Luck Be a Lady - Cathie Linz [23]
“I could use a mechanic,” Logan said. “Or a phone. Our cells don’t work out here.”
“Well, now, as it turns out we don’t have landline phone service at this exact moment,” Rowdy said cheerfully. “High winds over near Reno knocked down the lines. They should have it back up in no time. Meanwhile, come on in and take a load off. I don’t believe I got your names.”
“Logan Doyle and Megan West.”
Rowdy held the café door open and ushered them in. “Well, Logan and Megan, welcome to the place time forgot.”
He wasn’t kidding. Booths with red vinyl seats lined one gilded wood-paneled wall. Framed photos of Frank Sinatra and Dean Martin hung on the wall along with lots of other faces he didn’t recognize. Red bar stools stood in front of a luncheon counter with a fading gold-flecked Formica top. A large pass-through allowed a clear view of the kitchen. A vintage jukebox stood in the back corner behind the booths. This wasn’t a rehabbed version, as was indicated by the duct tape holding it together.
“It still plays,” Pepper said proudly. “You just need to know where to kick it. Just like a man.” She paused before looking at Megan. “You are gorgeous, girl! I love your dress even if it is a bit fancy for Last Resort. I wore an outfit like that to a gala at the Flamingo Casino in 1955. Ah, those were the days, huh, Rowdy? The Rat Pack—Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin, Sammy Davis Jr.”
Logan could tell by Megan’s expression that her inner history buff was fascinated. He didn’t share her enthusiasm. If he didn’t get some sleep soon, he’d end up face-down on the counter no matter how many cups of coffee he drank. Rowdy motioned him to sit at one of the stools at the counter and quickly poured him some coffee in a chipped white mug.
He couldn’t believe the way his trip to Las Vegas was turning out. Not that he’d had real high hopes given the fact that he was sent here to stop his grandfather from marrying and committing bigamy.
Sure, he’d expected a few speed bumps along the way. But he hadn’t expected Megan. She was more than a mere speed bump. She was more like a force of nature.
When his grandfather had first told him about Megan the librarian, Logan had no burning desire to meet her as his matchmaking Gramps had wanted. Now that Logan hadmet Megan, there was a burning desire going on, all right. A desire for her.
He’d seen more beautiful women, although she was no slouch in the looks department. Great legs, great cleavage, sexy lips. Her body wasn’t the only thing going for her. She had a one-track mind. So did he.
Watching her was like a drug. Maybe that was just exhaustion and too much caffeine talking.
Or maybe it was that “chemistry” everyone else kept going on and on about. Sure, he’d denied it aloud, but internally he recognized the claims were true.
Not that he could do anything about it. She had girl-next-door-white-picket-fence written all over her. She was no good-time badge bunny. You wouldn’t find her warming a bar stool at a cop bar, waiting to pick up one of Chicago’s finest for the night.
He couldn’t help wondering why she had a chip on her shoulder about cops. He’d always been too damn curious for his own good. Were her reasons personal? Had some guy done her wrong? Cheated on her?
Or were her reasons philosophical? Was she one of those bleeding hearts who thought all cops were guilty of brutality? Logan always found it ironic that even those folks called 911 when they were in trouble.
Not that he condoned police misconduct. And Chicago had had more than its fair share lately—all making the local nightly news. But the stories of the majority of police officers who did their jobs and put their lives on the line every day went untold. If a cop saved someone’s life or caught the bad guys . . . well, those stories rarely appeared in the media.
And that reality fostered the “us versus them” mentality in the force. Only another cop could understand what it was like.
“You’re awfully quiet, Logan,