Casanova Cowboy (A Morgan Mallory Story)

by Loomis, Lisa

  Walking in, I inhaled oh, yeah, it smelled like a bar, sort of musty and thick, and then I took a look around: it was a long narrow room with an old-fashioned wooden bar against the right wall. It was lined with barstools, several occupied, all by men. A shuffleboard table sat against the other wall making the pathway very tight. At the far end was a wood burning stove with a moose head above it, to the left of that was a stairway. We followed Pat single file through the room as the men noticeably checked Liz and I out. Oh, yeah, we’re gonna have a good time. As Pat started up the worn wooden stairs he turned around.

  “The local guys hang out downstairs; there’s a bigger bar upstairs,” Pat explained.

  I was pretty certain the men watched us until we disappeared. The sound of “She’s So Cold” by The Rolling Stones blared from the speakers as Liz and I looked around. It wasn’t crowded at all, but again it was only men.

  “This is so cool,” Liz said, with a big smile. “I love a good old-fashioned bar.”

  “I can almost see the cowboys wandering in here with their spurs on can’t you? A little gambling and then if they were lucky pick up one of those fancy saloon girls for a roll in the hay.”

  “Totally,” Liz chuckled.

  Although the upstairs bar was almost twice the size of the downstairs bar it still felt welcoming and cozy, both were old-fashioned and funky.

  “Hey, Pat,” the bartender said when we each took a stool at the massive wooden bar. “Who’s this?”

  “This is my sister Morgan and her friend, Liz,” Pat said, introducing us. “This is Ryan Walker.”

  “Ryan, do you think you can get us a drink? We’ve come a long way for a cocktail,” Liz said sassily, as she flipped back her hair.

  Ryan smiled warmly at her flirty and fun tone; he could tell we were here for trouble. His hair was wavy and blond, his eyes an intense blue. He appeared to be about my height, but I couldn’t tell since he was behind the bar.

  “What will it be?” Ryan asked, putting napkins down in front of us.

  “Long Island Ice Teas,” Pat said with a grin. “That okay with you girls?”

  “Sure,” Liz said enthusiastically.

  The three of us watched as Ryan put several mini bottles between his fingers, flipped off the tops with his other hand and made the drinks. As he moved behind the bar I noticed he had jeans on and a long sleeved T-shirt that had the logo of The Club on it. It was a side shot of a cowboy holding a hand of cards with the card that was the ace of clubs standing out more than the rest.

  “They’re huge,” I exclaimed as he set them down. “What’s the deal with the mini bottles? I’ve only ever seen them on airplanes.”

  I took a sip and it tasted refreshing and delicious.

  “A Utah thing,” Ryan explained. “All the liquor comes in mini bottles.”

  “So these Long Islands pack a mean punch,” I said smiling.

  “About five ounces of liquor, with a splash of Coke, so yeah, I guess you can say they’re strong,” he said with a small grin.

  “Welcome to Park City,” I said, gleefully lifting my glass to Liz and Pat. “I love it, Pat.”

  Pat leaned across and clicked both our glasses. His face was tan from skiing, sunglass marks around his eyes and across the side of his face.

  “Figured you would. There are a lot of funky bars in town, but this one is my favorite.”

  The half of the room not taken up by the massive bar was dotted with circular wooden table-and-chair sets. The chairs had spoke backs, like I envisioned an old time saloon would have. A large cement fireplace with a wooden mantle sat in the far corner, a fire blazing in it. Six fringed purple velvet ottomans sat in front of it in a half-circle. Several guys came over to say hello to Pat, and each time, he introduced Liz and me.

  Liz gave me a sly smile. Each introduction the guys seemed happy to meet us, hesitant to move on. I could tell we were going to get a lot of attention in Park City. Pat had told me that there weren’t a lot of women in town, let alone attractive women, so the ratio was in our favor. I think that information was partly responsible for Liz’s and my anticipation.

  For the next week, Liz and I partied like rock stars. We would ski all day regardless of whether we had a hangover or not and then hit the clubs till late at night. We rarely paid for a drink. The guys we met seemed pleased to pick up the tab, as did several bartenders, including Ryan.

