Page 14 of Alaskan Blackout
Even now, the place was empty. Not that she ever did much business until close to the dinner hour. Two people had stopped by to tell her the storm was worsening, implying she ought to just shut down and go home for the day. But with her emotions so stirred up after the dinner with Quint, she needed the outlet of work.
As she gathered the papers the gust of wind had scattered, she recalled his indignation on her behalf when she’d shared her story. And later, his vow that he’d scour the internet to find the original source, which was the piece she’d need to prosecute her bastard ex. Just hearing Quinton say the words—a promise to help that she knew he would keep—had unlocked defenses she’d kept sky-high for eighteen long, lonely months.
That promise also made it tougher for her to stay mad about the way he’d shut down the kiss.
Papers retrieved, she set them on the small workstation desk and flipped on a light switch in the gathering gloom. As she did, a familiar voice sounded in the front half of the bar.
“McKenna? Anybody here?”
Awareness curled in her belly at just the sound of his voice. Today, she would ignore it, her defenses firmly back in place.
“I’m in the back,” she called, raising her voice enough so he would hear her through the door separating the kitchen from the food and bar service area.
Picking up her box cutter, she went to work on the rest of the boxes that needed unloading, grateful for a task to keep her busy. The last thing she needed was more one-on-one time after the way she’d thrown herself at him, and yet here they were again. Alone in her empty establishment.
The noise of the blade ripping through packing tape must have masked the sound of him entering the back room, because a moment later his boots came into view as she hefted another box onto her growing stack.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, voice stern.
The interruption made her pause long enough to take in his dark hair, damp in the front as if his hood or hat hadn’t kept all the rain off him. He must have shed his coat up front because his gray flannel shirt and the partially buttoned white tee underneath were both dry. Her gaze paused at the column of his throat. The bristly edge of his jaw that he hadn’t shaved in a couple of days.
“I could ask you the same thing.” She propped her elbow on the stack of open boxes almost as tall as her. “Considering this is my bar, and not yours, it makes far more sense for me to be here than you. Don’t you think?”
His scowl deepened.
Did it make her a bad person that she enjoyed getting under his skin all the more today?
“Have you heard the weather report? Or bothered to look outside?” He shook his head. “I came over because I worried you might be stuck here if you got a ride to the bar without retrieving your vehicle first.”
She might have been touched at his concern if it didn’t reek of big-brother-style protectiveness. Just thinking that might be his motivation riled her all over again.
“I don’t need a watchdog, Quint.” Straightening from where she’d been leaning against the boxes, anger vibrated through her. “Just because I was foolish enough to share something personal last night doesn’t mean you get to be my self-appointed guardian, okay?”
His expression shifted. The fierce glower softening as something like real concern crossed his features.
“Don’t regret that. Please.” He stared at her for a long moment, as if weighing his next words.
She was grateful when he broke the stare to pace around the back room, stuffing his hands in the back pockets of his jeans as if he were too restless to know where to put them. It was a strange feeling to see him in a space she considered hers. His tall height and broad shoulders made everything else around him feel diminished. Small.
“I’m aware of the weather,” she assured him, her own temper deflating now that he’d backed off. “When I came in early today, the predictions were still fairly benign. I’ll just finish up stocking the cooler and then I’ll head home.”
Quinton ceased his pacing. He turned to meet her gaze again.
“Can I give you a hand? Speed up the process for you in any way?”
Her first instinct was to bristle. To remind him that she could manage her work just fine on her own. But she swallowed back the words in an effort to smooth things over. Quinton had been kind to offer his help. Not just today, but in his efforts to locate the source of the mortifying video and in his kindness to Ms. Weatherspoon.
“All right,” she acquiesced a moment later. “If you want to unload some of the boxes into the walk-in refrigerator, I’ll break down the empties.”
She knew she needed to keep him at arm’s length no matter how much she might yearn for something more. Still, the tension between them spun out for a moment while she waited for his answer. When he gave a nod, the air rushed out of her lungs, the moment broken.
A few minutes later, they worked in tandem. Quinton had been more than willing to take instruction for where to put things, and McKenna had been grateful for a break from standing in the thirty-seven-degree unit.
While she flattened the cardboard into manageable squares for recycling, she couldn’t help but notice Quinton’s arms flex as he worked. Even through a layer of flannel, the ripple of muscle was evident in his shoulders and back. A visual she wouldn’t have guessed would be so distracting just two weeks before when her body had seemed immune to men.
For better or worse, she couldn’t deny that Quinton’s presence had been the catalyst to awaken her senses.
As she bound a stack of cardboard with twine and cinched the knot, her phone blared and vibrated with an emergency notification. Quinton’s did the same, the sound of his device carrying through the cooler’s insulated walls. He was quicker to shut his off than her, stepping out of the fridge as she read her alert from the National Weather Service.