Page 1 of Bountiful
PartOne
July, 2015
ChapterOne
Zara
The Friday nightthat changed my life started out like anyother.
It was a summer evening, and the bar was doing a brisk business in local beer and conversation. I had a good playlist cranking over the stereo, which always helped to make the time fly. Vance Joy’s “Riptide” had a nice, fast rhythm that made tending bar feel more like a dance thanajob.
Even better, there was a hot guy with hair the color of a darkened copper penny watching me from a barstool. I’d seen him around a few times. He and his friends liked the booth in the back corner. Mr. Hot liked Vermont ales, and when his friends were around, they sometimes drank tequila. The top-shelf stuff. And they were goodtippers.
Tonight he was alone, though. And I felt a zing of interest every time he came into my line of sight. If I were a believer of that kind of thing, I might say that I felt a ruffle of awareness. Even apremonition.
But I wasn’t a believer, and I’ve never been good at predicting who would matter in my life and who was just passing through. So it was probably more fair to say that those tingles I felt from the hottie were plain old sexualattraction.
It wasn’t just me, either. I could feel his eyes on me as I made drinks and counted out change for other customers. His were nice eyes, too. Green, if I wasn’t mistaken. I didn’t mind the attention. His admiring gaze made me feel more like a pretty girl at a bar and less like an overworked single woman who’d recently beenrejected.
I poured drinks. I smiled. I sent orders to the kitchen for my cook. Rinse and repeat. By eight o’clock, the biggest problem I’d faced was a group of drunk college boys who were a little too loud at the cornertable.
“Guys? Can I ask you to use your indoor voices? Throwing coasters isn’t cool, all right? We have a dartboard in back if you really need to throwthings.”
“Sorry,” the soberest ofthemsaid.
On my way back to the bar, I noticed that my redheaded friend had watched the whole encounter with interest. “Everythingokay?”
“They are not a problem. See that?” I pointed at the shotgun on the wallbehindme.
Green Eyes smiled. And, wow. His smile was something else. It softened up his rugged face and brought out his bone structure. On one side, there was even a hint of a dimple. As if this man were too tough for dimples, so it didn’t dare show itself. And his laugh was like a well-aged whiskey—deep and smooth. “I assumed the shotgun was justforshow.”
I shook my head. “I don’t keep it loaded, because that’s just asking for trouble. But I could load, aim, and fire in a very short timeframe. So, no. Bessie is not justforshow.”
“Bessie, huh? That’s my sister’s name. And she’s about as subtle as a shotgun. I didn’t know peoplenamedguns.”
I picked up the rag again and wiped down the bar. “Well, I have four brothers. They like to borrow stuff without asking. I gave my shotgun a girl’s name, hoping to discourage them from walking offwithit.”
“Diditwork?”
“No. But eventually I figured out that if my stuff was a girly color like pink or purple, they’d leave it alone. That’s how I came to own a pink bike and a pink phone. And I’m not even a fanofpink.”
And there was that laugh again—rich and heavy. But it was interrupted by one of the drunker college boys, who approached the bar for three shots of JackDaniel’s.
Business first. I turned my back on Mr. Hot to grab three shot glasses. “Who’s driving?” I had to ask as I grabbed the whiskey bottle. I hovered the bottle over the rim of the first glass and studied the kid’sflushedface.
“My brother’s picking us up in forty minutes,” he said as his earsturnedred.
“Youpromise?”
“Ohyeah.”
“All right, then.” Ipoured.
“Can I buy you a drink?” the college boy asked suddenly. “That shirt is reallypretty.”
“Aw, thank you. And that’s sweet of you,” I said with as much enthusiasm as I could muster. “I can’t accept a drink. Company policy. But the offer islovely.”
“You’re welcome,” the kid mumbled. Then he grabbed his three shots and disappeared as fast as you can sayrejected.
