Chapter 2

“Jeffrey!” Heather caterwauled. “Get out here and get the soda machines ready, or I’llfire you!”

“Goddamn, woman,” Jeffrey called back. “Calm down and get the leather out of your blue-haired ass!”

“Jeffrey!”

“Children!” Clark bellowed, several decibel levels louder than both of them and roughly six times more commanding.

Jeffrey scampered out front, Clark heard more playful banter between the two kids, and Ken remained stoically silent while removing fresh rolls from the kitchen ovens. The bar would open to the Wednesday evening crowd in fifteen minutes, and Clark knew he could rely on Heather to manage that. At the moment, Heather seemed to be making a career out of Glow, which was fantastic in that it eliminated a lot of the busy work for Clark, but worrying in that Clark thought she deserved better in life.

Stretching out long, denim-clad legs, Clark reached up and heard his back pop. He sighed, thinking that he was tired and cranky and had no right to be. The bar was doing great, the kids were coping with their lives, and Ken’s bread smelled amazing as usual. Clark had weekend plans over at a good friend’s house, and he had even remembered to pay his damned cell phone bill on time.

Nothing was wrong, but nothing was particularly right,either. Clark rubbed at one arm beneath the short sleeve of his sky blue T-shirt.

Huh, need to get laid.

Clark thought that was an easy goal. At thirty-two, Clark remained in special-forces-standard condition. Actually, he was probably healthier overall now; he cared more about what he ate these days. His thick shock of gray hair stuck out in odd directions, but at least it looked like Clark did that on purpose now that he shelled out obscene amounts of money for some critical man to cut his hair. The same man looked appalled at the thought of dyeing it, telling Clark it was a nice, even color and made him look distinguished.

Which was another way of saying the hair made him look less boyish, but Clark didn’t really mind the boyish or the distinguished; neither seemed to slow down the parade through his bedroom.

A parade that came complete with a random contortionist or two, Clark mused to himself.

Top the appearance off with a set of scars and a pair of mismatched eyes—one blue, one brown—and he got more than a few intrigued looks from men and women alike. Clark didn’t really think getting laid tonight or any other night (or afternoon or morning) would be a problem.

It was good to have constants in one’s life.

Grinning and feeling better now that the night seemed more of a hunt and less of a drudgery, Clark got up and made his way out front. Jeffrey was helping Ken in the kitchen, and Heather waited on customers. People were already sitting at the tall tables near the front entrance. Outside it was a clear spring night, and Clark watched Heather nod to a group of college kids and lead them out to the patio. There was no live music or DJ tonight, but Jeffrey would come out in a moment and start up the sound system to provide bass-beat background noise.

As yet, no one was sitting in Clark’s realm of control, so he took a moment to be thankful that this was his place, these were his employees, and this was his crazy life turned somehow stable. Serving drinks and interacting with patrons always soothed Clark. He liked most people in the short term, and he definitely liked hearing them talk when they thought he wasn’t listening. Clark enjoyed telling dirty jokes, flirting, and dispensing wisdom as part and parcel to his life’s second career.

Whistling, Clark grabbed a towel from the designated shelf and began to idly wipe at the wooden surface. In a matter of moments, a couple approached the bar, holding hands.

“Linda, Frank.” Clark greeted them and stopped polishing. “What can I do you for?”

“The usual, Clark,” Linda said, “but make Frank’s a double. We’re leaving for our second honeymoon tomorrow!”

Clark laughed his rehearsed, happy laugh because such mirth was expected. “Coming right up,” he said with a wink and the practiced casual toss of a glass. Clark glanced around the bar and set to work.

Two hours later, Clark shook his head when Frank raised bushy brows and tilted his empty toward the bartender. “Sorry, Frank, I’m cutting you off,” Clark said. “Planes and hangovers? Never fun.”

“He’s right, Frank. As usual,” Linda said, with a smile at Clark.

“Okay…fine…can we get some more of that bread and—” Frank stopped speaking when Clark put a tall glass of water in front of him.