Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
Prescott
A big group filters into Bootleg. It’s a mix of men and women.
There are a lot of guys here already. Many are seasonal workers in town as hiking and river guides, some run the trail rides outside of town, and a few are on construction crews.
Then there are the locals, and they have all been very interested in me because of Papa.
I don’t know what stories they’ve concocted, but I’ve been hit on more in the last week than I have all my life.
None of them interest me, and none of them are truly interested in me.
I’m new and convenient. Besides, one guy keeps holding up space in my brain, and I haven’t seen him since last Tuesday.
I do not keep hoping to see him walk through when the front door opens.
Silas dips some empty glasses into a sink of old dishwater I haven’t been able to refresh.
Ew. “Papa, I can get that. ”
He waves me off, but I ignore him. The water is cold and gross.
“I’ll do it. I need a breather,” I lie. “Did you see how many people just entered?”
“They’re the loan officers from the bank. They each order one drink and nurse the damn thing the whole night.” He gets closer and mutters in his not-so-quiet growl, “Between you and me, I think they don’t want to go home to their families.”
I bite the inside of my cheek. I’m mostly sure the group didn’t hear him. He could be right, but they’re here to spend money, no matter how little, and from my first impression of the bar, it needs every dime. “They might just like to socialize without it being about work.”
He gives me an incredulous look but shakes his head. “Take your breather, Pressie.”
I’m washing the dishes in soapy, warm water when awareness brushes across my back. Someone’s watching me. I finish my task, but there’s no friendly cowboy who rescues strays sitting at the corner of the bar.
Jamison and another woman with similar long dark hair are there instead.
“Hey, Prescott.” Jamison nudges the other girl. “This is my sister Campbell. She’s marrying the middle Hennessy brother next month.”
The pretty brunette’s smile is wide, and she sticks her hand over the bar. “Nice to finally meet you.”
I shake her hand. Once again, I want to run and hide.
When I first started helping out with school photos, I had to be over the top to get kids to smile.
But when I transitioned to larger groups and wedding photography, I strived to be invisible.
I was the shadow at weddings and family reunions.
I stayed subdued so families weren’t so self- conscious.
After that, it was Buford, my rescue Norwegian Forest cat, who drew people to my account.
Then my foray in front of the camera showed me exactly why I should have stayed behind it.
“What can I get you?” Do they expect small talk out of me? They seem nice, but I won’t be here that long.
Longing tugs at my chest. I’ve done fine without a ton of friends. This is just another transition period like all the ones before.
“Anything Foster House,” Campbell says. “They really do make the best spirits around.”
The pride in her voice isn’t for the distillery, but for the guys behind it. Another pull on my heart.
I find a rosemary-and-cherry-infused vodka that hasn’t been opened. I frown at the bottle. Rosemary?
“It’s really good,” Jamison says like she read my mind. “One of my favorites, and I’m not usually a fan of rosemary.”
“The cherries are local,” Campbell adds. “Durban gifted a bottle to Silas shortly after the distillery first opened.” Her gaze dips to the unbroken seal, and her lips quirk. “That was almost five years ago.”
“Fancy infused vodka isn’t Papa’s style.” I’m not defending him. I just don’t want to offend these two.
“Papa.” Jamison puts her chin in her hand. “I like that.”
“Well, he wasn’t a dad.” I say it bluntly enough that surprise fills the women’s faces. Why did that slip out? The old pang in my chest hasn’t dulled over the years. “What would you like with it? I know you said anything Foster House, but my bartending years didn’t include infused vodkas.”
Campbell wipes the sympathy from her expression like she can tell I don’t want it.
“Oh no. I became that customer, didn’t I?
‘Surprise me.’ And now you’re worried I’m going to complain about whatever you concoct when I asked for it.
” She presses her fingers to her forehead.
A big diamond twinkles on her ring finger. “I’m so sorry.”
I laugh at her chagrin. “No, it’s fine. I used to try to guess what people liked, and then that got boring, so I’d try to surprise them with the most obscure combination. If I made it strong, they usually didn’t care.”
“No need to make mine extra strength.” Campbell scans the labels on the soda guns. “Can I get it with Sprite? They call it the Seasoned Virgin at the tasting room.”
My snicker comes out like I’m in middle school. “That’s a good one.”
“I’ll have the same,” Jamison says.
I make their mixed drinks and slide them over. Papa’s still at the table of bankers, chatting away. He even pulled up a stool.
