Page 1 of The Singer and the Silent Type

Chapter One

~ Lorena ~

I’d been warned at the beginning that this job would require many different talents, but I still laughed whenever I opened the door of the tavern with my knee while holding an armload of wildflowers from the field out back. This afternoon I managed to brace myself on the wall so that I only dropped two Black-Eyed Susans.

I dropped today’s fragrant haul on one of the largest tables. Grabbing the scissors and a tray full of coffee mugs half-filled with water, I quickly started making little arrangements.

Iris, the outspoken and downright sassy owner of The Last Barrel, had said during my job interview that she wanted each employee to do everything they could to keep this more of a family-friendly tavern than an outright bar. Since it was the only place to socialize in this small town, her word was law.

Her philosophy was that if the women felt comfortable here, they would come more frequently. That meant more dates, involving dinner and conversation. And by extension, the men who were lined up across the bar drinking straight whiskey were more likely to behave themselves, since they had a mixed audience.

Although I’d only been working here for a month, last week I took it upon myself to add flowers to the tables. The glassware was too fragile to be used as vases, but hardly anyone used the coffee mugs in the evenings. A little white mug full of wildflowers added a charming touch to every table, like an old fashioned farmhouse. Iris seemed proud of me, agreeing that it did give it more of a restaurant feeling in here.

I didn’t mind starting early to take on florist duties, since I got a ride with the cooks anyway. I was so incredibly grateful for this job, I would have done anything.

As I arranged Queen Anne’s lace with buttercups, striped grass, and whatever the little purple flowers were called, I glanced around at the charming old-fashioned room. This establishment was the social gathering place of Sunset Ridge, and the heart of the town.

My Grandma Little had lived here ages ago, and when I mentioned that I needed a new place to live and a change of pace, my mother mailed me the keys to the old house on the edge of town. My Mother didn’t teach me much about life, but I distinctly remembered Grandma mentioning when I was tiny was that if life wasn’t working out, change locations. Now that I was living in an actual house, not a scruffy apartment with shifty roommates, I desperately wanted to stay forever.

After a lot of cleaning and scrubbing, it was certainly livable, even if everything was tragically outdated. My only dream in life had always been to sing in a band, but now I had a secondary goal of fixing up the old house a bit, and living there permanently.

Quickly wiping each table and placing a mug of flowers on each wooden surface, I loved the way the delicate blossoms peeked out of the chunky sturdy china. Perhaps that was a bit like me – a bit fragile, but trying to be tough enough to survive this world.

Tossing out the last of the floral bits and scrubbing my hands, I began polishing glasses and taking stock of the whiskey and beer levels.

So far, working at The Last Barrel had been the best job I’d ever had. In other bars, and even cafés, I was used to being harassed, grabbed, and treated like I could be replaced at any second.

Not so here. Iris had assured me that everyone in this place was family. None of the townspeople would dare misbehave, for fear of being banned for life. I’d actually seen Iris grab a man by the ear and march him out the front door, ordering his friend to drive him home or she would report both of them to their wives.

I liked that she ran a tight ship. I also liked that she was loud, and had no problem speaking her mind. I wanted to learn from her, and perhaps grow a bit more backbone.

Iris came out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron. “Lorena, I have to say, you were absolutely right about the flowers. Good eye, missy.”

“Thanks,” I said, forcing myself to use my audible, working voice instead of my usual whisper.

“The special tonight is Alice’s meatloaf, with carrots and broccoli. We’re a little low on pie, so push the chocolate cake if you can.”

“Okay,” I nodded. “Is there anything different this weekend because of the rodeo?”

She rolled her eyes to the heavens, her big blonde curls shaking slightly. “That’s right, darlin’. It’s your first rodeo, isn’t it?”

I nodded. Apparently the rodeo coming to Sunset Ridge every year was a huge deal – almost like a county fair. It brought the entire town together.

“You saw the schedule, right?” she asked.

“Yes,” I said, glancing at where it was taped over the wall phone.

The rodeo’s opening ceremonies were this evening, but they were short and everyone would be coming back here for a beer afterward. Then Saturday and Sunday we didn’t even open until the rodeo finished at five, and we were expecting half of the town to be here. Iris had even set up patio furniture and roped off an area outside the front window to create more seating.

“Don’t look so nervous,” she grinned. “It’s good to have a bit of excitement around here. You’re going to watch the main events on Saturday, right?”

“I think so,” I said. To be honest, I felt odd going alone, even though I would probably find people there that I knew. It was strange being the new girl in a place where everybody had known each other, their parents, and their parents’ parents for years.

Iris had been helping me to become accustomed to the town, pointing out the best vegetable markets, places to avoid, and people to avoid, like the local preacher’s wife, Verity. Apparently, she was a savage gossip and found something negative to say about absolutely everyone. I was used to city folks being uptight, but I’d never heard of anyone being as nasty as this woman.

Luckily, since liquor was a sin, she never came to the tavern. Thank goodness. It was hard enough to make a point to be friendly with strangers without having someone breathing down my neck, trying to find something cruel to say at every turn.

We had had a bad beginning right from the start. Reverend Simon Jones, the minister of the tiny church in town, had showed up on my doorstep unannounced at eight in the morning with his wife in tow the day after I moved in

. I had been wearing nothing but short shorts and a tank top, since that’s what I’d slept in, and besides, I’d never lived in a place where someone would show up without calling first!

But from the look on Verity’s face, you’d think I’d intentionally flashed her husband. I’d been hearing fragments of gossip and outright lies about myself ever since.

“I know it’s hard being new,” Iris said kindly, as if she could read my mind, which honestly seemed to happen quite often. “A little time, and you’ll get the hang of meeting people around here. Everything gets easier with practice, right?” She grinned. “I’m sure the very first time you picked up the guitar you were completely dreadful.”

I laughed out loud, surprising us both. “That’s true,” I agreed.

“Oh – I moved your guitar to the storeroom. I hope that’s okay.”

“Sure. Thanks so much.”

I had been worried about my guitar in my grandmother’s house, since it was so incredibly dry and dusty from being shut up for so long. So I left it here at the tavern, practicing when I got here before my shift. Since I got a ride most days with one of the cooks or dishwashers, and their shifts started earlier, it was perfect.

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