Free Stevie Lee by Tara Janzen Page A

beer. The drivers, she knew, would be chomping at the bit, hanging around like a trio of vultures to pick her checkbook clean. Another heavy sigh blew from her lips, convincing her to sit in the car for a few minutes until she could find a cheerful mood. She’d take them on one at a time and do her best to talk them out of full payment. No, she thought, she’d do better than her best. If any one of the drivers walked out with more than a hundred of her dollars, she’d buy the bar a round—and she sure as hell couldn’t afford that. And Hal Morgan? She’d save him for last, after she had a few successes under her belt.
    Straightening her shoulders with a deep breath, she got out of the car and walked into the Trail.
    “Hi, Tom, Paul, Garrett. How are you guys doing today?” She deliberately left Hal out of her greeting as she strode into the bar, not trusting herself to look at him without staring at his mouth. Whoever had taught him how to use it hadn’t left anything out of the lessons, and despite his sultry-voiced confession, the man hadn’t forgotten a move.
    Surprisingly, the drivers barely acknowledged her entrance. Tom lifted a hand, almost as if he was shooing her away. Paul mumbled a “Hello.” Garrett didn’t even give her a glance. The three of them sat at the bar, leaning forward with rapt looks on their faces. Confusion forced her gaze to Hal.
    “Afternoon, Stevie Lee. How’d it go?” He was leaning against the cash register, bigger than life and smiling at her with the mouth that haunted her dreams. The rolled-up sleeves of his chambray shirt exposed dark brown forearms and the rhythm of slowly tightening and releasing muscles as he polished yet one more beer mug. Her glassware had never had it so good, she thought with a repressed sigh.
    “Fine,” she answered noncommittally, watching the drivers out of the corner of her eye, waiting for one of them to pounce. “I’ll be in my office if—”
    “So, you’re hanging there, and you hear that rumbling business,” Tom interrupted, his voice practically breathless, his eyes glued on Hal.
    Old Tom Hanson breathless? Stevie arched a brow at Hal, and he grinned. Then he did something strange. Under the bar, where the other men couldn’t see, he jerked his thumb toward the back room. Confusion complete, her glance darted in the direction of his gesture. Was it a warning? Or was he trying to get rid of her too?
    “And the other guy, John what’s-his-name, he’s slipping away on you,” Tom continued, obviously trying to regain Hal’s attention. “The rope’s a frayin’, the wind’s a blowin’, and ole John’s a slippin’.”
    “And then you hear the rumble,” Paul repeated, hunching farther over the bar.
    “Yeah, the rumble,” Garrett added his two bits, pulling his rag of a cowboy hat further down on his brow.
    Hal turned his back to her, blocking her from the men’s view, and gave the silent signal again, all the while picking up the threads of his story.
    “Well, I’ll tell you, twenty thousand feet up a Himalayan beauty there’s only two places for a rumble to come from, the sky or the mountain, and they’re both bad news.”
    Finally Stevie understood. Without another word, she slipped around the end of the bar and into the hallway. If he wanted to run interference for her, fine, but she doubted if it would work for long.
    Ten minutes later, most of it spent on the edge of her office chair, waiting, she silently conceded a point in his favor. Anybody who could hold the vultures at bay was well worth the minimum wage she paid. Fifteen minutes later curiosity got the best of her. Quietly she slipped back into the hall, staying out of view but not out of earshot.
    “. . . the biggest, suckingest hole this side of the Waghi, driving us against the boulder and holding us tight. Charlie yelled ‘High side!’ and we were scrambling like mad.”
    Stevie settled against the wall, head cocked to hear every hair-raising twist. In a