Harmonized (10 page)

Thank you to Tracy Howard for spending time on your birthday to research salt-wasting CAH. I couldn't have made little Wesley's condition as realistic without your guidance.

Wendy LaCapra, Valerie Bowman, Kim Kenealy, and Chris Behre, Jr.: Thank you so much for beta reading this novella during a time crunch. Your smart critiques were invaluable.

Thank you to Tracey Livesay and Alleyne Dickens for the write-ins at the L.E. Smoot Memorial Library.

To Indy and the Captain—you are my world.

Finally, any errors in this story were my own and sometimes completely intentional.

Keep reading for a preview of the next Tidewater novel

ENERGIZED

Coming August 2015

December

Fincastle, Ohio

“Lover, friend, or family?”

Niall Graham looked from the glass of tepid beer he wasn't drinking and into the golden-hazel eyes of the pretty, young bartender. Her long hair, the same color as her eyes, hung in ringlets to her breasts, except for one long pink braid that trailed from behind her left ear. In jeans and a black T-shirt, she looked young and fresh and hopeful. Everything he wasn't.

Pulling a stained white towel off the black apron tied at her tiny waist, she wiped down the bar. Her voluptuous breasts bounced jauntily in front of him, jiggling the white letters on her shirt.

Keep calm and carry . . .

He couldn't make out the rest of the words on her there-IS-a-God tight shirt. The letters disappeared beneath her curves. He must have stared at her chest too long because she folded her arms on the bar blocking his view. He whipped his gaze to hers.

“That wasn't an invitation.” She winked and settled her chin on her hand, giving him a sympathetic smile. “I was asking if it was a lover, friend, or family member on your mind. It's gotta be one of the three. Only they can make someone sit unmoving on a stool for four hours straight in a bar and
not
drink. You've been nursing that same beer since I served it to you at ten. Either you like your barley and hops the temperature and flavor of lukewarm bathwater or something else drove you to sit silently at my bar until past closing.”

Niall glanced around. Cheap tinsel and garish colored lights were strewn over every available space of the dark, wood interior until the bar looked like some warped version of a Tim Burton Christmas special. Dreary with a touch of hopeless wistfulness. It suited Niall's mood perfectly.

Another bar, the one attached to the hotel where he was lodged for the night, had been noisy and crowded. For hours, he'd sat trying to drown out the noise of the patrons at Molloy's Pub next door. The locals were throwing an old-fashioned Irish wake. When the noise shifted to depressing songs about fallen heroes, Niall had escaped.

After walking for fifteen minutes on the deserted street, he found himself outside a bar called Heaven's Gate. The door swung open. A stringy man wearing a baggy Santa suit stumbled out and fell into the bushes on the side of the building. He popped back up as if on a spring, puked noisily, then sauntered up the street in the careful way drunks do when trying desperately to prove they're sober.

Despite the inebriated Santa, or maybe because of him, Niall stared at the bar in wonder. It gleamed under a single light post at the town's main intersection. Someone had recently painted a logo on the door. With its tilted golden halo dangling from the tip of a red and black pitchfork it seemed to beckon him.

Perhaps, this gate will let me in.

Heaven's Gate had been mostly empty. Plenty of room to move. Not that he'd done anything except sit. And sit. And sit more. Around him patrons drank, laughed, paired off, and stumbled out. He was only twenty-eight, but Niall didn't have the energy to talk, to move, to drink.

Christ he was so fucking tired. Tired of traveling. Tired of the Marines. Tired of life.

“Hey there, where'd you go?” The bartender touched his hand. Her cool fingers whispered across his skin. Something warm and gentle tugged deep in his chest. Her touch, though brief, was a balm to his battered soul. He looked into her eyes and they fucking twinkled. And he felt ancient.

But he didn't want to look away from the first smiling face he'd seen in months that reminded him of home.

“Hiya, I'm Hannah. What's your name, soldier?”

“I'm a Marine, not a soldier,” he retorted out of habit, but couldn't stop his grin at her spritely chatter.

“Pardon the insult, Marine.” She saluted him quickly then leaned against the bar again.

Normally civilians who gave mock salutes annoyed him. He wasn't annoyed by this woman. He was . . . charmed. A surprised chuckle escaped him. “None taken. And it's Niall.”

“Niall.” She rolled the word on her tongue like she was tasting it. Tasting him.

