Page 53 of Wild Highway (Runaway 2)

So I’d begged Katherine to make my excuses and because Carol was the type to come track me down at the cabin, I’d done what all grown-ups would do.

I got the hell off Greer property.

The moment my shift at the lodge had ended, I climbed in the Cadillac and drove into Clear River. Shopping at the small, local grocery store hadn’t taken me as long as I’d hoped. When there were only seven aisles, it didn’t take a long time to go up and down each. Twice.

So after loading up my foodstuffs, I’d decided to stop for a drink at the Clear River Bar.

I wasn’t the only one in need of a cocktail, judging by the crowded parking lot.

Trucks of varying makes and models had taken all but three open spaces. I eased the Cadillac in between a white Ford and a filthy black Chevy, then got out and hit the locks. A chocolate lab sitting shotgun in the Chevy stared me down as country music filled the air. The bar’s windows were crowded with neon beer signs, and the red tin siding had faded under years of brutal sunshine. A plastic, camo banner had been tied to the front of the building, advertising HUNTERS WELCOME in bright orang

e letters.

The smell of beer and stale cigarettes assaulted my nostrils when I opened the door and my eyes took a few moments to adjust to the dim light. Conversation seemed to halt as the whole room turned in their stools and chairs.

The bar was situated along one side of the room, and as I crossed the scuffed tile floor, heading for one of the only empty stools, most faces followed my path. I’d never felt so many eyes on my ass in my life.

Maybe a drink was a mistake.

It was only when I was on a stool, ass hidden, that the dull drum of conversation resumed, merging with the jukebox’s music from the corner.

“What can I get you?” the bartender asked, setting out a paper coaster. Besides me, she was the only female in the room.

“Do you have wine?”

She looked me up and down, leaning in to lower her voice. “Were you looking for the resort? Because I think you might be lost.”

“Nope, not headed for the resort.”

“Then you’ll be disappointed. All I have is a box of Franzia, vintage last month.”

I laughed. “Then how about a vodka soda with lemon?”

“That I can handle.” She smiled, then went to the other end of the bar, talking to a few other patrons while she mixed my drink. When she brought it back, she snagged a menu off the stack. “Cheeseburgers are on special tonight if you’re hungry.”

“Sold.”

“Fries?”

I nodded. “Please.”

“You got it.” She returned to her end of the bar, leaving me alone.

The two guys next to me were wrapped up in their conversation about politics and paid me no attention as I twirled the red straw in my glass, clinking the ice cubes and poking the lemon wedge. I sipped my drink slowly as I took in the room.

A lot of eyes flickered my way but none lingered too long. The man on the stool exactly opposite mine finished his beer, shook hands with the guy at his side, then waved goodbye to the bartender. As he opened the door to leave, another figure appeared beyond him.

His cowboy hat dipped as he exchanged greetings, then my stomach dropped.

Because I knew that hat.

Son of a bitch. How was I supposed to avoid Easton in a bar this size? Wasn’t he supposed to be at dinner?

He walked inside, scanning the room and lifting a hand to wave at a few tables. Then he walked to the bar, taking off his hat as he pulled out the stool that had just been vacated. He greeted the guy directly on his left, then grinned at the bartender as she approached.

Easton’s gaze drifted past her and when he spotted me, the grin dropped.

Ouch.