by Maree, Kay
I tried my hardest to keep the smile off my face and the excitement from my voice. My parents thought this was a punishment. I love Grandpa Billy and the crazy town he lives in. It was my happy place.
I knew my parents didn’t want to see excitement in my eyes, hear jubilation in my voice. No. They wanted to see regret in my eyes and hear contrition in my voice.
“Now Danica, you’re not going there to play.” My father interrupted. “Your Grandfather William needs help running his establishment. This is not a holiday. Hard work is what you need. You will assist your Grandfather like a good Granddaughter. A lack of comforts should help you realise what you should do with your life.”
“Yes, father.”
Danica
I hardly slept the night before being whisked away in the early morning light.
When I arrived in Venom Ridge, Grandpa Billy was late. I patiently waited, letting the sun warm my skin and the clean unpolluted air fill my lungs.
I was sitting on my luggage outside the Venom Ridge train station waiting on my Grandpa, reading, when a shadow fell over the page.
I looked up to see a man standing before me.
I was a little taken aback. In the city, the men wore business suits, designer jeans, high priced gym clothes, even the working class were well dressed. The man before me wore dark jeans with a thick belt buckle, dusty riding boots, a white button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and a cowboy hat casting shade over his eyes.
The shiny silver star of his Sheriff’s badge glinted in the sunlight.
I’d met the Sheriff of Venom Ridge on a previous visit to my grandparents. This was not the same Sheriff. That man wore brown trousers, his gut hanging over the waistband, straining the faded light blue fabric of his polo shirt.
The man standing before me was dressed in a way I hadn’t seen outside of the movies. It wasn’t so much what he wore, but the way he wore it.
This man was a cowboy.
Don’t get me wrong, I’ve been to Venom Ridge on numerous occasions over my life and I have met plenty of cowboys in my time. But this guy, he wasn’t just a cowboy; he was a Cow-Boy!
Scott Eastwood in the Longest Ride had nothing on this guy.
“Afternoon Ma’am.” His voice rumbled like thunder, and I almost swooned at his greeting.
“A pleasant afternoon to you, Sheriff,” I replied, placing my book on my lap.
“It’s a bit hot to be sitting out here in all that finery, don’t you think?” He chuckled.
I looked down at the blue silk and lace blouse, crisp white linen skirt and heels my mother insisted I wear for my journey from the city. The lace itched, the silk was hot, and the excessive number of pins keeping my hair in place were giving me a headache.
“It is a bit yes,” I answered. I smiled up at him, adjusting the oriental style parasol I bought before boarding the train from a vendor outside the station.
“Please, Ma’am forgive my manners. My name is Walker Scott. Sheriff of Venom Ridge.”
“Pleased to make your acquaintance, Sheriff Scott.”
He smirked at me, and I could tell right away what he was thinking. It was in the way he was looking at me. I knew that look well. The smirk said he saw me as a princess, a snob who didn’t belong here.
“Ma’am, everyone around here calls me Walker or Sheriff.”
His smirked change to a grin, the judgement fading from his eyes. He grinned, and it was disarming. It was a cheeky grin, like he was up to no good. That cheekiness made a dimple in his right cheek pop. I wanted to reach out and touch it. Instead, I introduced myself holding out my hand and was pleasantly surprised by his returned firm handshake.
“Danica McCaffrey.”
In my experience, you can tell a lot about a man by the way he shakes your hand. If it’s weak, he thinks you’re weak - beneath him. If it’s crushing, he’s showing you he’s stronger than you—holds the power. If it’s firm, he sees you as an equal—level playing field.
His handshake was firm.
“Sheriff Walker, I’ll drop the Sheriff if you promise to stop this Ma’am business. Besides, do I look old enough to be a Ma’am to you?” I raised a questioning eyebrow.
“No Ma’am, you do not,” Walker replied. The cheeky dimple-popping grin making his eyes sparkle.
“Please, call me Danica.”
“Yes, Ma’am,” he chuckled, winking at me.
