Page 12 of The Jinglebell War
“Howdy, Mayor,” she says. And there goes my anonymity. Not that I have the energy to care. “What can I get for you?”
“Whiskey,” I say. “Three fingers. Neat.”
Her smile widens. “Rough day?”
I take the glass and hand over my card. “Looking to make it better. There’s a good tip in it for you if you point out any interesting guys you’ve seen tonight.”
Risky? Sure. But keeping my extracurricular activities a secret isn’t possible around here. And judging by the way I’m buzzing and ready to climb the next man who smiles in my direction, a year of celibacy isn’t the answer either.
All I can hope is that an amazing tip inclines Mrs. Claus to keep her mouth shut. If she doesn’t, it’s not like the people of Yuletide (Yuletiders?) could possibly like me any less.
She presses her lips tight, and I brace for judgment. She rings me up and hands over a credit card slip. Guess she’s not opening a tab for me. My heart sinks. Shit.
I sign and add a generous hundred and fifty percent tip.
Mrs. Claus scans the slip of paper and grins. “For future reference.” She leans across the bar. “I prefer cash.”
“Good to know.”
She nods and ignores the people shouting for her attention as she scans the crowd. “Guy in the ball cap by the Christmas tree. He’s a good dancer, and he’s got those bedroom eyes.” She licks her lips and turns to me. “Know what I mean?”
My body heats in anticipation. “Yep.”
She nods and goes back to the crowd. “Guy in the Santa hat, near the bathrooms. He’s here alone, but he’s looking. He closes his eyes when he drinks. Savors it, you know?”
“Oh, honey, I do.”
She grins. “That’s all I’ve seen so far. Rest of them are sloppy drunk or handsy assholes.”
She moves to attend to the patrons waiting for her, but I have one more question. “What are the chances this won’t be the latest gossip around town by tomorrow morning?”
She leans back in. “Sweetheart, from one black-hearted outcast to another, I don’t share shit with anyone around here.”
“Good policy.” I offer my hand. “Blue Porter.”
She shakes it. “Tilly Jenkins.”
I’m feeling better already. I haven’t gotten laid yet, but I think I just made my first real friend in this town.
CHAPTER THREE
Garrick
After a three-day trek into the mountains, there’s nothing I like better than finding a tourist to take home for a night or two of fun. Last night, I had to deliver a cat to a demon, and I wasn’t much in the mood for flirting after that.
Tonight, though, I’m free. I’ve got two full days off until my next expedition. Thanks to Sugar Valley Guides stealing more of my clients. Which is thanks to the aforementioned demon, who’s been blocking every permit I try to get approved by the town council.
The trails I take clients on are great, but they’re short and I’m limited to how many groups I can take out at one time. I need more acreage for multi-day snowmobiling and snowshoeing trips. Plus, some of the best fishing is in the lakes and river frontage I can’t access without trespassing.
The clients who spend big money want new frontiers to explore, they don’t want to come back to the same old same old year after year.
I’ve been working too hard, and it’s been months since I’ve had the time or energy for myself. Months since I’ve had sex. I’m overdue for this night, and I’m determined to enjoy it.
The great thing about living in a town with very few hotels is that people who miss the last bus out of here at eleven, or who just don’t feel like driving all the way back to Sugar Valley, are always happy to have a place to stay. And I’m an extremely welcoming host.
Tilly’s behind the bar along with Winston. I go the long way around to avoid her, but Winston gets shouted away and I end up facing one of the two people who truly hates me in this town.
Tilly smiles, showing her teeth. “Oh, look, it’s Run-away Garrick. On the prowl? Want me to point out the locals so you won’t make the same mistake you made with me?”
