The reception area and an adjacent parlor matched the exterior. Antique furniture and gilt-framed mirrors reminded Finn of the pictures his grandfather had showed him of his great-grandparents’ house. Vases of fresh flowers were everywhere.
A middle-aged woman with blond hair rose from behind an antique desk and came forward when they walked in. “You must be Finn and Chelsea.”
“We are.” Chelsea held out her hand. “And you must be Pam Mulholland. I recognize you from your picture on the website.”
“I’m Pam.” She took Chelsea’s hand in both of hers. “And I’m so excited about Thunder Mountain Academy. I’ve been talking to everyone I know. You should have a good crowd at the Last Chance tomorrow afternoon.”
“My goodness, thank you!”
“The project sounds amazing.” She squeezed Chelsea’s hand and released it. “And, Finn, I’m delighted to meet you.”
“Same here, ma’am.” He touched the brim of his hat. “I also want to thank you for getting the word out about tomorrow. Thunder Mountain means a great deal to a lot of people, me included.”
“I’m sure it does. When Cade visited last month he kept us all entertained with stories about the days when you boys lived there.”
He smiled. “Don’t believe everything you hear.”
“So you weren’t the one who glued the toilet seats shut and put salt in the sugar bowl?”
“Uh, well...” He made a mental note to have a talk with his old buddy Cade.
Pam laughed. “You wouldn’t be normal kids if you hadn’t pulled a few pranks. According to Sarah, the Chance boys—”
A grandfather clock in the parlor chimed, interrupting her. “Whoops. Time to get moving.” She hurried behind the desk and grabbed two sets of keys from a board on the wall. “The bigger one opens the front door when I’m not here and the smaller one’s a room key. You can both sign the register later. You two are my only guests this weekend, so we can be more informal.”
“That sounds nice,” Chelsea said.
“I won’t abandon all the protocol, but I’ve dispensed with our usual happy hour for obvious reasons. You’ll be at Spirits and Spurs tonight and at the ranch for dinner tomorrow. We can see about Sunday night’s happy hour if you end up hanging around here.”
“We might,” Finn said. “It’s a great house.”
“Thank you.” Pam looked pleased. “I love it. Oh, and if you should need anything while you’re here, dial zero from the phone in your room. It’ll connect to me, or if I’m not here, it goes to the housekeeper’s room. Yvonne will take care of you. Are you walking over to Spirits and Spurs or driving?”
“Walking,” Chelsea said without hesitation.
“Then I’ll walk with you. Come on down whenever you’re ready and we’ll head over. Everyone’s so eager to meet you.” Pam glanced at Finn. “Josie has the beer you shipped chilling even as we speak. Nice touch.”
Chelsea swung around to gaze at him. “You sent beer? What a great idea.”
“Testing the market.”
“Smart.” She glanced at the number attached to her set of keys. “Which way is Room Three?”
“Up the stairs and to your left.” She handed Finn the other key. “You’re in Four, right next to her. They’re my two favorites.”
Finn took the key with a smile. “Much obliged, ma’am.” From the corner of his eye he caught Chelsea’s smirk. But he was in cowboy country now. He’d felt it the minute they’d landed in Jackson, and the Western atmosphere brought back all his cowboy manners. He hefted both suitcases and started toward the stairs.
“Oh, and in case I get caught up in the dancing and forget to mention it,” Pam said, “breakfast is at eight. Just follow your nose to the coffee and you’ll find the breakfast room.”
“Dancing?” Finn paused to glance back at her.
“At the Spirits and Spurs. There’s a live band and a dance floor. You and Chelsea will have to try it out.”
“Definitely,” Chelsea called over her shoulder as she started up the stairs. “Right, Finn?”
“Right.” Good Lord, would he really have to do that? He followed her up the stairs and down the carpeted hallway. “I’m not much of a dancer,” he said quietly as he set her suitcase by her door.
“Me, either.”
“Really? Or are you just saying that to make me feel better?”
