“Those are some tattoos,” he blurted out. “Very unusual.” He slid onto the stool next to her and gestured to Tyler, the bartender, to bring him his usual Samuel Adams, wishing he’d thought before he’d spoken. Nice opening line, McClellan. Smooth. What was it about this woman that turned him from a tough rural lawman into a babbling idiot?
Baba’s teeth gleamed in the dim light as she gave him the hint of a smile. “Thanks,” she said. “I’m quite fond of dragons.”
Liam had the feeling she was teasing him, but couldn’t figure out how. Then Tyler put Liam’s beer down with a foamy thud, and Liam decided he didn’t care.
Cool and slightly bitter, the first sip tasted like heaven and the second like wherever people in heaven went on vacation. “Ah,” he said with a sigh, “that’s better.”
“A good beer is one of the great blessings of the universe,” Baba agreed, taking another swallow of her own.
“You’ve got that right,” Liam said, making the “two more” gesture at Tyler when he could catch the bartender’s eye. The tall, skinny man with fading red hair moved so fast, pouring drinks and uncapping beer bottles, his hands were a blur of syncopated motion.
The tip jar in front of him held a mountain of change, and he smiled cheerfully all night long, no matter how rude or drunk anyone got. If they hadn’t attended the same grief support group for a couple of months, Liam would never have guessed that old sorrow wormed its way through Tyler’s bones like bindweed in a field of corn. Losing a child would do that to you. Liam knew that better than anyone.
“Here ya go, Sheriff,” Tyler said, full bottles dangling from one large, big-knuckled hand. He winked at Baba. “Nice to see you finally hanging around with a better class of people.”
Baba bit her lip, clearly amused.
Liam just rolled his eyes. “I’m a policeman. I usually spend my time with either criminals or lawyers. Hard not to improve on that company.”
The bartender grinned, working some sort of alchemical magic with orange juice, vodka, and about six other ingredients. “I heard there was a commotion over at the fracking meeting. Did somebody finally take a shot at Peter Callahan?” His freckled face looked mildly hopeful.
“Not this time,” Liam said. “Just high tempers getting the better of folks. No big deal.”
Tyler nodded and moved off, taking his potent elixir with him.
“You know that wasn’t just high tempers, right?” Baba asked, a serious look replacing her amusement at Tyler’s good-natured ribbing.
Liam sighed, draining the rest of his first beer and plunking the bottle back down on the bar. On the other side of the room, the band surged enthusiastically into an Elvis medley.
“We’re not going to be able to hear ourselves think in here,” he said. “I don’t suppose you play pool?”
One corner of Baba’s mouth edged up, and she put her own empty bottle down decisively next to his. “I have been known to knock a few balls around, from time to time,” she said. An evil glint flitted into her eyes and then vanished before he could be sure he’d actually seen it. “I find it mildly entertaining.”
They picked up their full beers and made their way through to the back room, where the repetitive clicking of hard-plastic balls could be heard over the blessedly muted noise from the front of the bar.
Liam grabbed a pool cue off the wall and racked the balls while Baba chose her stick. He pondered the many questions he’d like answers to, trying to figure out which one to start with—and whether there was any point in asking any of them, since his companion seemed as disinclined to give him straight answers as the wind was to blow on command.
He jiggled the rack a little until the balls were all sitting the way he liked them, then removed the white triangle and hung it back in its place on the wall. Across the table from him, Baba looked as cool and implacable as always.
“So,” Liam said, his tone studiously casual as he chalked the end of his cue. “How about some stakes to make things interesting?”
One dark eyebrow rose. “Gambling, Sheriff? I’m surprised at you.” She applied the blue cube of chalk to her cue, blowing the excess off with a gentle puff of breath that did risky things to the neckline of her top. “I’m afraid I’m not in the habit of carrying much cash.”
He shrugged. “I was thinking of something less tangible, actually, but more valuable to me. How about for every ball I sink, you give me an honest answer to whatever question I ask?”
The second brow rose to join the first. A slight rounding of her cheeks hinted at unexpressed mirth. “How very traditional of you. Questions. I truly dislike answering questions. Couldn’t we just play strip pool instead?” She eyed him pensively. “No? Too bad.”
The base of her stick tapped the floor as she thought briefly. “Very well. For every ball you sink, I will give you an honest answer. But in return, for every game I win, you will grant me one day of grace out at the meadow; no harassment, no poking around. Peace and quiet to do my work.”