Page 4 of Mountain Man in my Stockings
Mabel materialized again at my elbow, looking like she'd just won the lottery. "Now that's an entrance to remember. I haven't seen Deacon knocked off balance since Josie Hawthorne's SUV took out his front bumper."
"I wasn't trying to throw anyone off balance," I said, still feeling the ghost of his lips on mine. "Just following the rules."
"Mmm-hmm." She patted my hand with surprising gentleness. "Between you and me, you picked the only worthwhile option in the room."
My food arrived alongside a tumbler of golden, bubbly liquid that Deacon slid across the bar. "One green chile burger and a Jack and Ginger on the house.'"
"Thanks," I said, focusing intently on my plate. The burger looked mouthwatering—roasted green chiles and melted cheese oozing over a perfectly seared patty, accompanied by a pile of hand-cut fries.
"I'll leave you to your dinner," Mabel announced, hopping off her stool and draining her glass in a single gulp. She set the empty mug on the wooden counter with a satisfied thump. "Better check that Harvey hasn't turned our bathroom into a sauna with that hairdryer. But I expect to see you at the store tomorrow. Holiday decor, half-price!"
She bustled out as quickly as she'd arrived, leaving me alone with my burger and my confusion over what had just happened.
Deacon wiped down the bar, glancing my way. "Mabel's got a good heart under all that bluster."
"And a talent for public humiliation," I added.
He chuckled, the sound rumbling through my chest. "Town's unofficial welcoming committee."
"And matchmaker?" I ventured.
"That too." Deacon stacked clean glasses. "She's paraded every single woman under fifty past this bar since I took over."
I bit into my burger and nearly whimpered. The chiles delivered the perfect kick against the richness of the beef and cheese. "This burger is ridiculous."
"Chef's secret—we roast those chiles ourselves every harvest." Pride tinged his voice. "People drive from three towns over for them."
I took another bite, savoring it alongside a sip of my cocktail that blazed a trail down my throat. "You mentioned you've owned this place for a few years?"
"Yep, bought it two years ago when Spence decided to retire to Arizona."
"And before that?"
A shadow flickered across his face. "Denver PD. Detective division."
That explained the observant eyes, the careful way he scanned the room. I noticed now how he positioned himself with a clear view of the door—a habit that probably saved lives in his former career.
"Big leap from city detective to mountain tavern owner."
"Needed different scenery." His clipped tone signaled that topic was closed. A glass shattered somewhere in the kitchen, and I caught the almost imperceptible tensing of his shoulders before he forced them to relax.
I didn't push. Whatever had driven him from Denver wasn't my business, especially when I had my own baggage to avoid unpacking.
"So what's the verdict?" I asked. "Did I pass my initiation?"
His shoulders relaxed. "You're in. That kiss definitely qualified." One corner of his mouth lifted. "Though most first-timers go for the quick peck and call it good."
Heat crept up my neck. "The crowd was counting. Seemed rude not to commit."
"Committed is one word for it." His eyes held mine for a beat before he grabbed a towel and moved down the bar.
I finished my meal, acutely aware of him even when he was helping other customers. When I pulled out my wallet, he waved me off.
"First meal's on the house. Welcome to Promise Ridge."
"I already got the free drink."
"Consider it an investment." He held my gaze. "Hoping you'll come back."