The heat of the day must be affecting me because the cheekiness of his reply, the deep timber of his chuckle, had me thinking. Was he flirting with me?
“So, what brings you to Venom Ridge?”
“I’m here for a reality check and to get my head on straight.” I replied, glad that my voice held steady and didn’t falter under the weight of his gaze. I laughed at his puzzled look. “I’m here to visit my Grandfather.”
“There has to be a story there, but it really is too hot to be sitting out here in the sun. Why don’t I take you to your grandfather?”
“How do you know who my grandfather is? I haven’t even told you his name.”
“I know him, and I know exactly where he is.”
“Where’s that?”
“The Rusty Wagon.”
Danica
Walker pulled into a parking spot out the front of the Rusty Wagon and I forgot my manners, leaping out of the car, running up the front steps. The saloon doors squeaked, as they always did when I pushed them open. The smell of stale beer, peanuts, and hot chips assaulted my senses. I inhaled deeply, savouring the aroma.
I’m home.
“We don’t normally see your type around here.”
I turned around to see a woman walking towards me. She was wearing a short red skirt, a skin-tight black tank top, that barely contained her boobs and tottering on the highest platform heels I have ever seen. It was obvious she was one of the working girls.
Prostitution was still legal in Venom Ridge. The Rusty Wagon has been running a whorehouse from the top floor for centuries.
“Are you looking for work, huni?” She asked, giving me a predatory analytical look up and down.
“I’m sorry?”
“The clientele we normally get don’t have the kind of money a high-priced girl like you would cost. You’d be better off trying your luck in the city.”
“I’m not here looking for work,” I replied, trying to keep the disgust out of my voice. I didn’t have a problem with the working girls. My problem was that this woman took one look at me and decided I was a prostitute.
A high-class prostitute, but a prostitute, nonetheless.
“I don’t know what the hell you’re here for, but taking one look at you, I know your trouble. We don’t need the likes of you around here.” She snarked, narrowing her eyes at me.
“Not that it’s any of your damn business, but I’m looking for….”
“Danie?” My grandpa called walking out from behind the bar. “Sweet Pea, what are you doing here?”
“Grandpa!” I smiled, rushing into his arms.
“Grandpa?! You’re his Granddaughter?” The woman sneered, disdain in her voice.
“Yes, this is my Granddaughter, Danica. Danica, this is Cecilia. She looks after things upstairs,” he explained.
“Why didn’t you say you were Billy’s Granddaughter?” Cecilia questioned, her voice dripping with pretend politeness.
“I wasn’t given the chance,” I muttered.
“Cecilia, Charles is looking for you. He has some business folk coming to town and would like you to arrange some company for them.”
“Sure thing, Billy.” She kissed my Grandpa on the cheek while looking at me with suspicion.
“Sweet Pea, let me look at you,” my Grandpa cooed without a backwards glance at the woman.
“Grandpa, you were supposed to meet me at the train station, remember? Mum emailed. Didn’t you get it?”
“I’m sorry I didn’t meet you. I got ma days muddled
.” He gave me a squeezy hug. “How did you get here? It’s a helluva walk, especially in those shoes.”
“I met the very helpful Sheriff,” I replied. “What happened to the old one? The cranky Sheriff who yelled at me for laughing.”
“He retired a couple of years ago,” Grandpa explained. The saloon doors swung open, and Sheriff Scott walked in carrying my suitcases. “Walker, you can drop those in the office. Thanks ma boy.”
“Walker, thank you. I’m so sorry I didn’t mean to leave you with the bags,” I apologised, rushing to take them from him.
“I’ve got this Darlin’,” he winked as he passed me heading to my Grandpa’s office.
So far, I have spent at most, half an hour with this man. I don’t know him. Perhaps he calls every woman in town Darlin’ and winking could be his thing, like the trainer at the gym who gave everyone a high-five. But his high-fives didn’t affect me the way Walker’s wink’s did. I felt my cheeks warming.
