Page 4 of Married in Misty Mountain

“Here’s the thing,” Jack says, setting down the box of hiking socks he’s restocking for the wall display. He rests his handson his hips and casts his fatherly gaze at me. “I close up in five minutes, and it just so happens that I have a friend from out of town waiting for me to pick her up at the Hollow Tree Inn. It would be nice to have someone here to finish restocking the grocery shelves so I can freshen up. What do you say?”

A friend? He wants to freshen up for a friend. I smile at him, knowing what he really means is he has a hot date. Feeling the slightest twinge of jealousy, I give him a smile.

“You’d trust me alone in your store? I’ve never assistant-managed anything in my life. You haven’t even run a background check on me.”

Jack waves this idea off as if suggesting that vetting his employees is the wildest thing he’s ever heard. “If you do a good job tonight, we’ll take care of all that paperwork and red tape in the morning.”

This is completely crazy, but what choice do I have? I’m desperate for money.

“Okay, I’ll do it.”

Jack shakes my hand and welcomes me aboard. He then takes me through a quick orientation and hands over the keys. Before he leaves, he informs me, “And don’t worry about being alone. If anything happens, just call me on the store phone. My cell is on speed dial number one.”

He hands me the key to lock up after I leave and instructs me to text him when I’m finished.

I tell him to have a great date, and he gives me a knowing smile before heading out the door.

And now, I’m alone, unsupervised, in the general store.

I guess I can start with the socks. At least I can’t screw that up.

After restocking the hiking socks, I scan the aisle to help me prioritize my remaining tasks. The boxes are cumbersome, so I empty one at a time, restocking the flashlight batteries, sunscreen, and bandanas.

The shelf of canned chili beans is almost empty. I head back to the stock room and try to lift one of the boxes, but it’s super heavy. I’ve never used a dolly before, except for the time I almost broke the bartender’s foot at the Rusty Elk while trying to help move beer kegs around.

I do my best and eventually successfully stack six boxes of canned goods, and start to steer out of the stock room without spilling anything.

When I swerve neatly around the corner, I’m feeling pretty confident in my newfound abilities with heavy equipment and considering a career as a forklift driver.

That confidence comes at a price as I smash directly into a brick wall that wasn’t there before. Boxes drop. Cans go flying.

I swear that wall wasn’t there before.

But wait. Walls don’t make noises.

No, it’s not a wall. It’s a pained-looking man, grunting and holding on to his foot, with one arm propped against the wall for balance.

“Oh my gosh! You scared the bejeezus out of me!”

The large man doesn’t apologize, instead criticizing my skills. “Where did you learn to drive one of those things?”

That voice, those hands.

Something is eerily familiar about this person. I scan him from the injured foot up to his massive thighs, trim midsection, and ridiculous trapezius muscles.

His cold eyes capture mine, and my jaw drops.

I am face to face with my childhood nemesis, Hurley Hanlon.

A yeti-sized, all-grown-up Hurley Hanlon. The boy who first called me a giraffe on roller skates and ruined my self-confidence in one fell swoop.

It’s a good thing I’m wearing a disguise, so he won’t be able to hurt me—again.

Chapter Two

Hurley

Like a blast from the past, Shenna Blake stands right in front of me.

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