What the hell was the matter with him? Blaine couldn’t help questioning his own sanity as he found himself standing again just inside the door, scanning the barroom for a particular, familiar face. He was acting like a lovesick fool. He’d just about convinced himself to turn around and go home when his gaze landed on the man at the far end of the bar.
George leaned forward, chin on one hand, staring at a small card in his other. He slowly spun the card around, tapping each side in turn on the bar. His head rolled to the side, as if he couldn’t quite fathom what he was looking at.
A good-looking, casually dressed man chose that moment to plop down on the empty stool beside George and speak to him.
George sat up straight and slid the card into the front pocket of his well-worn plaid shirt
