Coming in from the Cold

by Sarina Bowen

  “We can’t have drivers of Jeeps everywhere propositioning you.”

  “Right.”

  “Oh, Willow,” Callie sighed. “I’m just jealous. I’m single for the first time in three years, and life at the hospital is all drudgery.”

  Willow reached across the bar and rubbed her arm. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Wait, I’m so busy whining I forgot to hear your lucky news.”

  “I rented out the apartment.”

  “Hurray!” Her friend applauded. “That’s great. How?”

  Willow shrugged. “I was going to make a new sign, but I got the call first. My new tenant is some kind of coach working at the mountain until spring. He was very apologetic that he only needed four months. And I’m jumping for joy, of course, just to have someone for that long.”

  “Is he hot?”

  Willow smiled. “I’m happy to introduce you. He looks to be about sixty-five years old, but with a nice, friendly face.”

  Callie rolled her eyes. “Figures. But still, I’m so glad for you. That’s a big relief, isn’t it?”

  “It will keep the bill collectors at bay. Maybe he can recommend another tenant by the time he goes.”

  Annie came into the bar again, with another of her illegible order slips. Willow hopped down to look at it before she could leave. “Does this say a White Russian? A Dirty Martini…and what’s this last one?”

  “A Shirley Temple.”

  “Right.” Willow looked around, wondering why there weren’t any cherries alongside the lemon and lime wedges that Travis had left for her. Where were the cherries? Willow squatted down to inspect the shelves below the bar. Travis had all manner of ingredients down here—Worcestershire sauce, different sorts of olives in jars. “My kingdom for a jar of cherries,” she grumbled. “Who knew I could be undone by a Shirley Temple?”

  “Wills?” Callie called her. “You have another customer.”

  “Just a sec…” Willow put the olives back onto the shelf and stood up quickly. There was now a man seated a couple of seats away from Callie.

  Holy hell.

  It was Dane. And he was every bit as surprised as she was, his bright blue eyes opening wide. Willow froze for a moment, her heart stuttering. She took a half step back, bumping into the beer cooler. Grabbing a tap to steady herself she accidentally dispensed a short stream of ale before righting herself. Her face began to flush to a deep red.

  “Hi,” he said, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

  “Hi.” She stared at him.

  “You’re not Travis,” he said.

  “Right.” She cleared her throat. “I’m just covering for him so he can see his kid’s peewee hockey game.”

  Their staring match was interrupted by one of the lifties. “Hey, hottie! Get down here a minute.”

  Willow wiped her hands on her apron. “And no good deed goes unpunished,” she said. “Excuse me.”

  “I’m thirsty.” The lifty waved her over. “Another Guinness, honey?”

  “Coming right up,” Willow sighed. At the taps, she began pulling a Guinness into a pint glass, tipping it carefully to avoid a head. “What can I get you?” she asked Dane over her shoulder.

  “Um,” he said. “I’d love a cheeseburger,” he said.

  “Food…” she said. “Tricky. Give me a minute.” She took the Guinness down to the asshole at the end. Then she leaned over the bar to call into the next room. “Hey, Annie!”

  A moment later the waitress appeared. “Where are my drinks?” she said by way of a greeting.

  “Almost there,” Willow promised. “Do you happen to know where Travis keeps the maraschino cherries?”

  “Did you check the fridge?” she asked.

  Willow felt herself flush again. Where was her brain? “As a matter of fact, I did not.”

  Annie snorted.

  Willow leaned down for the bar refrigerator. “I thought they were indestructible,” she said under her breath. “I think they found some at Pompeii. I’ll have your cocktails in two shakes,” she grabbed the cold jar of cherries. “Could you take a food order for this gentleman, please?” She nodded at Dane, as if he were a complete stranger. If he wanted to pretend their night together never happened, then that’s what she’d do, too.

  Annie lumbered over to him, jutting her boobs into his face. “The usual? Cheddar burger medium rare, onion rings and a Corona?”

  “Great,” Dane said, leaning back an inch or two.

  To Willow, Annie said, “If I’m taking his food order, I’m going to put the beer under my number, too.”

