Her ice hadlong-ago melted into her Coke, watering it down. A good match to her chilly french fries and now-soggy burger.
I’m pitiful.
Keely looked at the text she’d drafted a long moment before, aw, why not? She had no one else to confess to except her manager, Goldie. Which perhaps made her even more pitiful.
She sent it.
Blew out a breath and set down her phone. Clearly the country songs twanging through the speakers of the burger joint didn’t emanate from local radio because she’d heard “She Had Me at Heads Carolina” by Cole Swindell twice, along with “Thought You Should Know” by Morgan Wallen.
Probably a mixed album of all the hits from the last few years picked up at a local bin at a Walmart down in Anchorage, and wow, she’d turned cynical. Just because she’d landed here—in a backcountry, snow-covered smudge under the shadows of the icy Alaskan mountain range, in a honky-tonk with a moose headoverlooking an old jukebox and dartboard, a few locals hunkered up to the long bar—didn’t mean that shebelongedhere.
She was just passing through Copper Mountain. For a burger. Fries.
To get a good look at her birth mother.
Then, back to reality and all the things that came with that, like Five Seasons room service and maybe a nice, long, heated-rock massage.
A woman came up to the table, her long dark hair pulled back. She wore a long-sleeve T-shirt with Midnight Sun Saloon and Grill across the chest. “You want a refresh on that Coke?”
Her name tag said Shasta, like the soda company.
Keely nodded, smiled, tried to communicate a “Yeah. That would be great.” Added a thumbs-up for boost.
“Didn’t like the fries? People come from miles around for one of our baskets.”
All of ten people? She shook away the snark, found another smile, then motioned the waitress closer so she could whisper. “They’re good. Just ... eyes were bigger than my stomach. It started shouting ‘slow down’ after the first three. But yeah, they’re good.”
“I’d say your stomach probably needs to shut up,” Shasta whispered back. “I don’t think you’re in danger of overeating.” She winked, then picked up the plate. “We have bottomless baskets. Would you like a refresh?”
Keely leaned back against the booth, put her hands on her stomach. “So full.”
“Yeah, those three bites of burger really fill a girl up. We have some great pie. Vic hired this baker out of Anchorage, and she makes fantastic blueberry pie from our preserves. I promise, your stomach will love you.”
Keely sighed. Nodded.
“Attagirl. Can’t let you freeze to death.” She walked away, and Keely had no idea what she meant.
Maybe she referred to her thin white puffer jacket. So she wasn’t wearing bearskin and leather—she hadn’t intended on putting down roots. Just a quick trip up to Copper Mountain. Maybe a ... conversation. Then back into the little Cessna puddle jumper she’d ridden up in, and she’d get on with her life.
Whatever that looked like.
Her phone pinged and she looked at the text from her manager, although she’d lately turned into a counselor, apparently.
You’re not pitiful. You have questions. And you need answers. Just pretend you’re going on stage, take a deep breath, and walk up to her and say hi.
“Here you go.” Shasta put a piece of pie in front of her. “I warmed it, so the ice cream is a little melty.” She set down a fork. “Don’t wait too long to eat it.”
Keely turned over her phone and nodded. “Thanks.”
Shasta’s gaze flicked off the overturned phone, even as she smiled. “Uh-huh.”
Keely blew out a breath and picked up her fork. Actually, her stomach had been screamingFeedmefor the past six hours since leaving Anchorage, but well, her brain had said,What are you doing?
Which made her legs all jumpy, and frankly, she’d nearly run out of the joint twice in the last hour. She looked at her watch. Or, rather, ninety minutes.
Whatever.
Shasta came back with her Coke. Set it down. “You look sort of familiar.”
