The Maverick's Summer Love. Christyne Butler
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back to her, her fingers were relaxed when she reached for the mug.
“What made you choose this one?” she asked, still a bit shell-shocked. “Don’t think I know any Navy SEALs?”
He shrugged, having gone purely on instinct and handed her the spoon he’d brought with him.
“Well, I do.” She paused to blow on the contents of her mug and poked at the melting marshmallows on top. “Samuel Jackson Traven, retired SEAL. He’s Rosey’s special someone.”
Dean leaned against the nearby table. “I guess a spitfire like Rosey would need someone with the stamina of a Special Forces kind of guy to keep up with her.”
This time she smiled, still looking down at her mug before bringing it to her lips to take a sip. “You figured that out after only just meeting her?”
“I’m a pretty good judge of people.”
Shelby choked, but waved him off when he reached for her. “I’m—I’m fine. It’s just still too hot.”
Dean watched as she stirred her drink, then scooped the gooeyness on top into her mouth. A small sigh escaped when her lips closed over the spoon, a sigh that went straight to a part of him that had no business responding.
He tightened his grip on the table’s edge, remembering the anger that flared in his gut when he’d come back in and found that drunk manhandling her. A protective—no, almost possessive—instinct he’d never felt before reared its ugly head and he wanted to do more to the guy than just haul his ass outside.
Why? What was it about this girl that brought out that side of him?
“Boy, that’s good.” Shelby’s words pulled him from his thoughts. She sat a little straighter in the chair, resting the now half-empty mug in her lap. “Ah, thanks.” She lifted her gaze to his. “Thank you for coming to my rescue.”
“You’re welcome.”
She held his stare for a long moment, then broke free and looked around the bar as if she was seeing it for the first time. A quick shake of her head and she was on her feet.
Turning her back to him, she started cleaning the table. “I’ve still got a lot of work to do.”
He moved out of her way. “Let me help you.”
“No.” Her reply was sharp and biting. She glanced over her shoulder, bit down on her lower lip for a second time, then said softly, “I’ve got this, but thanks again.”
“Okay.” He took a step backward, hands held wide in mock surrender. He then jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “I’ll just get the trash from the booth over there.”
“No!” She whirled around, clutching the bottles and her mug to her chest. “I don’t need any help. Really. Everything is fine…I’m fine. The Ace is closed now and you’ve done your good deed, so you can just head on home.”
After witnessing that lost look in her eyes a few minutes ago, and knowing the cause of it was still out there somewhere? Not gonna happen. “I’m guessing you upend all the chairs and stools to sweep the floor?”
She sighed and stared at him for a long moment. He could almost see the internal battle she had going on inside her head. Not that he blamed her. Working in a bar probably meant she was hit on a lot and sometimes not as directly as what had happened a few minutes ago.
Was he hitting on her? Yeah, okay, maybe he was.
Finally, she gave him a quick nod before brushing past him in the direction of the dirty booth. Dean started with the closest clean table and by the time Shelby had wiped down the booth and locked the front door from the inside, he was working on the barstools.
“Hey, where should I put this?”
She turned, surprise on her face when she saw him holding the still-unopened beer bottle in his hand. “The beer cooler is behind the bar on the far left. I guess you weren’t really interested in a beer, huh?”
No, he’d come back here tonight for just one reason. To see her.
Yeah, he was definitely hitting on her.
Shelby hadn’t waited for an answer before disappearing through the swinging door. She returned a minute later with a couple of brooms and a dustpan. She paused but relented and passed one over to him when he held out his hand. Their fingers brushed and that same flicker that had crackled between them when he touched her before was still there. The widening of those beautiful eyes told him she felt it, too.
She spun away and headed for the back corner of the bar. He went to the front and they worked silently as an Elvis ballad filled the air. When they met in the middle of the room, Shelby grabbed a nearby trash barrel and took command of the dustpan. They finished just as the last notes of the song faded away.
She never once looked directly at him.
“Is that it?” Dean asked. “Or are we breaking out a mop and a pail of soapy water?”
“No, we don’t wash the floors until the weekend is over unless a customer gives us a reason to—” A faint buzzing filled the air, cutting off Shelby’s words. “Oh, darn it!”
She handed him the broom while fishing a cell phone out of her rear pocket. Tossing the dustpan into the trash can, she grabbed it and headed around the end of the bar while the thumb of one hand flew over the phone’s flat screen.
Replying to a text message? Was someone wondering why she hadn’t come home yet?
Dean hadn’t considered that. There was no ring on her finger, but that didn’t mean anything.
He’d been surprised after walking Jazzy back to where she was staying at Strickland’s Boarding House last night to find Shelby Jenkins still on his mind. He was intrigued by her, a feeling he hadn’t experienced in a long time, and he found himself wanting to know her better.
Now he knew why she’d spent most of last night frowning in his direction.
She thought he was already involved with someone. A misconception he’d cleared up earlier before she kicked him out of the bar. Not that he’d planned on leaving, at least not until he was sure she believed him. Now he was glad he’d stuck around.
“Well, that’s it. Thanks again for your help.”
He noticed her cell phone was gone, back in her pocket he guessed or inside the leather purse that hung from her shoulder.
“You might want to put these away.” He walked over to her, holding out the brooms.
“Yeah, that’s probably a good idea.” She took them from his grasp, not allowing their hands to touch this time. “You can—”
“Walk you to your car?” He cut her off, offering a wide smile for the offense. “Great idea. You parked out back?”
“What are you—Why are doing all this?”
“I’m a nice guy?”
“Or maybe you think I’m an easy—”
“I think you’ve had a long night.” Dean cut her off again. “That includes being manhandled by a drunk and I just want to make sure you get to your car safely. That’s all.”
She nodded, and moments later, they were outside in the warm summer air. The parking lot was empty except for a couple of pickups and a car. Dean was glad to see the area was well lit. He glanced quickly at his watch. Almost twothirty in the morning. He guessed there were many nights when Shelby left the bar this late.
She headed for the used four-door that looked as if its best days were long behind it, her keys already in her hand.
“You know, I was planning to come by earlier than I did,” Dean said, falling into step beside her. “I worked until sunset at the elementary school and then fell asleep reading.”
“All