Mountain Savior (Green Mountain Guardians #4)

Chapter 1

HAZEL

On a night like this, I know I made the right decision coming here.

When I moved to Bliss three years ago, I didn’t give consideration to the multitude of local events or the quaint downtown with brightly colored awnings and ever-changing seasonal displays in the storefront windows.

I didn’t think about getting to know the people who lived here.

Or that it might come to feel like home.

I didn’t expect the town to live up to its aspirational name, and that was okay. At the time, bliss was the last thing I ever expected to feel.

Three years ago, I was looking for an escape. And in this small town nestled in the Green Mountains of Vermont, that’s what I found.

Quiet. Solitude. A place where I could spend hours meandering along wooded trails, trying desperately to forget.

Did I?

No. Three years on, the memories are just as fresh. And the guilt still hangs heavy; a constant weight I fear I may never shed.

But.

Something I discovered about living in a small town is that it’s almost impossible to hide. Not when you’re one of only two thousand residents—well, two thousand and one, now that Emily and Hank Gentry’s new baby arrived—and no matter where you go, there’s someone who knows your name.

And after three years, I’ve found I like it. I enjoy knowing all the cashiers at the grocery store by name, and I don’t mind that they all know mine. And I like coming into town and inevitably running into at least three people I know, spending a few minutes chatting with each of them.

In hindsight, taking a job at the local microbrewery, Blissful Brews, probably wasn’t the best option if I wanted to fade into the background.

But they were hiring, and the quirky photos posted on the website appealed to me.

There was a huge mural on one wall of people lounging on clouds while sipping from mugs of beer topped with foamy heads.

In one picture, the little Blissful Retreat area was featured—a cozy corner of the bar set with squashy chairs and couches and shelves stocked with secondhand books and games.

As I sat in my Boston apartment, scrolling through the Blissful Brews photo gallery, I felt this strange sort of tug. Like there was a magnet drawing me to this little business that just happened to have one of the only job openings in town.

And I had experience, so that helped; two years of hostessing in high school and four years waiting tables through college.

Though it had been nearly ten years, I found that it really was like riding a bike, as the gruff but kindly owner, Frank, assured me during my interview.

Within a few days, everything came rushing back—how to balance a tray of drinks without dumping them all over, the shorthand I use when taking orders, and even the cheerful lilt of my voice when I’m greeting a customer.

Did I ever expect to be waiting tables again? No. Not even close.

But after three years, I’ve found I really enjoy it.

I like the buzz of activity; the chatter of happy voices superimposed over the clink of dishes in the kitchen and whatever music’s playing on the vintage jukebox.

I enjoy talking to the regulars, hearing about their days, celebrating their victories and consoling them when the opposite happens.

I like staying busy, and working at Blissful Brews does just that.

The therapist I used to see would tell me keeping busy is a crutch.

A tool I rely on to avoid dealing with those nasty memories I can’t seem to forget.

But really, is keeping busy that bad? Isn’t it better than sitting home alone, torturing myself with all the ways I could have changed the outcome of that night three years ago?

“Hazel, can you grab three cups of the cheddar ale soup?”

Frank’s repeated question cuts into my meandering thoughts, and I spin around to face him, feeling my cheeks flush guiltily at my lack of attention.

“Sorry.” I grab a ladle and three disposable cups—made out of mushroom-based packaging, not styrofoam, because something else I’ve discovered about living in Vermont is people really value the environment here—and scoop the steaming soup out of one of the crock pots sitting on the serving table.

As I hand the soup over to him, I repeat, “Sorry about that. I don’t know what happened. My mind just wandered off on a tangent for a second.”

Frank passes off the soup to a waiting family of three before turning to me. He pats my arm and gives me a kind smile. “It’s fine. My mind has been known to take a side trip down the Long Trail a time or two.”

I busy myself wiping down the serving table and restocking the napkins and recycled cardboard spoons. Once I’m done, I cast my gaze around the town park, noting that the throngs of people from earlier have diminished to scattered clusters. “Looks like things are slowing down finally.”