  “Knock yourself out,” she replied without looking up.

  When Annie left, Callie spoke up. “I wonder if she delivers the food on those things, too?”

  Willow heard Dane snort from behind the sports section.

  She made a Shirley Temple, putting two cherries into the glass. “The kid will thank you for that,” Callie said.

  “Right?” Willow asked, trying to keep her cool. “That’s the whole point of ordering a Shirley Temple. The cherry. So, why not an extra?” She put the drinks on a tray, then carried them down the empty expanse of bar. “It can be my signature drink. The Shirley Temple, with an extra cherry.” Now she was babbling.

  When Willow put the tray of drinks back down, the lifty nearest to her clamped a hand down on her wrist, trapping her there. “I’ll take your cherry, honey,” he said, leering up at her.

  Her breath caught. Was there no end to this evening’s humiliations? The asshole did not release his grip. As she stared the lifty down, there was a movement down the bar. From the corner of her eye, Willow saw Dane set down his newspaper and slowly push back his stool.

  “It’s a bad idea,” Willow said, her voice steady, and her eyes boring down on the dope across from her, “to be crude to the woman who controls your supply of beer.”

  Even as Dane moved closer to their little standoff, the lifty released her arm.

  Feeling that she had something to prove, Willow didn’t leap back just yet. “Now what do you say?” she pressed.

  “Um, sorry? Can I have a refill?”

  “I didn’t hear the magic word,” she said.

  “Please?”

  “That’s better,” she said, heading for the taps.

  Silently, Dane reversed course, leaving the bar in the direction of the men’s room.

  Breathe, Willow, she told herself. Her heart was beating double time, and not because of the jerk who’d grabbed her arm. The sight of Dane had flustered her to the core. In the first place, he was about ten times as sexy as she remembered. It had been hard not to stare as he shrugged a red ski-team jacket off broad shoulders. And three or four days’ growth of whiskers on his cut, masculine jaw made her want to reach over and measure the roughness with her fingers. She’d noticed him watching her, his intelligent eyes taking her in. The proximity was enough to drive her crazy.

  For two weeks she’d been thinking about him. Sometimes she would remember the exact moment he’d first kissed her in the Jeep, and wherever she was—in the checkout line of the grocery store or sitting at the desk at her temp job—her eyes would go wide with disbelief. Images of him came to her unbidden. She’d picture his muscular chest hovering over her in bed and instantly go all squishy inside.

  She hadn’t missed the fact that he’d been prepared to yank the drunk off of her, either. He would do that for her. Yet he didn’t want to see her again.

  Why?

  Willow shook her head. She poured two Buds for the lifties and tried not to be excited about seeing him tonight. I’m not boyfriend material, he’d said. But he’d said it before their amazing time together. And everything that happened after had been so electric.

  Hope was a mean thing.

  Callie waved Willow over. “The guy who ordered the burger—oh, my lord.” She fanned herself. “Did you get a good look at him?”

  Willow rubbed her forehead with both hands. “Why?” She had told Callie about the whole encounter�
�but she’d never said his name.

  “Because I recognize him from the newspaper…shit. He’s coming.”

  Willow pinched the fabric of her top and held it away from her body for a second. She was starting to sweat.

  “You look frazzled,” Callie said. “But I think you’re doing fine. Except you forgot the guy’s beer.” She pointed at Dane.

  “Oh!” Willow said, jumping toward the cooler. She grabbed a bottle out and uncapped it. “I’m so sorry,” she said, managing not to look him in the eye. She would not give him the satisfaction of knowing how thoroughly their fifteen hours together had stirred her up.

  “Not a problem,” he muttered, “Thank-you.”

  She made herself turn away, scribbling the lifties’ beer count onto Travis’s clipboard.

  “Willow!” Annie bellowed, setting a plate down in front of Dane. “You gave him the wrong beer. He drinks Corona.”

  Willow’s pencil froze over the paper. Then she turned around slowly. It was with utter horror that she realized which bottle he held in his hand.

  She’d brought him a Saint Pauli Girl.

