5. Violet
Chapter 5
Violet
I remember every little thing.
I sit up quickly, grasping the sheet to my naked chest as my heart pounds. Did I dream everything that happened last night? My hand slides across the empty space beside me, the cool sheets confirming what I already fear. Maybe that was all just one hell of a dream.
I groan and collapse back onto the bed, burying my face in the pillow next to me. That’s when it hits me — the familiar scent of leather and pine, rugged and intoxicating. His scent still wraps me in a memory I’m not ready to let go of.
I bite my lip and smile, murmuring, “Definitely wasn’t a dream.”
Disappointment fills me that he left before I could even learn his name. Maybe he’s a Luke. Or maybe a Ryan. Nah, he doesn’t look like either of those. I consider asking Aunt Maggie later. But I don’t want to give away that I was with him; he didn’t want her knowing, and I won’t give up our secret. And we both agreed that it would only be one night.
And it was freaking amazing. Glorious.
My first one-night stand was a night I’ll never forget for the rest of my life. My mind roams back to the possessiveness of his hands, his lips all over me, and my hand instinctively goes to my neck where the scruff of his dark, neatly trimmed beard still leaves me tingling, remembering where his mouth was on my neck.
I remember the way his eyes met mine, and I almost felt sadness or loneliness a few times like there’s a deepness there I wanted to explore. The way our bodies seemed to fit together, our chemistry was off the charts. I’ve never met anyone like him before and I don’t even know his name. A cowboy bartender who works at The Black Dog in Bridger Falls, Wyoming. I hadn’t planned on going out last night. But I’m glad that I did. I realize I left my car there and I’m going to have to ask Maggie for a ride to go get it.
Nice, Violet. You don’t even know his name.
I get up and reluctantly take a shower, my body still feeling him from last night. I wonder what time he left. I really wish he’d stayed. Then I think about how he parked in the back even though he knew my room was in the front.My stomach drops with dread, my eyes squeezing shut in horror as I bury my face in my hands.
What if he’s married? Oh my god.
I don’t think he’s married. He didn’t strike me as the type to do something like that. There was a quiet honesty about him, something solid that made me believe he’s a good man. I didn’t see a ring, and his truck was spotless, no evidence of a family. I didn’t think to ask, but now I wish I had, just to be sure. I’m not that kind of woman. I don’t cheat, and I can’t stand cheaters. After what my ex puts me through, the thought makes my stomach turn.
Shaking off the feeling of uneasiness, I finish getting ready and head to the motel office. The moment I step through the Dogwood’s small front room, Maggie looks up, her expression softening with relief.
“You’re here,” she says, her voice warm and comforting.
I’ve been here just a few days now, and Maggie and I have settled into an easy rhythm together. She’s my favorite aunt, my mom's older sister. And after everything I went through the past year, coming here to lick my wounds and figure out my next move with Maggie just made sense. It's been far too long since I've been back here.
“I got worried when I didn’t see your car,” she says as she pours me a cup of coffee from the coffee pot. She’s got faded denim wranglers on, a bright pink shirt, and a denim vest with pink and blue flowers embroidered on it. Her feet wear hot pink cowboy boots. Maggie’s pushing seventy and is eclectic and unique, and I just adore her. Staying here with her is healing me in ways I couldn’t begin to describe.
“I left it at the bar last night,” I admit sheepishly. “Can you give me a ride later to pick it up?”
She chuckles and raises a brow. “Do I want to know?”
“Probably not.” I shake my head and grin. “Let’s just say that the whiskey at the Black Dog was good.”
And a lot of other things were very good. Like the hot cowboy bartender who cannot be named. But of course, I keep that to myself with a smile.
“Glad to see that you’re getting out and doing young people stuff,” she smirks as she stacks a few papers on her desk.
“Yeah, well I like hanging out with you, too,” I say. “You can come with me next time to the Black Dog.”
“I’d be down for supper some night,” she shrugs.
Maggie and I have always been close, but one thing about her is that she isn’t a gossip. She loves the people of this town and pours into them, but she’s not offering up information on people that isn’t relevant, and I respect her for that. In fact, that’s one of the reasons why I trust her and chose to stay here for a while. Maggie is a good person deep down to her core and always has been. That’s why she’s my favorite aunt.
“You up for helping me with some rooms today?” she asks over her mug as she interrupts my thoughts. She looks tired again today. But then again, before I got here, she’d been running this place on her own and cleaning all the rooms by herself. And for a motel in the small town of Bridger Falls, she stays surprisingly busy. I have no idea how she was doing everything on her own.
