“I’m not against you giving it a shot.”
When her laughter overshadowed the noise of the bar, Trey realized he was in serious trouble. Warm and rich, the sound reached too deep inside him. He couldn’t help joining in.
Hastily, he shoved the drinks across the smooth bar. She set them on the plastic tray and wove her way back through the crowd. She’d definitely done something like this before. Maybe not waitressing exactly—she’d screwed up enough orders to tell him that—but something similar. She knew how to work a crowd.
He’d have to ask her... No, scratch that. He wasn’t asking her anything. She was temporary help. She’d eventually move on. For the millionth time, he wondered why she was here in Telluride.
She delivered the drinks with a smile and a heavy dose of sass. She was definitely in her element. People loved her, and she seemed to love them, too.
Later, after the crowd had finally thinned, the door opened again. The wind caught the wood-and-glass frame and slammed it against the wall. The man who came in just then grabbed it and fought the wind to get it closed. Finally, it latched, and the guy turned around, surveying the room as he straightened his expensive wool coat.
Lance Westgate. Trey frowned. The land developer who was building the retirement community that Hap was always talking about. He often came to the bar for an expensive drink and to flaunt his success.
He stood there in the doorway, surveying the room as if looking for someone—or pondering the peasants. There were empty tables now that the rush was over. “Take a seat anywhere,” Trey called across the room. “We’ll be right with you—”
Trey glanced around the room, his mouth open to speak to Lisa...but she was nowhere to be found.
* * *
LISA WAS FAIRLY CERTAIN that back in high school, Lance Westgate had been voted most likely to be found dead in a back alley. Polished, cleaned up and almost handsome now, he made her stop and stare. And duck down behind the bar until she could figure out what to do.
Facing him was not an option. Hadn’t he moved away? What was he doing back here looking all successful just when she...wasn’t?
It wasn’t like she was embarrassed or anything about losing her job—well maybe a little.
She didn’t know many people her age here anymore, having only visited her grandparents a few times a year, and meeting mainly their friends. But she knew Lance.
There’d been one summer when she’d met a lot of people her family hadn’t introduced her to. Sam had found her once and brought her home to her grandparents. Grandpa had made sure to warn her about Lance.
He runs with a rough crowd, girl, he’d said. Don’t get mixed up with people like him.
The warnings had only made Lance more intriguing. Until she’d gotten to know him. His friendly smile had faded quickly into a sneer, and one night in particular popped vividly to mind.
She’d been so young, naive and trusting. She’d stood her ground when he and his friends had pressured her to take a drink, though. She hadn’t given in to their pressure to smoke either, even though she’d been scared when they’d tried to intimidate her.
Heading back to Denver a few weeks later, she’d moved on, but never really forgotten. Had he changed? Grown up into a decent, responsible person? Matured?
Now he was on the other side of the bar drinking top-shelf whiskey. And she couldn’t face him. Not yet.
“Evenin’, Trey.” They knew each other? How well? Wasn’t that interesting? Lisa glanced up at the man beside her.
He leaned against the bar, his arms outstretched, shifting smoothly as he made the drink without seeming to even think about it.
From down here, he looked incredibly tall. He wasn’t short by any stretch of the imagination, probably five-ten. His jeans were worn, and fit like they were tailored for him...
Okay, Lisa, get your eyes off him. Think about something else.
She needed to move away. But if she crawled away, Lance would see her. What would he think she was doing down here if she popped up like a jack-in-the-box? She was losing her mind...what was left of it.
“Hey, haven’t run into the old guys here for a while,” Lance said.
Old guys? That got her attention.
“Didn’t know you paid them much mind.” Why was Trey’s voice thick with his Southern accent all of a sudden? She’d heard it faintly last night, and had asked him where he was from. He’d reluctantly answered but hadn’t elaborated.
“Not usually.” Lance shifted on the other side of the bar. Was he leaning forward? She tried to melt into the back of the bar, scooting as far as she could beneath the shelf. “Just seems odd without them.”
“It’s a bit late for the older crowd.” Trey moved away from her, picking up dirty glasses from the other end of the bar. Was he trying to distract Lance?
“Yeah. Guess I have to learn about the habits of the elderly. You heard about the development project I’m working on?”
Development project? She listened harder.
“A little. Hap mentioned it.”
She made a mental note to ask Trey about that project.
“Hap?” Could she actually hear a frown? “Oh, yeah. One of the old guys.” Lance laughed. She heard the glass move against the wood surface. “He’s the one with the walker?”
“Yeah. Used to be mayor? Owns this place?” Trey clattered the glasses in the sink. “He and his wife are looking at the retirement villas.”
“Good. Good. They are going to be mighty nice. I tell you, the architects and designers outdid themselves.” Another slide of glass on the wood.
“One more? It’s last call, so this is the end of the night.”
“Sure. I’m staying over at The Guest House since I’m only here checking on the project.”
The Guest House? Lisa clapped her hand over her mouth to silence her gasp. She’d have to keep an eye out for him.
Trey made another drink, though he stood farther down the bar to do it. He didn’t slide it down to Lance, which made the other man either have to lean to get it or scoot a stool over. Lisa breathed a slow, silent, sigh of relief.
“Maybe I could come by when those guys are here?”
“Why?” Trey frowned.
“Oh, they’re my target customers. Maybe I could talk about the development. Get their backing.”
“Maybe.” Trey focused on wiping down the bar again. “They don’t have a regular schedule. You know. Retirees.” Why was Trey saying that? She could set a clock by those three and their eating and drinking habits—except lately, since her grandfather had been totally out of his routine.
“Yeah. Here’s my number.” The sound of the card stock snapping on the wood seemed loud. “Maybe give me a call if you see them come in. I’ll come over and chat up my project.”
Trey picked up the card, nodding as he read it. She watched, mesmerized, as he slid the card into his back pocket.
“I’ll keep it in mind.” His voice startled her.
“You do that.” The silence grew, and Lisa heard the clink of ice. The sound of the highball glass’s thick base returning to the bar top was loud in the nearly empty bar. “Thanks for the drinks. How much do I owe you?”
Trey stepped over to where she sat, and she nearly squealed as he stopped right in front of her. What had she been thinking,