“I’ll be right back.” Someone’s got to fill the big group’s order. On my way there and back, I get peppered with refill requests. I should’ve brought a notepad with me.
I return with an armful of empty glasses, but I keep them to help me remember what the refills are.
Jamison and Campbell chat with each other while I prepare drinks.
A guy wanders up to the bar, his gaze boring into Jamison’s back.
No surprise there. Her long, glossy hair hangs from a ponytail, and she can pull off a brown sundress like no one’s business.
She’s country and classy. Campbell’s the same, but she has her brown locks in a fishtail braid.
Her bare legs in her jean shorts are drawing their own share of attention from some of the seasonal workers.
I start filling drinks as the man sidles up to the bar next to Jamison, but instead of hitting on her, he aims a grin my way.
“I’m almost done with your Morgan Coke.”
“I’m in no rush.”
Then why was he—oh. I could’ve used this at some point during the last six months.
Some attention that didn’t make me feel like a warty toad would’ve been a nice boost. I could’ve told myself they weren’t just single guys working in a small town with an even tinier dating pool.
But he’s just an opportunist, and I want to be more than convenient.
“I never caught your name,” he says.
Jamison arches a delicate brow, looking from him to me. Her eyes narrow like she’ll step in if I say the word. I’ve got inches on her, but she might fight dirtier.
I won’t need her help. He’s not really interested. This lesson goes back to my bartending days.
“Here ya go.” I slide his order toward him.
“Thanks.” He doesn’t look at it. “I still don’t know what to call you.”
“Miss will be fine.” Haven’s “ma’am” from the other day singed my ego. What was that one comment under my first solo post? Let the young, pretty ones play this game.
Shit like that gave me more to cry about than missing my cat and my mom.
“When do you get off work, miss ?”
The guy isn’t bad-looking. He’s handsome in a summer-rafting-guide way—the athletic type who likes to have a good time.
Sucks for him that I have a strict no-picking-men-up-from-bars rule.
I don’t even pick guys up who frequent bars.
I have everything against cheating assholes, and the risk is too high when liquor is involved .
Campbell swirls her thin green straw, her avid gaze on the interaction.
“It’s going to be a late night” is all I say.
“How about tomorrow night?” He grins, undaunted.
My ex picked me up like this. Persistent when it suited him. The commitment part never came. It never does.
A tall form behind the man dominates my attention. Haven’s dark gaze lights a spark in places that should stay ice cold.
“Excuse me.” He shoulders the guy out of the way and takes the stool next to his sister-in-law. “How’s it going, Red?”
A giant part of me, much bigger than it should be, jumps for joy at his obvious use of my nickname in front of the stranger. The smaller part reprimands my giddy reaction. Haven’s off-limits, and I’m not interested.
I’m not supposed to be interested.
I move the Morgan Coke to the side, but I keep my attention on Haven. “I think you need a Seasoned Virgin.”
Haven coughs but recovers quickly when the guy gives up and takes his drink back to his table.
I cross my arms. “Did you think I needed saving?”
“No,” he says easily. “I saw that arm-twist thing you do. He was in my spot.”
And the Red add-on?
He drums his hands on the counter. “Can I have an extra cherry in my Seasoned Virgin?”
I’ve said the name of the drink before, and I’ve heard way worse, yet my cheeks grow warm. “Bold of you to think Papa has ever bought a jar of cherries.”
He clicks his tongue against his teeth. “You’re right. I should’ve known better. ”
I laugh. How do I enjoy every interaction with him so much?
He chats with Jamison and Campbell while I make his drink. I hand it over and deliver all the others.
Several minutes later, I’m back behind the bar. Campbell and Jamison push off their stools.
“You should come out sometime and do a tasting.” Jamison runs her hand down the length of her ponytail. “We’ll make sure we’re there if you go. You know what? Can I give you my number?”
“Ooh, me too.” Campbell takes her phone out.
“I don’t know how long I’ll be in town.” Yet I dig out my phone and exchange numbers, thankful that Haven can’t see that I have him in my phone as Haven Hennessy, Hot Cowboy.
“When don’t you work this week?” Campbell asks.
“I’m not sure yet.” Papa doesn’t like to have employees, so he does it all himself. I can pick and choose when I work, but he can’t afford to pay me, so I’m working for tips. I get free room and sort of free board, but it’s going to take time to earn enough to get my own place.