  We were invited to parties and found ourselves naked in hot tubs on many occasions. Why be shy? Who were we going to see again? We hung out with Pat’s friends and the guys we met in the bars; we flirted and laughed a lot. It felt good to have such positive male attention.

  “Pat says Ryan’s meeting us tonight at The Club. He has the night off,” I said to Liz, as I blew my hair dry.

  Both of us were in the bathroom getting ready for the evening, and the dryer had made the small room warm.

  “He thinks we’re crazy. The crazy California girls,” Liz shouted above the dryer.

  I clicked the dryer to the cool setting.

  “I think they all think we’re crazy,” I laughed. “Fun crazy.”

  “God, we need to go home and dry out for about a month,” Liz laughed.

  She leaned in toward the mirror to apply her mascara as I thought about how comfortable this small town felt, like home.

  “Seriously. I really like this town. I would love to do what Pat’s doing,” I said.

  “As in?” Liz asked stroking her lashes with the brush.

  “Be daring enough to move. Be a ski bum for a year. Change my life. Look at Pat: he skis, works, and parties. Simple, fun, no worries, non-conforming, I guess,” I said.

  “That’s not like you. You have always seemed to want the norm. You have this kind of crazy side, but you struggle to stay within the lines,” Liz said. “Just like when you color a picture.”

  I frowned at this description of me. Did I really want to stay within the lines? Liz loved art and now and then she would pull out her old coloring books and we’d color like two young kids.

  “Pat’s going with us tonight, right?” Liz asked, switching gears.

  “Of course, it’s our last night in town,” I said.

  Liz blew her hair dry while I put on my makeup, sharing one small mirror over a single pedestal sink. The bathroom was really hot now and I cracked the door hoping to cool it off. I could feel the energy between us, the excitement of another night on the town.

  “We need to downplay our nighttime activity here in Park City when we get back home,” I teased.

  “For sure, the boys would be pissed if they knew how much we partied, and who we partied with,” Liz said with a laugh.

  We found Ryan staked out by the fire, holding onto four of the purple velvet ottomans when we got to The Club. It was a Friday night so the place was hopping, and in front of the fire was a desired gathering spot. He stood up and quickly hugged Liz and me. Man, Ryan was looking handsome tonight in his button-down shirt, jeans, and cowboy boots. He smelled like he had just come from the shower: a slight hint of a fresh good-smelling soap lingering on him. I loved it when a man simply smelled good without using cologne.

  “How was the skiing today?” he asked, as we sat down on either side of him.

  I angled into him slightly as I did so and he smiled.

  “It was great; it’s been great all week,” I answered unreservedly.

  “Partied out yet?” he asked, grinning.

  “Never,” Liz declared.

  “What can I get you guys?” the waitress asked. “Looks like you’ve got your hands full tonight, Ryan.”

  It seemed there was a little tinge of jealousy in her tone and I wondered if she was interested in Ryan. We’d seen her in The Club several times.

  “Jill, a round of Long Island’s on me,” he said.

  “Ryan, we can get these,” I protested. “You’ve been too nice to us this week. Seems you’ve been buying no matter which side of the bar you’ve been on.”

  “It
’s okay, I got it,” Ryan said, waving me off.

  When he did I noticed he had a rather large cut on the top of his hand.

  “What happened?” I asked.

  He turned his hand over inspecting it.

  “I work construction during the day. The nail won,” he said with a grimace.

  “So you bartend at night and then do construction during the day… That’s ambitious,” I said.

  “I guess. Better making money in the bar than spending it,” he said with a chuckle.

  Liz and I laughed. We’d enjoyed his sharp wit and good sense of humor, had even talked about it when he wasn’t around. Although our antics in the bars had amused him this past week, I could tell he thought Liz and I were a handful; he wasn’t wrong.

  “So you’re not really the ski bum I envisioned, the guy who bartends at night so that he can ski all day,” I asked.

