Record of Wrongs (Redemption County Book 1) Read online

  She’d give it ten more minutes before she checked on the tables or peeked to see if George’s wings finished up. She started to wipe down a section of bar—

  Whoa.

  Her mind and body stopped. Froze. Her mouth may have dropped open. Because walking toward the bar, cutting a path through the busy country cacophony, was a dark force of nature.

  Tall, with a black T-shirt and dark jeans, a man moved toward her from the middle of the crowd. As effortlessly as a wolf on the hunt, he prowled toward her. Purposefully. Powerfully. He had short dark hair that looked like it didn’t want to stay put, and a picture-perfect square jaw. She couldn’t tell what color his eyes were but right now, that wasn’t what riveted her.

  Instead, she was drawn to the riot of ink decorating both his arms, from wrist to the thick biceps that were only partially hidden by his short sleeves. As he drew closer, she could make out the well-defined muscles of his chest and shoulders, straining against his shirt. If don’t mess with me was an adjective, that would be this guy, in one thought.

  He reached the bar and set his hands on the rounded edge, leveling her with the hint of smile that she couldn’t tell was real or not. Careful, her instincts screamed in a silent stereotype. But screw her instincts. They’d been wrong too many times to count. And he was staring right at her.

  “Can I—” Her voice came out half cough, half squeak. What the hell? She cleared her throat. “Can I help you?” Which table had he come from? Why hadn’t she seen him come in? He was arrestingly handsome, with high cheekbones and chest muscles that pushed against the cotton of his tee.

  He raised one brow. “Waiting on a drink. It’s been a while and I don’t see the waitress.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry about that. What’ll you have?” Crap. How had Brenda not told her this guy was waiting for a drink? Then again, she’d been so distracted, how could Rosie blame her…

  “A shot of Jack.” He slid onto a stool.

  “I can bring it to your table,” she said, reaching for a glass. “I’m sorry about the delay. We’re a bit short-staffed tonight.”

  “Nah. Think I’ll stay here.” He regarded her with eyes that were light in color but intense beyond anything she’d seen before.

  Like no one was going to get him back to his table until he was good and ready. His tone, like his eyes, stayed laid-back yet unwavering.

  “Okay. Coming right up.” She smiled, forcing her eyes to stay on his face and not on at his tattoos. It looked like he had one large design on each arm, then more higher up…and geez, so much for trying not to stare.

  The rest of the place faded to the back of her mind as she turned and poured his drink. Who was he? No one in Sundown looked like him. Sure, some of the guys had ink, but not like this.

  Rosie set the glass filled with amber liquid down in front of him. She wiped down the already immaculate spot next to him. “Is this your first time at the Sundown Bar and Grille?”

  He leaned forward, elbows on the bar, and the muscles in those forearms flexed, drawing her eyes to script in a foreign language.

  “Yep.” He surveyed the rest of the bar patrons, not in a casual way. More in a calculating way, though calculating what, she wasn’t sure. “Nice little place.”

  “You visiting?” she murmured, tilting her head and trying to sound like she was making the most casual conversation in the world. Not prying into the life of the tall dark stranger. Nope, not her.

  “No.” His lips twitched in the start of a smile and wow, he had nice lips, the lower one fuller than the top. “Looks like I’m staying.”

  “Really?” She couldn’t hide her surprise. No one moved to Sundown—they usually moved away. “Wow, that’s great! Welcome to the home of the most winning state title high school football team in the 1970s.”

  She instantly winced. That sounded so lame. But it was plastered on the two “Welcome to Sundown” signs on the rural road on the east and west sides of town. Their dubious claim to fame.

  He chuckled. “That was a long time ago.”

  “Yeah.” She wanted to smack her forehead. “Anyway, nice to meet you. I’m Rosie.”

  “Hi, Rosie.” The hint of a smile bloomed into a grin, making her freeze all over again. God. It melted away some of his intensity and brought on a tummy flip. He extended a hand. “I’m Cruz.”

