by Chiah Wilder
“Did you see Jeffrey Elion?”
“Yes … I mean, no … not exactly, but I know it was him. I sensed it.”
“It could’ve been someone else. Parking garages aren’t safe, especially when it’s late.”
“It was him.” She slumped down on the couch. “What should I do?”
“Drink a glass of wine. Mr. Elion would be a fucked-up idiot if he pulled something stupid like this. I’m sure he doesn’t want to go back to prison.”
“You don’t believe me,” she whispered.
“I’m not saying there wasn’t someone in the garage, but I’m pretty sure it wasn’t Jeffery Elion. You’re lucky you made it to your car in time. You should have security walk with you from now on.”
“Yeah.”
“Are you going to be all right?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Please don’t dwell on Mr. Elion’s release. He’s a thief and a liar, but he’s never exhibited any violence. For whatever it’s worth, I don’t think you have to worry about him coming after you.”
“I guess you’re right. Sorry I bothered you.”
“You didn’t,” Dave replied.
After hanging up, Ashley pushed up from the couch, kicked off her boots, and shuffled into the kitchen to pour herself a large glass of chardonnay. She guzzled it down and poured another before walking back into the living room.
I know what happened to me in the parking lot had something to do with Jeffery. If I hadn’t gotten to my car in time … Chills danced over her skin as the reality of what could have happened hit her.
She picked up the phone and clicked on Zach’s name.
“Ashley, what’s up?” he asked.
“I wanted to let you know that I’ll take the job in Pinewood Springs on the condition that I can leave as soon as possible.”
There was a slight pause, then Zach said, “This is good. I thought for sure you were going to say no. Why the rush to head up there?”
“I want to get my bearings and spend a few days in Aspen to talk to a prospective client.”
Zach chuckled. “Like I said—all business. I don’t see a problem with you moving up there as long as you have everything in order before you go. We can talk tomorrow.”
“Perfect. I’ll see you in the morning.”
Ashley leaned her head against the cushion and rubbed her eyes. “As far as I’m concerned, I can’t leave Denver fast enough,” she muttered.
Working with a cocky playboy would be a cinch compared to dodging a parolee with a grudge.
She brought the wine glass to her lips and took a long drink.
1
Pinewood Springs, Colorado
A boxy-shaped man, whose hair had been shaved down to a little more than a brown skullcap, ran his leering eyes over her while licking his thick bottom lip.
“Ten bucks and ID.” His gaze rested on her breasts.
Standing inside the vestibule of Blue’s Belly, Ashley pulled out her wallet from a black leather clutch and took out two fives and her driver’s license. Bass-heavy rock-beats filtered to the front, and she craned her neck trying to get a glimpse of the stage. Behind her, more people joined the line.
“Who’re you here to see?” the bouncer asked, his eyes still on her chest.
“Raging Demons, and I’m up here, buddy.”
The man scowled and yanked the bills and ID from her. Pressing a stamp into an ink pad, he said, “Gimme your hand.”
Ashley stuck out her inner wrist.
The bouncer’s gaze narrowed. “It’s gotta be where the bartenders can see it.”
“They’ll see it,” she answered, not moving an inch.
“We got rules here,” he growled while pressing the green ink onto her skin.
“I won’t tell anyone you bent them.” She laughed dryly then walked through the entrance.
Iron Butterfly played over the speakers as she entered the nightclub. There was a small dance floor in front of a decent-sized stage. Four men stood on it, hooking up cables to large amps and adjusting microphone stands. Several tables that were already full dotted the parameter of the dance floor. Blinking neon signs that advertised different brands of beer and whiskey hung from the rafters in the ceiling, and soft overhead lighting coupled with laser streaks spun across the stage, giving the club an old-school rock feel. A jukebox took up a good amount of space on a wall adjacent to the bar. Several men stood next to it, using the top part of it as a makeshift table.
Ashley scurried over to the horseshoe bar, snagged one of the empty stools, and settled into the soft leather cushion. Glass shelves along the wall held a multitude of bottles with varying hues of color that shined like gems under the milk-glass pendant lights above the mahogany bar. She propped one elbow up on the counter and rested her cheek against a doubled-up fist, then scanned the place. With the other hand, she tugged at the hem of her short black leather skirt and crossed one leg over the other; her jet-black hair swept over a shoulder of her charcoal and silver striped mesh top.
