Chapter 8
TRISH
T he Guns Blazing Saloon looks exactly like every Western movie cliché brought to life.It has swinging doors, and a wooden bar with brass foot rail.Even at this early hour, the staff is fully committed to the bit, dressed in period costume with performance-ready smiles.
"Howdy, partners!" greets a tall, skinny bartender in a black vest and crisp white shirt, complete with sleeve garters.According to the name tag pinned to his vest, he's Jude Marshall."Welcome to the Guns Blazing!Two for breakfast?"
"Yes, please," I reply, unable to suppress a smile at the enthusiastic commitment to character.
"Right this way," he says, leading us to a corner table."Our breakfast menu's on the chalkboard.Melody will be your server this morning."
As if on cue, a young woman in a corseted dress approaches, her dark hair styled in perfect vintage curls.Her name tag identifies her as Melody Shoehorn.She has the hourglass figure of a pinup model, accentuated by her period-appropriate clothing, and a smile that could light up the room.
"Morning, folks! Coffee to start?" Her voice is bright but not annoyingly so, and she holds a genuine antique-looking coffee pot.
"Please," Jake and I say in unison.
As she pours, I notice Jake subtly scanning the room, his security training evident in the way his eyes track entrances, exits, other guests.Old habits, I suppose.
"First time in Rustic Junction?" Melody asks as she fills our cups.
"Just passing through," Jake replies with his standard response.
"On our way to a wedding in Foxfire Valley," I add, ignoring Jake's slight frown at my volunteered information.
Melody's eyes light up. "Foxfire Valley?The Heirloom Rose Hotel by any chance?"
I blink in surprise. "Yes, actually.My friend is getting married there this weekend."
"Small world! My aunt Wynona has a friend who works there, Patty Calendar, one of their wedding coordinators.Apparently, they're hosting some big fancy wedding this weekend."
I can practically feel Jake tensing beside me at this cascade of coincidences and connections.His security consultant brain is probably spinning through implications and potential risks.
"That's the one," I confirm. "I'm the maid of honor, actually."
"Well, honey, you are in for a treat," Melody says, leaning in conspiratorially."The Heirloom Rose is gorgeous.They've got a casino, a spa, a wedding chapel, and the Holy Rolling Steakhouse serves the best porterhouse this side of Texas."
"Sounds impressive," I say, genuinely interested now.Jordyn had mentioned the venue was nice, but this sounds more upscale than I'd anticipated.
"Ready to order, or do you need a minute?" Melody asks, straightening up.
We order, French toast for me, a western omelet for Jake, and Melody bustles away, off to charm other tables.
"Small world," I comment once she's gone.
"Too small," Jake mutters, taking a sip of his coffee.
"Is that your professional paranoia talking, or do you actually think there's something suspicious about a waitress having connections to Nevada?"
"Not suspicious," he clarifies."Just unusual. The connection circuit between here and Foxfire Valley is... statistically improbable."
I laugh. "Statistical improbability isn't necessarily sinister, Jake.Sometimes coincidences are just coincidences."
"In my experience, they rarely are." But he says it with a softness that suggests it's a professional observation rather than a genuine concern.
As we eat breakfast, the saloon gradually fills with other tourists, all eager for their authentic Old West experience.
Despite the obvious artifice of the setting, there's something genuinely charming about Rustic Junction's commitment to its theme.
Every detail, from the period-appropriate dishware to the player piano that occasionally bursts into a tinny tune without apparent human intervention,is carefully designed to transport visitors to another era.
"So, what's the plan for today?" I ask as I finish the last bite of my French toast which was surprisingly good for a tourist trap."Are we hitting the road right after breakfast?"
Jake nods. "We'll make one more stop before leaving Colorado, a scenic overlook about an hour from here.Then it's straight through to Nevada.We should reach Foxfire Valley by early afternoon tomorrow, plenty of time for your dress fitting."
"And for you to start your security preparations," I add, still not entirely comfortable with the dual purpose of our journey.
"Yes." He hesitates, then continues, "Once we reach the Heirloom Rose, things will change.I'll need to slip into my professional role, which means--"
"Which means whatever this is between us needs to go on pause," I finish for him.
