Page 102 of 1001 Dark Nights: Bundle Forty-Two

The Graveside Bar and Grill

A Charley Davidson Novella

By Darynda Jones

Chapter One

Sorry I’m late.

I didn’t want to come.

—T-shirt often seen on Charley Davidson

When the teenage daughter of two gods asks you tokeep an eye on the beautiful doctor who takes care of her merry band ofmisfits—no questions asked—that is exactly what you do.

Not that Donovan St. James was whipped. He wasn’t. He’dnever been whipped a day in his life. At least, not until the two mostimportant people in his life came into the world. First, his son. Aten-year-old with more swagger than he had any right to. And then again whenElwyn Alexandra Loehr, screaming velociraptor that she was, decided to gracehumanity with her presence. Before either of those entries, he never would havebelieved that something so tiny could render him powerless with a single glance.

But Teacup ordering him around like he was somehow in herservitude was too much. If not for the fact that said doctor—a gorgeous redheadwith curves that screamed slippery when wet—walked into hisbar minutes after he received the odd request, he would’ve texted the teacupback a hard no. He wouldn’t have sent it, but he would’ve typed itinto his phone—probably in all caps—and smirked in satisfaction before deletingit and texting instead: When you say no questions asked...

I’m just worried about her, Elwynmessaged back. She seems distraught.

Distraught? Donovan huffed out a laugh from behind the barand shook his head. What the hell kind of kid used the word distraught?

Distraught in what way? Brainiac.

She shot him an eye-roll emoji, then sent: Youhave to stop calling me that. I’m not a brainiac. I’mjust well-traveled.

That was the understatement of the century. The kid hadrecently slipped onto another plane and then got lost there. While her journeyhad only lasted three days here on Earth, she’d been gone for years on theplanes she’d traveled while trying to find her wayback home. It was a tragedy Donovan had yet to come to terms with. She’d left asassy, precocious, coffee-drinking five-year-old and returned a bossy teen witha god complex.

It broke his heart that he’d missed most of her childhood.They all had. And he questioned for the thousandth time why he stayed. Why he subjected himself to such strife and anguish. She hadsuffered. He saw it in the aging of her eyes. The sadness behind her smile. Ifhe hadn’t sworn on his life that he would protect the girl destined to savehumanity, he would’ve put Santa Fe, New Mexico in his rearview ages ago. Butthat promise, along with the fact that he loved the elfin more than the lifehe’d sworn on kept him glued to the area, no matterthe turmoil. Or the apprehension.

But no one had told him he’d be taking orders from thelittle tyrant. He snorted aloud at her well-traveledcomment, drawing the attention of his fill-in bartender, a last-minutereplacement with long, chestnut hair, shimmering golden eyes, and a T-shirtthat read: May my morning coffee give me the strength to make my mid-morningcoffee. She was also a god and the mother of said tyrant.

Charley Davidson sashayed over to him and gave him a saucywink. A saucy wink that Donovan ignored since her husband—a god, as well, asluck would have it—was sitting three stools away from him. Thankfully, a bartook up space between them. A bulwark, so to speak. A barrier that could givehim a split-second advantage should he need it.

Not that he would, but it was nice to have options.

He turned and watched as the redhead wound her way throughthe sparse patronage to a corner booth. She slipped into it, the shadowssliding over her until they almost completely consumed her. He made a mentalnote to up the wattage on the lamp hanging over that particulartable. All he could make out now was a shapely calf that spilled downinto a red, low-heeled pump.

Charley broke into the seedier side of his thoughts thatarose at the sight of the red pump by sidling up to him. She propped an elbowon his shoulder and said, “I like her.”

Donovan nodded, trying to make out the rest of the doctor’soutline. “Me, too.” Then he turned toward the radiant woman leaning lazilyagainst him and realized that she was looking in the opposite direction. Herefocused on the end of the bar. “You like who?”

Charley pointed to her husband, who sat with a woman oneither side of him, each doing her best to flirt. Good luck with that.

“You like the women flirting with the man you vowed to lovefor all eternity?” And in this couple’s case, that was a real possibility. Aneternity seemed like such a long time to be shackled to one person. But afterbeing alone for so long, he’d take it.

“No,” she said with a snort. “I only like the one on hisleft. The raven-haired beauty with the Brazilian accent. She gives good aura.”

He squinted at the two women he’d noticed the moment theywalked in—as had everyone at the bar. The dark-haired one wore a rust-coloredT-shirt and a cowgirl hat, clearly trying to blend with the locals. The blondewore a shimmering powder-blue cocktail dress, which was a little too fancy forhis establishment, a biker den called The Graveside Bar and Grill. Apropossince it sat next to a cemetery.

“But you don’t like the flashy blonde who speaks fluentsocialite?”

“Nope,” Charley said. “She’s about as batshit as batshitcomes.”

“Ah. So you do still have it.”

She leveled those sparkling eyes on him, looking askance.“Have what?”