Maybe She's Just What He Needed
Fergus shouldn't have gone to the bar when he was hungry ...
Fergus knew it had been a mistake to go to Denny’s Bar and Grill the moment he caught the blonde girl’s attention. She was laughing and joking near the pool table with some local guys and a girl whose blunt-cut dark hair hung to her shoulders. When the blonde gathered her own hair into a twist to pile it artfully atop her head, their eyes met. She arched one playful eyebrow.
Fergus looked away immediately, quelling the rush of attraction, as best he could. He lifted his shot of neat whisky to his lips and turned back to the bar and swallowed a mouthful. He let it puddle around his tongue. As always, his mood was soothed by its rich, smoky notes. Good whisky reminded him of home - his father had kept an excellent single malt in a crystal decanter and young Fergus had sometimes helped himself to a sneaky dram.
He was snapped out of this reverie by a jostling at his side. Fergus looked down, irritation drawing his brows together.
The culprit was the blonde from the pool table, who was even more striking at close range. She smelled of sweet orange blossom and rose, mingled with something more musky. Her tanned fingers, which rested on the polished bar, were adorned with fine bands of gold up and down her knuckles.
“Sorry,” she smiled up at him, “did I spill your drink? I could buy you another.”
“No harm done,” Fergus’ voice was clipped, “I’m only having the one.”
“Wow! Where’s your accent from?” She turned fully towards him now, seemingly abandoning her intention to catch the barkeep's attention.
Silently he cursed himself for being weak: The hunger that had brought him out tonight. Plus his inability to blend. He voided his face of all expression as he responded.
“Scotland.” He swallowed the last of his whisky and placed the tumbler resolutely on the bar. “Goodnight.”
"Don’t go!” She placed a hand on his arm, her fingers warm against the crisp cotton of his shirt sleeve. “I was hoping we could talk.”
Fergus hesitated, which gave her an opening.
“I’m Prudence, I’m staying with Lou over there for the vacation, helping with her Dad’s stud horses.”
Her eyes twinkled as she spoke, clearly this girl was unused to taking no for an answer. “Join us? They’re trying to teach me pool.” She wrinkled her nose, which was cute.
“Not tonight thank you. Perhaps another time.”
His words were firm and to the point, but disconcertingly, something inside him had flared with interest after learning her name.
“Goodnight Prudence.”
He was determined to resist, but gave a barely perceptible bow. Then he turned and left the bar, before his heart got him into more trouble.
Fergus swung himself into his utility vehicle and, in his haste to leave, let the wheels spin, kicking up dust.
Glancing upwards, a hint of a smile formed on his face, taking in the panoramic view. The sky was like indigo denim, and the moon hung large and almost whole. It lit his way home, edging everything he passed with silver. But the lunar vista could not banish his foul mood entirely.
A half hour later, the truck rattled over the wooden bridge and climbed the slope to his lodge. Killing the engine, Fergus vented his temper by slamming the door overly hard, and kicking off his boots just inside the front door.
He should’ve just fed and come straight home. What had drawn him to the town bar on a Friday night anyhow? He kept good malt whisky at home. To emphasize this point, Fergus poured himself two fingers of the amber liquid, before he flung himself into the old leather armchair and scowled at the empty fireplace.
Prudence. That name sounded like a warning, he ought to listen to his instincts. But something stronger kept pulling him back to her sparkling green eyes and her impish smile.