"Not pause," he corrects. "Just... discretion.My client doesn't know about our connection, and I'd prefer to keep personal and professional separate when possible."
"Your client being my best friend's future husband," I point out.
"Whom I've never met, by the way," Jake cuts in."He's a new client for my firm.It's why I shouldn't have allowed things to develop between us.But here we are."
"Here we are," I echo, raising my coffee cup in a mock toast."To professional complications and personal entanglements."
A ghost of a smile crosses his face as he raises his own cup. "To unexpected detours."
After breakfast, we wander through Rustic Junction's main street, taking in the staged gunfights and various Old West attractions.
Despite the obvious tourist trappings, there's something undeniably fun about the whole setup.
I even convince Jake to pose for a sepia-toned old-time photo, though getting him to wear the cowboy hat requires more persuasion than should be necessary for a grown man.
"You look good in Western wear," I tease as we exit the photography studio, the resulting image tucked safely in my purse."Very rugged and authoritative."
"I look ridiculous," he counters, but there's no heat in it.In fact, he seems more relaxed than I've seen him since we met, as if the brief respite from driving has allowed some of his rigid control to slip.
By noon, we're back on the road, the staged Western town receding in the rearview mirror as we head toward the scenic overlook Jake mentioned.
The landscape grows increasingly dramatic as we climb higher into the Colorado mountains, jagged peaks and deep valleys creating a stunning backdrop for our journey.
The overlook, when we reach it, takes my breath away.A vast panorama of mountains stretches before us, their slopes dotted with pine and aspen, valleys carved by ancient glaciers now filled with emerald forests.The air is cooler at this elevation, crisp and clean in a way city air never is.
Jake parks the truck in the small lot, and we walk to the edge of the viewing platform.For a long moment, we stand in silence, absorbing the majesty of the scene before us.
"It's incredible," I say finally, my voice hushed as if in a cathedral.
"Worth the detour?" Jake asks, standing close enough that our shoulders almost touch.
"Definitely." I glance up at him, struck by his profile against the backdrop of mountains."Thank you for showing me this."
He looks down at me, something unguarded in his expression that makes my heart beat faster."There's a lot I want to show you, Trish.If we had the time."
The simple statement carries more weight than its words suggest.
"Maybe we'll find it," I say softly."The time."
He doesn't respond verbally, but his hand finds mine, fingers intertwining with a sureness that belies the uncertainty of our situation.We stand that way for several minutes, connected by that simple point of contact.
When we finally return to the truck, something has shifted between us again.Not a resolution, there are still too many unanswered questions for that, but a mutual acknowledgment that whatever happens in Foxfire Valley, what we've found on this journey matters.To both of us.
Jake navigates the winding mountain roads that will eventually lead us out of Colorado and into Nevada, while I study him more openly thanbefore.
The controlled power in his hands on the wheel has shifted since that first day even though the focused attention he gives to the roadremains.
This time, though, I don't miss the occasional glances he casts my way when he thinks I'm notlooking,all of it speaks to the complexity of the man I've improbably fallen for over the course of a fewdays.
"What?" he asks, catching mestaring.
"Just thinking," I reply, not quite ready to voice all that's on mymind.
"Dangerous pastime," he comments, but his tone islight.
"Only if you're afraid of theconclusions."
His eyes meet mine briefly before returning to theroad."And what conclusions have you reached, TrishWalker?"
I consider the question, aware that my answer carriesweight."That some detours are worth taking, even if you don't know where they'll lead."
The corner of his mouth lifts in that almost-smile I've come tocherish."Some detours change your destinationentirely."
"Is that what's happening here?" I ask, suddenly needingclarity."Are we changingdestinations?"
His hands tighten almost imperceptibly on thewheel."I don't know," he admits. "But for the first time in a long time, I'm open to thepossibility."
It's not a declaration of love or a promise offorever.But coming from Jake Winters, man of rigid plans and careful control, it might be something even moresignificant.
It's an opening of a door I thought firmly closed, an invitation to explore whatever this connection between us might become, beyond the constraints of our journey to FoxfireValley.
And for now, that'senough.