Heron's Landing. JoAnn Ross

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      “You sure you don’t want to wait to order until she gets here?”

      “She’s not eating here. It’s a command-performance dinner,” he said. “To have dinner with her and the guy who may be her new boyfriend. Instead of eating at her new apartment, she decided that it’d be better to meet on neutral ground.”

      “Meaning somewhere other than a brewpub owned and operated by a Mannion,” Quinn said. “Especially given the rumors that said new boyfriend just happens to be my uncle Mike.”

      “That does make the situation stickier.” Seth took a long pull on the Cascadian Dark Ale and wished it was something stronger.

      The feud between the Harpers and Mannions dated back to the early 1900s. After having experienced a boom during the end of the end of the nineteenth century, the once-bustling seaport town had fallen on hard times during a national financial depression.

      Although the population declined drastically, those dreamers who’d remained were handed a stroke of luck in 1910 when the newlywed king and queen of Montacroix added the town to their honeymoon tour of America. The couple had learned of this lush green region from the king’s friend Theodore Roosevelt, who’d set aside national land for the Mount Olympus Monument.

      As a way of honoring the royals, and hoping that the national and European press following them across the country might bring more attention to the town, residents had voted nearly unanimously to change the name to Honeymoon Harbor. Seth’s ancestor Nathaniel Harper had been the lone holdout, creating acrimony on both sides that continued to linger among some but not all of the citizens. Quinn’s father, after all, was a Mannion, his mother a Harper. But Ben Harper, Seth’s father, tended to nurse his grudges. Even century-old ones that had nothing to do with him. Or at least hadn’t. Until lately.

      “And it gets worse,” he said.

      “Okay.”

      One of the things that made Quinn such a good bartender was that he listened a lot more than he talked. Which made Seth wonder how he’d managed to spend all those years as a big-bucks corporate lawyer in Seattle before returning home to open this pub and microbrewery.

      “The neutral location she chose is Leaf.”

      Quinn’s quick laugh caused two women who were drinking wine at a table looking out over the water to glance up with interest. Which wasn’t surprising. Quinn’s brother Wall Street wizard Gabe Mannion might be richer, New York City pro quarterback Burke Mannion flashier, and, last time he’d seen him, which had admittedly been a while, Marine-turned-LA-cop Aiden Mannion had still carried that bad-boy vibe that had gotten him in trouble a lot while they’d been growing up together. But Quinn’s superpower had always been the ability to draw the attention of females—from bald babies in strollers to blue-haired elderly women in walkers—without seeming to do a thing.

      After turning in the burger order, and helping out his waitress by delivering meals to two of the tables, Quinn returned to the bar and began hanging up the glasses.

      “Let me guess,” he said. “You ordered the burger as an appetizer before you go off to a vegetarian restaurant to dine on alfalfa sprouts and pretty flowers.”

      “It’s a matter of survival. I spent the entire day until I walked in here taking down a wall, adding a new reinforcing beam and framing out a bathroom. A guy needs sustenance. Not a plate of arugula and pansies.”

      “Since I run a place that specializes in pub grub, you’re not going to get any argument from me on that plan. Do you still want the burger to go for the mutt?”

      Bandit, a black Lab/boxer mix so named for his penchant for stealing food from Seth’s construction sites back in his stray days—including once gnawing through a canvas ice chest—usually waited patiently in the truck for his burger. Tonight Seth had dropped him off at the house on his way over here, meaning the dog would have to wait a little longer for his dinner. Not that he hadn’t mooched enough from the framers already today. If the vet hadn’t explained strays’ tendencies for overeating because they didn’t know where their next meal might be coming from, Seth might have suspected the street-scarred dog he’d rescued of having a tapeworm.

      They shot the breeze while Quinn served up drinks, which in this place ran more to the craft beer he brewed in the building next door. A few minutes later, the swinging door to the kitchen opened and out came two layers of prime beef topped with melted local cheddar cheese, bacon and caramelized grilled onions, with a slice of tomato and iceberg-lettuce leaf tossed in as an apparent nod to the food pyramid, all piled between the halves of an oversize toasted kaiser bun. Taking up the rest of the heated metal platter was a mountain of spicy french fries.

      Next to the platter was a take-out box of plain burger. It wouldn’t stay warm, but having first seen the dog scrounging from a garbage can on the waterfront, Seth figured Bandit didn’t care about the temperature of his dinner.

      “So, you’re eating in tonight,” a bearded giant wearing a T-shirt with Embrace the Lard on the front said in a deep foghorn voice. “I didn’t see that coming.”

      “Everyone’s a damn joker,” Seth muttered, even as the aroma of grilled beef and melted cheese drew him in. He took a bite and nearly moaned. The Norwegian, who’d given up cooking on fishing boats when he’d gotten tired of freezing his ass off during winter crabbing season, might be a sarcastic smart-ass, but the guy sure as hell could cook.

      “He’s got a dinner date tonight at Leaf.” Quinn, for some damn reason, chose this moment to decide to get chatty. “This is an appetizer.”

      Jarle Bjornstad snorted. “I tried going vegan,” he said. “I’d hooked up with a woman in Anchorage who wouldn’t even wear leather. It didn’t work out.”

      “Mine’s not that kind of date.” Seth wondered how much arugula, kale and flowers it would take to fill up the man with shoulders as wide as a redwood trunk and arms like huge steel bands. His full-sleeve tattoo boasted a butcher’s chart of a cow. Which might explain his ability to turn a beef patty into something close to nirvana. “And there probably aren’t enough vegetables on the planet to sustain you.”

      During the remodeling, Seth had taken out four rows of bricks in the wall leading to the kitchen to allow the six-foot-seven-inch-tall cook to go back and forth without having to duck his head to keep from hitting the doorjamb every trip.

      “On our first date, she cited all this damn research claiming vegans lived nine years longer than meat eaters.” Jarle’s teeth flashed in a grin in his flaming red beard. “After a week of grazing, I decided that her statistics might be true, but that extra time would be nine horrible baconless years.”

      That said, he turned and stomped back into the kitchen.

      “He’s got a point,” Quinn said.

      “Amen to that.” Having learned firsthand how treacherous and unpredictable death could be, with his current family situation on the verge of possibly exploding, Seth decided to worry about his arteries later and took another huge bite of beef-and-cheese heaven.

       CHAPTER TWO

      THE BRIDE WAS BEAUTIFUL, as all brides are. It was, of course, easier when you had unlimited funds at your disposal. The white couture gown, flown in especially for the event from СКАЧАТЬ