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Still freaked out by the powerful feelings Riley O’Sullivan had stirred up in him, he paced his sparsely furnished living room. Damn, she was right—it probably was the whole wedding atmosphere that had them both become aware of each other. She reckoned all would be forgotten in the bright light of day. Hopefully, she was right.
He bumped into one of the boxes standing around, hurting his big toe. Cussing, he kicked the box before he sighed. The obvious solution would be to find time to unpack.
When he and Vivian had moved in with Annie in the B and B she’d bought when they’d arrived in Marietta, he’d known at some point he’d move out and buy his own place. That his two sisters would get married within seventeen months after their arrival in Marietta, had not been something he’d expected, though.
Fortunately, he’d found this house on the corner of Collier and First Street, close to where Annie and Vivian were living. Like the houses his sisters had bought, it was also an old house, but the fact that it had already been renovated, had made his decision to buy it easy.
He’d just moved in at the beginning of this week. He put a bed and table in one of the upstairs bedrooms, the place he used the most at the moment. The rest of his life was still packed up in all the boxes standing around the house.
The main reason he’d wanted to leave his very well-paid job in a big bank back in Sacramento, was to write the novel that had been on his mind since he’d left school. A few short stories he’d written had made it out into the world, but it was only after his parents’ untimely death, he’d known it was time to take the leap to make sure he’d have more time to write. Life was short, unpredictable, as he’d discovered, and if he wanted to be a writer, he should be writing.
The leap had been taken: they were all here; he was teaching math so that he could write. Everything sounded perfect, except… he wasn’t writing.
He’d always been fascinated by history, and initially, he’d thought to write something set around the time Sacramento city was founded. The original location caused the city to be periodically filled with water. Fires would also sweep through the city, and the sidewalks and buildings had to be raised. Wooden structures were replaced with stronger materials like brick and stone.
A story about a nightclub owner’s struggle to survive during this time had steadily been taking shape in his subconscious, long before their move to Marietta. Over the past seventeen months, he’d been trying to work out the plot. He had a big board filled with empty yellow stickers; he simply hadn’t been able to get past chapter one.
As he stared at the row of still unpacked boxes, an idea that had popped into his head in February, and one he’d studiously been ignoring up to now, again floated through his mind. Damn it, maybe he should listen to the irritating voice in his head and start from scratch.
The first time he’d heard Janice mention Marietta’s history, his original story had begun to fade and his thoughts had shifted in a completely different direction. Janice also told them about the history of Grey’s Saloon. Nowadays, the saloon served food and drink—there might be the occasional fight—but all in all, it was quite a reputable place to dine at. Back in the day, however, things had been very different.
Ephraim Grey had started the saloon when he’d arrived in the area during the 1880s. Rumor had it, in an effort to escape some trouble back in Boston, he’d even left his family behind. His son and heir, Josiah, used to run a bordello in the upstairs rooms.
This was the information that had triggered another what-if question, one that wouldn’t let go. What if someone else had arrived, in Marietta… Alfred Cooper? The name came out of nowhere. He had a daughter, Dorothy, and together, they opened another saloon around the same time. A few months later, though, his daughter disappeared…
He raced up the stairs two at a time. He wasn’t going to sleep anyway; he might as well try to write.
A few moments later, he was in front of his open computer. For a moment, the subtle scent of orange blossoms floated around him. Cussing softly, he dropped his hands on the keyboard and began typing, the clean, yellow stickers on the board in front of him forgotten.
Walking through the swing doors of the new saloon in town, Joshua Lewis took off his hat.
A sultry voice stopped him in his tracks. “You’ll be welcome here when you get rid of the mud on your boots.”
A slender figure stepped out of the shadows. In one glance, he took in everything about her—from her long, fiery-red tresses, startling blue eyes, saucy smile, to the slim hand resting on her hip, her whole demeanor challenging him to argue with her.
Stunned by the words simply flowing out of him, Mitch leaned back in his chair for a moment. But the urgency to continue didn’t give him much time to ponder about what he was writing.
His hands dropped, and his fingers flew over the keyboard.
He was writing.
*
It was lateafternoon on Sunday before Riley and Dylan finally got home. Dylan had been a champ, but the nearly hour-long layover in Seattle, before embarking on the last leg to Portland so close after their flight to Bozeman on Friday, seemed to have taken its toll on her son.
Carrying Dylan, while dragging their suitcase behind her, she gritted her teeth. She was a thoroughly modern twenty-first century woman, happy and capable of slaying dragons all by herself,thank you very much. It was just sometimes, like now, it would’ve been nice to have someone help her. As Mitch had done…
What the—Exasperated, she nearly tripped over herself and quickly dropped the suitcase so that she could unlock the front door to her house. Mitch O’Sullivan seemed to have ingrained himself into her thoughts, and she had no idea how to get rid of him.
Her phone bleeped—probably Aunt Janice, but she first wanted to put Dylan down. Minutes later, she closed her son’s door behind her. He’d hardly stirred as she put him down and would probably sleep for another hour. She should order food; Dylan would be hungry when he woke up. She hadn’t eaten much either during the long trip.
Rolling her shoulders, she tried to relax. Being cooped up with lots of other people all day had drained her. Normally, she stayed away from large crowds. She even did her shopping later in the day when most other people were already home.
Taking a deep breath, she clicked on her phone as she walked back to the living room to fetch the suitcase. Looking around her, she willed herself to relax. The calm, muted colors of the walls and furniture usually helped her to regain her equilibrium after a day engaging with other people. Strangely, though, her shoulders stayed stiff, the knot in her tummy refusing to let go. Something was bothering her.
Deep in thought, she opened her messages and stilled. There was a message from Aunt Janice, yes, but that wasn’t the only message. There was also one from Mitch.
With her eyes on her phone, her breath stuck somewhere in her throat, she sat down on the nearest chair. Slowly exhaling, she opened the message.
