“A few growing pains, but that’s to be expected. The turnout’s been way better than we imagined.” The woman beamed, her teeth shining white against lips that matched the hot-pink nail polish, and Hailey wondered if Dixie’s last name was Hunnicutt. She displayed an obvious owner’s pride in the place.
Hailey lifted a chin toward the bar. “Your cocktail slinger seems to know what he’s doing, and that’s probably the most important job.” Never mind that watching him work was worth the price of admission alone.
“People don’t mind the food taking a while if you keep ’em good and lubed, and he’s a pro at it.” Dixie winked.
“Sounds like a keeper.” Hailey was about to ask who owned the place, but more hopeful diners entered, crowding her out.
Forty minutes later, as she sat at a drive-through window waiting for her burger and fries, her mind wandered back to the Miners Tavern and how juicy their burgers had looked. Or had their food looked more appealing because of the setting? No wonder the great Bruno Keating had tried to stop the place from opening. Not only was he on a side street in a one-street town, but his hole-in-the-wall didn’t even have the credentials to enter a competition against the Miners Tavern.
Mouthwatering food, welcoming atmosphere, and one of the hottest bartenders Hailey had ever laid eyes on.Thatwas a winning combination.
When she finally entered her utilitarian studio apartment located above a bagel shop on one of Montrose’s busiest streets, she unwound her hair, donned pj’s, and poured a canned vodka mule over ice. She turned off the glaring overhead fluorescent lighting in favor of a few table lamps that highlighted her overflowing bookshelf. Something about their soft amber light softened her otherwise stark, lonely walls.
Flipping open her laptop, she searched the database for the Miners Tavern before uploading her report. Like Dell’s, the place was owned by an LLC—Phoenix Rising Enterprises, LLC—and the agent of record was an attorney.UnlikeDell’s, though, the law firm had a Fall River address rather than hoity-toity Aspen. Apparently, Phoenix Rising liked to keep things local, which was another plus for the tavern. Its biggest plus, though? Tasty burgers and atmosphere aside, the honor went to the sexybartender, hands down. Why the man was renting space in her brain was beyond her, but having him there twanged a lonely chord deep inside her she didn’t like. It made the distance of her dreams echo in the hollow surrounding her.
“Knock it off,” she huffed aloud. “Sure, you’re living in a crappy place and you’re working a thankless job, but someday Future Hailey will look back and celebrate Present Hailey because it will have all been worth it.”
Her work might be dull, but slaving in the underwhelming county office established her gig as a big fish in a small pond, with all the built-in benefits and a bright spotlight that shone on her pretty damn well. Working those advantages would springboard her into something better with even bigger paychecks and hopefully land her in Denver, where she could be closer to her sister, her only family. The position was straightforward and stable, and it afforded her a ton of independence and authority … not to mention a generous pension plan and a hefty paycheck that more than covered her meager bills, leaving enough to feather a nest egg that would one day finance her dream. Where else would she find a situation like that? Overall, her career was humming along.
Her love life, however, needed a serious upgrade. Her various book boyfriends stood by, though, available whenever she dove into a story, and those guilty pleasures scratched her itches—mostly. They would have to do for now.
The dark-haired bartender with the smooth, corded muscles flew to the fore.
Hailey raised her drink to her conjured image of him with a sigh. If she was lucky, he would make an appearance in her dreams later.
Chapter 4
Labor Intensive
Labor Day, the lastnight of the last big weekend before Fall River quieted down, found Noah wiping down the bar after his last two customers exited the Miners Tavern. The town would see one more surge in business when the leaf peepers crawled the mountains in October. They would coincide with nature lovers chasing bugling elk with their binoculars, but most of the activity would take place on the weekends. And Noah couldn’t wait to close the tavern several days during the week, starting tomorrow. He needed sleep; he needed sanity; he needed a break from this life that teetered on the brink of disaster.
His manager, Dixie Dobbs, cleared the table, scooping up the check holder as she went. “One more receipt, boss.”
Noah snapped the towel, refolded it, and began buffing with the clean side. “Mm-hmm.”
Hopefully that last receipt would turn this day into a break-even proposition. Hell, he’d celebrate over a fifty-cent profit. At least it wouldbe a positive after the lackluster numbers from the rest of the long weekend.
“Cheapskates!”
Noah looked up to see Dixie, hand on hip, staring out the front window with a formidable frown etched on her face.
“No tip?”
“Not much of one,” she huffed. “Do they think my earrings are twenty-four karat? Do they think I get my clothes at Bergmandorf’s?”
He wrangled a smile. “I think you mean Bergdorf Goodman.” Why tell her that the luxury store probably didn’t carry anything that would catch her eye, even if the price tag wasn’t an issue?
“Can’t afford to shop there neither.”
Noah made a note to move his bartender tips to Dixie’s column when he reconciled after closing. “I have a feeling you did pretty well today, Dix.”
She swatted a dismissive hand toward the front. “Well, thank the god of mud pies they’re the last customers today. I’ve got to help Dewey finish up the kitchen so it sparkles when that inspector finally gets around to showing his face.”
The Department of Public Health had let them know a food inspector would be by sometime during the week—no exact date—to conduct the first “official” inspection of the tavern’s opening year, different from the nonstop inspections they’d endured before they could ever open their doors. While Dewey—Noah’s head cook and Dixie’s husband—kept an impeccable kitchen, Dixie was Noah’s second line of defense, fretting about the cleanliness of every square inch. But it wasn’t the kitchen that made Noah antsy. It was the possibility that an overworked state employee with a God complex, hating their dead-end job, having a bad day, would decide to take it out on him by nitpicking some detail that would throw his tavern into evenmorehurt.
A large frame ducked into the restaurant, yanking Noah from the disturbing scenarios circling in his head.
Charlie grinned broadly. “Not so fast, gorgeous. You’ve got one more thirsty guest. And I’lldefinitelyleave you a tip.”
