Chapter 1
Meredith
“Scotch on the rocks.”
The man in front of me is tall, dark, and wildly handsome. He’s also someone I’ve never seen before.
“New in town?” I ask, raising an eyebrow. I know everyone in Claw Valley and this guy? He’s not from Claw Valley. A quick glance reveals neatly trimmed fingernails that are clean. Has he had a manicure recently? His haircut looks picture-perfect and it was probably expensive. It probably cost more than I make in a night.
Well, I’m the best bartender around, so maybe not.
The man looks at me and cocks his head. He seems to consider me before he gives his answer. That’s fine. There’s a lot to consider when it comes to me. I’m wearing my dark hair down and my bright red corset low. The tips are better that way, and I’m all about the tips. My jeans hug my every curve. Again, this was a conscious decision.
“Something like that,” he finally says.
“What brings you around?”
He leans forward, placing his elbows on the bar and his chin in his hands.
“What’s it to you?” He asks.
“It’s my job to keep tabs on this town,” I wink.
He chuckles and shakes his head.
“Claw Valley does seem like it’s a very close community.”
“That’s an understatement,” I mutter. I turn and start pouring his drink. I’m not the biggest fan of outsiders. Most people around here don’t like newbies at all. I’m no exception to that. Ever since my mother was killed by a stranger who moved to town, I’ve been a locals-only kind of girl.
Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Drinks-Scotch might change my mind,
though.
Finishing his drink, I come back and set it down in front of the man. He looks at me and nods toward the drink.
“How much do I owe you?”
“Five. Do you want to start a tab?”
“Five?” He raises an eyebrow. “That’s it?”
“It’s a small town bar, sir. I’m not sure what you’re used to paying, but you’re welcome to give me more if you like.”
He laughs and drops a twenty on the counter.
I turn to make him change but he stops me.
“Keep it,” he says.
“You want to start a tab?”
“No,” he says. “But consider it a thank-you.”
“For what?”
“Keeping me entertained,” he smiles. He raises his glass and lifts it to his mouth. What’s up with this guy? He’s not really what I expect from an outsider. For one, he’s quite the smooth-talker. He didn’t waltz into town and just start demanding information. He didn’t start bossing me around or telling me how things were going to work in my own bar. He’s just sitting here, carefully taking everything in.
Another patron comes in and before I turn to help them, I smile at the man.
“Enjoy your drink, and thank you for the tip.”
It’s a bit much, but it’s definitely going to make sure that I remember this guy. I move down to the end of the bar where there’s a tall, slender woman leaning on the bar. Her bright red hair falls in curls around her face.
“Foxy,” I say, grinning. “What’ll it be tonight?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” she twirls her hair in her fingers and jerks her head toward the man I was just chatting with. “How about a tall glass of that guy?”
I look over at the stranger. He’s carefully watching us. Why? He’s not looking at us in a creepy or perverted way. He just seems curious.
“He might be single,” I say. “I have no idea, but he did just give me a $15 tip on a $5 drink.”
“Damn.”
“Right?”