Page 112 of Mountain Men Heroes

She laughed at her own thoughts.

Several men standing in the middle of the ever-shifting crowd held up their mugs and called out for Damon. She followed their line of sight and zeroed in on the man with damp hair who stood solo behind the bar slinging mug after mug of ale to anyone within reach. Several bottles filled the shelves behind him, rimmed with more garland and lights, as staff collected the drinks and passed them out to the happy patrons. Busboys cleared empty mugs as fast as people could put them down.

“Looks like you could use some help.” Ivy eased behind the counter and took quick note of where everything from the mugs, highball glasses, and ice were located and dove right in without a second thought.

Clad in a long-sleeved gray tee with a red plaid button-down shirt that hung free around his hips matched with black snug cargo pants, Damon sent three more mugs down the polished wood before he reached under the counter and tossed her an apron.

“Drinks are on the house tonight in honor of the winners. Lots of people like free.”

“Good policy.” She slipped the ties of the black leather apron around her waist and got to work. She fell into the old groove of whipping up everything from frilly concoctions to screwdrivers and the favorite with the old and new generations alike...beer.

“Heelloo, my mistletoe angel,” crooned an aged voice that belonged to an older gentleman with solid silver hair and warm eyes. “How about a refill but of good stuff, beautiful?”

Okay. So let the fun begin. As an on again off again bartender when money was scarce—which was more often than not with her mounting bills—Ivy was used to getting hit on, talked to, and even bitched out on occasion when she told me to go screw themselves after they got too pushy.

She glanced up. Deep wrinkles creased his cheeks, the skin around his chin soft and slightly slack, but his eyes didn’t look a day over thirty. Beneath gray scruff rosy cheeks poked out, due no doubt to the brisk wind kicking up beyond the front windowpanes, and the brightest blue eyes she’d ever seen.

She canted her head to one side. “Sure, thing, amigo. What would that be?”

“Sweetheart, whatever it was Damon gave ya to getcha behind that bar with him, it had to be somethin’ special for a special lady.”

“I don’t think I really gave him a choice. Did I do something wrong?”

“Not if you’re still here, you didn’t. You’re special.”

Ivy reached up to fix her sliding ponytail, the ends still slightly damp, before she did something that would give away her growing curiosity.

“Nothing special at all, old-timer.” She spied his glass and noticed he favored the same whiskey she’d downed earlier. She looked to Damon, who stood at the other end of the bar talking to a group of ladies. All of them doe-eyed and flirty and fawning over the stud muffin pouring them dainty little drinks with umbrellas. She bet one of them thought she’d get lucky tonight. Who knew? Maybe all three of them would.

“There hasn’t been another soul behind that counter for four years.”

She brought her attention back to the old man. “That doesn’t mean anything. Maybe he’s possessive over his bar. Many are. Besides, there’s nothing special about slinging beer or me.”

“Well, I think you proved to the whole town I’m right. You just wait and see.”

She smiled “So what will it be? Another whiskey?”

“Mind your own business, Cougar, and stop bothering the young lady. What would your wife say?” She jumped, startled as Damon joined them and with much disappointment from the crowd at the end of the bar. Sassy brown eyes connected with hers from several stools down, and she knew a challenge when she saw it.

Sorry, ladies. She had no intention of messing someone’s game up.

The patron remained where he was, propped up against the brass pole lining the customer’s side of the bar, a big toothy grin in place. “That I need glasses and a mirror, but that never stopped me before,” he cackled.

As they talked, Ivy pulled down a bottle from the back shelf.

“Here. Your wife ought to like the works of this by the end of the night.” She tipped the bottle and poured a double shot of whiskey and watched the old-timer’s eyes sparkle. He tossed her a wink and slipped a twenty into her hand before standing.

“No, that’s okay. It’s on the house tonight.”

“It’s not for the drink, miss, but thanks for the refill anyway.”

“Everybody. Your attention please.” Ivy brought her gaze around to the back of the bar. Zahara rose above the crowd and caught everyone’s attention with a light tap of a fork against her glass of orange juice.

Oh no. Groaning, Ivy palmed her face.

“Everybody. I have an announcement to make.”

Please don’t let this be happening.

---