An odd sexual dip hit him low in the belly. He'd been empty for so long, he'd practically forgotten what arousal felt like. He glanced at her smiling face again. She wasn't classically beautiful. Her eyes were almost too big for her face. Her nose was slightly off center. Her mouth appeared to be smiling, even when she spoke. Certainly not the smoldering, pouty look of a model, yet it all added up to make her remarkably pretty.

“Tell you what, Niall,” she said, patting his hand and straightening. “Since you seem to want quiet, I'll give it to you. I'm going to clean up because I'd like to close the bar. You go right on sitting there. Not drinking your beer.”

She winked again and went to work. He watched her move around the room, stacking chairs on tables.

The place was completely empty, save the two of them. He should go back to his hotel. But, then she'd be here all alone. No doubt she'd closed the bar at night before, but did she often have strange men in there alone with her? Her lack of concern for her own safety had him sliding off the stool and crossing to her.

“Hannah.”

“So you do want to talk.” She met his gaze, a grin widening her mouth. She flipped over the armless wooden chair and slid it onto the cracked table. “The doctor is in. That'll be five cents, please.”

“Five cents?” He froze midstep. With another chair in her hands, she laughed. “Haven't you ever seen Charlie Brown?”

It took him a moment. “So does that make you Lucy?”

“I seem to be tonight. Did you know that Santa has a drinking problem and he's a bit of a horndog too?” She slid the chair onto the tabletop. Her laughter rang through the empty bar like wind chimes. Low and musical.

“Yes. I witnessed his little alcohol issue when I arrived. He stumbled outside and planted face-first into the bushes.”

Her smile vanished. “Is Mr. Landsdowne still out there?”

She started for the door, but Niall caught her elbow. Her breasts brushed against his arm, making the hair on his arm stand on end. He had to clear his throat once to make his voice work. “No, he recovered quickly and headed north on the street. No doubt to find his bag and deliver toys.”

Hannah blew out a relieved breath, her breasts connecting with Niall's arm again. Christ, it had been a long time since he'd been with a woman if this innocent touch had his balls aching. Releasing her, he stepped back and tucked his hands at the small of his back.

She patted him on the arm. “At ease, Marine.”

He laughed at himself. Technically, he was standing at ease and let his arms fall to his sides.

Hannah had already stacked another set of chairs before he remembered his concern. He followed her to one of the dozen small square laminate tables, spread out in a semicircle around the twin pool tables. “Isn't this dangerous?”

She upended the chair in her hands and slid onto the tabletop. “Not the way I do it.”

Niall copied her move with the next chair. Side by side, he towered over her. He was bigger than the average American man, but not by much. He'd bulked up in the Marines. Still, Hannah was a tiny thing that barely reached his shoulder.

“No ma'am, I can see you can handle a bar chair with the best of 'em.”

“That's me all over. Champion bar stool flipper.” She lifted the chair in her hands and deftly slid it onto the table. “And seriously, lighten
up
with the ma'am thing. This is Fincastle. You only say ma'am if you're talking to the minister's wife, bagging groceries, or doing it with a domme.”

Niall dropped the chair in his hands. It hit the floor with a clatter.

Hannah laughed. Her body shook and her cheeks were scarlet. “Just seeing if you were listening.”

“Yes ma— Hannah.”

She sidled past him to the next table and Niall caught a whiff of her hair. Despite working in a bar that stank of stale beer and old smoke, Hannah smelled like honeysuckles. It reminded him of Tidewater, Virginia, in the spring. A pang of homesickness struck him.

“Isn't it dangerous for you to be alone in the bar with a stranger?” he asked, shoving aside thoughts of home and continuing to help her stack chairs.

“There's always one person left in the bar when I close. Usually, it's a friend or neighbor.” She shrugged, finished another table, and moved on. “Besides, you're harmless.”

That stopped him. “I'm a Marine. We're not known for being pussies.” His cheeks burned. “Excuse my language, ma'am.”

“No more
ma'am
. I'm not the minister's wife and you're not bagging my groceries.”

His heart tripped in his chest at what she didn't say. Too stunned to do more than stare at the brazen fairylike woman, Niall held the chair aloft.

“I'm not a domme either.” She winked and slid the chair from his hands. Setting it aside, she closed the distance between them, and patted his bicep. “Okay, Marine. You're not exactly harmless. But I'm safe with you.”

