Page 6 of Mountain Daddy
And even though the sun has set, I can tell that the opposite side of the highway boasts a stunning view of the Rockies.
I’ll hand it to Dad—this is a beautiful state. So at least there’s that.
Pushing thoughts of my new home out of my mind, I straighten my spine and stride toward the sign for Rocky Ridge Inn.
Chapter 2
Luther
“No.”My sister holds her hands up, stopping me from coming behind the bar. “You’re not even supposed to be here tonight.”
I narrow my eyes at her. “Says who?”
“Says HR.” She throws her thumb over her shoulder, indicating Steve, the stuffed muskie mounted on the wall.
“Steve would never dare to tell me, the owner of said bar, what I can and cannot do.”
“Fine.” Jessie huffs and shakes her head. “But if you’re going to insist on being here, I’m going to insist you sit on the patron side of the counter. But, and this is just a suggestion, maybe relax a little. Pretend like you’re actually taking the day off like you said you would.”
I heave out a breath, as though that’s a hardship, and back away from the space that Jessie has claimed as her own.
She’s right, of course. I said I wasn’t going to come in tonight.
But then I couldn’t decide what to watch on TV, and I… well, I didn’t know what to do with myself.
And rather than address the underlying factor of my inability to justrelax,I drove the few minutes here.
Two couples sit at the other end of the bar, so I slide onto a vacant stool at this end, leaving plenty of space between us.
They aren’t arguing or doing anything exciting, so I don’t need to eavesdrop.
Jessie sets a lowball glass filled with dark liquid in front of me. “Drink it.”
“So fucking bossy,” I grumble under my breath.
I sniff the drink.
Smells like a whiskey cola.
I don’t have ausualdrink. There are too many good options in the world to always drink the same thing. But this is one of my favorites. Especially since we use a local Colorado soda company that makes for superior cocktails.
I take a long sip.
Then down half the glass.
Lowering the drink, I look around the bar.
Jessie has the music set to classic rock tonight, loud enough for those who want to sit and listen, but not so loud you have to shout to be heard over it.
It’s a weeknight, so the tables are about a third full, plus the other folks at the bar, but it’s not too rowdy.
Some weekends, we fill every seat and then some, but if Jessie won’t let me help her, then I’ll sit here and take in the chill evening.
As I take another drink, Diego steps out from the kitchen door—along the back wall behind the bar, a dozen steps from where I’m sitting—with a trio of plates balanced on his arm.
He gives me a nod, and I tip my glass toward him.
Diego runs the kitchen and is in charge of the menu. It’s a small menu, consisting of three options—a burger, a chicken sandwich, and a veggie wrap. But he changes the flavors each week, hooking our regulars to come try whatever is new.