  Dane was watching her, amusement in his eyes. He held up a hand quickly. “It’s fine,” he said, taking a swig to prove it. “I like this one a lot.”

  “You’re a terrible bartender, Willow,” Annie said, hands on her ample hips.

  “Why don’t you say it a little louder, Annie,” Willow snapped, her face flaming. “I don’t think they heard you all the way in the back.” She grabbed another order slip out of Annie’s hand and walked away.

  * * *

  Dane watched Willow retreat to her friend’s end of the bar. She was even more lovely than he remembered, her hair shining in the soft light of the bar. She wore a top that showed off her narrow shoulders, then flared softly over the top of her slim jeans.

  “Callie, this handwriting is completely unintelligible,” he heard Willow say. “I think Annie is doing this intentionally.”

  “Let me look,” her friend said. “Pour me a refill, and I’ll work on it.”

  Willow handed her friend the slip and dispensed a pint of UFO Pale Ale into her glass.

  “The first one is a prescription for an antibiotic,” Callie snorted. “This is worse than a lot of the things I see at the hospital. Actually, I think the first one says Apple Martini. The second one starts with an S. It could be Screwdriver. Or Scotch and Soda? No…”

  As Dane watched, Willow plucked a Corona from the cooler. She popped the cap and shoved a lime in the top.

  “What are some other drinks that start with S?” Callie asked.

  Willow approached, putting the Corona down in front of him. She never raised her eyes to his.

  “You didn’t have to do that,” Dane said quietly, but she’d already turned away, back to her friend.

  So that was the way it was going to be. She wouldn’t even make eye contact. But what could he really expect after that fuck-and-run he’d done? That was two weeks ago. He’d replayed the entire encounter in his mind a dozen times since. Now that he was back in the States for a little while, he’d taken care not to drive past her house on his way to the mountain. He didn’t want to have to see the lights on inside, wondering what she was doing and whether she was alone.

  It wasn’t any of his goddamned business. And it never would be.

  “Starts with an S…Sea Breeze?” Callie guessed. “Sidecar?” Even if Willow was doing everything she could to stay out of Dane’s orbit, her friend did not pick up on it. “Do you know any?” she asked, looking right at Dane, trying to engage him in conversation.

  His eyes flicked up at Willow before he answered. “Um, Southern Comfort?”

  “7 and 7,” Callie offered. “Sex on the Beach?”

  “Sex in a Jeep,” Dane said under his breath as Willow moved past him.

  Apparently, he didn’t say it quietly enough. Because Callie choked on her beer, and then began to sputter. She swiveled on her stool to stare at Dane.

  Willow’s eyes flashed as she stalked past him toward the lifties. She said something under her breath that might have been “shoot me.”

  Dane didn’t even know why he’d said it. He hadn’t meant to embarrass Willow, he only wanted her to look at him. But she wouldn’t. And now her friend down the bar couldn’t stop looking at him.

  Smooth, Dane.

  But he’d never been smooth, except while wearing a pair of skis. And in most of the places he went in a week, that was enough. Win enough races and people threw themselves at your feet, whether or not you lack social graces. He was all competence on the snow, and that’s where he planned to live his life, until the moment his body failed him, and they carted him down on the goddamned ski patrol sled.

  He felt a cold gust of air at his back, and moments later a bunch of men tromped into the bar carrying bowling bags. With her face the color of a beet, Willow began taking beer orders. And when Annie turned up looking for her cocktails, Willow handed the slip back to her. “Callie shot beer out of her nose, ruining this before I got a good look at it. I think it said Apple Martini and…”

  “Sloe Gin Fizz,” Annie scowled.

  “I guess we didn’t think of that one,” Callie giggled.

  Willow said, “With friends like you…” Then she reached for a bottle of sloe gin.

  * * *

  As the bar filled with people, Dane knew he should settle up and get the hell out. Watching Willow was sweet torture, because he couldn’t have her, no matter what. Even so, he couldn’t tear himself away. Though clearly outgunned, she poured beers and mixed drinks with grace and humor. Every guy in the bar snuck looks at her, hoping for a smile or a glance.