  That was a new name. “Hi, Cruz.” She took his hand, which engulfed hers in warm rough skin and a grip that conveyed controlled strength. The tension in his fingers told her he could squeeze someone’s hand much, much harder. “Where are you from?”

  “Chicago.”

  “Ah, the big city.” Not only did people not move to Sundown, they especially didn’t move here from urban areas. If anything, they moved from other neighboring towns. “Must be quite a change.”

  “You can say that again.” He chuckled. “Think it’ll take some getting used to, but it’ll be good.”

  “Ro, when ya got a minute.” Gene walked up next to Cruz and laid a hand on the bar. “One more refill. No rush.”

  “Oh gosh. Sorry Gene. I’ll get that now.”

  “Take yer time.” Gene patted the bar twice and ambled back to his seat next to his brother, Howard.

  “I’ll let you get back to work,” Cruz said. “May as well watch the Cubbies try and kick some ass.”

  “You best be careful—we’re close enough to Saint Louis to have our fair share of Cardinals fans.” She smiled as she grabbed glasses for Gene and Howard. “I’ll be back.”

  Chapter 2

  Cruz settled on the bar stool that was way more comfortable than a stool should be and pretended to watch the baseball game. How in the hell had he been in this room for ninety minutes and not noticed Rosie? Sure he’d seen flashes of blond hair and knew, logically, there was a person working the bar—but he’d been chilling with the guys from work and they had a different waitress.

  Who was nowhere to be found, and thank god, because he may not have gotten off his ass and met this girl.

  Rosie.

  In Sundown, Illinois, population a whopping 782. There was something so damn quaint about it that it felt like an out of body experience.

  He’d been there a week and it was like stepping into a different world. So far from Chicago’s gritty streets, from his neighborhood with playgrounds that weren’t safe for kids and houses that were separated by gangways two feet wide.

  Here, where he’d never seen so much horizon filled only with fields and clouds. The only things punching upward from the very green earth were trees. And here, where a stranger in an oncoming car on a two lane road would wave as he passed.

  Wave? Cruz shook his head. Still couldn’t get over it. No one back home did that. It would be as foreign as a beat cop sprouting fairy wings.

  Rosie though, hustled behind the bar like she owned it. He paused. Maybe she did. His days of assuming anything about anybody were long over.

  Honey blond hair cascaded down her back in a mix of waves and straight. She was shorter than he but not tiny, and when she’d looked him in the eye he’d given in to the urge to stare. Just for a second. Because her eyes were as blue as the damn sky down here in the country, and didn’t that sound like the sappiest shit he’d ever thought.

  Black pants hugged slender legs, and her black T-shirt dipped to a V in front. Enough to glimpse the upper curve of breasts that weren’t too big or too small, but that bounced as she moved effortlessly between the different segments of the bar. It was damn hard not to stare at her, especially after she’d talked with that sweet soft drawl and had tried hard not to gawk at his arms.

  He wasn’t in Sundown for her, or any woman. He should get up, go back to his crew, and leave when they were ready.

  A good man would. But Cruz was far from good.

  “Here you go, guys,” Rosie said as she set two draft beers down by the customer
who’d been waiting. She glanced up at the television. “Gene, look—you‘re bringing your Cards some luck tonight!”

  “Ain’t gonna last,” the other man said. “I ain’t losing to this guy again.”

  “Shit, you just keep praying, brother,” the man called Gene said good-naturedly.

  “Rosie, order up.” A portly man with frizzy gray hair poked his head out from a hallway behind the bar.

  “Oh thanks!” She ducked into the back, then emerged carrying a tray laden with the wings Cruz had seen being served all night long. She zipped out to the tables, passing out food and smiling like it was no big deal that she was probably doing three people’s jobs.

  Returning with her tray empty, she smiled at Cruz as she passed. “You good?”

  “Yeah.” He hadn’t touched his drink. The desire for the burn of whiskey had faded, replaced by intrigue with the pretty bartender with the perfect country name from the perfect small rural town. And he shouldn’t be intrigued. He didn’t know anything about her. She may have a boyfriend—though he hadn’t spotted any rings on her fingers. She may be crazy—though she seemed perfectly calm in this busy place. “Are you? You’re shorthanded.”