“Of course,” I say with a nod. “I’m ready. What’s the plan?”
“Lots of checkouts. It’s a busy day,” she says as she lays out the set of master keys and a note of the rooms and special instructions next to their numbers.
When I left Nashville, I knew staying with Maggie would be the best option for me. I needed a break from my life.I love my parents, but I needed to go where I could figure things out without my parents trying to do it for me. I needed my Maggie.
Where’s the best place to do that? In Bridger Falls, according to Maggie Pines, the proud owner of the Dogwood. I wouldn’t necessarily say I’m hiding out, but I don’t want to go home. I don’t have a home to go back to anymore. Maggie seemed to find that amusing and murmured something about someone else she knew. Whatever that means. I have a feeling that the people of Bridger Falls look out for each other, and that’s something I need in my life right now. I haven’t had anyone in my corner for a while. And I’ll admit that it feels good to have a soft place to land around someone I can trust. Maggie doesn’t pry and hasn’t asked me what happened back in Nashville, and I’m grateful for that. I just need time to figure everything out.
After I had been here a few days, Maggie made me a deal. If I help her out at the motel, I can stay here as long as I need to and have a job, as long as I give her plenty of notice before taking off again. I think she loves having someone here with her. The feeling is mutual.
I took her deal. And I am thankful for her every day.
We’ve had our routine for the past few days. I clean all her rooms for her, and then we play canasta or gin rummy until bedtime on the back porch of the Dogwood. I do all the heavy lifting for her. And we have lots of laughs, and she’s full of hilarious stories that never get old. She and my mother are alike, and I think it's comforting to be near her.
I’m not sure whose soul is getting rehabbed more here, hers or mine. And despite being seventy years old, she’s a freaking hoot. She comes and goes, sometimes asking me to sit at the desk and keep an eye on things. She does a lot for people around town and calls upon them when she needs something done as well. She’s like the grandmother to all. She knows everything and everyone.
She’s normally clad in mostly denim, and a different bright color accentuates her accessories and clothing daily with her matching cowboy boots that she must have in every color. Her hair is white and styled in a neat bob that hangs just above her shoulders. She’s got class, style, and sass. I wouldn’t mind being just like Aunt Maggie when I grow up.
I may be thirty next week, but I’m still figuring out my life. I guess I’m a late bloomer. I’ve spent the past decade playing music, making music, and that’s been my life along with a few bartender jobs to get by when I wasn’t making enough with music.
Her phone rings, and she answers it, smiling when she sees the caller, “Hello, sugar,” she says with her thick country accent. She’s probably talking to one of the many friends she has here in Bridger Falls.
She puts a hand to her hip and laughs. “Oh, you will do so good. I’m so proud of you, sweetie. ”
She carries on her conversation for a few minutes while I stock the cleaning cart with everything I’ll need for the day.
“Alright now, sugar. Text me when you get done. Bye now.”
I stock the linen cart and push it all to the back door, ready to get going for the day. If I’m being honest, it’s not my favorite job I’ve ever had, but it’s been good for my soul in ways I can’t explain. I clean, I think about my life, I work songs out in my head, I get tired, and I sleep solid as a rock at night. Something I wasn’t doing back in Nashville. Before I left, I was never able to sleep. Wyoming has somehow fixed that. I sleep like a baby here. Maybe it’s all the fresh country air.
Cleaning has given me time to think about what I want now and what I don’t want. So far, I know what I don’t want. I haven’t gotten to what I want yet. And that’s why I’m staying in Bridger Falls until I figure it out. But what I do know is that I will never let another man lie to me or make me feel less than I am ever again. I know who I am. And last night was proof of that. I didn’t go out looking for fun, but I found it all the same. My whiskey-eyed cowboy didn’t make false promises of forever but gave me mind-blowing orgasms. That’s all I needed.
“Sugar, how do you feel about dogs?” Maggie asks as she joins me in the back.
“I love dogs,” I smile. “Why?”
“Well, good. Me personally, I don’t trust anyone who says they don’t like dogs. Like something’s wrong with ‘em or something. Dogs are good for the soul.”
“Okay?” I shrug, confused at where she’s going with this conversation. But that’s just Maggie. She’ll have random conversations that sometimes I never end up figuring out, and our time together is never boring, that’s for sure.And I agree with her. I love dogs. You know why? I’ve never met a narcissist dog. They’re just good. People on the other hand, are not always so good .