  Dane’s mother would have called her a “firecracker.” That was her word for women with spirit. Even though she died almost fifteen years ago, his mother’s favorite phrases had been coming back to him lately. So had Finn’s. He missed the sound of his brother’s voice.

  “Sorry I’m late!” Travis called out, ducking under the bar. The relief on Willow’s face was palpable. “The game went into overtime,” he apologized. “Did everything go more or less okay?”

  “It was amateur hour,” Annie said, pulling two cocktails off the bar.

  “It was amateur hour and a half,” Willow corrected. “But nobody’s bleeding,” she crossed her arms over her chest. “These guys are settled up,” she nodded at one set of bowlers. “They have a tab,” she pointed at the other pack of guys. “The lifties owe you for six pints. Annie dropped Dane’s check. That covers everyone except Callie.” Willow grabbed a pint glass and began to pull a UFO.

  “Nice job, Wills,” Travis said. “Who’s the UFO for?”

  “For me, Trav,” Willow said, exasperation in her voice.

  “Good,” he laughed. “I can’t thank you enough.” He looked at her the way the rest of the guys in the bar did, hungrily.

  Dane had known Travis briefly in high school, before Dane had been shipped off to train at Burke Mountain. He’d been too much of a loner to keep in touch with people. But when Dane had begun showing up at Rupert’s Bar and Grill for cheeseburgers and beer last month, Travis had made an effort to catch him up on the local gossip, including his own. The bartender had married his high school sweetheart and was now divorced.

  And why wouldn’t Travis put the moves on Willow? She was the brightest thing in the room. Probably the whole town.

  Dane watched Travis work the room, checking in with his customers. He was the consummate bartender, always glad-handing, providing the punch line. He’d been the same way when they were teenagers. All charm, no substance. He chatted up the bowlers about their league, pouring a beer on the house for the high scorer. He was easy with people in a way that Dane never had been.

  It was a low moment indeed to find himself jealous of Travis Rupert.

  “So how’s that man of yours, Callie?” Travis asked Willow’s friend.

  “Trav,” Willow warned. “Not the question.”

  Travis’
s eyebrows shot up. “No?”

  “I threw him out.” Callie flushed. “Caught him…” she rolled her head back, eyes closed. “With a nurse. In an exam room.”

  “No shit,” Travis said.

  “And it’s not bad enough that I’m living a cliché,” she said. “I have to see them at the hospital. Every. Damned. Day.”

  “Callie, I’m so sorry,” Travis said. He put one arm around Willow’s shoulders and the other hand on Callie’s. “What is it with you two and your luck?”

  As Dane watched, Travis’s fingers massaged the side of Willow’s shoulder. And Dane felt an ache in his gut.

  Time to leave.

  Dane put cash into his check folder and shrugged on his coat.

  “Where you been, Danger?” Travis asked suddenly. “I’d gotten used to seeing you parked at my bar.” He bussed the empty burger plate.

  “Austria.” He drained his Corona, the lime stinging his lips.

  “Did you make it onto the podium?”

  “What do you think?” Dane zipped his jacket. “Good night, Travis,” he said. He picked up his newspaper and then hesitated, “Good night, Willow.”

  She looked up, giving him a tiny nod. Then she ducked under the bar and maneuvered past the bowlers toward her friend.

  Dane headed outside alone. The way he always did.

  * * *

  As soon as Willow went to sit with Callie, her friend grabbed her arm. “That was the Jeep guy? Oh, my GOD!”

  “Shh…” Willow cautioned. “How mortifying.”

  “He’s an Olympic champion, Wills. And so cocky, no?”

  “You ladies know Dane?” Travis asked, removing Callie’s empty beer glass.

  “Not really,” Willow said quickly.

  “Good,” Travis said, setting another beer in front of Callie. “That one is trouble.”

  “Why?” Callie asked, even though Willow kicked her foot under the bar.

  Travis shook his head. “We went to high school together in Little Creek. The family is stark raving mad. Every last one of them. Like…institutionalized.” He swept the bar mop across the pitted wood and moved away.

  “He didn’t look crazy,” Callie whispered. “He looked hot.” She giggled. “I thought you said he was just passing through?”