  “Oh, I’m fine. We’re in the final hour anyw—”

  “Hey!” a harsh male shout carried form the end of the bar opposite Gene and his baseball game. “Can we get some service over here?”

  A group of three guys who seemed barely old enough to drink sat scowling, empty shot glasses in front of them. Cruz had seen them arrive a while ago, an air of entitlement rolling in with them. They wore polo shirts and boat shoes and haircuts that said they cared too much about their appearance.

  Rosie didn’t blink, just walked over toward them with a smile. “What can I get you?”

  “Three drafts. As soon as you can move that ass.” He glared, while his friends smirked.

  Cocksuckers. Cruz knew zip about them but that last statement stirred his anger. Keeping his face neutral, a skill he’d had to perfect over the last ten years, he studied each one. They weren’t muscular. All had their phones out. All wore expressions that said they thought they were smarter than everyone else in the bar.

  “You got it. “ Rosie cleared their empty glasses as if they hadn’t been rude. She had to step close to Cruz to fill their beer glasses from the tap. Her face was calm, not riled. Did it not bother her to get talked to like that? Was she used to it? Did this happen all the time?

  Cruz gritted his teeth, not liking any of the above. “They come here often?” he asked quietly.

  “No, never seen ’em before,” she murmured, filling the first glass. “I’m guessing they’re college kids from the next town over. Sometimes they want a change of pace as far as bars, and the wings here have quite a reputation.”

  “They’re assholes.”

  “Yeah. We get that type in here.” She shrugged. “They’re still customers.”

  “And you’re a woman, not a fucking servant.”

  She met his gaze with steady eyes that said she’d seen all kinds of people sitting on the other side of her bar. “They come, they go. Never the same group twice. As long as they pay and don’t break anything, I can handle it.”

  He drummed his fingers on the bar, not liking it. Then again…what the hell. He’d just met her, and she was obviously used to it. ”All right. You’re not bothered, okay. I won’t be. I’m the new guy. Looks like you got it under control.”

  “I do.” She winked. “Thanks for sayin’ that though.” She filled the last glass and delivered them to the trio.

  Only one had the courtesy to thank her.

  Something clicked in Cruz’s mind. An instinct, or a recognition of something ugly. He didn’t dwell on the dynamics of it. But in that instant he resolved to not leave the Sundown Bar and Grille until these three dickheads did. Catching Rosie’s eye, he gave her a chin lift. “Be right back.”

  “Sure thing.” She rounded the bar to head to the tables.

  Cruz ambled back to his buddies. Guys he’d known a week, but seemed like good people. They worked on the road construction crew where the owner hadn’t had a problem hiring Cruz. “Don’t care where you been, boy,” Palmer, his boss, had grunted. “You got a strong back. You keep your head down, stay outta trouble, and put in your hours. You manage that? You got a job here.”

  “Cruz.” Julio drew out the “u”, which was funny, because Cruz’s friends from school had done that. “We thought we lost you.”

  “This place isn’t big enough to get lost in, man.” Cruz took cash from his wallet and tossed it down. “I’m gonna wrap things up at the bar.”

  “Talking to Rosie, eh?” Matt’s eyes drifted from their beers to Rosie.

  “Yeah.”

  “Good luck.” His friend gave a half snort.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Man, I could never get her to go out with me in high school.”

  “Maybe she didn’t want to date your ugly mug,” Julio snickered.

  “Says the man with no dates coming up.” Matt wadded a napkin and chucked it at Julio.

  “I’d rather have my freedom.” Julio laughed and caught the thing before it hit the ground. “But yeah, talk to her. Just don’t get mad if she don’t give you her number.”

  Cruz scowled. “Thanks for the votes of confidence. See you guys Monday.”

