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Chapter One
Bailey
Wooden stools butt up against a brass foot rail at a high counter. A TV is affixed to the wall and a football game is set without the sound. There’s no smoking allowed, but the scent of cigarettes and cigars from days gone by lingers in the air with the beer that’s on tap. Mullet stands behind the counter serving drinks. I suppose he has a ‘real name,’ but everyone in town calls him Mullet because of the Kentucky waterfall he sports under his hunting cap.
“Another shot?” He nods toward me, and I give him the okay. It’s only my second, but I’m already feeling buzzed. Whiskey does that to me.
He slides a fresh glass toward me, and I shoot back the gulp and ask for another.
“Damn, girl. Break up or dead dog?” The man next to me passes Mullet a twenty-dollar bill. “Her drink is on me, and I’ll have the same.”
“Guess I should ask you the same question.”
He laughs and studies me closer. “Hey, aren’t you that game warden?”
I glance toward the man and squint before sucking down my fourth shot. I should stop here. Ten minutes from now, I’m going to be a mess. “And you’re one of those Alaskans who’ve come to save us all.” My tone is sarcastic. “If I’m honest, you’repretty brave for coming to the bar on a Friday night. You’re not very liked around here.”
“Oh, I like a challenge.” He smirks. “Name’s Rowan, and I thought small towns were supposed to be nice.”
“We are nice!” I know I’ve seen him up on the mountain since they got here, but he looks familiar. Like I know him from somewhere else, but I can’t place it. Maybe that’s the alcohol talking. There’s no way I could know this guy. I’d remember a nearly seven-foot-tall giant with thick arms, wide shoulders, and ink covering his body. I scan down to his big, rough hands. I’d remember those too.
For a second, I wonder what it would be like to have them all over me.
This has to be the alcohol talking. There’s nothing attractive about a man that comes into town and takes over like he owns the place. Though, in his defense, his whole family is the same way.
I glance away, willing away the ache that’s growing between my legs.I need help.I always get horny when I’m drunk, and Rowan looks like the kind of guy you don’t want to mess around with… if I were even the messing around type, which I’m not. Hell, the reason I’m here is because I’m not the messing around type.
Though, maybe it’s time that era ended.
I shake my head in an attempt to gather some sense, but an image of the giant Alaskan bending me over the bar flashes into my mind.
Okay, no more shots. I’m officially gone.
“People here don’t seem that nice to me. My brothers and I have been getting shit everywhere we go.” His tone is low and graveled.
Good Lord, he’s hot.
It takes my brain a second to comprehend why he’s said this, considering I’ve lost every thread of our conversation and replaced it with him bending me over the counter, pulling my hair, and smacking my ass.
Finally, it dawns on me that he’s talking about how people in town don’t like his family…I think.“That’s because you’re causing trouble everywhere you go. This is a sleepy town. People like order and kindness. We look out for each other.”
“And y’all invited us here, so…”
“So?”
“So… you should treat us better.”
“Treat you better? We welcomed you in, gave you a cabin to stay in free of charge, and everyone I know has dropped by with food and gifts to welcome you. How much better could you be treated?” I twist my stool toward him with every intention of being angry, but his tattoos have me salivating before the anger has a chance to boil over. This wouldn’t happen if I were sober.
My eyes scan down over his arm. He’s covered in symbols of some sort, maybe Viking. It’s hard to tell in this dim light. Part of me wants to roll up the sleeves on his flannel and look closer, but I divert my drunken stare to the trucker hat he wears that’s frayed along the brim.
Why did I have that last shot?This man is clearly eons older than me, he’s a jerk, and he’s unliked by everyone I love. No pair of jeans or oversized biceps could make up for that.
“You’ve been sending threats through everyone you know.” He laughs under his breath.
“So, is that why you’re here? Your family sent you to take me down? Because I’m doing my job, Mr. Laskin. That’s all. And right now, I’m having an end of the week drink. So, if you’ll excuse me.” I turn away, but the man continues.
“More like end of the weekdrinks… and no, you’re not doing your job. Your job is to warden the hunters. We’rehere to save the town from a menacing bear. We are allowed advantages.”