“No, really.” She unlocked the door and turned to face him. “I hung out with the brainy kids. We considered ourselves too cool to go to dances, so I never really learned how. I sort of regret it now.”
“That’s surprising. I pictured you being into the whole social thing, maybe even the homecoming queen.”
She burst out laughing. “Oh, Finn, you have a lot to learn about me. You can start tonight as you steer me awkwardly around the dance floor.”
“We’re not actually going to do it, are we?” He stared at her in horror.
“Of course we are. Pam’s remark tells me that these folks love their dancing. It’s like when you’re in a country where you don’t speak the language. The locals appreciate it if you at least give it a try. Sitting there like bumps on a log would be a mistake. We should dance, even if we’re bad at it. It’ll be excellent PR.”
“It’ll be a disaster.”
“No, it won’t.” She gazed up at him. “It’ll do us both good. We’ve established that we’re both perfectionists and we probably carry that to an extreme.”
“Speak for yourself.”
“I’m speaking for both of us. Let’s see if we can tolerate dancing badly.”
He groaned.
“Man up, O’Roarke. Have a few beers. Cut loose. I know you have it in you after hearing about the toilet seats and the sugar-to-salt routine.”
“Okay, but you’ll be sorry. You’re wearing sandals, don’t forget, and I’m wearing boots. Don’t blame me if you’re limping by the end of the night.”
“I won’t blame you, but I might ask you to give me a foot rub.”
His breath caught.
“See you in five minutes, cowboy.” Grabbing her suitcase, she handed him his laptop, ducked inside her door and closed it in his face.
He stared at the closed door for several seconds. A foot rub. She was taunting him, which wasn’t very nice of her, all things considered. But, God, how he loved it.
* * *
TWENTY MINUTES LATER when Chelsea walked into the Spirits and Spurs, she recognized immediately that this was the real deal. She’d seen places that gave the appearance of being historic frontier watering holes, but this saloon had earned its ambience the old-fashioned way through years of serving drinks to thirsty cowhands.
The tables were scarred but sturdy, while the polished wooden bar, complete with beveled mirror behind it and plenty of shelves and brass fittings, was a thing to behold. Finn must be wild with envy—it was the kind of bar he’d lusted after but hadn’t been able to afford. These beauties, most of them shipped from back East more than a century ago, didn’t come cheap.
Chelsea could easily imagine miners, cattlemen and gamblers bellying up to that bar in days gone by. Obviously this saloon had seen it all and then some. The band was tuning up, so the party was about to get started.
A woman wearing jeans and a Western shirt walked toward them. A long blond braid hung down her back and she moved with assurance, as if she owned the place. Chelsea was willing to bet that she did.
She confirmed it immediately. “I’m Josie Chance, and you must be Chelsea and Finn,” she said as she shook hands with both of them. “Welcome to Spirits and Spurs. Thanks for escorting them over here, Pam.”
“Fortunately they came peacefully.” Pam grinned at them. “But if you’ll excuse me, I see my darling husband over at the bar and we haven’t checked in with each ot
her in a couple of days.”
Josie waved her away. “Go for it.”
Chelsea noticed Pam heading toward a distinguished-looking cowboy with a gray mustache. “Has her husband been out of town?”
“No, Emmett lives at the Last Chance Ranch. He’s the foreman there. They were married Christmas before last, but they maintain separate residences and get together when they can.”
“That’s fascinating. Don’t you think so, Finn?”
“I’m sorry. What?” Apparently he hadn’t heard a word because he’d been too absorbed in his surroundings.
“Never mind. Cool bar, huh?”
“It’s amazing. I love this whole place, Josie. It has the kind of atmosphere I’m going for at O’Roarke’s Brewhouse, but I haven’t quite achieved it yet.”
Josie smiled. “Give yourself another hundred years.”
“That’s how old it is?” Finn glanced up into the rafters. “No wonder it feels so authentic.”
“And it has ghosts.”
Finn’s eyes narrowed. “You’re kidding.”
