The only exceptions to his no-view rule were the custom restoration shows he watched sometimes. There was one guy, Kyle McCullough, who had an ongoing series on restoring old classic bikes that Jaxson watched and rewatched whenever he had the chance.
When Jaxson hit the game show network a third time, he stabbed the power button and tossed the remote on the bed. The guy he’d shared a hospital room with was a trivia fanatic. As a result, Jaxson now knew a shit-ton of completely useless facts.
Because that would come in handy.
Feeling restless, he decided to visit the bar Harry had told him about.
O’Malley’s wasn’t hard to find; it was the only pub in town.
He received his share of curious looks when he walked in and took a seat at the bar. He’d expected as much. The bartender took his time making his way down to Jaxson’s end of the bar, which Jaxson had also expected. Cheney’s was the same way on those rare occasions when an outsider wandered in.
“You’re not from around here,” the tender said.
“No,” Jaxson agreed.
“You one of them Sanctuary boys?” asked the guy a seat over from him, peering at him through narrowed eyes.
“No.”
Another guy approached, this one wearing a badge pinned to the waistband of his Dockers. Jaxson did a quick assessment. Small-town law. Self-important. The kind of guy who thought the gun he carried gave him special privileges but who would probably piss himself in a real fight. Jaxson immediately disliked him.
“What brings you to town?” the badge asked.
Jaxson was spared from answering when Harry appeared and slapped a beefy hand on his shoulder. “Guys, this is Jaxson. Had some motorcycle trouble and is staying at Mel’s until Stoltzfus recovers from his daughter’s wedding.”
Some murmurs, some reluctant nods. A meaningful glance exchanged between Harry and the cop that did not go unnoticed.
“Come on,” Harry continued, turning back to Jaxson. “Let’s see if you’re any good at shooting darts.”
Jaxson got up and followed Harry toward the back, aware of the eyes following them.
“Don’t mind them,” Harry said cheerfully. “They’re not used to seeing new faces in here.”
Yeah, he’d figured that out for himself. “I have to ask. What’s this Sanctuary everyone keeps asking me about?”
Harry went to the board and pulled out the darts, and then he walked back to the line made on the floor with tape to make his first throw. Lowering his voice, he said, “It’s a place up the mountain that caters to military types. Guys who come back worse off than when they went, if you know what I mean.”
Jaxson subconsciously rubbed his leg, but Harry shook his head. “Not like that. Up here,” he said, pointing to his temple. “Makes some folks nervous.”
Jaxson was beginning to understand. “Ah.”
“Did you have any luck at the library today?”
“No.”
“That sucks, man. Wish I could help, but I’ve only been around the last twenty years or so. I’m still considered the new guy.”
“Maybe someone here has information.”
“No doubt,” Harry answered, “but if I were you, I wouldn’t ask. Not tonight anyway. These guys don’t take kindly to strangers who come in asking questions. Makes them suspicious-like. But a man who just wants to have a few beers, shoot some darts, and hang out? That’s different. And if you don’t mind a bit of friendly advice, it wouldn’t hurt to buy a round before you leave.”
Chapter Eleven
Penny
“Stop fidgeting,” Addie Hoffmeier chided under her breath, making Penny feel as if she were nine instead of twenty-nine.
Penny couldn’t help it. Sitting still in the hardwood pew was difficult on the best of Sundays, but that morning, she found it more difficult than usual. After a restless night, she’d woken up with the same vague anxiety she’d had when she went to bed, only worse. The brief periods of sleep she’d managed were filled with unnerving dreams involving a certain steely-eyed storm cloud in masculine form.
It also didn’t help that Reverend McFinley was working his way through the seven deadly sins, and that morning’s sermon was focused on lust, of all things.
Normally, Penny would listen with half an ear and let her mind wander, but that homily seemed particularly apropos, given the last thirty hours or so.
There was something messed up about that. Penny had seen and silently appreciated plenty of good-looking men, but this went beyond garden-variety attraction. She couldn’t stop thinking about him, and those thoughts were manifesting in a series of warmth, tingles, and butterflies.
It didn’t make sense. Jaxson Adams was all wrong for her in so many ways. He was edgy, brooding, and borderline rude, and yet here she was.
The twenty-minute sermon seemed to go on forever, and with every head that nodded in agreement with the good reverend’s words, Penny’s discomfort grew.
An eternity later, the service ended, and Penny stood up with the others.
“That was a long one today,” she commented quietly.
“Maybe the Holy Spirit thought someone needed to hear it,” Great-Auntie Agnes said sternly from Penny’s right.
“Maybe,” Penny agreed, forcing a smile and hoping she didn’t look as guilty as she felt.
“Someone does,” Martha McGillicuddy proclaimed from beside Agnes. “Two people in particular.”
Penny’s stomach clenched. Martha was part of the Ladies Auxiliary with Agnes and had a nose like a bloodhound when it came to scuttlebutt. Without a doubt, Jaxson Adams had been a hot topic of discussion in the fire hall kitchen the night before. The only question was whether or not her name had come up as well.
Penny was pretty certain Great-Auntie Agnes hadn’t said anything—gossip involving one’s own family was to be avoided—but it only took one person with loose lips who had seen her at Mel’s or the diner or talking to Jaxson along Main Street the day before to open the topic up for discussion.
“No doubt they’re sleeping off a different kind of spirits,” Great-Auntie Agnes said with a sniff, causing the knot in Penny’s stomach to loosen a little. “Perhaps if they attended church more often, they wouldn’t feel the need to over imbibe and engage in such things.”
Agnes believed going to church was the best way to stay on the straight and narrow, and when that wasn’t sufficient, there was always public shaming and corporal punishment.
“How was the wedding, Mrs. McGillicuddy?” Addie asked, circumventing what could be a long dissertation on the deplorable morals of today’s society.
“Oh, lovely. Simply lovely. Everyone was gushing over the flowers and the arrangements.”
Penny’s mother beamed. “Thank you. It was all Penny’s doing.”
“Such a knack she has. Perhaps one day, we’ll be seeing her up there at the altar,” Martha said, as if Penny weren’t standing right there.
“Perhaps,” Addie said lightly. “But with such strong single women in her life, she knows she doesn’t have to settle.”
Penny inwardly cheered. Neither Martha nor Agnes had married, and when they started in on Penny for her single status at the advanced age of nearly thirty, Addie had no trouble reminding them of that.