The Bad Boy's Commitment: The Bad Boys of Regret Hollow, #5

By Sara Daniel

Haunted by comrades he was unable to save, Drake Miller walks away from his military career for the relaxed, quiet life of running his father’s bar in Regret Hollow. Too bad no one tipped him off that his father sold the bar.

While the townspeople treat him to a hero’s welcome that he doesn’t want and doesn’t deserve, he finds one person who doesn’t fall at his feet, calls him out for bad behavior, and kisses like a fantasy. Unfortunately, she also owns the bar that was supposed to be his.

As a single mom and small business owner, Mallory Marquette takes her commitments and responsibilities seriously. She can’t give away her livelihood just because Drake thinks he's entitled to it—even if he is the town hero and the first man in a decade who gets her blood flowing. Besides, she needs a reliable bartender much more than she needs a lover.

Can this hero turned bad boy step up to a lifetime commitment, or will the freedom he sacrificed so much for cost him everything?

WARNING: Contains naughty words Grandma wouldn’t approve of, smoking hot love scenes Grandma can’t get enough of, all the quirks of small-town life, and a swoon-worthy, no-cliffhangers-no-regrets romance.

Books in The Bad Boys of Regret Hollow series:

1.  The Bad Boy’s Gift

2.  The Bad Boy’s Guilt

3.  The Bad Boy’s Guarantee

4.  The Bad Boy’s Goodness

5.  The Bad Boy's Commitment

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sara Daniel
• Release date: Oct 13, 2016
• ISBN: 9781533799760

Book preview

Chapter 1

The only thing that beat a cold beer on a Friday night was a cold beer served in The Hollow Leg Bar.

Drake Miller couldn’t wait to watch the smile spread over his father’s face when he walked in the door and parked himself on a stool.

By tomorrow, he planned to be behind the counter, passing out cold ones, with nothing more serious to worry about than idiots who didn’t know their limit or underage kids who thought they could fool him. No landmines or trip wires, no suicide bombers or snipers. He’d officially shed his military responsibilities for the slow, uneventful small-town perfection of Regret Hollow, Wisconsin.

Stepping inside the building, he glanced to the right and nodded at the teenage hostess in the pizzeria then headed left through the split lobby into the bar. Instead of his dad behind the counter, some baby-faced newbie, who’d failed to account for the foam from the tap, stood with beer dripping down his arm.

Drake shook his head. Listening to Pops reading the riot act on keeping alcohol in the glass would make great entertainment for the evening. He slid onto an empty stool for a front and center seat for the show. Hey, how’s it going?

Not giving the greeting so much as a nod of acknowledgment, the guy pulled his phone out of his pocket and fixated on the screen. Reprimanding him wasn’t Drake’s responsibility, but he’d arrived home at a perfect time to take over the open shifts.

A guy on the next stool with shoulder-length black hair glanced over then did a double take. Drake Miller?

In the flesh. He squinted, trying to figure out if he ought to know the other man.

Zane DeMonde. He offered his right hand. I was a couple of years behind you in school.

Of course. He accepted the solid handshake. How could I forget? Our sisters are best friends.

And this is Ken Hawkins, my business manager. Zane gestured to the guy on the other side of him.

Business manager? Shit, you sound important. But now he did vaguely remember Zane being famous for something, art maybe. He sure hadn’t followed in his father’s footsteps, becoming the town drunk, the way too many people had written him off.

I keep him from getting too full of himself. Ken laughed as he shook Drake’s hand. And Julianne keeps him grounded in the real world.

So, you finally came back for your high school sweetheart?

Been married for eleven months now. Zane’s smile turned soft and dreamy. Apparently, the honeymoon was still going strong.

Congratulations. Sounds like I have a lot to catch up on. He glanced behind the counter again. The guy continued to scroll through his phone while Pops was nowhere in sight. What’s on tap tonight? Drake called out.

Miller and Budweiser. The guy picked up a bottle of vodka, poured a little, squinted at his phone again then reached for the orange juice.

Bartending 101: Know how to make a screwdriver. What’s the craft beer specialty?

Craft? Like knitting?