Frank follows my gaze. “Sure does. But that’s how Stew Fest always is. Slammed between five and seven, and then it tapers off as parents take their kids home to put them to bed.”

I eye the large glass jar filled with tickets at the end of the table. It’s stuffed nearly to overflowing, and I angle my chin at it as I say, “I think we sold even more this year than last.”

Frank nods. “The nice weather helped. Last year we had some rain, if I recall.”

“I think so,” I agree. It’s my third year helping with Stew Fest, an annual event organized by the town.

All the local restaurants hand out sample-sized servings of stew and soup in exchange for tickets—three for five dollars—and all the proceeds go to charity.

“I’m glad the rain held off. Although it’s getting a little cold. ”

Now that I’m not rushing around, helping Frank and Wendy, his wife, serve a seemingly never-ending line of customers, the evening chill is settling in. I pull the sleeves of my Blissful Brews sweatshirt down past my hands to warm my icy fingers.

It’s only mid-October, but in Vermont, that’s practically winter. At night, the temperatures dip below freezing, and our first snow is predicted this coming weekend.

“Hazel.” Frank’s voice is gently scolding. “Why didn’t you bring a jacket?”

“I forgot,” I admit. “It was so nice when I left the house, I didn’t even think about it.”

“Second summer,” Wendy remarks as she returns to our table. She’s carrying a cardboard box filled with half-a-dozen soup samples in her hands. “Gets you every time. Those nice, sunny, seventy-degree afternoons that trick you into thinking it’s August instead of October.”

She sets the box down and gestures to it with a flourish.

“I got some samples to share. Seafood chowder from The Laughing Goat, Italian beef stew from Mariano’s, and cheesy bacon soup from Breakfast Bliss.

” Wendy glances at me with a smile. “You too, Hazel. I know you haven’t taken a break since we started. ”

I immediately protest, “Oh, I don’t need—”

“You’ve been working since noon,” Frank interrupts. “I think you’re due a break by now.”

With Frank and Wendy both staring at me wearing matching don’t argue faces, I realize this is a battle I’m not going to win. So I take a sample cup of what looks like the Italian beef stew and step aside to take a taste of it.

Flavors explode in my mouth at the first bite—savory pot roast and tangy spices and rich red wine—and my stomach rumbles in appreciation.

A moment later, my phone buzzes in my pocket. Setting the soup aside, I pull out my phone to check the screen, smiling as I see Jess’s name displayed across it. Beneath her name is a short message.

Hey, do you want to hop online for a couple hours tonight? Kane’s working the three to eleven shift for a guy on vacation, so I’m just rattling around in the house by myself.

Before I can respond, a second text appears.

Sorry! I didn’t mean to make it sound like I just want to play because I’m home alone. I want to play with you. It feels like it’s been ages.

I know what she meant. And given what she went through not too long ago, I understand why being home alone makes her feel restless. I understand because I’ve been through it myself.

Nodding in silent agreement, I type out my response.

No worries! I’m finishing up work, but I should be home within the hour. If nine isn’t too late, I could hop online to play for a couple hours. I’ve been really wanting to try out those new dragon mounts. And to check out the new sky zone.

Three dots blink on the screen for a few seconds.

Me too! I’ve been looking at the different mount options ever since the expansion pack came out. And it looks like there are some pretty cool quests in the new zone.

The dragon mounts—virtual flying dragons, that is—are just a part of Tenebris Veil, the MMORPG Jess and I have been playing together for years.

We started out meeting as two newly created wood elves tentatively joining up to complete a quest, but in the almost three years since, we’ve become real friends.

And not just friends online, but in-person, too. Though it took a couple of years to make it happen, we met for the first time this past summer, before Jess’s wedding. And she and her new husband, Kane, came out to Vermont last month for a visit.

It’s funny; I never saw myself as a gamer. And I never imagined my closest friend would end up being someone I met through an online game. But Jess and I just clicked from the start. I was the person she talked to about her secrets, and I opened up to her about mine.

I take another spoonful of soup before I send a reply.

Me too! I’ve had my eye on the red and black dragon. I read there’s a quest you can do that makes him breathe fire. How cool would that be?