“Bartender!” The man shouted. “This pretty gal down here looks thirsty.”

Catherine stole a quick peek at his chair and noticed there were no legs hanging from beneath the brown cardigan draped across his lap. She wondered what misfortune had scarred this poor man’s life, but before she could think about it further, she saw a long, tanned arm slide a cocktail napkin in front of her.

“Well, well…slumming it tonight?”

Catherine looked up. “Jake!” She tried to hide the sudden rush of pleasure she felt at seeing him, but she wasn’t sure she pulled it off. What was he doing behind the bar? His suit coat and tie were gone, shirtsleeves rolled to the elbow.

“What can I get you?” He was smiling coyly, probably relishing her discomfort, she thought, remembering her snobby remark about this place earlier. Determined to act as if this were any other night, that nothing unusual had happened, she forced a smile and answered his question.

“Something cold, wet and fattening. Surprise me.” Jake flashed the okay sign and left. She stared after him a moment, then looked back to the man in the chair. His forehead was creased with curiosity.

“You know Jake?” he asked. “Don’t remember seeing you here before.”

“I’m not what you’d call a regular.” She swiveled toward him, still a little rattled at finding Jake behind the bar. “We just sort of ran into each other earlier. He said he might stop off here, but I didn’t realize he had to work.”

“He doesn’t have to…he wants to.”

She was about to ask what he meant when Jake returned.

“Here you go. Baileys on the rocks.”

She took a generous taste, then rolled her tongue over her lips. “Mmmm…good stuff.” She stared into his dark eyes, trying to read what was behind them. “How did you know I’d like Baileys?”

“After you do this job for as many years as I have, you know.”

Jake wandered down to the other end of the bar and Catherine’s shoulders sagged. Great! She just got dumped by a successful lawyer and she can’t think of anyone she’d rather be with than a career bartender. What sick twist of fate brought her to these crossroads? Behind her, the fiddler went crazy while the female vocalist drawled her sad lament. Catherine swirled her ice cubes and stared into the milky brown liquid. Maybe coming here wasn’t a good idea after all.

“I thought Jake was at a wedding tonight,” the man next to her said.

Catherine kept her face forward and took another sip before answering. “He was. The party ended early.” She played with her straw, then bit the end of it. Maybe if she went outside and let out a primal scream she’d feel better.

“Oh…then you were there, too, huh?”

A low chuckle emerged from the back of her throat. “Oh, yeah…I was there.” For the first time she tried to picture Jake at the reception. She thought she remembered him dancing near her once with a much older woman. She rotated her stool, deciding to take her mind off herself and fish for a few details. “You seem to know a lot about Jake. Was that his mother with him at the wedding?”

The gray-haired man shook his head, the smile leaving his eyes. “Not likely!” After a slight lapse, he said, “You must be talking about his Aunt Helen.”

Jake called down from the other end, “Ready for another Coke, Sarge?”

“Sure. And bring another for…” He looked at her and cocked an eyebrow.

“Catherine…Catherine Mason,” she said and smiled.

“…bring another for Catherine here. She’s dry.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Catherine.” The fleeting distraction she’d seen in his eyes a moment earlier had vanished, the twinkle returned. “If I had a couple good legs, I’d ask you to dance. Used to be pretty good at the two-step. Can you two-step?”

She laughed. “Afraid not.” She shook her head and laughed again at the mere idea. Then without much forethought she heard herself broach the delicate subject, embarrassed before she opened her mouth, but liberated by the accumulative effects of champagne and Baileys. “Sarge. Take it your name means you were in the army?” He nodded and she braved the next question. “Is that how…?” She looked down at his chair, then quickly back to his face and its pragmatic expression.

“Vietnam…another lifetime ago.”

Jake reappeared with their drinks and for a brief moment she thought she saw a silent exchange between the two men. In a flash, Jake was busy with another customer, acting as though she didn’t exist.

“So, Catherine, what do you do for a living?” Just like that, the subject of the war was over and the focus was back on her.

“I’m a buyer for Mason’s.” It was definitely time to leave.

“Buyer of clothes?” He was reassessing what she wore now.

She thought of the store, then co-worker Mary Beth—her last-minute substitute bridesmaid. She leaned her elbows on the bar. “That and other things.”

“By the looks of it, I’d say you must do well at your job.” He drank more Coke, then looked at the dance floor. Suddenly he waved his arm high in the air and motioned someone over, a look of recognition lighting his lined face. “Charlie! How you doin’?” he shouted over the guitar twang.

A good-looking cowboy about Jake’s age sauntered over. Charlie patted Sarge on the back, then pumped his hand vigorously. “Doin’ fine, Sarge. And you?”

“Couldn’t be better.” He looked at Catherine and extended his arm. “This here is Catherine. She’s a friend of Jake’s.”

Before she could dispute the “friend of Jake’s” line, Charlie grabbed her hand and shook it, a little more gently, and said howdy.

Sarge asked, “Got a date tonight, Charlie?”

“Nah. Just me and the boys.”

“Then why don’t you show Catherine here howda two-step. Jake’s kinda busy and I’m not much fun.”

Charlie took a step closer. With a smile wider than Texas, he extended his hand, palm up, and said, “Love to!”

“Oh, no!” Catherine shook her head and her hair flew side to side. “I couldn’t, but thanks for the offer.”

Charlie looked down at her left hand. “I see.”

She followed his gaze, stopping at the new diamondstudded band sparkling on her third finger. The anger she’d been denying for more than an hour finally broke the surface. In one quick motion she jerked off the ring and shoved it in her pants pocket. When she looked up the men were exchanging a knowing look.

“It’s…it’s not what you think,” she stammered. Neither of them looked convinced, but she wasn’t about to explain. Instead she stood and pressed her fists to her thighs. It was time to move. One way or the other, she had to expel this mounting energy raging behind her ribs. Her gaze darted to the door, then to the bustling dance floor. This place might not be the answer, but it beat standing alone on Woodward Avenue after dark.

She looked back at Charlie with his thumbs hooked in his belt loops. He eyed her warily. She’d probably regret this in the morning, but what the hell. She could add it to the list. “Is that dance lesson still open?”

Jake watched the pair laughing and twirling around on the dance floor, a sense of déjà vu stabbing at his gut. They’d been at it now for over an hour. What was she trying to do? Rub it in his face? Tease and flaunt until he jumped over the bar, picked her up and carried her off kicking and screaming? He dried the same glass for the third time, then slammed it down on the counter.

Damn! What was the matter with him? He had no claim on this woman. Besides, she barely knew he was alive. She was simply here to forget her troubles like everyone else in the place. Under the circumstances how could he blame her?

The band took a break and Jake watched Catherine lead Charlie back to Sarge, who seemed to be having a vicarious good time. More than once since Catherine arrived, Jake thought about telling the old guy what happened to her tonight, but discretion won out.