Hold Me (Fool's Gold #16)(8)

Renovations had gone quickly. It helped that several of his new business partners knew the local trades, and things got done. Now they were only a few weeks from opening.

Kipling stood by the double front doors and glanced around. There was a long bar along the east wall that housed a self-serve beer fridge. Tables filled the front area. There were pool tables and dartboards, a poker room in back and plenty of TVs, including a couple in the bathrooms so no one had to miss a play.

The second floor overlooked the main bar and had plenty of seating. Sports memorabilia covered the walls. Not just the usual Sports Illustrated swimsuit covers, but actual trophies and other items. Josh Golden, a partner and the guy who had owned the building, had brought in one of his yellow jerseys from the Tour de France. There were footballs and helmets donated by the former pro players at Score, a local PR firm, and dozens of trophies from them and former quarterback Raoul Moreno. Kipling’s contribution was one of his gold medals from the 2010 Vancouver Olympics.

But what he liked the best was the big stage and state-of-the-art karaoke machine he’d ordered. Sure they could have bands come in and perform, but for him karaoke was the real draw.

Back when he’d been competing and traveling year round, karaoke was what had always pulled the teams together. No matter where they were in the world, they found a place with a machine and spent many a night making fools of themselves. Kipling could carry a tune. Barely. But singing well wasn’t the point. It was about having fun.

The idea for the bar had been with him for a while. When he’d come to Fool’s Gold, he’d realized this was where he could make it happen. Jo’s Bar in town did a good business, but catered mostly to women. The pastel color scheme and TV stations tuned to fashion and shopping kind of freaked him out. Where did guys go to just hang? A few conversations later, he had partners and a long-term lease from Josh.

He flipped on lights and surveyed the room. They were still waiting on some tables and chairs. The liquor license had been approved the previous week. Now they were getting suppliers lined up.

The front door opened, and Nick and Aidan Mitchell walked inside.

The two men were locals, born and raised in Fool’s Gold. From what Kipling had heard, there were five Mitchell brothers. The youngest two were twins. The twins and the oldest brother, Del, had moved away.

At his partners’ suggestion, Kipling had hired Nick to manage the bar. Aidan, a year or two older, ran the family business—Mitchell Adventure Tours. The company catered to tourists and offered everything from easy day hikes to white-water rafting.

“Looking good,” Aidan said as they approached. “You’re going to be opening soon.”

“Three weeks max,” Nick said easily. “I’m already hiring servers.”

Both men were tall, with dark hair and eyes. Aidan glared at his brother. “Seriously? Hiring servers.”

Nick’s relaxed expression tightened. “Don’t start on me.”

“You’re not worth the trouble.”

There was both frustration and affection in Aidan’s tone. From what Kipling had been able to piece together, the family was close, but not without its troubles. The father was Ceallach Mitchell, the famous glass artist. He was known both for his brilliance and his temper. Nick had apparently inherited his ability but not his interest. From what Kipling could tell, Nick had been tending bar for years, rather than working with glass.

Aidan was on his brother a lot—complaining that the younger Mitchell could do so much more than simply run a bar. As Kipling had a complicated relationship with his own sister, he did his best to stay out of these family dynamics.

“You given any thought to what we talked about?” Kipling asked Aidan.

The older brother raised one shoulder. “You know I don’t have time.”

Kipling knew when to keep quiet. It was a trick he’d learned from his coach. Let ’em talk it out, and they’ll almost always come round to your way of thinking.

“Yeah,” Aidan continued. “I know it’s a volunteer assignment, but we get busy in the summer.”

“You’re busy all year round,” Nick said cheerfully. “What if it’s one of your customers who’s lost?”

Aidan swore at his brother. “No one asked you.”

“I’m a giver. I don’t need to be asked.”

Kipling held in a chuckle.

Aidan glared. “Don’t pressure me.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Kipling told him. “Did I mention it was Mayor Marsha who suggested I ask you?”

Aidan swore again. “Fine,” he grumbled. “I’ll be one of your damned volunteers.”

“Good to know. I’ll get you the paperwork within a day.”

“There’s paperwork?” Aidan shook his head. “No good deed.”

Nick slapped him on the back. “You know it.”

“Don’t think you won’t be right there beside me,” Aidan told him.

“Never planned for it to be otherwise.”

Two for the price of one, Kipling thought with satisfaction. The search and rescue team, which he refused to think of as HERO, would be staffed mostly by volunteers. He would be in charge, and he was hiring a second-in-command, not to mention a couple of support staff. But everyone else would work on a volunteer basis. It was the easiest way to keep costs down.