I’ll take a beer, any brand, in the bottle, ice cold. Before his inner commanding officer got in the kid’s face and turned him into a whimpering, sniveling mess, Drake turned to Zane and Ken. Is my dad in the back? This punk needs some Hollow Leg schooling.

Zane shrugged. I’d guess he’s at home.

Calling it an early night with Martha if he’s smart, Ken added. Speaking of which, I promised Bethany I’d cut out after one beer. We’re picking out invitations tomorrow.

You’ve finally set a wedding date? Zane sounded shocked.

God, I wish. No. Invitations for the engagement party. Her mother has been researching what font type we should go with. Like that’s a deal breaker for someone on the fence about attending the opening act of our circus.

Zane snorted. If you pick Times New Roman, I have other plans. Just saying. The men clinked their empty beers glasses together, laughing much harder than the joke warranted.

Drake’s throat ached for a long pull from his beer, but phone boy was still slaving over that screwdriver. Pops and Martha getting together had been years in the making, and she had been signing his name to all the care packages she sent, so no surprise.

However, not even Martha could convince Pops to take a Friday or Saturday night away from the bar. Matter of fact, she should have been waitressing the room for him. Uneasiness prickled the back of his neck. Why would my dad and Martha be at home instead of here on a Friday night?

Zane cleared his throat, the same look in his eyes as a soldier wishing he didn’t have to be the messenger of bad news. Your father and sister have kept you up-to-date on stuff while you’ve been gone, right?

He’d thought so. Haley quit her job in Chicago and moved to Milwaukee a few months ago. Your sister, Nicole, is engaged to the police chief. Those were the biggest highlights of the past year that he could recall.

And right around the time Haley moved in with Seth, your dad sold the bar.

What? Drake leaped off his stool. No way. He would never— This place is his life. It was supposed to become Drake’s life.

Sorry, man. Zane winced. I assumed you knew. I mean, with Dave’s heart issues and medical bills and Haley bailing him out. That medical benefit here a few months back turned into a retirement party and changing of the guard.

Heart issues? If something was wrong, someone would have told him. If not Pops, then Haley or Martha or the dozen other townspeople who’d written to him and sent him care packages over the years. Drake would have taken emergency leave and done whatever needed to be done to save the bar.

He dug his phone from his pocket and dialed Pops while glaring at the inept bartender who’d taken his father’s place. Get me your boss. He and I need to have a chat.

The guy’s face blanched. Ms. Marquette is out of town.

Not Mr. Miller. Not Martha’s last name either. She left you in charge when you don’t know how to make a screwdriver?

Why do people think I should be able to make fifty drinks off the top of my head?

Because if you’re any good at your job, you should. I could make fifty by the time I was twelve. Not that his father or the law had allowed him to.

Hello? Pops finally answered the phone.

Drake adjusted the device against his ear. Pops, where are you?

Drake? Is that you? I’m, uh, at The Hollow Leg, like usual.

Dammit, how long had his family been lying to him? Then, for God’s sake, get the hell behind the counter. This whiny punk needs to learn how to make a screwdriver, and I’m going to die of thirst if I don’t get that beer I ordered fifteen minutes ago.

After a beat of silence, Pops said, Are you telling me you’re at the bar? The Hollow Leg? In Regret Hollow?

I thought I’d surprise you. Seems the joke’s on me. Worse, his plans for the rest of his life had become a joke.

Silence filled the line. Then, Why don’t you come home? I have some things to tell you.

Are you dying? He needed to hear it straight. No more stall tactics.

Dying? Hell no. Thankfully, he sounded like his forceful and convincing normal self. I had a heart attack about eighteen months ago. Things were rough for a while, but I’m fine now, never better, in fact.

"You had a heart attack eighteen months ago, and you never mentioned it?" God damn it. He’d been trained to notice signs, to understand what had been left unsaid, to follow up on his gut instincts.

"You’d just had leave and visited me. I knew how hard it would be for you to find a way to race back here from the other side of the world. If you couldn’t come back, having you worrying about me when real bad guys were trying to shoot your head off would have been worse. Haley helped me run the bar for