“I hope she’s not.” Chelsea shivered with excitement. “I’ve always wanted to see one.”
“Well, I have seen one, right in this room after closing. I knew the saloon was supposed to be haunted by the ghosts of past patrons, so I renamed it Spirits and Spurs, thinking I was being clever. Then I saw my first ghost and realized I was being accurate.”
Chelsea sucked in a breath. “That is so cool.”
“That is so creepy.” Finn didn’t seem as happy about the ghost situation.
“Not everyone believes it.” Josie shrugged. “Their choice. I know what I saw and I stand by the name. By the way, I’ve tasted your beer, Finn, and it’s excellent. If you can guarantee me a steady supply, I’ll put it on the menu.”
“I’d be honored, ma’am.”
“Aha! Spoken like a Wyoming boy. Nice hat, too.”
“We were in coach,” Chelsea said, “but the hat rode in first class. Both legs. The flight attendants were very accommodating.”
“I understand how that could happen.” Josie gave Finn a speculative glance. “Women appreciate a nice hat. Anyway, I’ve monopolized you two long enough. The rest of the gang is sitting in the far corner where those two tables are pushed together. Let’s get your drinks ordered before we go over. What’ll you have?”
“O’Roarke’s Pale Ale,” Chelsea said, knowing it would please Finn. Besides, she liked it.
“Make that two, please.” Finn said.
“Why am I not surprised?” Josie beckoned to a waitress and gave her the order before turning back to them. “Hand-crafted beers are a fun idea. I’ve always thought owning the saloon was good enough, but lately I’ve been thinking that a microbrewery would be an interesting challenge.”
Finn clutched his chest. “A competitor? Right when I’ve snagged your business?”
“Relax.” She patted him on the arm. “It’ll take me ages to get up to speed. By then you’ll have the entire West Coast sewed up.”
“Just kidding, ma’am. I’d be glad to help any way I can. There’s room for both of us.”
Chelsea’s heart swelled. Finn was turning into a savvy businessman, as evidenced by his decision to expand his territory. But he wasn’t cutthroat about it and he was more than willing to lend a hand to a competitor. She’d admired that strength of character from the day they’d met.
Josie ushered them over to the table where the rest of the family sat, and immediately the men all pushed back their chairs and stood. Impressive. Cowboy manners were beginning to grow on her.
As Josie made the introductions, the calendar helped Chelsea identify people. She recognized Jack, Nick and Gabe instantly, and Dominique had to be the short-haired brunette sitting next to Nick. That meant Gabe’s wife, Morgan, was the curvy redhead.
“Sarah and Pete will be here any minute,” Josie said. “But they told us to go ahead and order food instead of waiting for them, so have a seat and grab a menu.” She laughed. “I refuse to be modest. Everything’s good here.”
“Well, I’m starving.” Chelsea sat next to Jack. That was when she noticed that everyone had a bottle of O’Roarke’s Pale Ale in front of them.
Obviously, Finn had noticed it, too. He gestured toward the bottles. “That’s right nice of you,” he said. “I really didn’t expect everyone to be obliged to drink it.”
“Why not?” Nick smiled at him. “It was free!”
“Exactly. I love me a free beer.” Jack raised his bottle in a subtle salute. “And it’s not half-bad. If Josie goes ahead with her microbrewery plan, she’ll have to step it up in order to top this. We’ll have you beat on the label, though.”
“I don’t know about that.” Finn settled into his chair with a grin. Apparently he was comfortable with this kind of teasing. “You have to admit that an Irish name on a beer bottle just looks natural.”
“Maybe so, but you don’t have historic information to slap on the back side.” Jack turned the bottle around. “In this space here, where you can only brag about the quality of your hops and such, we get to talk about a beer inspired by the friendly spirits of Shoshone, namely, ‘Ghost Drinkers in the Bar.’”
Chelsea laughed. “That’s good.”
“We’ve worked up a little ditty for the commercial.” Gabe smoothed his mustache. “You oughta hear it.”
