All the Right Moves

chapter 3

CASSIE SNAPPED HER GAZE BACK for a second look. He’d been sitting there a moment ago. His mug was almost full. Even though she didn’t think he was the type to mingle, she scanned the room.

It was crowded, but no John among the other customers.

She saw that his stool had been pushed close to the bar. That was something she and Lisa did after everyone left for the night. When people went to the bathroom or stepped away, they left their stool right where it was, even if it had landed in the middle of the room.

“Lisa, did you see the flyboy leave?”

“No, but I wasn’t paying attention. He didn’t skip out on his tab, did he?”

Cassie leaned over the bar as far as she could to see in the back. Nothing. “What?”

“Look.” Lisa pointed. “There’s money under his mug.”

Disappointment welled in her chest. She shouldn’t care that he’d gone. She should be glad. Yes, he was hot and had a nice laugh, great eyes. But he stared too much and made her self-conscious. Still, couldn’t he have finished his beer and waited for his bill? Maybe said goodbye? They’d talked a little.

She grabbed a damp rag on her way to collect the cash and wipe the bar. “Whoa,” she muttered when she saw what he’d left. The tab was only seven bucks even counting the scotch. He’d left forty. She grabbed the bills and hurried out the front door.

In the crowded parking lot, she recognized half the cars, but mostly she was looking for taillights. Was she being too optimistic? She could’ve sworn he’d still been inside a few minutes ago.

Some customers parked on the street when only narrow stalls were left in the lot. Of course he’d come in early but she walked to the road anyway. She spotted him then, pulling away from the curb. Well, she didn’t see him precisely, but that silver Corvette? Had to be John.

Knowing it was useless because he was too far away, she lifted a hand just in case. Because the tip was too big, and she had to at least try....

Of course, he drove off. Not that it mattered. As she hurried back to the bar she gave herself a good mental shake. Why did she give a damn that he’d given her a huge tip? Or that she’d never see him again. First of all, she didn’t date, and if she did, she didn’t date customers. Second, he was so far out of her league he might as well be headed for Mars.

Stopping at the door, she readjusted her ponytail, then walked back inside as she stuffed the twenties into her pocket.

Lisa stood behind the bar filling her own order. “What was that about?”

Cassie moved in to take over. “The pilot forgot his change.”

“Did you catch him?”

“Nope. I was too late. Did Gordon ask for another one?” Cassie focused on filling the next order, wishing Lisa would go deliver her drinks.

“No, he’s fine.” She went around to the other side of the bar. “How much too much?”

“Thirty-three bucks.”

Lisa let out a low whistle. “Good job. I saw you chatting him up.”

She snorted. “I took him a beer. That’s it.”

“You were talking earlier....”

“If you say so. I don’t remember.” Cassie felt the heat in her cheeks and crouched to get a bowl of maraschino cherries out of the fridge. She took her time, but when she straightened, Lisa was still there.

“So...he’s military, right?”

“I don’t know,” Cassie said, not bothering to hide her annoyance. “Would you please get these drinks out of here?”

Lisa picked up her tray. Grinning, she gave Cassie a long, amused look. “I hope he comes back.”

“Don’t hold your breath.”

“A dollar says he does.”

“You’re on.” Cassie kept her head down until she knew Lisa was gone.

Her friend had the wrong idea. Cassie was relieved he’d taken off. Now she didn’t have to worry about Tommy noticing him and making a crack about officers. In an hour the after-work crowd would thin and maybe she’d have a few minutes to study. If John had stayed, her work would’ve remained buried under the stack of clean rags.

Besides, she knew better than to fall for unattainable men. That way lay madness. She had a degree to finish. Here at the Gold Strike her world was safe and predictable. Being a bartender gave her what passed for a social life and put money in her pocket. It was all good.

* * *

YAWNING, JOHN FLIPPED the switch on the coffeemaker. It was programmed to start brewing at five-thirty. That usually worked fine...when he didn’t sleep until noon. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d done that. But then he hadn’t gone to bed until nearly 4:00 a.m.

He got out a mug, then left it on the counter and forced himself out of the kitchen. Staring at the drips would only make him crazy while he waited for the first cup to brew. The notebook sat on the glass coffee table where he’d left it, open to the columns of pros and cons he’d started around midnight.

