Becca poured several glasses of beer at the bar of the Wicked Cat. The long draws of amber took her mind off the men who were after her. Nearby, someone laughed at the top of their lungs. She smiled; it was nice to hear someone laughing for a change.
someoneShe handed the jostling beers to a series of patrons sitting at the bar and wished them well.
The usual crowd had sauntered in for her winter specials—50 percent off select beer whenever it was snowing. The coffee business usually boomed in the winter, but the bar clientele thinned out for not wanting to go drinking in the winter. Her marketing helped keep people coming in the door after dinner.
The snow was still coming down outside, much harder now. It formed a thin layer on the roofs of cars parked on the street. Every time someon
