employees from the nearby ski resort and a few truckers detoured from the highway.
I wove between the crowded tables and the bar, heaving full trays of oversize mugs brimming with tap beer. It wasn’t my dream job, but it paid cash and it took care of the bills. It allowed me to feed my rescued animals and have a place of my own, both great sources of joy to me. Besides, I really liked Mario and the majority of the townies who frequented the bar.
At the mike, Jimmy Martin—looking like a young Bob Marley—rasped on his guitar like a cat scratching a pole, hurling his folksy interpretation of “Story of My Life” above the noise, fitting in my name every few lines. It didn’t rhyme, but what the heck.
“Marry me, lovely Lia,” he added at the end of the song, á la Elvis Presley.
I lifted my hand in the air, encouraging a group response.
“Not tonight,” the crowd intoned in unison, mimicking my usual reply. “But maybe tomorrow.”
The place dissolved into laughter. I smiled. The regulars got such a kick out of my little trials and tribulations.
I plunked down the mugs on the VIP table. “Here you go.”
Sheriff Wilkins tipped his hat. “Thanks, Lia.”
“Yeah, thanks,” Jordan said. “Put it on my tab, will you?”
“This round is on me.” The diminutive Reverend Martin took out his wallet.
“Be quiet, all of you.” Gary Woods, the owner of the local gas company, slipped a twenty into my apron’s pocket. “It’s my turn.”
Ouch . The pinch of a bruising set of fingers stung on my butt. I whirled around to confront Charlie Nowak, Wood’s foreman in Copperhill. He sat behind me on his usual stool, belly spilling over his belt, staring at the ceiling.
God, he made me so mad! I sizzled inside. He was well into his cups, but it was beyond me how he managed to pinch me with such stealth in front of everybody. I took my vengeance and poured half his beer on his lap.
“Oops,” I said and I wasn’t sorry. “I’ll get you some napkins.”
“Never mind that.” Gary’s wife, Barb, a busty blonde with a preference for big hair and neon-red lipstick, threw a whole stack of napkins on Charlie’s lap, then turned to me. “Is it true that Ash Hunter is back in town? Rumor is he’s staying at your place.”
“Is that so?” Charlie shifted his bulk on the stool, suddenly interested in the conversation.
Crap. The last thing I wanted to do was draw attention to myself by becoming the target of Barb Wood’s enterprising rumor mill. Never one to miss a chance to make a point, Jordan waggled his fair eyebrows. Amusement twinkled in his eyes.
“It’s no rumor,” I said. “He’s renting out a room at my place while he tackles his grandmother’s affairs.”
“How long will he be staying with you?” Barbara said.
“Not long,” I said. “A few weeks maybe?”
“Is it true he’s wounded?” she said. “Somebody said he’s lame, scarred and deformed. He might be a little off too.”
This time, when Jordan’s stare met mine, he leaned back on his chair and flashed me a smug smile that blared I told you so .
“Jesus, Barb,” Gary said. “There you go again, wagging your tongue.”
“Gossip is a delicious sin,” the reverend put in.
“I talked to Ash the other day on the phone,” the sheriff said. “He sounded perfectly rational, like his old self.”
“He called me too,” the reverend said. “He’s a kind soul. He takes after his grandmother.”
Ash had talked to the sheriff? And to the reverend as well? What about?
None of my freaking business. I should be glad he had reached out. Ash was getting better every day, but so far, he showed little interest in venturing beyond the cottage, accepting my company but otherwise keeping to himself. His medical appointments were finally coming up. He’d have to leave the cottage for sure then.
“Wynona did a great job with the boy,” the sheriff said. “He was always a bright one, a real winner. Unlike you,
I wove between the crowded tables and the bar, heaving full trays of oversize mugs brimming with tap beer. It wasn’t my dream job, but it paid cash and it took care of the bills. It allowed me to feed my rescued animals and have a place of my own, both great sources of joy to me. Besides, I really liked Mario and the majority of the townies who frequented the bar.
At the mike, Jimmy Martin—looking like a young Bob Marley—rasped on his guitar like a cat scratching a pole, hurling his folksy interpretation of “Story of My Life” above the noise, fitting in my name every few lines. It didn’t rhyme, but what the heck.
“Marry me, lovely Lia,” he added at the end of the song, á la Elvis Presley.
I lifted my hand in the air, encouraging a group response.
“Not tonight,” the crowd intoned in unison, mimicking my usual reply. “But maybe tomorrow.”
The place dissolved into laughter. I smiled. The regulars got such a kick out of my little trials and tribulations.
I plunked down the mugs on the VIP table. “Here you go.”
Sheriff Wilkins tipped his hat. “Thanks, Lia.”
“Yeah, thanks,” Jordan said. “Put it on my tab, will you?”
“This round is on me.” The diminutive Reverend Martin took out his wallet.
“Be quiet, all of you.” Gary Woods, the owner of the local gas company, slipped a twenty into my apron’s pocket. “It’s my turn.”
Ouch . The pinch of a bruising set of fingers stung on my butt. I whirled around to confront Charlie Nowak, Wood’s foreman in Copperhill. He sat behind me on his usual stool, belly spilling over his belt, staring at the ceiling.
God, he made me so mad! I sizzled inside. He was well into his cups, but it was beyond me how he managed to pinch me with such stealth in front of everybody. I took my vengeance and poured half his beer on his lap.
“Oops,” I said and I wasn’t sorry. “I’ll get you some napkins.”
“Never mind that.” Gary’s wife, Barb, a busty blonde with a preference for big hair and neon-red lipstick, threw a whole stack of napkins on Charlie’s lap, then turned to me. “Is it true that Ash Hunter is back in town? Rumor is he’s staying at your place.”
“Is that so?” Charlie shifted his bulk on the stool, suddenly interested in the conversation.
Crap. The last thing I wanted to do was draw attention to myself by becoming the target of Barb Wood’s enterprising rumor mill. Never one to miss a chance to make a point, Jordan waggled his fair eyebrows. Amusement twinkled in his eyes.
“It’s no rumor,” I said. “He’s renting out a room at my place while he tackles his grandmother’s affairs.”
“How long will he be staying with you?” Barbara said.
“Not long,” I said. “A few weeks maybe?”
“Is it true he’s wounded?” she said. “Somebody said he’s lame, scarred and deformed. He might be a little off too.”
This time, when Jordan’s stare met mine, he leaned back on his chair and flashed me a smug smile that blared I told you so .
“Jesus, Barb,” Gary said. “There you go again, wagging your tongue.”
“Gossip is a delicious sin,” the reverend put in.
“I talked to Ash the other day on the phone,” the sheriff said. “He sounded perfectly rational, like his old self.”
“He called me too,” the reverend said. “He’s a kind soul. He takes after his grandmother.”
Ash had talked to the sheriff? And to the reverend as well? What about?
None of my freaking business. I should be glad he had reached out. Ash was getting better every day, but so far, he showed little interest in venturing beyond the cottage, accepting my company but otherwise keeping to himself. His medical appointments were finally coming up. He’d have to leave the cottage for sure then.
“Wynona did a great job with the boy,” the sheriff said. “He was always a bright one, a real winner. Unlike you,
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