The reporter crossed his arms on the table and considered. “What good will that do me?”

“You’ll have an exclusive interview,” she pointed out, “but it won’t draw attention to Dylan until after he’s gone.”

“What if the story breaks before then?” the reporter asked Gracie, apparently not questioning her right to negotiate for Dylan.

Even she didn’t seem to realize she was a paper tiger. She continued with all the confidence of a Secretary of State during peace talks. “He’ll still talk to you first, as long as you aren’t the one who reveals his whereabouts.”

“Why would I do that?” Dylan asked, oddly more amused than angry at having her speak on his behalf.

“Yeah, what makes you so sure he’ll honor the agreement?” Brinker seconded.

Gracie smiled. “I think I can arrange for some interesting candid photos. You can use them in whatever way you like. If he doesn’t cooperate.”

“All right.” The man’s weathered face creased into an accordion of wrinkles as he grinned. “What do you say, Dylan?”

A waitress threaded toward him with his order on a tray, and he didn’t want a reporter hanging over him while he ate. Plus, Gracie looked so pleased with herself that he didn’t want to rain on her parade. He’d find his way out of the arrangement later if he wanted to. He shrugged. “Why not?”

Brinker laid his business card on the table. “Call me by the end of the week or the deal’s off.”

“Sure.” Dylan turned his attention to the food in front of him.

The waitress placed his bill on top of the card.

Dylan read the nametag on her pink shirt. “Put it on my tab, Nell.”

“Sorry, sugar. I get off when the kitchen closes. I need to be paid for food now.”

“Do you take American Express?” He reached into his back pocket, but came up empty handed. Well, shit. “I must have forgotten my wallet.”

The waitress’s patience disappeared with her smile. “Then who’s going to pay for this?”

Dylan resented being treated like a deadbeat. Everybody in this piss-ant town knew who he was. Why weren’t they cutting him any slack? “I’ll bring the money by tomorrow.”

“Sorry, buddy, but we’ve got a deal with the bank. They don’t serve burgers, and we don’t make loans. I need the money now.” With each sentence, her volume rose several decibels. If she didn’t stop soon, she’d be screeching louder than the town fire alarm.

Dylan looked around. Everyone in the bar watched the exchange. Brinker scribbled notes on a pad. Clayton grinned at Dylan’s discomfort. Others seemed to revel in it or be embarrassed by it. Only Gracie looked sympathetic. Just as he decided to unstrap his Rolex and offer to leave it hostage for the twenty-dollar tab, Gracie picked up the bill. Humiliation and relief battled inside him.

“I’ll get it, Nell,” she said.

The waitress relaxed as Gracie counted out the money. “I don’t want you to get stiffed for it, but I have to pay Guidry out of my tips if I come up short, and the first installment on Julie’s braces is due this week.”

“Don’t worry about me, Nell, I’ll add it to his bill at Gran’s.” Gracie smiled and added an extra fifty dollars. “As long as I’m spending Bradford money, I might as well be generous with it.”

“Thanks!” the waitress said as she turned away.

“Yeah, thanks,” Dylan said grudgingly. “I’ll pay you back.”

Their eyes met and held. For a second, he wanted to abandon his dinner, take her by the hand, and go someplace to feast on her. He couldn’t ask her to dance because they were playing country music. He couldn’t lean over and brush his lips over hers or the kiss would be reported on the front page of the local paper. Without cash or credit cards, he couldn’t even offer to buy her a beer. This night just kept on sucking.

“And I was hoping Mr. Bradford Bigbucks would buy me a drink.” The redhead slipped into the chair she’d vacated earlier. “But everybody knows doctors have plenty of money. I guess I’ll have to ask Gracie to buy me one instead.”

“Please, don’t. I owe a fortune in student loans, and I’ll have to pay Dylan’s bar tab, too.”

“He sure knows how to attract attention, doesn’t he?” The woman leaned across and stretched out her hand. He thought she intended to offer to shake, but she snitched a French fry instead. “I’m Tanya Turnbaugh.”

Now, here was a beauty worthy of a real smile. “Help yourself to my fries.”

“Technically, they’re Gracie’s, and she would want you to share.” The redhead had a pretty terrific smile, too. And a body that wouldn’t quit.

As outgoing as Gracie usually seemed, she appeared almost subdued compared to Tanya’s vivaciousness. The woman reminded him of microwave popcorn, neatly contained, but only seconds away from bouncing all over the place.

With a little prompting from Gracie, Tanya told Dylan about her plans to open a florist shop. “I’m managing the hospital gift shop while I get the financing together.” She crossed her fingers for luck. “I would ask if you’d lend me the money, but we all know you’re a little strapped for cash just now.”

Dylan liked her. Plus, she was a friend of Gracie’s. Maybe he could do something for her. “There are ways I can help you without making a loan. What bank are you using?”

She sneaked the last of the fries and sucked ketchup from the end of it. “The only one in town.”

“There are some low-interest small-business loans available for women,” he told her. “Are you familiar with those?”

The last bit of potato disappeared into Tanya’s mouth and she licked salt off her index finger while batting her eyelashes. “Yeah, but there’s so much red-tape. Every time I fill out one form, it comes back with a request for five others. It’s a real pain in the caboose to get the information together. Luckily, Guidry gave me a business plan.”

“Guidry who?

“The bartender. He’s Gracie’s cousin.”

Dylan compared the bearded mountain man in the flannel shirt with the delectable Gracie. No visible family resemblance that he could see. “I’m sure being Gracie’s cousin is a wonderful recommendation, but how does being a bartender make him a sound financial adviser?”

“It doesn’t.” Gracie gave him one of the stiff-faced smiles he thought they’d put behind them. “It’s the MBA from Penn that qualifies him.”

“The bartender has an MBA from Penn?” Dylan tried to control his incredulous expression. “What’s he doing here?”

“I think it’s called burnout,” Tanya said. “After he made his first ten million and his wife left him for her masseuse, big-time business just wasn’t fun for him anymore.”

“This bar belonged to my uncle,” Gracie explained. “Guidry came home to sell it after his dad died last year. Somehow, he started running the bar instead, fixing the place up, helping local people out with money and loans, and working on the revitalization of the town. Being an all-around good guy.”

Dylan shook his head, reminded again that he should be looking at the town with an open mind instead of preconceived notions. What else had he overlooked because he hadn’t checked beneath the surface? Damn, no wonder he was turning out to be such a piss-poor detective. “It sounds like you’re in capable hands. But I’m good at filling out forms, if that would help you out.”

“Would you do that for me? How could that help?” The redhead leaned over, giving him an excellent view of her ample cleavage, took one of his hands in hers, and squeezed. Her eyes and body language said she’d devour him as eagerly as she’d devoured his dinner, but her eyes told him she was all show and no go.

“Applying for a government loan is a game with secret rules,” he told her. “Success can hinge on something as illogical as word choice. I’m familiar with the buzzwords they’re looking for and the ones to stay away from.”

Tanya nodded, beamed, and flirted, but he was counting on the fact that she’d been casting anxious glances at someone seated at the bar throughout their conversation.