Series: Blue Ridge Bears
Book Title: Tracking the Bear
Chapter One
Lucy
Sammy Pullman was on his sixth beer of the night. After four years working at Pete’s Bar and Grill, I knew what that meant. The new girl, Brandy, should have cut him off at beer number four, as I or any of the other waitresses, would have done. I understood though, she was terrified of losing her tip. God knew that we all needed the money.
Pullman was an ex-cop with a nasty temper and an even nastier right hook. He hadn’t broken anyone’s bones in the bar fights he frequently instigated, which was the only reason Randy, the boss’s son and our current manager, hadn’t tossed him out of the bar permanently. We needed the business, especially because with the post office closing, Fairchild didn’t appear on maps any longer.
Randy had imposed a strict four beer limit on Sammy, as Brandy would have known if she hadn’t been busy flirting with the cook during orientation.
“I should take over her table,” I muttered, setting the empty plates in the plastic tub I carried. I set it aside once I’d cleared away the dishes and trash and leaned over the table to wipe it clean.
“Don’t,” Mildred advised from the next table over.
Mildred Allbarn actually looked good in the flannel button down and black jeans combo that was the uniform of the bar. Millie was small and birdlike, with unruly red hair and a smattering of freckles on the bridge of her nose. I, on the other hand, didn’t look nearly as good in the outfit. The buttons consistently gapped at my cleavage, and I’d taken to wearing a tank top underneath instead of trying to struggle with them. My jeans were secondhand and frayed at the bottom.
“Randy will fire her if she lets him have another,” I pointed out. “She knows where I live.”
“Fairchild is a town of three hundred people, Lucy. Well, three hundred and fifty, if you include the dogs. Everyone knows where you live.”
I knew that. It was part of what I hated about living in a dinky backwater town in Tennessee. Everyone knew everyone. How refreshing it would be, to live somewhere where I was just a face in the crowd, another body crossing the street. Instead I was trapped in this tiny nowhere town, and working a part-time shift as a waitress in a struggling bar, listening to old women lecture me about how much more I could have become.
I ignored Millie and limped over to the table, pulling Brandy aside when I reached her. The kitchen was sweltering, despite the fairly mild weather outdoors. The air conditioner must have finally wheezed its last.
“You have to cut him off,” I said, letting go of her arms.
She rolled her eyes and pulled out a compact, applying a fresh coat of bubblegum pink lipstick. “Oh come on Lucy, it’s just a few beers. Sam’s having a rough time right now. I already took his keys, so he won’t be driving.”
“He’s three sheets to the wind already, and you know how he gets when he’s blackout drunk. Cut him off, or you can explain the property damage to Randy. I bet it comes out of your paycheck, not mine.”
She fixed me with a fierce glare. “Don’t think you can order me around, Elmsong.”
“I’ve been here the longest after Randy, so yeah, I am your boss while Randy’s out for the afternoon. Cut him off, or I’m telling Randy.”
Brandy stalked off, taking care to tread on my right foot as she went. Maybe I should have taken Millie’s advice. I didn’t really owe Brandy anything but a swift kick in the pants after what she and my twin brother, Luke, had done in high school.
The bell above the door tinkled merrily and I sighed, limping back out to the lobby. My leg was recovering, slowly but surely. The doctor thought I could expect a 90 percent recovery rate after six years. He’d been right. After years of physical therapy, I could finally walk unaided.
The man who walked through the door was simply massive. I’d never seen a man who was taller or broader, and I’d dated the offensive lineman in high school. His bulk was readily apparent beneath the dark t-shirt he wore, and at nearly seven feet tall, I wondered how difficult it must be to find and keep a good pair of jeans.
He glanced around the diner. Pete’s Bar and Grill was a small rustic hole in the wall that made most of its money off hunters, a few dedicated locals, and tourists coming up from the towns south of us. The tables were made of unfinished wood, with a layer of laminate over the top, since they were a bitch to clean otherwise. The bar was built to look like an old-timey fireplace, with brick making up most of the front of it. The chairs had been handmade by a local artist. It was easily the best part of the bar.
