His Illegitimate Heir by Sarah M. Anderson Page A

My dad was hired to do some work there a couple years ago. He said it was an amazing house.”
    â€œI suppose it is.” He didn’t sound very convinced about this. But before Casey could ask him what he didn’t like about the house, he went on, “What does your dad do? And I’m going to pay you back for his ticket. I’m sorry that I’m using it in his place.”
    She waved this away. “Don’t worry about it. He really did have a union meeting tonight. He’s an electrician. He does a lot of work in older homes—renovations and upgrading antique wiring. There’s still a lot of knob-and-tube wiring in Denver, you know.”
    One corner of his mouth—not that she was staring at his mouth—curved up into a smile that was positively dangerous.
    â€œWhat?” she said defensively—because if she didn’t defend herself from that sly smile... Well, she didn’t know what would happen. But it wouldn’t be good.
    In fact, it would be bad. The very best kind of bad.
    â€œNothing. I’ve just got to stop being surprised by you, that’s all.” They advanced another place in line. “What are we ordering?”
    â€œWell, seeing as this is Coors Field, we really don’t have too many options when it comes to beer. It’s—shockingly—Coors.”
    â€œNo!” he said in surprise. “Do they make beer?”
    She stared at him. “Wait—was that a joke? Were you trying to be funny?”
    That grin—oh, hell . “Depends. Did it work?”
    No—well, yes, but no . No, she couldn’t allow him to be a regular guy. If this “company outing” was going to stay strictly aboveboard, he could not suddenly develop a set of pecs and a sense of humor at the same time. She couldn’t take it. “Mr. Richards—”
    â€œReally, Casey,” he said, cutting her off, “we’re about to drink a competitor’s beer outside of normal business hours at a game. Call me Zeb.”
    She was a strong woman. She was. She’d worked at the Beaumont Brewery for twelve years and during that time, she’d never once gotten involved with a coworker. She’d had to negotiate the fine line between “innocent flirting” and “sexual harassment” on too many occasions, but once she’d earned her place at the table, that had fallen away.
    But this? Calling Richards by his first name? Buying beer with him at a ball game? Pointedly not staring at the way he filled out an officially licensed T-shirt? Listening to him crack jokes?
    She simply wasn’t that strong. This wasn’t a company outing. It was starting to feel like a date.
    They reached the cashier. “Casey!” Marco gave her a high five over the counter.
    She could feel Zeb behind her. He wasn’t touching her, but he was close enough that her skin was prickling. “Marco—what’s the latest?”
    â€œIt happened, girl.” Marco pointed to a neon sign over his head—one that proudly proclaimed they served Percheron Drafts.
    Casey whistled. “You were right.”
    â€œI told you,” he went on. “They cut a deal. You wanna try something? Their pale ale is good. Or is that not allowed? I heard you had a new boss there—another crazy Beaumont. Two of them, even!” He chuckled and shook his head in disbelief. “You think the Beaumonts knew their brother or half brother or whatever he is took over? I heard it might have been planned...”
    It took everything Casey had not to look back over her shoulder at Zeb. Maybe she was reading too much into the situation, but she would put money on the fact that he wasn’t grinning anymore. “I bet it was a hell of a surprise,” she said, desperate to change the subject. “Give me the pale ale and—”
    â€œNachos, extra jalapeños?” He winked at her. “I’m on