Page 39 of For the Promise (The Raider Brothers #2)

Harper – a woman with a thousand problems but no time to worry about them

The lights flicker before the bar goes dark. My stomach drops to the floor and my hands shake as I grasp the pint glass to pour a beer. Did I forget to pay the electricity bill?

I’ve been fooling around with which bill to pay when and stretching the due dates to the extreme. I don’t have much choice. Money is tight, which is an understatement to put it lightly. There never seems to be enough cash to go around.

The lights come back on, and I blow out a breath in relief. The electricity company is not cutting me off. I must have paid the bill in time after all.

I set the beer down on the bar in front of one of our regulars, Dick.

“Did you forget to pay your electricity bill, Harper?”

“Nope. I’m testing your night vision.”

He chuckles as he lifts his beer.

“Get off me! Get off me!”

I sigh. Why did I want to own a bar? Oh, yea, I thought it would provide financial security for me and Dad. Ha! Silly me.

I hurry to the person across the room to the man who’s shouting. My brow wrinkles when I arrive at his table and he’s alone.

“Hi. I’m Harper. I own this bar. And you are?”

“I’m Devin.”

“Nice to meet you Devin. What seems to be the problem?”

He points to the floor. “This beast won’t leave me alone.”

I kneel down and peek under the table to find a dog peering back at me. “Sloane!”

My bartender comes running. “There you are, Boozer.” She picks up the dog and begins cuddling him.

“That dog!” Devin shakes his finger at him. “Assaulted me when the lights were out.”

“Assaulted you? Boozer wouldn’t hurt a fly.” Sloane kisses the dog’s nose. “Would you boy?”

“Boy? It’s a boy?”

Sloane glares at Devin. “Boozer isn’t an it.”

“ It licked my face and humped my leg.”

I groan. This happens every time Sloane brings her dog to the bar. Which is why I banned her from bringing him any more. But does she listen?

“Your next round is on me.”

Devin grins before standing and sauntering to the bar. Probably to pick out the most expensive whiskey I stock.

“You.” I point at Sloane. “Follow me.”

I march to my office and usher her inside before shutting the door behind us.

“I told you not to bring Boozer to the bar any more.”

“But look at his face,” she pouts. “Who can resist this face?”

She pushes his face toward me but I cross my arms over my chest and give her the ‘look’. My employees have nicknamed it my Siren’s Scowl. They think I don’t know. Ha! I know everything that happens in my bar.

“Sloane,” I grumble. “This is a business. I can’t have patrons being licked by your dog. It’s not professional.”

She rolls her eyes. “Did you forget Rumrunner is a speakeasy on a touristy island?”

I frown. I don’t deny Smuggler’s Hideaway is touristy. It’s impossible to miss with all the festivals and beach seekers, but I grew up on this island. It’s my home. I don’t enjoy people making negative comments about my home.

“Tourism isn’t an excuse to be unprofessional.”

She groans. “Are you going to give me one of your lectures about professionalism again?”

“No. What I am going to do is make you pay for whatever drink Devin wants.”

Her nose wrinkles. “Who’s Devin?”

“The man your dog just felt up!”

“Oh. Him.”

I check the time. “You can have your break now. Take Boozer home.”

“But then he’ll be all alone.”

I grit my teeth before I end up shouting. I promise I don’t have an anger management problem. What I have is a problem with employees who don’t listen to me.

“He gets sad when he’s alone.”

“If you don’t want him to be alone, you can have the day off.” I’ll end up working late again, but I’m used to it.

“I need the money.”

“Then, you know what you need to do.”

“You’re mean.” She huffs before spinning around and marching out of my office.

I’m mean because I insist my employees don’t bring an animal to work? Whatever. I don’t have time to worry about what my workers think of me.

I quickly make a note to add the price of whatever drink Devin orders to her paycheck before returning to the bar.

“Boss!” Trent, the bouncer, shouts from across the room.

I make my way to the door. “What’s up?”

“A couple of guests who don’t know the password.”

My brow wrinkles. “How did they get the location of Rumrunner if they don’t know the password?”

The Rumrunner ’s location is kept secret. You can hardly be a speakeasy if everyone knows your location. The bar is down a dark and dreary alley and there’s no signage. There’s merely a locked door.

Trent motions to a table of women sitting at a booth. “They’ve been texting and giggling while staring at the door. And the men outside say their women are inside.”

I notice the women are wearing seashell bras.

“I hate Mermaid Karaoke season,” I grumble. Mermaid Karaoke takes place at Bootlegger but it’s not unusual for the mermaids and smugglers to continue their parties at my bar.

I open the speakeasy window. A group of men crowd toward the door.

“Are you going to let us in? We’ve been waiting forever.”

“We demand to speak to the management.”

“I’m the owner.”

“Finally.” He acts as if he’s been waiting years instead of five minutes.

“You need the password to enter,” I explain.

“We’re here now. Do we really need a password?”

“No password. No entry.”

It’s not a difficult concept to comprehend but somehow there are always people who think an exception will be made for them.

There’s an exception for locals. But they’re only exempted because they’d find a way to enter with or without the password.

Smuggler’s Hideaway residents are the definition of sneaky.

“How do we get the password?”

“You have to answer a riddle.”

He grins. “No problem. What’s the riddle?”

“I dwell where land and sea embrace. With songs that echo in moonlit space. Though I’m no fish, I have a tail. In ocean’s depths, I weave my tale. Who am I?”

“Duh. You’re a fish.”

Another man elbows him. “She literally said she’s no fish.”

“Seal.”

“Not a seal,” I say.

“Octopus.”

I shake my head. We’re going to be here all night at this rate. It’s not a difficult riddle. I purposely make them easy enough to answer. I don’t want to turn potential customers away. I’m operating a business here.

“Seagull!”

“Pearl!”

“Dolphin!”

“Coral!”

I sigh. “Do you want me to repeat the riddle or do you prefer to shout creatures of the sea all night long?”

“Repeat it. We’ve got this.”

“I dwell where land and sea embrace. With songs that echo in moonlit space. Though I’m no fish, I have a tail. In ocean’s depths, I weave my tale. Who am I?”

This time the men huddle together as they try to figure out the riddle.

“Siren.”

“You’re getting closer.”

“Sea nymph.”

“Less close but you’re on the right track.”

“Mermaid!”

“Ding. Ding. Ding.” I open the door and usher them inside. They immediately hurry to the table of women.

“Sorry, boss,” Trent says when they’re out of hearing range. “I could have handled them but they asked to speak to the management.”

I brush my sweaty bangs off of my forehead. “No worries.”

“Harper!” My other bartender, Dave, yells. “The Depth Charge Stout keg is out, but I can’t leave the bar because Sloane is on break.”

“I got it.”

I shoulder my way through the crowd to the wall behind the bar. I tap on the wall and a door opens to reveal the hidden walk-in cooler. People murmur behind me in awe. I smile to myself. I love this old bar with all its quirks and secrets.

My phone vibrates in my back pocket. I swipe to answer before setting my phone on a shelf while I disconnect the empty keg.

“Hey, Dad,” I greet. “What’s the emergency?”

I’m not exaggerating. If Dad phones, it’s an emergency. There’s a reason I’m the money earner for the family after all.

Welcome to my life.