Morgan rolled her eyes. “Hey, they just got here. You don’t have to do this now.”
“Oh, I think we do.” Nick began to hum the tune for “Ghost Riders in the Sky.”
Dominique glanced across the table at Chelsea and Finn. “Sorry. When they get like this it’s impossible to control them.”
“And why would you?” Jack stood and motioned the other two to do the same. As the band started playing the song, the three brothers began singing it, or rather a version of it.
The word riders became drinkers, who seemed to be riding bar stools instead of horses. They were also the ones with the red eyes, and instead of pounding hooves they had pounding heads. The chorus was YouTube worthy, with the guys throwing their arms around each other’s shoulders and belting out the yippee-yi-yay part along with ghost drinkers in the baaaaarrrr.
Chelsea laughed so hard her sides ached. Through brimming eyes she glanced over at Finn, who was gasping for breath and wiping his eyes. She hadn’t seen him have so much fun in...forever.
When the men sat down again, Finn cleared his throat. “I give. With that kind of promo, Spirits and Spurs beer is going to dominate the market.”
Jack smiled at him. “I know.”
“Don’t count yourself out yet, Finn,” Chelsea said. “Don’t forget your ace in the hole.”
He glanced over at her. “What’s that?”
“Me.”
3
“GOOD POINT.” Finn had loved watching Chelsea crack up. Her cheeks glowed pink and her lashes were spiked with tears of laughter. “Gentlemen, I take back what I said. With Chelsea in my corner, I can face any comers.”
Jack nodded. “I could tell from the moment I laid eyes on her that she would be a worthy opponent. Never underestimate a woman with purple streaks in her hair.”
“Lavender,” Chelsea shot back.
“See what I mean?” Jack waved a hand in her direction. “She’ll stand up to anyone, even me. So, are we all gonna eat or dance?”
“Both!” called out a male voice.
Finn turned in his chair as a tall, fit man who was probably in his seventies walked toward them with a silver-haired woman who had the bearing of a queen. Finn stood, as did all the men at the table. Sarah Chance was in the building, along with her husband of only a few years, Pete Beckett.
They came over immediately to the newcomers, and Chelsea rose from her chair to
greet them. “I can’t tell you how excited I am about tomorrow,” Chelsea said. “Thank you for hosting this event.”
“Yes, thank you, ma’am.” Finn looked into blue eyes that shone with intelligence and wisdom. He’d heard that Sarah was a special woman, and after only a minute or so of being in her presence, he understood why people said that. She gave off enough warmth and good humor to envelop everyone at the table, but Finn suspected she was also capable of silencing the entire group with a look.
Pete glanced around the table. “Have you ordered?”
“Not yet.” Morgan tossed back her red hair and gave her husband a pointed look. “Some people had to subject us all, including our guests, to ‘Ghost Drinkers.’”
“I see.” Pete rubbed a hand over his face as if hiding a smile. “Chelsea and Finn, I’d like to say that was an aberration, but I’m afraid things like that go on all the time around here.”
“I hope so,” Chelsea said.
“But not while you give your presentation.” Jack patted her shoulder. “You have my word that we’ll behave ourselves tomorrow afternoon.”
“But once everyone leaves, all bets are off.” Nick winked at her. “I have a feeling you can take it.”
“Oh, she can.” Finn felt compelled to alert them. “She can also dish it out, so watch yourselves.”
“I figured as much,” Jack said. “But didn’t you say you were starving, Chelsea? We’d better rustle up some grub. Then we can dance while we wait for it.” He glanced over at Finn. “I assume you dance?”
“Depends on your definition.”
“Hmm.” Jack didn’t look impressed by the response. “I hope you’re not into salsa.”
“Only with my chips.”
“That’s a relief.” Jack returned his attention to his menu. “Don’t know why I bother looking at this. I know it by heart. Give me your order, everybody. I’ll relay it to the cook.”
“I can call Heather over,” Josie said. “You don’t have to play waiter.”
Rolling Like Thunder Page 3
