Hanover House: Kickoff to the Evelyn Talbot Chronicles

Chapter 6

Amarok sat at the bar with Evelyn and bought her a drink. He wasn't sure why he was trying to help her mitigate the hostility the folks in Hilltop felt toward her. He was pissed that she'd managed to get that monstrosity of a prison built so close to his town. But, from the news reports, he had a small inkling of what she'd been through in the past. He felt bad about that. And, if he was being honest, there was just...something about her—besides the fact that she was beautiful. When she quit acting so formal and let down her guard, just a little because it never went down much, it was almost as if he could see the sixteen year old girl who'd been so terribly hurt staring back at him...

That made him angry. Protective.

She'd essentially admitted that she couldn't make love, which was a damn shame. Not only was she beautiful, she was smart, accomplished, dynamic. And now that she'd had a drink and was laughing and talking more freely, he was starting to like her—probably more than he cared to. It wasn't fair that she would be denied such an important and fulfilling part of life.

"So this is the best you can do?" She was talking to Shorty, who owned The Moosehead and had just handed her a new drink. A small, wiry man in his late fifties, he was one of Amarok's favorite people and had been since Amarok was a kid. He'd started flirting with Evelyn the moment she sat down, but he was going about it so outrageously that Amarok could tell she wasn't feeling threatened.

"A drink doesn't get any better," Shorty insisted.

"I'll decide that for myself once I taste it," she teased and nudged Amarok. "What do you think? Do you like it?"

"I think he just made it up," Amarok said. "Because I've never heard of a Wild Bill."

"Then you have to try it." She held out her glass to him, something he was fairly certain a completely sober Evelyn would not have done.

He took a sip. "Can't say as it does much for me. I prefer a decent beer."

She finally sampled it herself. "I like it," she said. "I like it a lot."

As the night progressed, various townspeople came over and Amarok introduced her. Most nodded politely, then watched her with a wary reserve. But the more she drank and opened up, the more they did the same.

Before too long she seemed to be having a great time. Amarok got the impression she hardly ever let go, that this was an unusual but much-needed release, and was glad he'd brought her—until Ken Keterwee, who owned a well-drilling and septic tank business, asked her to dance. Amarok had seen him standing off to one side, trying to screw up the courage, and had planned to head him off before he could reach her. But Ken, a big, barrel-chested man of about forty, with hands the size of bear paws, had made his move while Amarok was distracted by something Shorty had said. So Amarok was a little late when he jumped in.

"Not tonight, Ken," he said.

"I wasn't asking you," Ken joked.

Before Amarok could reinforce his "no," Evelyn got off her stool. The stubborn smile she wore let him know she was determined to rise to the challenge he'd given her by bringing her here.

"It's okay," she said. "I-I can dance."

She'd told him she couldn't, so Amarok knew she'd feel more secure staying with him, here at the bar. The floor was fairly crowded, which meant she'd get jostled, and once Ken and some of the other guys got a few drinks in them, they might not think about what she'd been through and how the most innocent physical contact could affect her. At the very least, Ken would probably step on her feet a few times with those big cowboy boots of his. "Maybe you can get on the floor next time you come here for a drink," he said to her, but she waved him off and allowed Ken to lead her away.