  “No. I’m more work-all-I-can and ski-if-possible,” Ryan said.

  “A rarity in Park City, I would guess,” I said cocking my head.

  Looking into his blue eyes I couldn’t help but smile.

  “In the bar scene, yes, but there are lots of everyday people here who work hard and play when they can,” Ryan said.

  Our last evening spent with Ryan and Pat was calm in comparison to the past week. We sat and talked by the fire and then decided to grab some dinner across the street. When we got ready to go, Ryan went to get his jacket. When he returned, he had a black cowboy hat on, looking even more handsome, in a mysterious type of way.

  “Wow, look at you,” Liz said. “You’re a cowboy too? How come we haven’t seen you in your hat before?”

  I wondered what it was about a cowboy hat that made a man look more attractive to me. I certainly wasn’t a big cowboy type of girl.

  “Do you have a ranch, with horses and cows that you haven’t told us about?” I teased.

  “I wish, I guess I’m a wannabe cowboy. No ranch, no animals, just the boots and the hat for now,” Ryan said with a grin.

  I think we had put him on the spot because he shifted as if he was embarrassed.

  “Looks good on you,” I said with a flirtatious look.

  We walked across the street to a restaurant called the Irish Camel, which served Mexican food and killer margaritas. Pat told some funny stories about tourists, while Liz and I rehashed moments of our trip, and we laughed a lot. We ended the evening back at The Club dancing until midnight. I had come across another man who was willing to dance and obviously enjoyed it and it made me think of Randy and the accident. I reached back to feel the scar on my head. I dragged Ryan out on the dance floor more than once. I loved his smile and his ability to go with the flow.

  Worn out, Liz and I tried to sleep on the plane ride home. My head kept rolling to the side though jolting me awake, even though my eyes felt so heavy. We weren’t looking forward to getting back, although we certainly needed a break from the partying.

  Max and Dave picked us up at the airport and took us to dinner that night, happy to have us home. Liz and I would have been thrilled to just go home and fall into bed, but we did our best to not let the boys know we were exhausted. I fell asleep in the car while Max drove us to his house.

  “Morgan,” he said, shaking me slightly. “Come on, I’ll get you to bed.”

  When he walked me into his house, it smelled the same, looked the same, and then it hit me. That was the change I needed, the other side of the river, like my analogy; the one the night of the accident. I took a deep breath and Max looked at me with a confused expression. I looked around his living room; even the newspapers were still stacked in the corner, his coffee mug from this morning on the side table. I had to step off the shore if I ever wanted to get to the other side. If I wanted to know, I had to cross the river. I needed to go back to Park City.

  Chapter 6

  “I talked to Pat last night. He said you and Liz had a good time,” Mom said casually when I came home the next morning.

  Max had gone off to golf early, and all I could think about was crawling in my own bed and sleeping. She was unloading the dishwasher and I crawled up on a barstool.

  “We had a great time. The skiing was fantastic—Park City Mountain where Pat works was huge, and we never got bored. Pat had us ski there so he could meet us for a couple runs every day during his break. Park City’s such a quaint little town, Mom. I fell in love with it,” I said excitedly.

  She raised her head in surprise at my tone and smiled at me.

  “Slow down and tell me everything,” she chuckled.

  “When you get off the freeway, it doesn’t look like much. One gas station is what greets you and then you drive about ten minutes into downtown where Main Street is, and it’s all cozy, nestled in an uphill canyon. These old-fashioned buildings climb the street, and they are so cool, like that Clint Eastwood movie where he paints the town red, but even cooler. I had this weird feeling like I’d come home when Pat took us there. Like that’s where I belong,” I went on.

  “Park City?” she asked, astonished.

  “Yes, I have no idea why, but I felt the town tug at my heart,” I said. “I was actually jealous of Pat. Like he’s there and I’m not.”

  She finished putting the last of the glasses away and shut the dishwasher. She put her hands on the counter and looked across at me.

  “Sounds like you and Liz hit the town pretty hard at night,” she said with a smile.

  “What did Pat tell you?” I asked.