She watched as men and women poured into the club, filling the barstools and spaces of the room. The majority of men wore band T-shirts and jeans, and most of the women were either in denim or short black dresses.
Ashley glanced over at the stage and saw the musicians giving the thumbs up to an engineer who sat in a slightly elevated sound booth in the back of the room.
“Hiya,” a voice behind her said.
She pivoted around to find a woman with purple hair, an upturned nose, and blemishes dotting her full cheeks wiping the counter in front of Ashley. A full sleeve tattoo with a clear cut yet infused amalgamation of skull and flowers decorated her left arm.
“What’ll you have?” the bartender asked.
“A vodka sour, please,” Ashley replied holding up her wrist to show the over twenty-one stamp.
A big smile made the woman’s squirrel cheeks pillow. “Did Scotty hassle you ’bout where to put that?” she asked, pointing to it.
Ashley nodded. “He takes his job seriously.” Her lips twitched.
The bartender laughed as she placed a tumbler filled with ice on the counter. She poured vodka over the cubes, then topped it off with sour mix. “He does. Scotty’s real particular about where the marks should go—almost obsessive about it.” There was another laugh as she garnished the drink with a lime and a maraschino cherry. Plopping a small black straw into the drink, the barmaid pushed the cocktail toward Ashley. “Do you wanna pay as you go or open a tab?”
“I’ll pay as I go,” Ashley said as she opened her wallet and pulled out a ten. She took a small sip, then smiled. “Perfect.”
“Thanks. Are you here for any of the bands?”
She nodded. “Raging Demons. They’re one of my favorite local bands.”
“They’re from Denver, not here.”
Chortling, Ashley shook her head. “Right. I’m from Denver so they’re a local band for me. I happened to see on their Facebook page that they were playing here tonight.”
The bartender handed her back six one-dollar bills. “I knew I hadn’t seen you in here before. Most of the people who come in on the weekends are regulars. Are you just passing through?”
Ashley left two dollars on the bar and tucked the rest of the bills into her wallet. “I’m going to be working on a project for the next few months. I just got here a couple of days ago, so I’m glad I had a reason to go out tonight.”
“Pinewood Springs is a great town. The people are friendly for the most part, there are a lot of good restaurants, and if you’re into hiking or cycling, there’re some beautiful trails.”
“I’ve been reading up on that. It also looks like you have a lot of antique shops in the downtown area.”
“We do, and if you like quilting, there’s a fabulous fabric store right in the middle of Main Street.”
Ashley took another sip of the drink. “I have no clue what to do with a needle and thread. I wish I did—it would save me a bundle on alterations. Do
you sew or quilt?”
“Both. I think I was born holding a needle and thread.” She laughed. “My mom made sure me and my sisters knew how to make clothes and quilts. By the way, I’m Whitney.”
“Ashley,” she said, tipping her head. “You’re the first person I’ve met here other than the teenager at the convenience store.”
“You staying at a hotel?”
She shook her head. “The firm has a house in town.”
“Nice.”
“Hey, Whitney, can you grab me three bottles of Coors?” a man asked.
Whitney flashed a toothy grin. “I guess I better get back to work.” She glanced at Ashley’s half-filled tumbler. “Lemme know when you need another one.”
“I will.”
“I love your top,” a voice next to her said.
“Thanks,” Ashley said as she looked to her right.
A blonde woman with blue mascara smeared to the edge of her overly plucked eyebrows smiled at her. “Where’d you get it?” The young woman leaned toward her.
Ashley shifted slightly on the stool. The blonde’s floral perfume mingled with the scent of alcohol and tangy barbecue sauce.
“Here you go,” Whitney said as she put a basket of wings drenched in a bright red sauce in front of the woman.
“And another Coors light.”
“Got it.” The bartender glanced at Ashley. “Are you still good?” She nodded and Whitney dashed away.
“Did you get your top online?”
Ashley shook her head. “No, I bought it at Macy’s.”