Hell, his grocery list had been longer. He rubbed his bare chest, then scraped the back of his knuckles along his stubbled chin and jaw. Maybe he wouldn’t shave for ten days. Be a bum, see what it felt like not to have to shine his boots, or to leave the condo. He had a pile of books he’d been meaning to read, a couple issues of AirForces Monthly to catch up on and if he wanted to just veg out, there were enough sports channels to keep him sprawled on the couch until it was time to make another turkey sandwich.

Sounded okay in theory. But last night had felt like being stuck forever in a cockpit waiting for a runway. Watching baseball on TV wasn’t his thing. Going to a game was okay. If his mood hadn’t gone sideways after seeing those vets, he would’ve stayed at the Gold Strike, eaten stale pretzels and watched the cute bartender.

With her wild chestnut hair and quick wit, he’d thought about her an awful lot. She didn’t fit his image of a woman who’d work in a dive bar. Not when she could be doing so much better bartending on the Strip. The tourists would like her trivia gimmick and her attitude. But she seemed awfully comfortable in the Gold Strike. The more he thought about it, the more it seemed right that she owned the place. She acted like she was at home there. He understood that. The air force had always been home for him, which made this...whatever the hell it was, all the more frustrating.

His coffee lured him in with its seductive aroma at the same time his cell phone buzzed. He grabbed it on his way to the kitchen and when he saw it was Sam, his pace slowed. The guy was his best friend. And the last person he’d talk to about his predicament. In fact, he hadn’t even told Sam he was on leave.

John thought about letting it go to voice mail, but he’d have to eventually return the call, so what was the point? Besides, Sam normally didn’t call in the middle of the day. Since he couldn’t fly anymore, maybe he was also having second thoughts about staying in another ten years.

Grabbing the carafe, John poured himself a cup as he answered. “Well, if it ain’t Captain Sam Brody. What’s up, Jaws?”

“I was expecting your voice mail,” Sam said, then paused. “Where are you?”

Hell, he wasn’t going to lie. “Home. I just rolled out of bed.”

“Alone?”

“Uh, yeah...as far as I know.”

Sam laughed. “Must’ve had a hell of a night. Isn’t it noon there?”

“Wait.” Coffee sloshed over the rim onto the counter. Cursing, John ripped off a paper towel from the roll suspended underneath the upper cabinet. “Just spilled my first cup of joe. Not a good start.”

“Want to call me back later?”

“No, I’m good.” He disposed of the towel and carried his cup to the living room. He stationed himself at the window and stared at the distant clear blue sky over Nellis. “What’s going on?”

“I got my new orders today. They’re sending me to Holloman. I’ll be teaching newbies how to pilot MQ-9 Reapers.”

“Now? Why didn’t they wait until you re-upped?”

“What? I signed last week.” Silence lapsed long enough for John to realize he’d stuck his foot in it, then Sam asked, “I gather you haven’t.”

“Nah, not yet. I’m on a short leave to take care of some loose ends. So how you feeling about being an instructor?”

“It’s fine. It’ll be good.”

John had a lot of things he could have said about that, but he didn’t. If Sam was cool with teaching, then he was glad for him. “When do you report?”

“I’ll be taking some leave myself after I make the move, but that won’t be for about a month. I haven’t actually finished my training here. You know who lives in Alamogordo, don’t you?”

“Emma.” John pictured Danny’s widow the day of his funeral. Pale, too slender in a plain black dress, trembling, her body jerking every time a rifle fired into the air in farewell to Captain Daniel “Woody” Lockwood. “It’s been three years. She might have moved by now.”

“I don’t think so.”

“So you’re going to see her?”

“I don’t know. I think so, but...the last thing I want to do is open an old wound.”

John sighed. “That’s a tough one, buddy. She made it pretty clear she preferred to be left alone. But that might’ve been grief talking. If it were me, I’d at least give her a call.”

“That’s what I was thinking. She can always hang up on me.”

“Emma wouldn’t do that.” John smiled. She was a nice lady, pretty, patient with Danny, who, in the pursuit of a good time, often forgot he had a wife. “But a call gives her an easy out.”

“If it goes well, I’ll offer to buy her dinner and do some catching up. Hey, maybe you could hop a flight sometime. See my new digs?”

“Very possible.” John sipped his coffee, but still couldn’t hold back a yawn.

“Man, don’t you just hate when sleeping till noon wears you right out?”

John laughed. “Gee, Dad, it wasn’t a school night.”

“So...what do you think...you staying at Nellis?”

“I don’t know.” That was the truth. If he traded his uniform for civvies, the private pilot gig he was offered would keep him on the move.

