Chapter One
Wednesday, July 13, 2022
Rafe Sharpe sat quietly at the bar, tucked in the corner, watching the room as he sized up the few people who’d graced this establishment with their presence. You didn’t need to be a mathematician to count the eleven people, including the bartender and the waitress.
Aside from those who worked here, there was a group of guys at the pool table bumping fists to celebrate the round they won against the guy they didn’t yet realize was a hustler. When they figured it out, those fist bumps would have a bit more power behind them and be aimed at a nose, not knuckles.
A couple of old-timers were at the opposite end of the bar, drinking beer like it was fine wine, sipping from time to time while fully engaged in a fascinating conversation involving a rusty well pipe and a couple of frolicking fillies. Horses, not women.
And, of course, the three stay-at-home moms who came in every Wednesday like clockwork to celebrate a few hours without heathens—the term they used to refer to their kids. Lovingly, of course. They were chatting it up over some not-so-fine wine but, based on the giggles erupting from their corner, enjoying themselves regardless of the vintage.
And then there was her.
Bailey Weber, Moonshiners’ most tenured waitress and easily the most beautiful woman Rafe had ever laid eyes on. He’d been captivated from the moment he looked into those big hazel eyes and received a smile in return.
Being that it was Wednesday, there wasn’t a lot going on, but it was still active enough that Mack was willing to keep the place open. Rafe got the feeling the man purposely worked on nights like this to avoid the rowdy crowd that ventured in on the weekend. Rafe had been taking those shifts regularly for the past few months, offering because it gave him something to do and kept him out of trouble.
Trouble. He liked that word. Especially when it was used as an adjective to describe him. And while plenty of folks in this small town remembered him as such, it’d been a damn long time since he’d gotten in any. Did that mean he was getting old? Twenty-nine wasn’t old, was it? Or had he been running in the wrong direction all those years, and his wild youth had caught up to him?
If he had to guess, he would say it was the latter because his wild and rowdy days seemed to be behind him. He’d been back in Coyote Ridge for three years—two years and ten months, to be exact. A helluva lot longer than he’d intended to stay when he showed up on his brother’s doorstep that warm September day to find Rex remodeling the old farmhouse where they grew up, transforming it into a bed-and-breakfast, which was just a fancy name for a small backwoods hotel from what he could tell.
Since then, Rafe had somehow put down roots, although he damn sure hadn’t planned on it. Maybe not the roots you’d find from a walnut or a hickory tree. Nothing too strong or sturdy. More like pine or maple. Yet, they were roots all the same.
Hell, he’d even gotten a job. Right here. At Moonshiners.
It was the only bar in the small town, and as of three weeks ago, only one of two places you could get your grub on. Since Mack finally conceded to Rafe’s request to serve appetizers, they’d been seeing a different clientele moving through. Of course, the regulars weren’t gonna stray far. If you didn’t get your liquor here and weren’t looking for a forty-ounce at the Gas ’n Go or the box wine the general store recently started selling, you had to head down the road a good twenty minutes to get to a store that sold it. So here it was. And now they could get French fries and chicken wings to go with the cheap booze, bottled beer, or the few tap brews they served.
Rafe took a long pull on his beer, the one he’d been nursing for the better part of an hour now, while he waited for Bailey to finish her shift. She didn’t necessarily need him to stick around, but he did it simply so he could see if she needed a ride home. It was pathetic, he knew. One of two days he had off this week, and here he was, inhabiting the place he spent most nights working behind this very same bar he was bellied up to now.
Rafe looked over at the gray-haired man with the bushy beard behind the bar. Michael “Mack” Schwartz dried a glass and tucked it away before moving on to wipe down the lacquered bar top, careful not to disturb the old-timers. Rafe considered calling him over, pitching his idea to Mack for the eleven thousandth time. The one that would take Moonshiners from just a bar to something the entire town could enjoy.
Not that it was his place to suggest converting the small bar into something resembling a roadhouse, but during the year and a half he’d been working here, Rafe had gotten comfortable around Mack. The man had continued to give Rafe more and more responsibilities, now trusting him to open and close on his own while manning the bar several nights a week. Truth was, Rafe would be content to do just that for the rest of his days. It wasn’t a fancy joint, and Rafe appreciated it for that fact. However, he did see some potential. Maybe slap a coat of paint on the place and give the rest a little refresh, add a few things to the menu, and they’d be in real business.
Too bad Mack hadn’t committed yet. According to him, it was one thing to serve up fries and wings, something else entirely to give this place a makeover. It was long overdue, considering some of the decor was as vintage as the bartender. Like the ugly ass flamingo painting that was straight out of the 50s.
“You want good luck, might wanna hit onthat,” one of the gloating assholes at the pool table said as he lined up for a shot and missed.
Rafe’s attention shifted to the guy chalking his cue stick and openly ogling Bailey’s ass. Rafe had been keeping an eye on them since they strolled in two hours ago. Looked like the hustler had amped up his game, throwing the other two off theirs in the process.
“Hey, honey,” one of the assholes called out as Bailey sauntered back with empty glasses from the chatty ladies who were gearing up to make an exit.
As usual, Bailey beamed them a radiant smile as she carried the glasses behind the bar and tucked them into the dirty bin.
“I’m about done here, Mack,” she told her boss. “You need me to do anything else?”
“We’re good. Gonna close it down in a bit.”
She smiled and grabbed the cleaning rag before heading back to the table to wipe it down as the ladies made their way to the door.
And then there were eight.
“Hey, girl, you wanna help a man out?” the asshole called out on Bailey’s return trip to the bar.
Bailey stopped, giving them her full attention, including a smile—the one she used in hopes of earning more tips.
“I think my buddy here needs some luck, sweet cheeks,” the drunk one said. “Maybe you’d like to help him out with a kiss.”
Rafe sat up straight, glared in their direction.