“Well, it’s a good thing you like ‘em because I need you to watch one for a day or so. I’ve been looking after one, and I need you to help me take over.”
“Okay,” I agree. Bet. I’ll take a dog to snuggle any day. And let’s just be honest. If Maggie asks me to do something, I’m doing it. I’d do anything for her.And if it involves animals, it’s an automatic yes.
“Good, good. I’ll bring her by later,” she says as she picks up her purse and slings it over her shoulder. Pink leather that matches her boots with cowboy leather fringe. Of course, she has a matching bag. I’d expect nothing less from Maggie.
“Can’t wait,” I say as I watch her.
“Now I need to run a few errands. You got the rooms; I’ll check in later, and we’ll do lunch.” She waves as she heads out.
“Alright,” I call as I take off to clean as quickly as I can. I’ve got a song brewing in my head that I want to write down. I work out the melody while I clean. I’ve been struggling to write for the past week. My heart hasn’t been in the place. I was in fight-or-flight mode back in Nashville. And it was more fight until I finally left and decided I was done being a puppet and being manipulated and taken advantage of by my mentor and friend.
A few hours later, I’m done for the day. I’ve showered and I’m sitting in the chair in my room, scripting out lyrics that are pouring out of me. Maybe my sexy bartender really was my lucky charm because right now I can’t stop writing, and the creative streak is flowing.
A knock jolts me back to reality, and I look out the window to see Maggie juggling a wiggling black fur ball trying to kiss her face.
No freaking way.
I snatch open the door and squeal as I take the dog from her, who turns and proceeds to profusely lick my face. “Who is this cutie?”
“Pickles,” she says and rolls her eyes. “And before you say anything, I didn’t name her that ridiculous name.”
“Aww,” I laugh. “She’s so sweet.”
“She’s a puppy and gets into everything, so good luck,” she adds as she comes in and sets down a small bag of groceries. Maggie shows her love by bringing you food and taking care of you. And Maggie wants to be loved in return with acts of service. That is probably why we go together like peas and carrots. I like to be fed, and she likes me to help her with the motel.It’s a win-win if you ask me.
“I just love her,” I coo, scratching her ears.
Maggie glances over at my notebook and guitar propped against the table. “Oh good, you’re getting some writing done.”
“Yeah, a song came to me that I’m trying to work out,” I admit as I kiss the dog’s head and stroke her super soft jet-black puppy fur.
“Whose dog is this?” I ask.
She waves her hand. “A friend. I’m just lookin’ after her for a few days. Or you are now, I guess.” She cocks her brow.
“I could never turn down puppy snuggles,” I say as I hug her to me as her mouth stretches in a big yawn and her puppy breath has me chuckling and kissing her head again.
“Good. Now let’s go have some lunch. You can put her in the kennel in the front office while we’re gone and Gene catches up the laundry. He’s watching the front desk for me.”
“I still don’t have my car,” I suddenly realize and look at Maggie. “Can you take me to pick it up after we eat?”
“Your car’s out in front of the office, and here’s your key.” She reaches into her pocket, tossing it to me.
“But how did it get here?” I ask nervously, not wanting to admit to her that I slept with the bartender last night. He made it clear he didn’t want her to know. While I don’t like keeping things from her, this secret feels like it’s a good one to keep.
She shrugs. “Cash dropped it off and left the keys. Said you’d left it there last night.”
Cash.
He must have dropped it off for me. It doesn’t surprise me. He was a perfect gentleman after all. Up until he left without saying goodbye. I guess he didn’t want me to come back to the bar to get it and make things awkward. That’s that, I guess. No fling with the mystery man. After all, we did agree on one night.
Maggie and I head over to the Harvest & Honey deli. We walk in, and I notice everyone waves and smiles at Maggie. The townsfolk smile politely at me and nod as I slide into the well-worn booth. Maggie chats it up with a few people and doesn’t bother to look at the blue and white checkered menu I study intently to avoid the curious stares.
The deli is tucked into the heart of Bridger Falls, a cozy little spot with a dark blue awning and a hand-painted wooden sign that reads Harvest & Honey in faded gold lettering. The scent of fresh-baked bread and smoked meats wraps around us the moment we step inside, the warmth of the space a stark contrast to the cool mountain air outside.