“They talk to you about testing the F-35C?”

John turned away from the window and back to the kitchen. He hated even the mention of the F-35C. It was Sam who deserved to be in the cockpit, not teaching drone pilots because of his less-than-perfect eyesight.

“You there?”

“Yeah, I’m here.”

“Look, Devil, I’m good with what I’m doing. No need to backpedal. Would I like to get back in the air? Damn straight I would. But that’s gonna take a miracle. So quit it. You didn’t make the rules.”

“Yeah, yeah.” John sighed, wishing he knew what to say. Wishing he knew what the hell he wanted to do for the next twenty years. “My housekeeper will be letting herself in any second, and I’m standing here in my skivvies.”

Sam laughed. “Go.”

“I’ll call you later.”

“Make it sooner.”

“You got it.” John disconnected the call, noticed he had a message waiting.

While he listened, he dumped the lukewarm crap and refilled his mug, making sure to drink it as he carried it into the bathroom. The voice mail was from Towlie, aka Rick, another pilot he worked with at Nellis, confirming dinner tonight, which was a good thing because John had forgotten. Two other guys were joining them on the Strip. Both from other bases who were flying in overnight. John had run into Derek a few times on assignment; the other pilot wasn’t someone he knew. But he had no doubt they’d have a good time, talking shop at dinner and then club-hopping and picking up women.

Goddamn, he must be in rough shape if the thought of that sweet plan made him cringe.

* * *

IT WAS A QUIET AFTERNOON with only four customers in the bar. Mondays between noon and five at the Gold Strike were usually slow, especially toward the end of the month when people were waiting for checks.

Cassie looked up from her book to check on Gordon and his three cronies. The old guys made it easy on her. They always ordered two drinks at a time. On days like this when she worked solo and needed to study, it helped not to be constantly interrupted. That didn’t mean she wouldn’t wring Tommy’s neck. He was supposed to have covered the afternoon shift. But he’d claimed he had bar business to take care of. Bar business, her butt.

He barely wrote or signed checks anymore, or verified invoices or shopped for the garnishes. No, he just dumped everything on her lap. And like a fool, she let him.

Gordon caught her glaring at the door. “Your folks still in Oregon, Cassie?”

“Yep. They’re likely to stay till fall.”

“Can’t blame ’em. This whole valley feels like a damn oven. Hotter than last summer and no one can tell me otherwise.”

Cassie agreed. She’d just paid last month’s electric bill, and wow, had that stung. She’d had to cut into what she jokingly referred to as her salary to cover costs, and tips weren’t always that great. Last night’s thirty-three dollars had been awesome. She hoped John came back. But only because he was such a good tipper. “You guys want pretzels?”

“Nah, we might order a pepperoni pizza,” Gordon said. “You interested?”

She glanced at the clock...already three-thirty. “I’ll pass. As soon as Tommy gets here, I’m shoving off.”

“You need me to watch the bar?”

Sighing, Cassie shook her head. “Thanks, but I don’t know what time he’ll be here.” If he didn’t show up within two hours, she was screwed. Lisa started at five, but she couldn’t handle the after-work crowd by herself, so Cassie would have no choice but to stay.

Gordon gave her his famous raised eyebrow. Which was saying something, because his brows were bushy, pure white and as expressive as a cartoon character’s. “What’s he gonna do without you?”

“Why? Where am I going?”

“Once you get that master’s degree, you won’t be sticking around. You’ve got too many brains to be working here as it is.”

“I don’t know about that.” She pushed her fingers through her tangled hair. “Besides, who’d keep you guys in line?”

Gordon frowned. “Nobody’s gotta worry about me. My hell-raising days are over.”

Joe muttered something about Gordon being too slow to get into trouble. The other old boys hooted with laughter and added their two cents.

Cassie just smiled. All four were retired military, ornery and gruff when they played poker or argued over the superiority of the air force versus the navy. But they were harmless, and ready to step in and help her out when she was in a bind.

“Shut up,” Gordon said. “Let the girl study in peace.” He tossed a take-out menu across the table. “Are we ordering pizza or not?”

She took another look at the clock, knowing only two minutes had passed, and then stared down at her textbook. Studying psychology wasn’t a hardship. She loved observing people and discovering what made them tick. But it was this extra class on neurorehabilitation that was going to kill her. She’d passed cognitive neuroscience with relative ease, but this one was surprisingly more difficult for her. Maybe because she hadn’t had nearly enough sleep and too little study time.