The animal heads that lined the walls had been shot by Randy or his father. I pitied the poor things, being decked out in different holiday hats all year round. It wasn’t a dignified way to use the corpse. The new guy seemed to agree with me, because he scowled up at the head of the black bear that Pete had named Cindy.
I approached him while he stared at it, his full mouth turned down in disapproval. Good golly, life really wasn’t fair. He had a cupid’s bow for cryin’ out loud! Was it truly necessary for him to be good looking? I couldn’t have bought the sort of jacket he wore with two of my paychecks combined.
He turned the full force of his eyes on me, and I froze. They were a captivating hazel, flecked with gold. Peace, a sensation I’d been without for so long it was nearly foreign to me, washed through my body. I could let go. I wasn’t alone anymore.
You’re not alone now, stupid. I chided myself. I had my Aunt Carol and Uncle Mack. I had Millie. Hell, on summer break and holidays, I had my brother Luke. I wasn’t alone.
And where the hell did my subconscious get off trying to stake a claim on this guy? He’d just walked in the door about three seconds before.
The smaller part of my brain that wasn’t busy gawking noted that he had a pronounced five o’clock shadow, and looked like he’d missed a few nights of sleep. I focused on that, trying to orient myself, hoping my jaw wasn’t flapping in the wind. He was hot, sure, but he looked like he’d been put through the mill in the last couple of days. The least I could do was be professional.
I cleared my throat. “Would you like a table or a booth?”
His eyes finally seemed to release me, and he looked the rest of my body over, lingering overlong on my cleavage. I resisted the urge to adjust the tank top. Damn thing had a tendency to ride low, especially if I’d bent over a lot, as I did when bussing tables. His lips quirked upwards a little in the barest hint of a smile and then he finally looked away from me.
“A booth, please.”
My legs quivered a little. Did everything about him have to be perfect? Hair, body, eyes, and his sonorous voice. I grabbed two menus from the tray by the door and turned on my heel, trusting he’d follow. I’d get Millie to wait his table. It was clear that my professional work ethic had gone camping somewhere with my sanity, and I wasn’t going to interact with this man until it returned home.
He sat down, taking up most of one booth all by himself. I set his menu down on the table in front of him, and then placed the other in the seat directly across from where he sat. He frowned at it.
“What’s that for?” he asked.
“I figured someone as handsome as you had a date. Aren’t you meeting someone?”
He shook his head once, rubbing sheepishly at the strong line of his jaw. Stubble rasped against his palm, and I shivered. I wanted to know what his stubble would feel like brushing my skin. I needed to get Millie out of the back as soon as possible to deal with this guy. I couldn’t do this to myself. I wouldn’t.
“No date.” He said. “But if you like, you can join me on your break. I’m not in any hur
ry to leave Fairchild.”
That made one of us. I was getting out of this hellhole as soon as I could. That enabled me to plaster on a false smile and make my retreat.
“I might have to take a rain check on that Mister…?”
“Kassower,” he finished. “Chance Kassower.”
“Kassower.” I rolled his name around my mouth, tasting the contours of it. It was a nice, rugged name for an outdoorsy kind of guy. “Right. Well, Mr. Kassower, your server, Millie, will be right out to get your order.”
I limped back across the room, fighting the urge to look back and see if he was still staring at me.
“Big guy at table four is waiting on you,” I muttered to her as I passed. Millie gave me an odd look.
“Why didn’t you take him?” she whispered back. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but eye candy like that doesn’t usually walk into places like this.”
How did I explain to her that it was part of the problem? I couldn’t lay down any more roots here. Handsome he might have been, but I knew a country boy when I saw one. He was practically radiating good-ol’-boy charm. I knew his type. I couldn’t get involved with his type. He may not have been from Fairchild, but he was from somewhere just as small, just as remote, and far away from the sort of life I wanted to live.
“Can you just take it, please? I’ll owe you.”
“Twenty bucks?”