The walls are painted a deep sage green, full of rustic wooden shelves lined with jars of homemade jam and honey and locally cured meats. Framed black-and-white photos of Bridger Falls’ earliest days hang between vintage tin signs advertising old soda brands and farm-fresh eggs. The hardwood floors are worn but well-kept, adding to the deli’s lived- in charm.
A row of square wooden tables, each topped with checkered cloths in warm shades of navy and cream, fill the main seating area. Mason jars hold fresh wildflowers at the center of each table, and small, mismatched chairs add to the quaint, homey feel. The counter, a long stretch of dark oak, showcases an array of deli meats, cheeses, and house-made pickles under a spotless glass case. Behind it, a chalkboard menu lists the day’s specials in loopy handwriting, complete with little doodles of sandwiches and steaming soup bowls.
Soft country music plays from an old radio behind the counter, the hum of a familiar tune blending with the quiet chatter of the few late-afternoon customers. Overhead, Edison bulbs hang from thick ropes, casting a warm glow over the space and making it feel like the kind of place where people linger long after their meal is done, just talking and sipping sweet tea.
I can already tell that it’s not just a deli. It’s a gathering place, an important piece of Bridger Falls’ heartbeat, where stories are swapped over pastrami on rye and old friends catch up over steaming mugs of locally roasted coffee.
And in that moment, in the warm glow of Harvest & Honey, I can’t help but feel a bit at home.
Maggie doesn’t cook, and before I got here, she told me she went out to eat practically daily or went over to other people’s houses to eat. I’ve been cooking every night for us, and it’s been so much fun. She has a cozy little kitchen in the back of the Dogwood and a surprisingly stocked pantry for someone who doesn’t eat at home. She splits her time between the Dogwood and friends’ houses. I can't wait to make more of my favorite meals for her.
I decide on the grilled chicken BLT and a bowl of roasted tomato soup. As I wait for Maggie, the unofficial town mayor, to make her rounds saying hello and greeting everyone, I gaze over the glass deli case that holds various baked goods that are mouthwatering and delicious looking.
I decide that I’m going to get a piece of chocolate cake, too.
“Alright, sugar, what are you gettin’?” she asks as she slides into the booth across from me as our server arrives at our table.
I give her my order, and she nods. “Good choices. Make that two of everything,” she tells the server.
“Tell me about your song. What’s your inspiration for this new creative flow?” She grins mischievously like she’s fishing for some information.
I play it off and shrug, “I went to the Black Dog last night and listened to some music and drank some whiskey. It was a good night.”
“Hmm,” she says as she watches me, missing nothing.
“Hmmm, what?” I laugh.
“Maybe it’s time you meet a few more of the young locals and make some friends since you’ll be staying awhile.”
“You don’t like my company?” I tease. “Who will play cards with you if I’m off gallivanting? And who says I’m staying awhile?”
“Oh, sugar, I love your company,” she says as the server slides our food front of us. We thank our server and dig in, eating in silence for a few moments, and Maggie says to me, “I’m glad you’re here, Violet. You can stay as long as you want.”
“Thanks, Maggie. I’m glad I’m here too. Thanks for letting me stay,” I say as I take a small spoonful of the hot soup. Bridger Falls is growing on me. I visited as a kid but haven’t been back for a long time. Usually, Maggie came to visit us.
“You’re helping me more,” she says with a smile. “I’m getting the better end of this deal.”
“So, what do you know about the bartender at the Black Dog?” I ask casually .
“What do you want to know?” she asks, but something in her tone is guarded.
“Is he married?” I ask.
“Yes,” she says, sounding surprised that I’m asking. “Cash is married and has a baby on the way.”
A baby on the way.
My breath catches as I try to hide my horrified gaze, the sound of my soup sliding from my spoon with a plop.
I’m horrified as that news settles in, but I try my best to hide it. “Good to know.” I jut my chin up and say, “Let’s play cards.”
My stomach drops like it’s bottoming out. My chest grows tight, my breath stutters, and my stomach turns with nausea. I feel awful and disgusted with myself, but mostly furious at him for hiding that he has a baby and is married.
She doesn’t say anything further and pulls out a deck from her purse. We play a few hands until we head back to the Dogwood.
Fucking men.
And this is why I’m in Bridger Falls in the first place. To get away from people who take advantage of and shit on others. I hope I never see that cowboy ever again. Actually, I hope I do. I’m going to give him a piece of my mind. I’m no longer tolerating anyone treating me less than I deserve. And I didn’t deserve that. Neither did his poor wife.