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As if part of a perfectly timed stage production, Muriel barrels through the saloon doors with a rack of freshly washed beer glasses in her grip, catching his question. “Mabel is fourteen, and she’s gonna be puttin’ some time in around here this summer, so learn her name, would ya?”
Fourteen, though she could easily pass for sixteen, with her tall, graceful figure and the sleek new bob that highlights an emerging angular jawline. As childhood gives way to adulthood, it’s evident that she’s inherited a flattering mix of both Agnes and her father, a pilot who died in a crash a few months before she was born.
“Around here?” Teddy threads his fingers through his long white beard, a core part of his costume when he plays Santa at the town Christmas party every year. “Doin’ what?”
The glasses clang noisily as she drops them onto the counter. “Cleanin’ rooms and stayin’ out of trouble.” And nothing in Muriel’s tone suggests that’s up for discussion. She’s already decided.
I watch the trio behind the bar. I knew the McGivneys were my kind of people the moment I saw the All Dogs Welcome mat outside the front door. I realize now how much I’ve missed them.
This.
Maybe I have unintentionally made myself too scarce around here.
Muriel’s shrewd gaze passes over me. “You look extra lovely tonight, Marie.” As quickly as she swooped in, she strolls away, her wide hips swinging with each step.
Toby smirks knowingly at me.
“Oh, I remember the kind of trouble you teenagers were.” Teddy waggles his finger at his son and warns, “Don’t serve her. She’s underage.”
“I’ll try my best not to.” Toby shakes his head at his father’s back, earning my chuckle. He leans his bulky frame over the bar. “Hey, so I heard through the grapevine that the Hatchetts found themselves a new veterinarian.”
I’m caught off guard. Sometimes I forget how small the mushing community is. And how loud a tiny woman like Bonnie Hatchett can be. I didn’t want to talk about this tonight, but I’ve complained to Toby about that situation before. “Yup. A four-decade relationship down the toilet.”
Toby whistles.
“And all because Harry’s an entitled jerk who thinks he owns me.”
A subtle cedar-and-citrus scent catches my nose a second before a deep male voice purrs, “I could have told you that about him,” in my ear.
The fatigue that has weighed on me all night evaporates as I turn to find Tyler standing beside me.
“You look nice.” He nods toward the empty bar stool. “You saving this for me?”
“No, but you can have it.”
He sheds his black-and-tan plaid jacket and tosses it onto a hook before easing his jeans-clad bottom half beside me.
I do my best to ignore my racing heart and Toby’s obnoxious grin.
“One of these, please.” Tyler points to the local IPA on tap before shifting back to me. “What has Harry done now?” Those hazel eyes glow with liquid gold undertones against the color of his forest green shirt. Did he know they would when he dressed for tonight, or is it just a coincidence meant to torture me?
I clear my throat, struggling to maintain an aloof demeanor. “Doesn’t matter.” I don’t want to start this night off making Tyler angry. “I’m surprised you made it.”
“Why?” He swivels on the stool to get a better look, forcing his legs apart to make the turn. “Looks like my kind of place.”
One of his thighs presses against mine, his jeans pleasantly rough against my bare skin. I allow it for a few beats, waiting to see if he’ll pull away.
He doesn’t.
And I’m enjoying it too much.
With a slow, calming breath, I shift, putting space between us.
Toby sets the pint down on a paper coaster. “Hey, you’re Tyler Brady, aren’t you?”
Tyler dips his head once.
“Good to have you here at the Ale House.”
“This is Toby. His parents own this place. He runs the mechanics shop, if you ever need something fixed.” I introduce them and then slip into the background while they talk, content to watch Tyler’s attractive profile as he sips his beer, feeling the eyes on my back as whispers of the Iditarod winner’s presence makes its way around the room.
His demeanor is relaxed as he asks Toby questions—how long they’ve been in the area, how many tourists they see in a season, what type of engines he works on. The conversation stays on Toby, and I can’t tell if that’s because Tyler’s truly interested in what he can learn, or if it’s a tactic to keep the dialogue and questions off himself. There’s still so much I don’t know about Tyler.
“I hear we’ve got a world-class champion in our midst!” Muriel appears behind us, her attention locked on Tyler.
I knew it was only a matter of time.
“Glad to see you finally makin’ your way to us.”
We do another round of introductions, and then she backs up. “Well? Come on, then. Everyone wants to meet ya.”