“You packed light,” Grandpa remarked, noting my two bags. “Mary said you’d be here for a while.”
“I only brought the essentials with me. Grandpa, both you and I know my parents sent me here hoping this filthy town,” I snipped, mimicking my mother’s voice, “will shock and disgust me so much so I will demand to return home immediately. They don’t know the amount of fun I have when I come here.”
“Your mother would kill me if she knew all the things you got up to,” Grandpa sniggered.
“Daddy still doesn’t know about the girls and what goes on upstairs,” I giggled.
My father would die if he knew. My mother swore me to secrecy. I was around seven when I asked her what the girls at Grandma’s place did. My mother was mortified and announced that I would never visit them again. I might have only been seven, but I had been around my father enough to negotiate with the best of them. I told her if she refused to let me see my grandparents, I would tell Daddy all about the goings on at the Rusty Wagon. To my mother, being the daughter of parents that knowingly allowed prostitution to go on in their establishment was worse than being the daughter of a mass-murderer. My mother agreed, but with the caveat I was not to go to the Rusty Wagon.
Grandma Lilly said, ‘What happens in the Rusty Wagon, Stays in the Rusty Wagon.’
We kept my parents blissfully ignorant of what I did when I came to stay.
“Sweet Pea, there’s not much cause for heels and lace out here.”
“Speaking of which, do you mind if I use your office to get changed?”
“I was wondering how long you would stay in all that froufrou,” he chuckled. “Take your time.”
As much as I profess to be an independent, strong, free thinking woman. I’m still a girl who likes to please her parents. I was overdressed for a town like Venom Ridge. I could have protested, but what did it hurt to let my mother dress me up like a doll and listen to my father’s instructions not to talk to strangers.
I changed, replacing the silk and lace with my favourite jeans, boots and one of my Grandpa’s clean but worn flannel shirts that was hanging on the back of his office door. Letting my elaborate hairstyle down, I walked into the bar, fastening the tie around the more practical French Braid.
“That better?” Grandpa asked.
“Much.” I grinned, walking behind the bar seeing dirty glasses, empty bottles, and soggy dish cloths. “Grandpa, are you running this place by yourself? I thought you had help. Where are Brian and Sarah?”
“Once the train line extended to the coast, they left. Sun and sand and all that. It’s fine, Sweet Pea. I’m fine.”
“Well, you are now.”
I tucked a clean cloth into the waistband of my jeans, picked up a drinks tray, kissed Grandpa on the cheek and got to work.
Danica
I’ve been in Venom Ridge for the last four months. There hasn’t been a day that I haven’t seen Walker. Even if it was just on the street saying hi. At first, he was just being a friendly Sheriff making sure that I was settling in. Then I wasn’t sure what it was, he just seemed to always be around. A part of me thought it was because he liked me, the other part thought he just enjoyed pissing me off.
One night, after flip flopping between I think he likes me and God he’s annoying, I let my feelings known.
“Gah, what is he doing here?”
“What bug crawled up your butt and died?” Grandpa asked at my huffy tone.
“Walker, he’s here again.”
“So?”
“So, so. He’s just so… Gah, just annoying is all. He’s always here. He’s always so happy and charming and smiley. Don’t get me started on that stupid dimple.”
“The, what?” Grandpa asked, confused.
“He just had the nerve to ask me if I needed help when I was rolling the kegs through the basement door. God, he’s just so annoying.”
“Danica McCaffrey, take a breath.” Grandpa snapped. “Walker is here because, he is the Sheriff of this town, he helps when we get busy and he is my friend. Not everything is about you, you know.”
“Sorry, Grandpa.” My voice was small, reflective of my childish behaviour.
“Careful, kiddo, your city is showing.”
I knew what he ment. I was acting like the city brat I never wanted to be. Only my Grandpa could knock the stupid out of me only using words. From then on, I took Walker’s presence for what it was - friendship.
From that time on, I got used to seeing Walker around. I got used to it, and if I’m honest; I looked forward to seeing him.
