Tracking the Bear (Blue Ridge Bears Book 1)
Jasmine B. Waters
Book Title: Tracking the Bear
Chapter One
Lucy
Sammy Pullman was on his sixth beer of the night. After four years working at Pete’s Bar and Grill, I knew what that meant. The new girl, Brandy, should have cut him off at beer number four, as I or any of the other waitresses, would have done. I understood though, she was terrified of losing her tip. God knew that we all needed the money.
Pullman was an ex-cop with a nasty temper and an even nastier right hook. He hadn’t broken anyone’s bones in the bar fights he frequently instigated, which was the only reason Randy, the boss’s son and our current manager, hadn’t tossed him out of the bar permanently. We needed the business, especially because with the post office closing, Fairchild didn’t appear on maps any longer.
Randy had imposed a strict four beer limit on Sammy, as Brandy would have known if she hadn’t been busy flirting with the cook during orientation.
“I should take over her table,” I muttered, setting the empty plates in the plastic tub I carried. I set it aside once I’d cleared away the dishes and trash and leaned over the table to wipe it clean.
“Don’t,” Mildred advised from the next table over.
Mildred Allbarn actually looked good in the flannel button down and black jeans combo that was the uniform of the bar. Millie was small and birdlike, with unruly red hair and a smattering of freckles on the bridge of her nose. I, on the other hand, didn’t look nearly as good in the outfit. The buttons consistently gapped at my cleavage, and I’d taken to wearing a tank top underneath instead of trying to struggle with them. My jeans were secondhand and frayed at the bottom.
“Randy will fire her if she lets him have another,” I pointed out. “She knows where I live.”
“Fairchild is a town of three hundred people, Lucy. Well, three hundred and fifty, if you include the dogs. Everyone knows where you live.”
I knew that. It was part of what I hated about living in a dinky backwater town in Tennessee. Everyone knew everyone. How refreshing it would be, to live somewhere where I was just a face in the crowd, another body crossing the street. Instead I was trapped in this tiny nowhere town, and working a part-time shift as a waitress in a struggling bar, listening to old women lecture me about how much more I could have become.
I ignored Millie and limped over to the table, pulling Brandy aside when I reached her. The kitchen was sweltering, despite the fairly mild weather outdoors. The air conditioner must have finally wheezed its last.
“You have to cut him off,” I said, letting go of her arms.
She rolled her eyes and pulled out a compact, applying a fresh coat of bubblegum pink lipstick. “Oh come on Lucy, it’s just a few beers. Sam’s having a rough time right now. I already took his keys, so he won’t be driving.”
“He’s three sheets to the wind already, and you know how he gets when he’s blackout drunk. Cut him off, or you can explain the property damage to Randy. I bet it comes out of your paycheck, not mine.”
She fixed me with a fierce glare. “Don’t think you can order me around, Elmsong.”
“I’ve been here the longest after Randy, so yeah, I am your boss while Randy’s out for the afternoon. Cut him off, or I’m telling Randy.”
Brandy stalked off, taking care to tread on my right foot as she went. Maybe I should have taken Millie’s advice. I didn’t really owe Brandy anything but a swift kick in the pants after what she and my twin brother, Luke, had done in high school.
The bell above the door tinkled merrily and I sighed, limping back out to the lobby. My leg was recovering, slowly but surely. The doctor thought I could expect a 90 percent recovery rate after six years. He’d been right. After years of physical therapy, I could finally walk unaided.
The man who walked through the door was simply massive. I’d never seen a man who was taller or broader, and I’d dated the offensive lineman in high school. His bulk was readily apparent beneath the dark t-shirt he wore, and at nearly seven feet tall, I wondered how difficult it must be to find and keep a good pair of jeans.
He glanced around the diner. Pete’s Bar and Grill was a small rustic hole in the wall that made most of its money off hunters, a few dedicated locals, and tourists coming up from the towns south of us. The tables were made of unfinished wood, with a layer of laminate over the top, since they were a bitch to clean otherwise. The bar was built to look like an old-timey fireplace, with brick making up most of the front of it. The chairs had been handmade by a local artist. It was easily the best part of the bar.
The animal heads that lined the walls had been shot by Randy or his father. I pitied the poor things, being decked out in different holiday hats all year round. It wasn’t a dignified way to use the corpse. The new guy seemed to agree with me, because he scowled up at the head of the black bear that Pete had named Cindy.
I approached him while he stared at it, his full mouth turned down in disapproval. Good golly, life really wasn’t fair. He had a cupid’s bow for cryin’ out loud! Was it truly necessary for him to be good looking? I couldn’t have bought the sort of jacket he wore with two of my paychecks combined.
He turned the full force of his eyes on me, and I froze. They were a captivating hazel, flecked with gold. Peace, a sensation I’d been without for so long it was nearly foreign to me, washed through my body. I could let go. I wasn’t alone anymore.