He'd been flirting with her through one beer, which he'd drunk slowly in order to give himself time to assess the place and its clientele. After gauging all the customers who'd come in for happy hour, he'd decided that the woman pouring the drinks was probably his best prospect.
She was forty-something and looked every day of it. Her face had lived through some hard times and harsh disappointments, and in her eyes was a sad resignation. But she had a naturally warm smile, and she was generous with it. Everyone who came in, men and women alike, addressed her by name, and she seemed to know their preferred drinks and everything else about them. He'd overheard her asking about a new job, a fishing expedition, elderly parents, a child in crisis, and a lame horse.
When she'd turned the bar over to a younger man so she could take a break, Dodge had followed her past the restrooms, down a short hallway, and out a back exit.
Now that their cigarettes were smoldering, she lifted the hair off the back of her neck and held it up, creating a provocative pose and extending an open invitation for Dodge to enjoy the view, which wasn't bad.
"I'm Grace."
"Dodge."
"Hi, Dodge."
"Hi, Grace."
They smiled at each other. She lowered her arm and let her hair fall back into place. "If you lived in Merritt, I'd know it."
"Atlanta."
"Texas?"
"Georgia."
"No fooling? You're a long way from home then. What do you do there?"
"A little of this, little of that."
She gave him a smile that said, I've got your number. "A man of mystery."
"Me? Shucks, no, ma'am."
She laughed at his b.s. "What brings you to southeast Texas?"
He embroidered a story about possibly relocating to Houston. "My brother is pressuring me to partner with him on a business deal. It's a good opportunity, and there's nothing keeping me in Atlanta, so I'm giving it serious consideration. But I can't take the city--or my brother, for that matter--all the time. I figure if I make the move, I'll need a getaway. Nothing fancy. Just a place to escape to on the weekends. Get in some fishing. Commune with nature." His smile would have melted butter. "This town looks like a good place for kicking back."
"Well, you're right about that. The population triples just about every weekend, but particularly in the spring and summer."
"What's the second-home market like? Is it favoring sellers or buyers?"
"Hell if I'd know," she said around a smoker's laugh. She dropped her cigarette butt to the pavement and ground it out with the toe of her shoe. "I can't afford a first home, much less a second."
"I've seen a lot of For Sale signs around. Green. Little crown."
"Caroline King. She's the big-shot realtor around here."
He held a light to her second cigarette. "A big shot sounds too rich for my blood."
She exhaled, shaking her head. "She handles big, small, whatever. Nice lady, too."
"You've done business with her?"
"Maybe if I won the lottery." She guffawed. "I know her to speak to, though. She comes into the bar occasionally. Sometimes with clients to have a glass of wine while talking over a contract. A few weeks ago she had a younger woman with her that she introduced as her daughter. I'd heard her daughter was staying with her for the summer, but that's the first time I'd seen her in town. Ms. King's house is out at the lake. They had some trouble out there last night."
"Trouble?"
"A shooting."
He pretended to choke on his smoke. "Shooting?"