Today, the delivery had been dropped off at the kitchen entrance instead of the basement doors, and there was no one around strong enough to move them. I could roll them around to the backdoor, but it would have taken me all day.
Walker was driving past, saw me struggling, and as per usual, offered to help.
While Walker worked, Grandpa and I argued.
“Grandpa.”
“Don’t you Grandpa me. I said no, and that’s the last I’m going to hear on it,” he huffed, walking away from me.
“Grandpa, please,” I begged, helping him flip the stools off the bar.
“Danica Lillian McCaffrey, don’t you whine at me. That trick hasn’t worked in years. I’ve said all I’m going to say on the matter. Now drop it.”
Grandpa and I had been arguing for the better part of an hour. We worked as we argued, getting the bar ready for opening.
He’s just so damn stubborn!
When my parents told me they were sending me to Venom Ridge, like a naughty child being given a time out, I decided the punishment could go both ways. I decided I was going to stay for a minimum of six months. As much as I love this place there’s not a lot going on. It’s not like in the city where you can go to the movies or a club or a museum whenever you wanted.
Here you have to keep yourself entertained.
After a few months, I began looking over the farmhouse and the bar, seeing what needed to be fixed. Both were well maintained, but Grandpa has also been putting a lot of things off.
Which brings me to the reason for our fight. An hour ago, I presented Grandpa with a list. It was a list of all the things I planned on fixing while I was in town. I thought I could help Grandpa while keeping myself busy.
Grandpa thought different.
“William Thomas Bridge, I will not drop it!”
“Don’t sass me, girly-girl.”
“I’m not sassing you Grandpa and stop talking to me like I’m not family. You won't let me contribute to the house bills while I’m staying here, and I won’t let you pay me for working at the bar. What I am suggesting is the perfect compromise,” I insisted.
“I’ve never taken any money from your mother, what makes you think I’m going to take yours?”
“Because I’m not offering you money. I’m offering you work in place of paying board.”
“You’re already doing that. You work here in the bar!” He cried, throwing his hands
in the air.
“Grandpa, I work here a few hours a week. All I want to do is fix the stuff that is broken. I’m not suggesting I rebuild the whole bloody bar!” It was my turn to throw my hands in the air, storming over to the door of the basement. “I want to fix the damn stairs, they’re dangerous. Walker almost fell through the stupid things yesterday.”
“Hey, whatever you two are arguing about, leave me out of it,” Walker insisted, as he walked up the offending stairs to get another keg.
“I wasn’t involving you,” I snapped.
“Yes, you were.”
“I was not. I was using you as an example,” I explained.
“My mistake,” he apologised. “Just leave me out of it.”
“Last time I care about your safety,” I grumbled, turning my back on him. “Fall and bruise your ass, see if I care.”
“You care,” Walker growled, coming up behind me. I gasped at his unexpected nearness, his breath fanning across the back of my neck. The heat from his body making me burn.
“No, I don’t,” I whispered.
“Yes, you do.” His lips brushed the shell of my ear. A zing of awareness shot through me, and I was suddenly mindful of the fact that we were not alone.
“Walker, we…. I….” I stammered, struggling to put a sentence together.
“My ass appreciates your concern Darlin’.” He slapped my butt, and I turned, seething at the audacity. Walker gave me his damn sexy dimple popping grin. My cheeks burning. I cursed myself for allowing him to affect me so. “Now, get your mind off my ass.” My anger was momentarily forgotten as he picked up a keg, his biceps bulging, straining against the fabric of his tee. “Weren’t you in the middle of an argument?”
“Grrrrr! I hate you both,” I huffed. Taking a calming breath, I attempted to settle my frustration. “Grandpa, please. You have done so much for me over the years. Please, let me do this for you. I don’t want to do anything you wouldn’t do if you had the time.”
“If I had the money you mean.”
“That’s not fair. Money has never been an issue in our relationship, and you know it. I am going to pay for everything with my own money. My parents won’t be paying for anything if that’s your problem. Stop being so damn prideful and let me help.”