Peter’s mouth twitched and relaxed into a smile. “What she wants and doesn’t want is her own choice. I don’t think you can speak for her.” He leaned forward, radiating earnestness. “Take it from me, Kieran. Alex and I come from the same background. We understand each other. If you’re her friend, follow my advice. It’s the best thing you can do for her.”
“For her,” Kieran repeated. His own voice sounded slow and strange. Somehow another drink found its way into his hands. He could hardly taste it now, but he had no desire to stop.
He didn’t like Peter. He didn’t trust him. Something Peter had done in the past had hurt Alex. But she had known him well, had nearly taken him as her mate…
”Good man,” Peter said. “I knew you’d see things the right way.” He scooted his stool away from the bar. “I’d be happy to give you a hand if you have any trouble finding a place to stay.” He tossed a wad of bills on the counter and gestured to the bartender. “The drinks are on me. I’ll be seeing you again.”
Kieran hardly heard him go. He pushed his empty glass in slow circles on the counter until the bartender came by and refilled it.
He swirled the liquid around and around, mesmerized by the motion. He had come to town for a reason. To find Alexandra. He hadn’t found her, and his meeting with Peter had been—less than satisfactory.
Maybe Peter was right. What did Kieran really know about Alexandra? How much of her life had he shared? A few days, and that time so long ago when they were children.
Maybe she would be better off if he left her alone. Took away the problems he’d dumped in her lap. “I don’t know what I want,” she’d said last night. Maybe he could make it easier for her to decide.
With an effort Kieran planted his feet on the floor, working the numbness out of them. One more time. He’d find her, talk to her one more time, and then he’d know…
“Lookee here. If it ain’t the wolf-man.”
Kieran turned his head. Someone was right beside him, too close, one arm across the counter. He recognized the scent just as the arm knocked his half-empty glass over, spilling the Scotch on the pitted counter.
“He sure can’t hold his liquor, can he, boys?”
Howie Walsh gave a forced laugh, and others followed his lead. Kieran turned his head. There were four of them, one of whom had been with Howie in the Big Mouth Cafe. Four men with ugly, twisted faces and no friendly intentions.
Kieran braced himself against the counter and put his back to it. He grinned, showing his teeth.
“We weren’t… properly acquainted last time,” he said with exaggerated mockery of Peter’s earlier words. “My name is Kieran Holt.”
Walsh widened his eyes at his friends. “So formal! We been hearing about you, haven’t we, boys? About you running away when a little girl was drowning.”
Kieran hid his flinch. So they knew. He wouldn’t believe that Julie’s family had spoken of it, but somehow word had gotten out. And spread.
“Sure, it was only the Indian kid,” Howie continued, “but it’s all over town. How wolfie boy here took one look at that little pond and turned tail.” He snickered and looked sideways at Kieran. “Scared of water, wolfie boy?”
Numbed though he was, Kieran felt the hostility in the room like a living presence. He bristled and began to relax his hold on the anger he’d held in check. There were consequences to letting go, but he couldn’t seem to remember what they were. He pushed away from the counter. “What are you afraid of, Howie?”
Howie retreated as far as he could without actually taking a step back. “You hear a threat, boys?” he said. He turned his head and spat, narrowly missing Kieran’s foot. “I heard you was screwing the bitch.” He laughed. “Wolf man and wolf-bitch. Makes sense!”
But Kieran hardly heard the last few words. His vision blurred again, but not from the alcohol he’d consumed.
The rage came, just as it had done before in the cafe—the rage he had not allowed himself to feel in Peter’s presence. Now he encouraged it, welcomed it. And as it surged like fire through his body, he remembered what it was he should fear.