  I wondered what Pat had told her, which “being bad” story he’d revealed.

  “Exactly that, that you two hit it pretty hard,” she teased.

  I laughed heartedly.

  “Coming from Mr. Party himself, that’s funny. We went out every night. Are you kidding, two single girls in a cowboy town with lots of boys? Of course we’re out partying. No Max, no Dave telling us what to do. We were the crazy California girls. It was fun to have new boys to hang with; we laughed so much. No serious stuff, no games, no fighting,” I said with a happy sigh.

  “Seems you shouldn’t have so much to fight about,” she said. “You and Max are too young to have so many battles, don’t you think?”

  “Isn’t that what couples do?” I asked, curious.

  She tilted her head and gave me an exasperated look.

  “Morgan, it is not what couples should do, not constantly,” she said.

  She was holding back, trying not to tell me, trying to make me see for myself instead. I had seen though, she just didn’t know it yet.

  “I want to go back, Mom. I think I want to make this change, but I need to be sure. I really think Park City is what the accident and the Mathew tryst was driving me toward, to make a radical change,” I said.

  Her lips trembled as she smiled at me. I knew it was twofold, she was excited for the idea of change for me, but she was conflicted that it meant I’d be moving away, a long ways away from her.

  Catching up at school kept me buried for weeks, and it was too easy to fall back into the routine with Max. But my heart wasn’t in it. Liz was good at listening to my thoughts; she agreed that it was important to go back a second time to make sure it was what I really wanted. She played devils advocate as to living and working in Park City versus our vacation time. Mostly though she encouraged, she thought a change would do me good. I wasn’t discussing anything with Max about what I was thinking.

  Liz and I were sitting in a booth on the second floor of our favorite Mexican restaurant, The Rio, in Del Mar, again talking about my upcoming March trip with Mom.

  “I’m so excited to go back. Enthusiastic about the possibility of moving there next winter.”

  Inside me the butterflies swirled and twirled with a nervous excitement.

  “It sounds like you’ve already decided,” she chuckled.

  “In a way, yes, but I want to make sure I am making a good decision, not just doing it for flight reasons,” I said.

  “Flight reasons?” Liz asked confused.
/>   I leaned forward pondering my explanation.

  “Running away,” I answered reaching for a chip. “You know Max will tell me how stupid it is. Although I think it would be an easy final out for him. I think we’ve just been going through the motions for a while. Hell, I don’t know, maybe that’s what love is, getting comfortable and going through the motions,” I said.

  I dipped the chip in salsa and took a bite, it was warm and salty, the salsa spicy, but not too hot.

  “Bullshit,” Liz said, taking a sip of her margarita. “Bullshit.”

  The way she said it the second time was like she was trying to convince herself as well. She too had her reservations about what love was, her and Dave certainly didn’t have what she deemed the perfect situation.

  “I talk to Pat on the phone a lot, and he’s still loving living in Park City. I want to be there. I’ve always followed the expected path: go to school, get good grades, go to college, have a boyfriend. I want desperately to deviate from it,” I said.

  “Then just do it,” Liz said. “I really think you should, if not you’ll always wonder. You can always come home.”

  March came quickly, and I was headed back to Park City with Mom. I would miss Liz for the skiing part as Mom had given that up years ago. The bar scene was another story; she loved a good bar as much as I did, and I asked Pat to take us to The Club. He had already put the word out to his friends that I was coming back to town. Once again, when I got onto Main Street, I had the feeling that I was home. It was weird, a good weird.

  It was snowing outside when we got to The Club, and we grabbed a couple ottomans by the fire, enjoying the warmth of it. The bartender, I think I remembered his name was Andy, came and stirred the fire and threw on more wood.

  “Back so soon?” he asked smiling at me.

  I wondered if it was the fire calling or he just wanted to flirt a little.

  “Yeah, well I got invited to join my mom on her visit out. Kind of hard to pass up when she’s paying,” I teased. “This is my mom, Patty. It’s Andy, right?”

  “Andy,” he confirmed reaching his hand out to Mom.