CHAPTER ONE
Gunner
The Broken Antlersign glowed brightly in the soft evening light. Seeing it with my own two eyes instead of only pictures turned my stomach.
Here goes nothing. The moment I waited for.
Killing the engine of my truck, I hopped out and stretched my legs. The thirty-hour drive felt more like one hundred hours. After three days of driving ten hours a day, exhaustion tugged at my limbs and nestled deep inside. I couldn’t wait to close my eyes later.
But first, there was business I needed to handle. Otherwise, sleep would never come.
With a deep breath, I strolled towards the front door. Maybe if I portrayed a calm demeanor, my insides would match my outside. One could hope.
I pulled the door open with one last inhale of courage and was met with a cozy, dimly lit bar made of reclaimed timber with hunting trophies on the walls. A wood-burning stove sat in thecorner, the fire crackling against the backdrop, giving a warm, cabin type feel.
As I walked towards the bar, the floor creaked beneath my feet and I wondered how old the building was, along with the pool table in a back corner that looked as if it had seen much better days.
Sliding onto a stool, my eyes wildly scanned the room in search of the one person I came here to see- my father.
Mason Danner, owner of the Broken Antler, a bar in Iron Peak, a small mountain town tucked deep in a box canyon at the base of the Colorado Mountains. The man I grew up wondering about, why he left my mom and me, and why he chose Colorado, of all places. It was a damn far drive from Vermont.
And a very far drive away fromme.
A giant of a man walked out from behind the bar. He looked to be in his early fifties, with an enormous build and a thick salt-and-pepper beard. His eyes were dark and watchful as he looked around the place. Similar eyes to the very ones reflected at me when I looked in the mirror.
It had to behim.
“Grizz, how’s it going?” An older man walked over to the bar and held out his hand for a shake.
Grizz?
“Alright, Pete, yourself? Want your usual?”
“Hanging in there. Yes, please but make it a double. I could sure use it.”
Grizz turned his back and swiftly poured a double shot from the bottle he grabbed off the back shelf. Some type of whiskey was my guess, the smell wafting over and tickling my nose hairs. shit was strong. “You got it.” He slid the glass over to him and nodded. “Enjoy.”
Well, apparently, he was a man of few words. Much like myself.
You’ll find he’s a good man, G. You have a lot in common, you’ll see….
My mother’s words washed over me, filling me with a confidence I didn’t know I possessed.
I signaled with my hand for him to come over. “Can I get a shot of whiskey, please? Your best.”
“You got it,” Grizz muttered, pouring my shot within seconds. He handed it to me, his eyes as dark as the night sky, not a flicker of recognition in them.
How could he? He hasn’t seen me in years…
“Thanks.” I held the shot glass up, tipped my head at him, and downed the amber liquid, the burn hotter than I remembered. I cleared my throat. “You’re Mason Danner, right? Owner of this bar?” I blurted the question, the whiskey giving me the courage I needed.
Grizz eyed me suspiciously. “Yeah, why? Who’s asking?”
“Me. Hi. Name’s Gunner. Yourson.”
Grizz’s eyes widened,and his mouth parted. “Excuse me?”
“I’m your son. Gunner. Gunner Thorne. My mother is Greta Thorne.”
