‘Rude much,’ she muttered, only to be surprised when he held the door open for her.
‘Ladies first.’
Through the glass door, the whoosh of cool air and the scents of ale greeted her.A rustic long bar ran along the left side, and the back wall of windows led to a beer garden and pool tables.On the right, stood clusters of tables and chairs, while ceiling fans spun with zero enthusiasm.
Yet it felt like she’d entered the Northern Territory’s version of Parliament House.There was no mistaking it.This was where decisions got made.Where reputations were built—or torn down with a single round of beer and a raised brow.
This small town pub was exactly what she’d expected, with its wall of glass door fridges behind the long bar, the brass rail running along the bottom, and bar mats advertising beer brands covering the top.
Behind the counter, a woman with a full sleeve of tattoos and black lipstick, wiped down the bar with the casual air of someone who’d break noses and not spill her drink while doing it.Her leather vest looked like it belonged in a biker’s bar.Was that the boss?
The tattooed warrior nodded at Finn, who replied with a curt nod.Without a word she flipped over a glass and started pouring a beer.
At the far end of the bar, an elderly man, wearing suspenders and a felt fedora, was perched on a stool.Beside him, leaning against the bar, was a young woman, wearing jeans and a simple T-shirt, her blonde hair pulled into a no-fuss ponytail.Pretty.And surprisingly young.
That had to be her.God.
Finn dropped Taryn’s bags by the side door and nodded at the woman with the ponytail.‘Samantha.Billy…’ Finn dug around in his pocket, dropped some cash on the bar, and scooped up the beer glass.‘Thanks, Mean-Rene.’
‘Figured you’d drag the Fed in, eventually.’Mean-Rene wiped her hands on a towel, blatantly sizing up Taryn like she was a slab of meat at the butcher’s.
Sooo…Everyonein this town knew Taryn’s business.
Finn didn’t bother with an introduction—and he’d clearly perfected the art of letting the silence do the heavy lifting.
‘You must be Taryn.’The blonde with steady eyes watched her carefully.
Taryn smiled, grateful someone was offering her any kind of warmth.‘You must be God.’
‘Anyone who’s lived in the outback and drinks hard enough reckons they’ve seen God at least once in their life.’She pushed off the bar and walked over, extending a hand.Her grip was firm, like someone used to shaking hands with men.‘I’m Samantha.Welcome to Elsie Creek.’
From behind the counter, the biker-bartender gave a grunt.‘Is she staying long?Or do I poke the possums in the ceiling for that night-long ambience?’
‘Mean-Rene,’ Samantha said lightly, not even glancing back.‘Play nice.’
Mean-Rene rolled her eyes and muttered something aboutbloody bureaucrats with handbags and zero sense.
‘You’ll have to forgive Rene,’ Samantha said smoothly.‘She’s all bark and slightly less bite these days.’
Taryn raised an eyebrow.‘That’s comforting.’
At the far end of the bar, the man in suspenders and the fedora raised his glass in greeting.‘G’day.’
‘That’s Billy,’ Samantha added.‘Our yardie, bouncer, counsellor, and local card shark.’
Not exactly the typical nightclub bouncer Taryn was used to, Billy, who had to be pushing eighty, looked more like a retired jazz singer.Wearing a mischievous kind of grin of someone who knew all the rules and how to break them.
‘Heard you met my brother, Mickey.Made you walk the long paddock, huh?Blighter, he is,’ Billy said with that mischievous grin.
That arsehole.Did Mickey brag about it?
She glared at Finn, who just smirked behind his beer, leaning his elbow against the counter like he’d been there all day.
‘Listen, luv,’ called out Billy, ‘if you need someone to show you the ropes, I’m happy to do it.Price of a beer will do me.’
‘You’re cheap,’ muttered Mean-Rene.
‘I’ll buy you the beer, Billy, just for the gossip.’Taryn hoped her sass would pass for charm.‘But, do you think I’ll survive a walk around town with a local legend in a fedora?What’ll the locals say,youbeing seen withme, the Fed?’