“Sure,” I sighed. “I’ll donate twenty bucks to the buy-a-wrench foundation.”
“I’m buying myself a ratchet extender, I’ll have you know. They are different.”
“I don’t speak mechanic Millie, you’ll have to forgive the ignorance.”
She rolled her eyes at me. “Oh come on, your brother worked for my dad for a few years. You at least know what a ratchet is.”
I did, actually, but riling Millie with inaccurate automotive terminology was one of the simple joys in my life.
“Guy on table four. Go,” I said, and gave her a light shove out of the kitchen. She sauntered over to the table, and I felt an odd ripple of jealousy. So what if Millie thought that Chance guy was hot? It was no skin off my nose.
I pestered Brandy twice more about cutting Sammy off, and when I was ignored yet again, I called Randy and left a message. I hated to be a downer on his day off, but someone had to keep Brandy in line. She clearly wasn’t going to listen to me.
I ran into Millie on her way back to the kitchen. She was positively buzzing with excitement, and I was sure that Mr. Good-ol’-boy had extended his supper invitation to another waitress. Jerk.
“He’s got a Firebird, Lucy.” She gushed, grabbing ahold of my shirt front. She hauled me down so I was eye-level. “A 1969 Firebird Convertible! You’re nuts for turning down a date with that guy!”
“What? How did you know he asked me out?”
Millie shrugged. “He told me. Come on Lucy, take your break and talk to the guy.”
“No.” The word came out sharper than I intended, and I saw Mr. Lonesome himself perk up out in the restaurant proper, listening in.
“Oh, come on, Lucy. Give me this vicarious thrill, won’t you? I want to have babies with that car! You could tell me what the back of it’s like!”
I scowled down at her, and carefully removed her hands from the front of my shirt. “I’m not climbing into bed with a stranger so you can imagine yourself in the back of his car. If you really want to get up-close and personal with the Firebird, go slash its tires.”
She looked affronted by the very idea. “I couldn’t hurt the poor thing like that Lucy. And speaking of cars that need a thorough inspection, when was the last time you took your car to the garage?”
“Two years ago, maybe? I don’t have to get it inspected again until the tags expire.”
She huffed. “Bring it by my place tomorrow. I’ll take a look at it.”
“I was really hoping to start work on college applications,” I hedged. If Millie or her father found something seriously wrong with my car it could set my college plans off by another year. I couldn’t stay in Fairchild for another year. I’d get suckered into staying by Mr. Lonesome in the front, or someone like him.
“You can fill them out in the waiting room at the garage,” She said, crossing her arms stubbornly over her chest. “That piece of shit is on its last leg, and if you let it go for too long, it won’t even be worth much as scrap. Let me take a look. I promise we’ll come to some sort of agreement if we find something.”
“Fine,” I grumbled.
“Order up!” The cook called, sliding a dinner plate laden with a medium-well steak and a loaded baked potato onto the ledge. Millie turned away, grabbing the plate. I didn’t watch her sashay over to Mr. Lonesome’s table.
Maybe Millie had been right. I should take my break. I’d been on my feet, constantly moving for four hours. My bad leg was sending spikes of agony up and into my back. I needed to sit. I grabbed my phone from the plastic tub beside the manager’s door and dragged myself over to the fridge. The brown bag lunch Aunt Carol had packed for me was hidden behind Brandy’s takeout. I relocated the Styrofoam container and grabbed my meal.
I bit my tongue to keep a whimper from escaping as I limped out to the restaurant proper. I wasn’t getting off early. I wasn’t going to let the stupid leg win. I’d sit down with the guy for a few minutes, just for an excuse to rest. I’d eat something, I’d take my pill and I’d tough it out until the end of my shift. I was a big girl. I could make it.
Chance looked surprised when I plopped down into the seat across from him. I pretended not to notice.
“So,” I began, pulling a chocolate pudding cup from the bag. “Millie would very much like to have a moment alone with your car.”
His sculpted mouth quirked into one of the most disarming smiles I’d ever seen. He looked like he should have modeled for GQ. What were this gorgeous man and his flashy car doing in Fairchild?