Confusion spread across the patron’s face. “There’s a Macy’s in town?”
“I don’t think so. I bought this in Denver. I’m not from here.”
A grin spread across her face, revealing partially crooked teeth. “You’re a tourist? How do you like our town?”
“It’s nice. I didn’t expect this place to be so crowded.” Ashley shifted again when the guy next to her jabbed his elbow into her shoulder.
“Blue’s Belly’s usually like this, especially on the weekends.” She picked up one of the wings and pointed it at Ashley. “Want one? They make the best wings in the county.”
“No thanks … I’m not hungry.” Truth be told, she never was a fan of chicken wings, and at that moment, the pungent scent of the sauce and the woman’s strong perfume were making Ashley a bit nauseous.
“What’s your name?” The blonde asked before wiping the sauce off the side of her mouth.
“Ashley.”
“I’m Diamond. It’s rare that I get a Saturday night off, so I’m planning on having a real good time tonight.” She brought the beer bottle to her lips and took a long drink, her gaze running over Ashley. “Have you ever danced?” she asked as she put the bottle down on the counter.
“You mean on a stage, like ballet or a musical?”
Diamond busted up laughing as tears formed in the corner of her eyes. “That’s a good one.”
Poking her tongue lightly into her cheek, Ashley inhaled a long breath and then slowly exhaled. “I didn’t realize I was making a joke.” She glanced at the stage, hoping the first band would start soon and end the conversation between her and Diamond.
“You look pissed. I’m sorry—I didn’t mean anything bad by it. I was just picturing myself in one of them short frou-frou dresses on stage.”
“Uh-huh.” Ashley nodded, her gaze still fixed on the musicians setting up.
“I’m an exotic dancer.”
Jerking her attention back to Diamond, she widened her eyes. “You’re a stripper?”
“At Dream House. You’d be real popular—the guys like bigger boobs, and your black hair and blue eyes are unusual, you know?” Diamond pointed to the maraschino cherry Ashley had discarded on the napkin. “You eating that?” She shook her head no, and the dancer picked it up and popped it in her mouth. “The tips are real good at the club, and the men are decent most of the time,” she said while chewing.
“I already have a job.”
Diamond’s eyes flicked over Ashley’s shoulder toward the back of the room. “I gotta go—some friends of mine came in.” The dancer grabbed her beer and headed off as Ashley watched her disappear into the crowd.
For the next hour, Ashley nursed another drink while she watched the opening band howl and gyrate on stage. She rifled through her small purse for the umpteenth time as if that would make a pair of earplugs appear. When she and her friends went to music bars, Ashley usually made sure that she had a pair of plugs with her. Cursing softly, she snapped her handbag closed and scooted off the stool.
“Can you keep an eye on my jacket? I’m going to the restroom,” she said to Whitney.
“Sure, and you can put these”—she handed a wad of napkins to Ashley—“on top of it.”
“Thanks.” Ashley placed the stack of napkins on top of the leather jacket, then threaded her way through the crowd.
When she finished up in the stall, she opened the door and saw Diamond teasing her hair in the mirror. Her eyes shifted to Ashley’s in the reflection.
“Hey,” Diamond said as she put down the comb. “Are you having fun?”
Ashley stepped to the sink and turned on the faucet. “Yeah, but you wouldn’t happen to have an extra pair of earplugs?”
Diamond laughed while shaking her hair. “I never wear them. I guess I’m used to loud music.” Opening her purse, the exotic dancer pulled out a small can of hairspray.
And you’ll probably need a hearing aid before you turn fifty. Ashley rinsed her hands, then reached for a paper towel.
“There’re a lot of good-looking guys here tonight. I got the hots for someone real bad, but his club owns the bar I work at, and they got a ‘no-fucking-the-employees’ policy.”
“Sounds like something that’ll keep them from being sued.”
“I guess, but it sucks. I’ve been crushing on him for a long time. Oh … one of my friends
already hooked up with a real cutie tonight.” Diamond shook the can and took off the lid.
“That’s nice.” Ashley freshened up her berry-colored lipstick.
“Maybe you’ll meet a hunk before the night’s over.” Diamond waved her arm around her head.
