The pub was bustling when I pushed my way inside, which was all the more reason for me to get my alcohol and go right back home. Too many people in such close quarters made my skin itch.
Winding my way up to the bar, I stopped beside a man with his head laying on the counter and caught the keeper’s attention.
“A bottle to go,” I said, and he turned back to the shelves at the far end of the bar with a nod.
“Youdon’t have to go,” came a familiar, though muffled, voice. The man slumped on the stool next to meturned his head so that his cheek rested on the bar top. It was Penny, his blond hair a rat’s nest and green eyes struggling to focus on my face. “Ihave to go. I’m out of luck and out of money.” He sniffed. “But it’s okay. I fail a lot. Didn’t expect this to go much better than it did.”
The barkeep plunked my whiskey bottle down, and I handed him a few coins. He shook his head at Penny before crossing to the other end of the bar.
The image of the young man practically poured across the counter, limp and half-asleep, brought a hint of a smile across my lips. “So, you didn’t have money for a room, but you had enough for alcohol?”
Penny huffed a sigh. “I’m drowning my sorrows in the last of my coin.” His eyelids drooped. “Merrick’s right; I only make bad decisions.”
I should have left, but he cut such a pathetic figure that I couldn’t bring myself to walk away. I settled on the stool beside his and wondered about myowndecision-making skills.
“Why are you still here?” I asked. “It’s been almost a week. Don’t you have work to do? Surely there are other demands on your time than following people around asking intrusive questions.”
He pushed himself upright, bracing his hands on the edge of the counter. “Nope. No work. As my brother is so fond of pointing out, I’m a burden on my family.”
My brows pinched as I studied him. “A burden?” I echoed. “How old are you? Twenty? Twenty-five?”
His boyish features were dotted with freckles, and his eyes were ringed by long, soft lashes. Outside of an occupation or better reason to return home, surely there was at least a girl left behind and missing him.
Penny held up two fingers. “Freshly twenty-two.”
I uncorked my whiskey and took a long swig. “Well, your brother sounds like an ass.”
Penny turned a thin smile in my direction. “You remind me of him, actually. Reticent. Cranky. Eager to be rid of me.” The smile fell away as he fumbled for his drink. “But don’t judge Merrick too harshly. He has certain… ideals. He’s a very driven man.”
“I know the type,” I said, catching the brief glance he shot me before he gulped from his ale stein. “And you? What sort of man areyou?”
As he stared into the nearly empty mug, something like pain crossed his face. “The kind with more air in his head than sense.”
“Did your brother tell you that, too?”
“Often.”
I sighed and propped an arm on the bar. The last thing I wanted was to feel sorry for the man who had turned up and dragged my old ghosts out into the daylight. I wanted to go back to the indifference with which I’d first approached him, but I saw too much of myself in him. We were both desperate to live up to the expectations of someone who would never be satisfied no matter how close we got. Unable to fit into the molds made for us. Doubting every action because we were told so often that everything we did was wrong.
“And I remind you of him?” I asked despite knowing I wouldn’t like the answer.
Penny smiled again, a sad sort of thing. “A bit.”
“Flattering.”I took another drink of my whiskey, trying also to swallow my self-deprecating thoughts. “If you’ve no job and your family supports you, what dotheydo?”
His face scrunched. “They don’t support me. We all support each other in a way. We own a farm.” Hehiccupped, then wiped his sleeve across his mouth. “Actually,Iown the farm. Father left it to me when he died.”
“And there’s nothing you could be doing there that’s a better use of your time than pestering me?”
His stool wobbled precariously as he shook his head. “Harvest is over. There’s nothing to be done until spring.”
I reached for his mug. “Maybe you’ve had enough.”
He snatched it away, stumbled onto his feet, and swung around, colliding with the butcher passing by. Both of their drinks sloshed across the floor. Penny peered up at the taller man who had beer foam clinging to his shaggy mustache and bushy brows drawn over dark eyes.
Oblivious to the other man’s furious glare and rising fist, Penny stammered the beginning of an apology.
I leaped off my own stool, grabbing Penny’s shoulder and pulling him out of the way before the butcher could swing at him. The younger man stumbled against me, and I tucked him under my arm. Some of the anger melted from the butcher’s face when his attention turned to me.
