Stella hoped he couldn’t actually read her mind, as she sometimes suspected he could, because right now it was pure chaos and lust. She turned and hurried over to the table where her friends were already ahead of her, their drinks waiting, chips and salsa on the table. They had her drink waiting as well. Bruce and Denver spun around in their seats in order to join the conversation.
Stella’s drink of choice, like the other women, was a Moscow Mule. The chips were homemade, as was the salsa. That was part of the charm of the Grill. Usually the band was good, at least to dance to. They were so far off the beaten path, it wasn’t like they got amazing bands vying to come play, but they did get decent ones. There were several good musicians in town playing together, and the locals, Stella included, enjoyed dancing to their music.
“Harlow made some beautiful pottery,” Raine was saying as Stella took a seat next to her. “We went over to Judy and Tom’s before I left on my last trip and she showed us how to do throw vases. Harlow has such patience for detail. Every single one of her pieces is so beautiful.”
Stella knew that was the truth. Harlow could easily sell her work, and sometimes did in Tom and Judy’s shop in town. Raine favored smaller, more classic pieces, little bowls or mugs she wanted to perfect that she used in her home or gave to her friends. She never considered selling her pieces, but she did like to give them as gifts at times.
She especially loved animals and would attempt, when making the “perfect” coffee or soup mug for a friend, to include their dog or cat on the pottery piece. Unfortunately, she was very exacting and hard on herself, so she often started a piece multiple times before she was satisfied enough to pass it on.
“What did she make this time?” Shabina asked.
“Glazed vases, but they were stunning, all depicting various places around the lake as the sun was rising. You know how good she is with a camera. She’s been collecting pictures of the sunrise for the last few years from various locations around the lake, and she chose the ones she wanted to put on pottery,” Raine said. Her voice was filled with admiration.
“I hope that puts her closer to her dream,” Zahra murmured.
“Her dream?” Raine echoed. “Harlow never talks about anything in particular she wants to do. Although she does have that beautiful photography studio of hers and she sells gorgeous pictures now and again in the art galleries.” She nudged Stella’s drink closer to her. “You’re behind. You need to catch up.”
Zahra shrugged and drank more of her Moscow Mule, her head nodding in beat with the music. “What do I know?” She hopped out of her chair and rounded the table, doing the unthinkable by coming to stand in front of Bruce. “Dance with me.”
The big man nearly fell off his barstool to accommodate her. His large hand completely swallowed Zahra’s as he led her toward the square in front of the band, already packed with bodies. Lawyer Collins, a man born and raised in Knightly who fixed laptops and sold cell phones and laptops out of his store, immediately came and claimed Raine. Denver slid off his barstool, his amber-colored eyes seeking Stella’s, but Sam was there before him, capturing her wrist and smoothly pulling her from her seat, guiding her to the dance floor, one hand on her lower back. She glanced over her shoulder to see Carl Montgomery claim Shabina as Denver dropped back on the barstool, a wry grin on his face.
Sam pulled her close to him, her back to his front, as the music pounded out a beat. The man could dance. He just seemed to have rhythm and knew how to move. More, he kept anyone from stumbling into her, no matter how drunk they were. She’d come in late, and those drinking were already feeling it, inhibitions lowered.
Sam’s body was close to hers, close enough that she could feel his heat. He was always so damn hot. His energy was low-key, so why was his body temperature so hot? He wrapped one arm around her, high, just under her breasts, and pulled her body tight against his. He’d danced with her countless times, but he’d never done that before. The moment he did, she could feel every hard line of his body. She was instantly aware of him as a man and her as a woman. That dynamic had been growing between them for a long time, a comfortable, easy bond that seemed natural and strong.
Stella didn’t let many people into her world— not the real one. Somehow, Sam had found his way inside hers. He always kept his word. Always. She could rely on him. When he said he would get something done, he always did it. When things went wrong and a guest got out of hand, he would suddenly appear, a silent partner standing right at her side, looking so intimidating, trouble melted away. She didn’t know when she began viewing him as someone important in her world. Important to her as a woman. But he was. There was no getting around that.
Toward the end of the evening, Stella slipped onto the barstool beside Denver as she often did when Bruce and Zahra were dancing. She knew she was a little past the point of sobriety, but then Denver looked as if he might be as well. That wasn’t exactly Denver’s way.
“You okay, Den?”
“Got some news from my family a week or so ago and I’m still processing,” he admitted.
Denver never talked about his family. He was speaking low, so she had to lean into him. “I’m here if you want to share.”
They’d talked about a lot of things. Denver was better at sharing then she was. She often felt guilty about that. She was closed off for a reason, and that wasn’t going to change. She glanced up briefly to catch sight of Sam in his usual corner— drinking water. Waiting to take her and her girls to their campsite. Maybe she could share a little with Sam later if she was going to catch a killer. She had to trust someone.
Denver sighed. “My old man and his brother, my uncle Vern, got into it and they shot each other. Stupid really, but inevitable.”
He shook his head, stating the facts as if they didn’t touch him, when Stella could see that wasn’t the case. His hands shook as he wrapped them around his drink. Normally he drank beer. He was drinking hard liquor.
“They killed each other. Both bled out before anyone could get to them. My mother died while I was in the military, so I inherited the entire fucking estate. All of it. The lawyers contacted me and let me know, that’s how I found out they were both dead.”
Stella wasn’t certain what to say to that. “You weren’t close to either of them?”
“Hell no. Joined the service in order to get away from them and pay my way through med school. I was determined to be an anesthesiologist. Always wanted to be.”
“You were an officer, right? You’d have to be if you were a doctor in the military in any branch of the service.” Stella sipped on her drink and regarded Denver with compassion.
“Yes, that was the only way I was going to get anywhere. My family has money, but they weren’t going to help me get an education, or anything else for that matter. Don’t think that because people have money their families aren’t fucked up, Stella.”
Stella had never heard a single note of bitterness in Denver’s voice before. She let her gaze drift over his face. He looked the same as he always did, but there was a hint of pain in his eyes. She nodded. “I understand, maybe more than you think I might be able to.” That was as much as she was going to give up of her own past.
She came from a wealthy family and her drama had been played out in the press all over the country. If that hadn’t been enough, later it had been featured in one of those silly television episode dramas, not very accurately either. She certainly knew that growing up with money didn’t guarantee a cushy childhood.