  They waved and turned back to one of the four television screens around the room. Cruz walked back to the bar, only to have Rosie zip in front of him carrying six empty red plastic baskets, the evidence that they once held wings clear from the barbeque sauce on the paper liners. She strode with quick confident steps, long legs, perfect ass…

  Cruz tore his eyes from Rosie’s sexy rear view. All the vibes he got from her were good. Positive. Genuine. He shook his head, reminding himself he’d just met her, for Christ sake.

  His people-judging instincts had been honed over the years. Had to be—a matter of survival when everyone around him wanted something and would’ve been happy to see him suffer.

  Rosie disappeared into the back and Cruz scanned the bar. Huey, Dewey, and Louie had left. Thank fuck. Best take their preppy, privileged asses back to whatever stinking fraternity house their parents paid for them to live at.

  He settled on his stool as patrons pulled out cash and dropped it on their tables. Group by group, the Grille cleared out. Even Gene and his brother left, still arguing over who owed who more money from baseball bets.

  “Not thirsty after all?” Rosie paused as she swept by, straightening up, blue eyes playfully questioning.

  He took a greedy second to soak up those baby blues. Long dark lashes. Perfect skin. “Changed my mind.”

  She shrugged and reached for the glass. “Nothing wrong with that. Care for a water or soda?”

  “No. I’m good.” Shit. He hated that phrase. It was what people said. But it was a lie coming from his mouth.

  “We close in ten minutes.” She leaned close and lowered her voice. “The owner’s pretty strict about that.”

  Her perfume wafted across the bar, invading his nose with temptation. He could reach for her, pull her close enough to taste those plump red lips… and shit, he needed to cool the fuck down. Last he heard, girls didn’t appreciate being grabbed and kissed by some dude they just met.

  “Cruz?” she murmured.

  Damn. Busted. “Yeah. Sorry. I’ll get out of your way. Nice meeting you, Rosie.”

  “Same to you.” She tilted her head. “Come by again. Don’t be a stranger.”

  “You got it.” He walked out into the warm night. Not quite hot yet, spring had finally succeeded in pushing winter aside and the air was perfect. Clouds obscured the millions of stars that were so plentiful here—another thing to get used to. In the city, he could occasionally make out the Big Dipper. Sometimes not even that.

/>   He walked to his truck, a slightly used black Chevy that nonetheless was new to him, and one of only a few possessions he’d acquired in the last decade. He cranked the 420 horsepower engine to life and paused, not ready to drive away. His sixth sense had him edgy with the need to make sure this night moved smoothly into dawn. A lingering unease pricked at the border of his mind. Maybe it was nothing. But he’d stay. Not being stalkerish. Just keeping an eye on things.

  His truck was the only vehicle visible in the lot—but he guessed employee parking was in the back. Hang out there? Now that might be stalkerish. He’d give it a little while. All the folks inside had to clean up, count money, do whatever they did to close up a restaurant. Cruz pulled out his phone and settled back to wait.

  Chapter 3

  Rosie opened the industrial dishwasher and started putting clean beer and shot glasses away, mortified at herself. Had she really, practically begged Cruz to come back? After stealing constant glimpses of him like a swoony teenager? Nice going. He probably thought she was a naïve country hick—if he thought about her at all.

  She wiped a forearm across her brow, hot from the dishwasher steam. Oh well. At least he’d been polite. Those three other guys had barely left a tip, on top of being rude.

  Bar straightened, she peeked into the kitchen. George had it spotless, save for one burner he stood in front of, dancing his personal version of the twist. Oldies music played on the CD player he insisted on having in the room, while he stirred a large silver pot. “George, go on home already.”

  “No, you go on, Ro. I’m working on a new version of the wing sauce. No—none of that.” He held up a hand at her dropped jaw. “I’m not changing the tried and true recipe. Just working on a seasonal version.”

  “Whew. You scared me for a minute. Don’t you ever change that one!”

  George waved and dipped a spoon to taste his concoction. Rosie moved down the back hall and knocked on Owen’s door. Normally, he’d help out on a short-staffed night like this, but the owners were auditing all their properties and he had to fill out dozens of reports. Even now, he looked miserable, slouched over three open notebooks.