The smell of the aerosol fumes filled Ashley’s nostrils as she blotted her lips. Catching Diamond’s eye in the mirror, she said, “I’m not looking for anyone. I better get back—I don’t want to lose my seat.” Dropping her lipstick into her clutch, she headed out of the ladies’ room. The last thing she wanted to do was spend the next fifteen minutes chitchatting with the dancer.
Ashley settled back onto the barstool and glanced at her phone. Two of her best friends had sent a picture of them partying in one of Ashley’s favorite bars in downtown Denver. Suddenly, loneliness assaulted her, and she wished like hell that Danielle and Nicole were at the bar with her—drinking a bit too much and whispering about some of the characters in the venue.She sent back a smiling face and a “Wish I was there!” text. Once I start work on Monday, I’ll be too busy to care about socializing. Although, there were two things that she wanted to do right away: sign up for a yoga class and volunteer at a homeless shelter. Yoga was what kept her sane and grounded, and giving back to others was her way of expressing gratitude that she and her family were no longer homeless.
“You look like you need a friend,” a man with a mop of curly hair down to his shoulders said as he sidled up to her.
“I’m good,” she said, her gaze fixed on the stage.
“You’re beautiful, but I’m sure you hear that a lot.”
Ashley shrugged and took a sip of her drink, but the ice had melted, diluting it and leaving it tasteless. She put it down on the bar.
“Do you want a fresh one?” the man asked.
“No, thanks.” She continued to stare at the drummer setting up his kit on the platform, hoping the guy next to her would get the hint that she wasn’t interested.
“I haven’t seen you around here before,” he said, br
ushing against her.
“Lay off, Leo. She’s not interested.” Whitney’s voice was like a life preserver in a raging river.
Ashley glanced at the bartender and mouthed, “Thanks.”
“Either order a drink or move on,” Whitney said.
Grumbling something under his breath, Leo pressed his lips together and stalked away. Not wanting to engage in a similar situation, Ashley slid off the stool and headed to the jukebox. She leaned over it and perused the selections. Taking out her credit card, she slipped it into the slot and chose three songs: “Flirtin’ with Disaster” by Molly Hatchet, “TNT” by AC/DC, and “The Bleeding” by Five Finger Death Punch.
A chorus of guffaws drew her attention to the end of the bar and that was when she saw him. Tall, dark, and ruggedly handsome with high, slanted cheekbones, a straight nose, and curved lips set above an angular jaw with just the right amount of scruff. Damn … this guy is all male. Dark brows arched over a pair of seriously black eyes—devastating-full-on-midnight-skies-pristine-stones-of-onyx—perfect black that focused solely on her. A strange shiver slid up Ashley’s spine, and her breathing quickened as she crossed and uncrossed her arms.
A tight black shirt hugged his broad shoulders and emphasized the defined muscles of his chest. A pair of jeans, highlighted a tapered waist and clung to his slim hips and long corded legs. His dark hair was brushed back from his face except for a thick, wavy lock that rested on a strong forehead. For a split second, her fingers tingled with the need to brush away the wayward strand.
A strong jolt of physical attraction coupled with desire burst through her. Holy shit! Her mouth went dry and she tried to look away, but the stranger’s burning gaze held her.
Then two women—a brunette and a redhead, both wearing tight-as-hell spandex dresses, wrapped themselves around him. After a quick assessing gaze of Ashley, the brunette ran her hand down the man’s chest right to his waistband as if to say, “Back off, bitch.”
Ashley dragged her eyes away and headed back to the counter. As she settled down on the barstool, she wanted to turn around and look at Mr. Sexy, but she forced herself to stare ahead and concentrate on a couple who swayed to the overhead music. Ashley shook her head slightly and groaned inwardly: she was a sucker for a bad boy with dark eyes. Stop it right now! You’re in town to work—that’s it. The fact that it’d been a while since she’d had sex shouldn’t enter her thought process at all. Not one bit. Anyway, the guy’s got player written all over his face. I know the type. Hell, I’ve dated the type. I bet women are nothing more to him than notches on his belt. She rolled her eyes. Been there, done that.