But she wouldn’t beat herself up for being too ambitious. Her only fault had been overestimating Tommy. He knew she’d chosen an aggressive summer schedule, assured her that he was behind her all the way, and then he’d let her down. Was it intentional?

She doubted it. He was a good man at heart, but stubborn. And since he wouldn’t go for counseling, she was left to struggle with his decisions. It wouldn’t be so bad if those decisions didn’t impact her so acutely. On the other hand, he wasn’t actively trying to harm himself anymore, so that was something.

Their parents wouldn’t be here to help him out. They hadn’t believed in him enlisting, much less fighting a war in Iraq and getting his leg blown off. Neither of them were monsters, but they weren’t vying for a parents-of-the-year award, either. They had their own lives, and Cassie appreciated that they didn’t interfere in hers.

The room was quiet enough that she heard a car engine outside. Probably Tommy’s van, which he parked at a reserved spot near the handicap ramp. She stared at the door, and two minutes later, watched him limp over the threshold.

He met her eyes for a second, then swung his gaze toward Gordon and the gang. “Joe, you gotta move your car. It’s taking up two stalls.”

“I did that on purpose,” Joe said, looking up from the menu, his gray-threaded dark hair hanging limply to his shoulders. “I’m saving a space for Spider’s Harley.” He pulled out his cell phone. “I’m calling in a couple pizzas. You eat yet?”

Tommy waved him off and kept walking toward Cassie. “I told you we should be serving food here,” he murmured when he passed close enough for her alone to hear.

“Right. Because I don’t have enough responsibility to juggle as it is.” Her blood pressure skyrocketed when she realized he was headed for the back. “Don’t you dare—”

He stopped, slowly turned. “What?”

“You don’t think you might owe me just the tiniest explanation why you’re late?”

“Can I at least take a piss first?”

“No, you can’t.” She gritted her teeth when the others laughed. She hadn’t meant for them to hear. “Where the hell were you?”

“I told you I had bar business.”

Boy, had he just opened himself up. She bit back the sarcastic remark that came to mind. “Such as?”

“I don’t wanna talk to you about it when you’re in this kind of mood. You’ll just be negative and give me attitude.” He continued on to the back room.

She slipped around and followed him. “You knew I had to study, and you promised you’d cover this afternoon. Now you’re gonna explain what was so damn important that you screwed me over.”

Tommy sighed and turned to meet her gaze. He was clean shaven, not a regular occurrence, and he’d tamed his curly hair. “Can you keep an open mind?”

She glanced at his wrinkle-free shirt, a button-down, not his usual ragged T-shirt. Maybe he was telling her the truth. “Yes, I can.”

“I met with the attorney about the gaming commission. If things go well with the background checks, we could have the license by November.”

“Are you kidding me?” Had he not listened to a word she’d said? The Gold Strike was in no position to consider gaming.

“See, there you go with the attitude.”

“I thought you were joking about this. Even if you could get the license you can’t afford to pay someone to keep the place open twenty-four hours.”

“Do you know how much money those machines pull in? We’ll be able to hire three more people if we want. Put in a kitchen and serve food instead of watching customers bring in pizzas and hot wings. This place could be so much better.”

“Look...it’s not—” Cassie got a false start, breathed in deeply and tried again. She didn’t want to crush his enthusiasm, just inject a dose of reality. “I’m not against making improvements or expanding. It simply won’t happen in the near future. Tommy, the license is a half-million dollars.”

He shrugged and his face flushed. “Len has some ideas about that.”

“What kind of ideas?” She moved closer. “You didn’t have enough in the account to cover the electric bill. I had to dig into my own pocket.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

She stared at him in mute frustration, waiting for him to remember that she had told him. But his personal coffers had also been bare.

Shame burning in his hazel eyes, he looked away. “We can find a way to make it work. We just have to be creative.”

Cassie didn’t bother to argue, or to point out there would be no “we.” Sad for both of them, she watched him walk toward the men’s room, his shoulders slumped. He scared her when he got like this.

Whoever this attorney was, he was outright stealing from Tommy if he was telling him they were in any position to get a license. At least now she knew why Tommy never had a nickel in the bank. The right thing to do would be to track this shyster down and file a complaint against him. Which might save the bar, but could destroy her brother.

Maybe he needed to hit bottom before he’d start living in the real world again. But she wasn’t strong enough to watch him fall.