The Marine's Embrace

All he’d known was that he couldn’t stay in Houston.

Kane pursed his lips. “I could always use an extra set of hands around here.”

Zach raised his eyebrows. Lifted his empty sleeve. “Will half a set work?”

Kane’s wince was so slight, Zach doubted most people would have noticed it. “Poor choice of words. You want an apology?”

“If you give me one, I’m going to lose what little respect I have for you.”

“Wouldn’t want that,” Kane said so drily Zach was surprised a puff of dust didn’t come out of his mouth. “You can start tomorrow.”

Zach finished his beer, hoping to wash away the sudden tightness in his throat. “I appreciate it.”

“Tough getting those words out, huh?”

“Only when saying them to a Bartasavich.”

Kane’s grin was sharp and appreciative and not the least bit insulted. Best of all? He didn’t point out that Zach was a Bartasavich, too—in blood if not in name.

“You know, the apartment upstairs is empty,” Kane said. “If you need a place to stay.”

“I’ll pass.”

“You could bunk with us,” Kane suggested. “We have a guest room on the first floor.”

His brother obviously thought Zach was refusing due to the apartment being on the second level. That wasn’t it. He could handle a few steps. It might even be good for his recovery, climbing up and down a bunch of stairs each day.

But he didn’t want to owe Kane for anything more than the job.

“Does Charlotte know you go around collecting strays?” Zach asked of Kane’s wife.

Kane lifted a shoulder. “You’re not a stray. You’re family.” As if reading Zach’s mind, he quietly added, “Whether you like it or not.”

He didn’t like it, but that wasn’t news. “I don’t need a handout. I make my own way.”

“It’s a place to sleep, not the account number to my trust fund. It doesn’t have to mean you like me or that you suddenly want to change your name to Bartasavich and come over for Christmas dinner.”

“I’ll find a place. On my own.”

Maybe.

The only other time he’d been to Shady Grove, he’d stayed at a Holiday Inn off the highway, but that had to be at least five miles away. And he didn’t think there was any public transportation in town. Not exactly a great setup for a man who needed to relearn how to drive.

“King’s Crossing has rooms,” Kane said, writing something on the back of a cocktail napkin. “But it’s on the other side of town. Bradford House is closer. It’s a bed-and-breakfast, though, not a real hotel.” He handed Zach the napkin. “I put my cell number on there, too. On the off chance you can’t find a room tonight and would rather ask for help than sleep on the street.”

Easy for Kane to say. He had this place, his pretty little wife, probably a house with a white picket fence. He had Estelle, his eighteen-year-old daughter and the only Bartasavich Zach actually cared about.

He had everything.

The only thing Zach had was his pride. And he’d choked down enough of it today.

Zach had to lay the napkin on the bar to fold it with his one hand. When he was done, he stood—getting off the stool was considerably easier than getting on the damned thing—and dug his wallet from his front left pocket.

“How much for the beer?” he asked, putting the napkin in with his money.

“On the house.”

“Don’t,” Zach said, holding Kane’s gaze. “Don’t make me regret coming here.”

“Yeah, I get it. You make your way,” Kane said mildly, pulling another beer. “It’s one beer. You going to insist I work you twelve hours a day? Pay you minimum wage and not one cent more?”

“How. Much?”

Kane served his customer then wiped his hands on the towel. “Ten should cover it.”

Zach narrowed his eyes. “Ten bucks for a draft? What’d you do, lace it with gold?”

“The drink was four dollars, but I figured you’d want to leave your friendly bartender a nice tip.”

He handed him a five. “You figured wrong. What time should I come in tomorrow?”

“I’ll be here at noon.”

“Noon? What’s the matter? Need your beauty sleep?”

“That’s why I’m the fairest of us all,” Kane said, pouring tequila into a blender.

Zach scratched the scar at his right temple. Had to admit what Kane said was true.

Especially now.

“I can be here earlier. I don’t need special treatment. I’ll put in a full day’s work.”

“I come in at noon,” Kane said, slicing a lime, “because I’m behind this bar most nights until 2:00 a.m. then I spend another half an hour cleaning up. I’ll need you to come in when we open for lunch, so you’ll work the early shift, 10:00 a.m. to 6:00 p.m., Monday through Thursday, and 7:00 p.m. to 3:00 a.m. either Friday or Saturday night. I know math has never been your strong suit, so I’ll save you from having to count on your fingers. Each shift is eight hours.”

“Hard to count to eight,” Zach said, waving the fingers of his left hand at Kane, “when you only have enough for five.”

Kane sent him a bland look, not the least bit of sympathy in his gaze. “Take off your shoe, then, and use your toes.”

Apparently Kane wasn’t going to coddle him like a child.

Or worse, treat him like an invalid.

Zach bent and picked up his duffel bag. Put it over his shoulder. “I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

“I don’t suppose you want me to drive you to a hotel?”

“Nope.”