Page 3 of A Very Mountain Man Wooing

I meant to just follow her home, to make sure that she gets there alright, but she doesn’t head home. Instead, she heads down toward the center of town and pulls into the parking lot of The Fallen Bar.

“What the hell?” I mumble to myself as I hurry to park and follow her inside.

I didn’t even think that Anise drank. I’ve never seen her buy alcohol from the market and I’ve never seen her at the bar in town. I don’t go that often either though.

Could she be meeting someone?

My hands tighten into fists at that thought and I pick up my pace as I jog toward the front door. Anise is getting settled in a booth toward the back and I head that way, sliding in across from her as the waitress comes over to take our order.

“Long Island iced tea, please,” she orders, and my eyebrows rise.

“Just a water,” I say, and Anise shakes her head.

“No way. If you’re staying, you need to drink.”

“Jack and Coke,” I order, and the waitress nods as she heads back toward the bar.

I wait until she’s gone before I turn back to Anise.

“Why are we here?” I ask her.

“I drove here. Why are you here?”

“I followed you.”

“I know,” she says with a tired smile. “You follow me a lot.”

“I wouldn’t say a lot…” I trail off when she barks out a laugh.

“I would.”

“Maybe,” I hedge, and she smiles at me, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Here you go,” the waitress, Nancy, says as she drops off our drinks.

Anise grabs hers, sucking down half of it in one big gulp, and I glance around. The bar is pretty empty, but it’s still early. It doesn’t feel like she’s meeting someone but what do I know? I’ve never tried dating before. I never found anyone that interested me. Until Anise.

“Is everything okay?” I ask her, and she gives a noncommittal shrug. “Anise?”

“I’m just sad today. I need a distraction,” she admits.

“Is that why you let me sit with you?”

“Maybe,” she says, giving me a mischievous smirk, and I wonder if she’s already drunk.

“What’s making you sad?”

“Just this time of year,” she answers vaguely.

She nudges my glass, and I pick it up, taking a drink. She grabs her drink and finishes it off, motioning for another, and I wonder what’s gotten into her. I’ve been watching her for a while, and today was the first sign that something was wrong.

What could have happened?

“I love this song!” She says when an old Shania Twain song comes on. “Come on, let’s dance!”

She’s out of the booth and grabbing my hand before I can stop her, and I let her pull me out onto the tiny dance floor at the back of the bar.

She wraps her arms around my shoulders and rests her head on my chest, and I know then that she’s drunk or at least tipsy.

---