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Two fingers? No, two fingers of jack were not going to pacify him. It wasn’t the cold steel of the colt in his hand, aimed at nothing in particular, compelling Daphne to comply. The arrogance in the stranger’s face was prompting her submission. The smooth glass in his other hand was waiting for her to show a little more hospitality.

“You’re not a half bad looking woman to be working a bar this late into the morning,” he said, flipping the drained glass back to her with a nod. “But you could do with showing a bit more smile to your patrons.” She hated these arrogant men, both of her ex’s were arrogant types.

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