“What makes you so sure of that?” Fuck this was a small town, when a woman would not worry about being alone with a strange man at two in the morning. “You don't know anything about me. I could be a serial killer or something.”

She arched a single brow at him and folded her arms. “Are you a serial killer?”

“No, but that's not the point.” Why did he care? Why was he even having this conversation? He should go back to his hotel or just haul ass out of this pissant town. He'd done his duty by attending the funeral of a fellow Marine, now he should just leave. But she was looking at him with such amused defiance on her face he heard himself say, “You seem like a sweet girl and just the type a sick bastard would seek out so he could destroy her innocence.”

Her smile faded, but didn't quite vanish. “First, I'm not a girl nor innocent. Hello! Bartender, here. Second, you've got a pretty jaded view of life, even for a Marine.” He opened his mouth to reply but she held up her hand and continued talking. “And third, I'm not afraid of you because you dropped your keys a couple hours ago.”

“My keys?”

She nodded, her tawny curls bobbing. “Yeah. I handed them back to you right after you didn't drink the beer I set down in front of you.”

She grinned again and this time her whole face lit with delight.

Niall tugged his keys out of his pocket. They looked average. His mother's house key, the key to the restaurant his family owned, and a key to the car he'd rented when he'd driven in from Columbus yesterday.

She held out her hand. “Give me your keys.”

“I'm not drunk.”

“Again, bartender! I know you haven't had a drink all night. It's my job to pay attention to the clientele. I also know you aren't an alcoholic because while you didn't drink, you also didn't stare at the beer with lust or hatred. You wanted to be alone and weren't waiting for anyone because you never once looked at the door tonight. And you aren't married or if you are, you never wear a ring. No tan line on your ring finger.”

“You're very observant. I'm not married. Not dating.” Was she digging for information? A little unnerved and a lot flattered by her accurate assessment, he decided to turn the tables on her. “What about you? Boyfriend? Husband? Pet dog?”

“Nope. Single city for me. Not even a Fido to call my own.” She wriggled her fingers. “You gonna hand me those keys?”

Intrigued, he surrendered them. She closed her fist around the metal key ring and shut her eyes. Her brows knit as if in concentration. The room went unearthly quiet.

She shivered then she shoved the keys back at him. He had to grab them quickly or they'd have hit the ground.

For a moment, her tawny-colored eyes were a bit unfocused and her lips moved but no sound came out. Then her eyes cleared and she stepped back.

“Whoa, you've got a lot going on in that noggin of yours, Marine.” Tossing her hair back over her shoulders, she tugged at the front of her shirt, holding it out so he could read it. “But to answer your question, it says, Keep calm and carry condoms.”

Heat pulsed from his heart to his dick and back again. But a sliver of foreboding cooled his lust.

Ah, Christ, she thinks she's a psychic.

And here he'd assumed he'd left that behind in Tidewater. His hometown seemed full to bursting with people claiming to have some sort of gift or curse or crift or what-the-fuck-ever.

“You trying to tell me you read my mind? I think it's more you saw me trying to read your shirt.”

“I don't read minds.” Sighing, she moved past him and continued setting chairs on the last two tables. “I figured you were staring at my breasts. It happens a lot in the bar. I mostly ignore ogling, unless some yahoo tries to find out if they're real.”

Niall double-timed it after her, his jaw slack. “Are you saying guys ask if you have . . . you know?”

“Implants?” She snorted. “You know for a Marine who says
pussy
, you probably shouldn't shy away from an innocuous non-curse word like
implants
.

“Yeah, every time some lost tourist looking for Columbus stumbles into the bar, I get asked if my breasts are real. And more. One guy said he needed proof . . .
after
he shoved a twenty down my top and copped a feel along the way.”

“I hope you punched the holy shit—um excuse me. Knocked the holy heck out of him.” Again, Niall was struck by her size. She was barely five-foot. Eccentric or not, what was she doing working in a bar by herself at night?

“No, I didn't hit him. However, I did tell him the twenty lodged in my bra was my tip and he still owed me for his beer. He didn't really argue. Granted, he'd sort of tripped over my knee in his crotch at the time.” She turned and cast a sly glance over her shoulder. “Then I had my friend the sheriff escort him to jail for assault.”