“It’s a hand-me-down from my dad. He bought it new.”
I realized belatedly that Aunt Carol hadn’t packed me a spoon. Chance handed me the one still tucked into the napkin. I felt the heat rise to my cheeks as I took it. “Erm, thanks.”
He was peeking into the brown paper bag. “An orange, a pudding cup and a chicken wing. That’s not a very substantial meal.”
And it’s none of your business, jerk. I pulled the sack away from him with a scowl. “It’s fine. Now, why did you tell Millie that I turned you down? I don’t think that’s anyone else’s business.”
“I wanted an excuse to talk to you again,” he said, reaching out to tuck a stand of hair behind my ear. The motion was too familiar, and I jerked away from him, more head flooding my cheeks. Where did this jerk get off thinking he could just touch me like that?
“Sorry,” he muttered. “Force of habit.”
“Touching without permission. That’s a bad habit to have.”
“It is,” he agreed. “Why don’t I make it up to you?” He snatched by brown paper bag from my hands suddenly and hid it on his side of the booth. I gaped at him.
“Give that back!”
“No,” he said, eyes twinkling with mischief. He pushed his plate across the table at me. “I think I’d like to trade.”
I stared down at the barely touched steak and the baked potato. The smell of sour cream and chives was making my stomach twist itself into desperate knots. It smelled a whole hell of a lot better than my cold chicken wing.
“Eat,” he instructed, reaching inside my bag to grab the orange. He dug his long fingers into the peel and began tearing it away from the fruit quickly. I just stared.
“I can’t…this is your meal.”
“And since I’m paying for it, I think I can decide what I do with it,” he replied. “Eat. You look dead on your feet.”
I hesitated. This was rude. Aunt Carol would have a fit if she found out I’d gone along with it. But he looked so sincere, and again, I could feel the strange pull toward him, the feeling of home that I hadn’t had sinc
e I was twelve, and mom and dad had still been around.
“Thank you,” I whispered, and I picked up his abandoned fork. He watched me eat, popping slices of my orange into his mouth with a smile. It was weird, that watching me eat his food was making Mr. Lonesome this happy. Maybe he had a fetish.
I ate about half of what was on the plate. I didn’t feel comfortable devouring a seven-ounce steak and an enormous baked potato in one sitting, especially when I hadn’t been the one to order it.
“Feel better?” he asked, still grinning at me.
“Some,” I admitted. The throbbing ache in my leg had died town to the occasional twinge, and I’d be able to ignore that once I took my pain pill. I fished it out of my purse and dry swallowed it.
“I’m happy to help, Miss Lucy,” he said. I resisted the urge to shiver. I could listen to that basso rumble for hours. I tore my gaze away from his and checked my phone. I’d missed two calls, and my break was almost over.
“Now that I’ve eaten your meal, I really do need to get back to work,” I said, flushing again. That had sounded wittier in my head.
He laughed at me and waved me on. “I’ll be seeing you around, Miss Lucy.”
I hope not. I thought silently. I feared it would only be a matter of time before I said yes to someone, and it was why I needed to get out of Fairchild as soon as possible. If Chance Kassower decided to stay, it would be all the more difficult to leave.
And I wasn’t staying in Fairchild. Not for a man. Not for anyone.
***
Of course, leaving that evening wasn’t as easy as I’d hoped. Millie was waiting to ambush me by my car.
“You’re bringing this in today, right?” she demanded.
“Yes,” I sighed, exasperation creeping into my tone. Mr. Lonesome had stared at me all night while I worked, and hadn’t left the bar until Kim, the bartender, threw him out at last call. I’d sent the rest of the girls home and spent a further thirty minutes cleaning up the place. So I stumbled out of Pete’s at three thirty in the morning feeling tired, sore, and more than a little irritated with my best friend.
“You’re leaking engine oil. If you try to drive this thing for very much longer, it will kill your engine.”
Tracking the Bear (Blue Ridge Bears Book 1) Page 1