Page 25 of Against All Odds

He was right. Elijah often infused his cooking with flavors and techniques inspired by the traditional foods of his culture—corn, bison, and wild herbs—giving the Wildflower’s menu an occasional twist that kept locals and tourists alike coming back for more.

There were others who worked at the Wildflower who had their own stories of overcoming challenges.

“We’re all on a journey, Sable. Wildflower is on yours. The spirits have told me,” Ben said when we first talked about me buying the place.

Was Heath Falkner’s path on my journey, too? If he was or wasn’t, I didn’t want it advertised. Already, the town looked at me like the loser wife who’d lost her husband to sexy, pregnant Molly, and now I was going to be seen as a gold digger, chasing above her station.

“Are people talking?” I hated being the object of gossip.

Casey leaned over the bar and looked me in the eye. “Did you have a good time with Heath?”

I nodded sulkily. Good time? No, it was fucking amazing. One for the history books.

“Then fuck ‘em.”

I chuckled. “That easy, huh?”

“Yeah.” Ben gave a thumbs-up sign. “I agree with Casey. Fuck ‘em.”

I shook my head and then walked to the front door to turn on the OPEN sign. “People are going to gossip, and you know Alexa and Natasha Vikar are going to be at my throat.”

“This isn’t high school,” Ben reminded me kindly.

He knew some of what I had gone through growing up. In the past months, as we had spent time together, he’d become a confidante. I liked Ben. He didn’t judgeat all, and he was kind, a surrogate father or uncle, who cared about me. That was Ben for you.He cared about a whole lot of people, giving them a chance at a life they didn’t think they deserved, me included.

“I know.” I took a deep breath. “Well, game face on, everyone.”

I needed thegame facebecause, man,everyoneand their mother knew about myprivate skiing lessonwith Heath Falkner.

Gossip, they say, is louder in small towns than in big cities, and Aspen was no exception. I knew this firsthand growing up here and having gone through a scandalous divorce.

“It’s just been, what, six months since they started divorce proceedings, and she’s already moved on?”

“Are they even divorced? I thought it took months and months.”

I wanted to tell the two women who were chatting rather loudly and for my benefit that when your husband gets another woman pregnant, and you hate his guts, you don’t need any kind of mediation; you can get a quickie divorce in Colorado, which we did. The law was clear: if both parties agree on the terms of the divorce—division of assets,check; debts,noneand check; custody, not an issue—the minimum waiting period in Colorado was ninety-one days from the time the divorce petition was filed to when the court finalized it. We were done and dusted in no time.

Also, was everyone missing the elephant in the room, which was Molly, nine freaking months pregnant?

While the tourists were here to enjoy Elijah’s bisonsliders and sip on Ben’s craft cocktails, the locals were at the Wildflower to check me out.

“Hey, Sable!” a woman’s voice called as I maneuvered behind the bar to grab a bottle of whiskey.

I glanced up to see one of the regulars at the bar, Diane, a retired teacher who came in twice a week with her husband. Her tone was chipper, her smile wide, but I could see it—the curiosity sparkling in her eyes.

“So” —Diane leaned across the bar conspiratorially— “will Heath be around tonight?”

The question landed like a slap. I froze for half a second, masking it quickly with a tight-lipped smile. “Got no idea, Diane.” I poured the drink I was working on without looking at her.

“Well,” Diane continued, undeterred, “he sure is handsome, isn’t he? I hear he’s quite the skier. Lucky you, getting private lessons.”

“How’s your drink, Carl? You need a refill?” I turned my attention to her husband. Carl, at least, I knew, was a no-fucking-nonsense man.

“Doing fine, Sable.” Carl, as predicted, glared at his wife, demanding she sit her ass down and not make either him or me uncomfortable.

Diane slumped back on the barstool, and I heard Carl mutter, “Is this why you wanted to sit at the bar and not get a table, Dee?”

“Well, you can’t blame a girl for being curious, can you?”

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