Outlaw's Honor. B.J. Daniels

being impressed.

      “Do you have a tip jar behind the bar?” she asked as she handed over the money with her first order. Clearly she knew he didn’t trust her and wanted to make sure every transaction was taken care of right away. She wasn’t going to give him any reason to mistrust her.

      When it got so busy even he was having trouble keeping up, Mariah came behind the bar and got her own beer and even helped make a couple of the more time-consuming drinks.

      When he did have a moment to think, he thought about what she’d said about stealing from a Romani.

      “You’re really good at this,” he said as the last patron left and he was able to bolt the door closed for the night and turn out all but the lights behind the bar.

      “Thanks.” She sighed as if tired. He knew he was. But she didn’t look tired. She looked...beautiful. A lock of her dark hair had fallen down to curve around her high cheekbone. It made her eyes look even darker. For a moment, their gazes met. He felt his breath escape him. That feeling he’d had at the Chokecherry Festival of being shot through the heart was mild compared to this one. He was right. The woman had put a curse on him, he thought as he dragged his gaze away.

      “Give me a minute and I can settle up with you on the tips.”

      “Don’t worry about that tonight.” Her voice was low, sultry in the empty bar, darkness deep against the windows. “But I would love a glass of wine. Red. Something cheap and sweet would be wonderful.”

      He laughed as he looked at her again. “I took you for something more exotic. Champagne, maybe.”

      “Really?” She moved with fluid grace to the bar, slid up on a stool and, dropping her elbows to the bar top, cupped her chin in her hands as she settled her gaze on him. “Was it my backpack with my entire life in it? Or my bike?”

      “I haven’t seen a bike like yours before.”

      “You know motorcycles?”

      “I know horses, but I can appreciate a vintage bike like that,” he said as he poured her a glass of wine and himself a diet cola.

      “It was my father’s. It has a 750 cc V-twin engine so it moves. Gets good gas mileage. I can go over three hundred miles on a tank of gas.” She shrugged. “It gets me where I want to go.”

      “And where is that?” he asked, seeing her obvious love of the bike that had belonged to her father.

      She smiled, lighting up the darkened saloon. “Wherever the road takes me.”

      “I’m envious.” He could see it surprised her.

      “But you have everything here.”

      Darby had to chuckle at that, remembering what Billie Dee had told him was wrong with him. “Not everything.”

      Mariah’s eyes narrowed. “You really think you could get on a bike and just go and leave all of this behind?”

      “Some days I definitely do. But then I remind myself that most places are pretty much the same. I don’t think what I’m looking for is over that next hill.”

      She cocked her head, studying him. “What is it you’re looking for?”

      He shook his head and glanced away. “That’s just it, I don’t know. Excitement. Adventure. A challenge. Hitting the road like that sounds almost...”

      “Romantic?” She scoffed. “It’s not.”

      “What are you looking for?”

      Mariah frowned. “I’m not. I’m just...going.”

      They drank in companionable silence for a while. It was a quiet dark night outside the saloon. Even the earlier traffic on the road had stopped. Darby felt as if they were the only two people left on Earth.

      He kept thinking about what it would be like to get on that motorcycle parked outside and just go. “Is there any place you haven’t been?”

      “A few.” She shrugged as he refilled her glass and his own. She stared at the wine for a long moment and then, lifting the glass carefully, took a sip.

      “You’re right though,” she said quietly. “Most every place is like another.” When she raised her gaze, he saw sadness there.

      “Earlier did you say you were a Romani?” he said, changing the subject. He hadn’t wanted to make her sad. He loved her smile too much.

      She nodded. “My grandmother was Romani and determined to keep the culture and traditions of her people. She came to this country as a young girl in the 1930s, hoping to find a better life.” Mariah met his gaze. “She thought it was just a matter of luck. Unfortunately, she also believed there was a curse on our family.”

      “Even if you wear the evil eye necklace?” he asked, half joking.

      Mariah smiled. “You don’t believe in curses?”

      “No, but lately...” He shook his head, sorry he’d brought it up as she finished her wine and slid off the barstool. He thought she might bring up the bracelet.

      “I should get going. What do I owe you for the drinks?” She looked at him in a way that made his heart beat faster.

      “It’s on the house.”

      “Sleep well, then.”

      Her words brought a chill of both excitement and anxiety. Was she trying to warn him that tonight would be the night? “You too.”

      She started out but stopped in the kitchen doorway to turn as a vehicle roared past. Darby looked up from behind the bar to find Mariah silhouetted against the kitchen light. He stared at her profile with both shock and admiration.

      The image of the Roma Queen on the bracelet. Mariah looked exactly like her before she stepped outside into the darkness.