-seeking, but tailored and classic.
    The Tavern’s dark paneling and permanent haze attested to its decades as the local watering hole and social mecca. A bar ran along one wall opposite a dance floor. The middle was awash in rickety wooden tables and chairs with a few men and women scattered like flotsam.
    People glanced her way, and her face heated in spite of the years gone by. Avoiding eye contact, she sidled to the bar where Logan stacked glasses and rearranged bottles. “I thought it’d be more crowded.”
    Logan glanced at his watch. “It’s early yet. Can I make you something?”
    “Tea sounds good.”
    “Coming right up.” He winked, one corner of his mouth drawing up. “You cleaned up nice.”
    “Thanks.” She examined the room while he poured her drink. “Do you like working here?”
    He slid the glass down the smooth oak like an expert and propped his arms on the bar. “Not particularly, but Milt’s ready to retire. I’m going to buy it, fix it up, turn it into something upscale. Better food, better music, better everything. The loan is pending.”
    She regarded him like an unknown bug specimen. Logan? An upstanding business owner? She gulped her iced tea to mask her surprise. Coughing spasms wracked her body, and she slapped the bar.
    “That … that was not tea,” she said in a creaky voice, pointing at the glass.
    “Sure it was. The Long Island variety. You walked in looking like a deer on the first day of hunting season.