Page 3 of Mountain Man's Mail Order Mix-Up
All I knew was this place would have something. Maybe not a full selection, but anything that could calm my racing heart would do.
As I stepped inside, blinking against the change in lighting, nothing could’ve prepared me for what I saw. On the outside, it looked like a dive bar but inside was a bright, cheery fifties-style diner. We had one of those back home when I was growing up. Burgers, fries, milkshakes…the whole nine yards. But not a drop of alcohol.
This was a dry county. Of course, it was. It was a small town, so I should’ve expected that. They probably didn’t even have liquor stores. Or beer in their grocery stores.
There was likely some workaround a short drive away where locals got their fix. But I didn’t have a car. I barely had enoughmoney for a drink. But at this point, it was starting to feel less like a luxury and more like medicine.
The biggest surprise, though? The whole place was empty.
“Hello?” I called out.
It was after one, but that was still technically lunchtime, right? Was this a sign they’d failed their health food inspection or something? That was what we’d assume back in Chattanooga, where I lived. But this wasn’t Chattanooga. It was Wildwood Valley, population negative twenty.
Suddenly, the door behind the counter flipped open with a slam, and out walked a man who looked like he’d stepped out of a lumberjack calendar. Tall, with broad shoulders and bulky, muscular arms that stretched the sleeves of his white T-shirt.
“Kitchen’s closed until five,” he said, letting his gaze scan the length of me. “But you can have a seat at the bar if you want a drink.”
Bar? A drink?
I glanced at the bright blue countertop resting atop the silver, corrugated metal base. The barstools matched the metal until you got to the padded tops—hot pink vinyl. The whole place was straight out of a retro movie set.
“I was looking for a glass of wine,” I said, returning my gaze to him.
He was still staring at me, and the intensity in his eyes made my knees feel a little weak. “Nope. Won’t find that here.”
Great. On to Plan B.
“Well, if I can’t have alcohol, sugar will have to do,” I said.
“Didn’t say you couldn’t have alcohol. Just not the hard stuff. Beer and flavored seltzers. That’s all we’ve got.”
I perked up a little.
“I was looking into some of that alcoholic sweet tea,” he said. “I’ve had requests for it.” Then he nodded toward the bar. “Go ahead and have a seat. I’ll hook you up.”
At the end of all that, I realized I’d been standing there, gaping at him like a lovestruck teenager. I’d just never seen anybody so gorgeous. And he worked in a restaurant? Actually, it sounded like he owned the place.
That didn’t fit. Lumberjack-looking guys didn’t own cutesy fifties diners. There had to be a story there, and I couldn’t wait to find out what it was.
Problem was, I was supposed to be meeting my fiancé in four hours. And unless the woman at the inn had sent me the wrong pictures, this guy wasn’t him. But it couldn’t hurt to kill a couple of hours with a restaurant owner who wasn’t the slightest bit interested in me.
Okay, maybe it could hurt. But I couldn’t stop myself. I grabbed one of the barstools and took a seat at the counter. Then I ordered a berry-flavored seltzer and waited while he disappeared behind the swinging door.
Yes, this could definitely be a bad idea. But it wouldn’t be the first time I followed through on a bad idea. And this time, it might actually be fun.
2
WEST
Her name was Mackenzie. She was staying at the inn across the street. She was scheduled to marry a guy she’d never met.
That last part came out after her first sip of her second seltzer. It had loosened her tongue a little, but she still seemed completely sober.
I surprised her when I grabbed a bottle of beer and leaned against the counter facing her. And that was when she asked for my story.
“I’ve lived here all my life,” I said. “My grandparents owned this place. Opened it when I was just a baby. My sister was running it until about two weeks ago, when she traveled to North Carolina with some friends for a bachelorette party. She met a guy there and, well, never came back.”
Her eyes widened. “So now you’re running the place alone?”
