3. Mayberry of the Mountains

Chapter 3

Mayberry of the Mountains

Joy sat in her musty hotel room, FaceTiming with her PA.

"This place looks way better in the pictures than in person." She eyed a missing chunk of carpet and tried not to think what had caused someone to cut it out.

"But the pictures of the lobby are amazing," Estelle gushed.

The lobby was amazing, but it wasn't an accurate representation of the rooms, which were sorely in need of remodeling.

"Which doesn't do me any good unless they let me sleep there instead. There's a Victorian couch I could curl up on. I'm sure the other guests wouldn't mind," Joy deadpanned. The bathtub faucet drummed a steady beat in the background.

"Was that … Did you crack a funny?"

"Apparently not, since you have to ask." Nothing about this day had been funny, so it was no surprise that Joy's half-assed attempt at humor had fallen flat.

"I'm sorry, boss. It was either that or a sketchy motel on the outskirts of town with a one-and-a-half-star rating. The reviews mentioned rodents, and I know you're not a fan."

"Is anyone?"

Estelle ignored her snark, which wasn't unusual. "Everything else within a ten-mile radius was booked. July Fourth and all that. I was lucky to get you this last-minute cancellation."

"And how many nights do I have?"

"They could only spare three, but that should be enough, right?"

"Should be." Doubt niggled at the back of Joy's brain, and she shoved it aside.

"On a happier note, how's the rental Beamer?"

Joy nearly let a swoony sigh escape. "Driving those twisty mountain roads was amazing, so good call there. But we have to talk about the outfit."

Estelle had arranged Joy's wardrobe, so the choices were her fault. Right?

"Bet you popped out a few eyes." Estelle wiggled her eyebrows.

"I tripped over those heels so many times I nearly popped out my own eyes. In the future, let's leave out the skyscrapers. They're a hazard in a town with no sidewalks and uneven boardwalks. Not that I intend many more trips out this way."

"Noted. The silk pantsuit was a knockout, though, huh?"

Joy barked a laugh. "I was seriously overdressed. Flannel and denim are the town uniform. And hello, it's at least twenty degrees colder and way windier in the mountains."

Estelle's eyes widened behind her glasses. "But you gave the thumbs-up on the outfit. You said it's your summer power suit!"

As tempting as it was to pin all the blame on her PA, a little voice piped up in Joy's head—probably her annoying conscience—reminding her that since she was in charge, the buck stopped with her, so ultimately the fault wasn't entirely Estelle's. Besides, Estelle was the best PA she'd had in years, and she needed her at least while she was stuck in Bumfuck, Colorado.

"Let's agree that you'll be more diligent about the choices next time, and I'll pay closer attention." Joy had paid attention and had thought the selection was suitable. Fashion was her forte, and clothes were her addiction. Her penthouse condo with its crammed multiple walk-in closets was the proof .

"Well, you'll have to give me more to work with than Chicago executive attire when what you need is mountain town chic," Estelle shot back.

Joy had clothes that would have blended in. Why she wore the silk and heels in the first place was a bit of a mystery, though her therapist probably would have said she was cloaking herself in her professional persona for self-preservation in this derelict town.

Estelle leaned in so her nose practically touched the screen. "What is that on your boobs?"

Joy glanced down, alarmed at the reminder of the grimy display case. She quickly explained her mistake. "I thought I could dust it off, but it's kinda sticky. God, I hope I didn't ruin the top! It's the first time I've worn it."

"Wait. Did the contractor notice the dirty girls?" Before Joy could answer, Estelle guffawed. "Oh my God, of course he did! He's a man. He probably gave them a thorough once-over before you plastered them with dust. Cue the wolf whistle."

Heat raced up Joy's neck. "No, he's not like that," she tossed back, though she had no idea what he was like. He had looked after all, and he'd seemed thoroughly unimpressed with what he'd seen as he'd warned her to be careful. Why did that realization carry a sting? Probably because he was young and good-looking, and the only men who eyed her that way were her geriatric clients or Sterling when he was in the middle of a long dry spell.

"Aw, that's too bad. I saw his picture on Facebook. Yummy!"

Surprise had Joy jiggling her phone. "You're stalking my contractor on social media?"

"No, I was trying to find his website, and Google sent me to the company's Facebook page instead. Yowser!" Estelle fanned herself with a notepad.

"As entertaining as this conversation is, I need to call my sister while I still have the strength."

"All right, boss. Good luck with that. Don't forget to take time off tonight, and watch where you put the girls. Maybe you can find a pair of man hands to hold them for you."

Estelle was still laughing when Joy hung up. Joy wasn't nearly as amused as her assistant, but the call she faced right now made even the tiny sliver of humor dry up and blow away .

She stared at her device, snippets of dialogue spooling through her head as she weighed her plan of attack. As an M&A consultant, she could high-power her way through a meeting with the CEOs of billion-dollar corporations and have them eating out of her hand, but she couldn't figure out how to talk to her older sister.

She wasted another few minutes admonishing herself for not getting the call to Mary out of the way first. Had she planned better, she could have ended her day with Estelle's cheer instead.

Pulling in a steadying breath, she tapped her sister's number. When her call immediately went to voicemail, that same breath whooshed from her lungs. She raced through her voicemail. "I met with the contractor about Mom's place. Sounds like it's going to be a little more complicated than I'd hoped, and he's working up some estimates now. I should have an update in a few days, and I'll call you then." Hopefully, Mary got the underlying message: "I've got this. You don't need to call me back."

Thirty minutes later, with makeup reapplied and dressed in "Fall River appropriate" clothing—white silk tank under a blue-and-white striped shirt tied at the waist, designer denim capris, and lace-up sneakers—Joy struck out for a brisk walk along the main drag, Bowen Street. It was the only road in town with sidewalks, and they were cracked and uneven. She didn't want to mess up the perfect milky-colored leather of her shoes, but she also didn't want to slow her stride and project anything but absolute confidence.

"If people are even paying attention," her mother's voice sounded in her head. "Honestly, Joy, you believe you take up way more space in people's heads than you actually do."

One of her mother's jewels Joy had been force-fed as a child. A tiny voice piped up and whispered that maybe it was true, while another one told it to shut up.

I am turning into Sybil—who turned out to be fake. Does that make me and my split personalities fakes too?

Vowing to put the noisy voices and hurtful memories aside—again—Joy pulled in the crisp mountain air and strolled down one side of Bowen, trying not to bump into the visitors thronging the sidewalks while simultaneously averting her gaze from the cute shops and their window displays. The more emotional distance she kept between herself and everything Fall River, the saner she'd be … although handmade body care was another of her Achilles' Heels, and the little soaps shop called for a circle-back when it wasn't packed. The charming coffee-combo-bookstore that was currently closed was definitely a stop she'd need to make. Maybe the proprietor would be interested in buying her next book.

She squelched an inner smirk at her dirty little secret. No one knew about her naughty alter ego, Lacey Dewinter. Not Sterling, not Estelle, not even her therapist.

Three blocks into the walk, Joy was sucking wind in the thin air, so she crossed to the other side and doubled back toward the hotel. Wonderful smells of grilling meat wafted toward her, pulling her to a brick building with a sign spelling out "Miners Tavern," and she realized she was famished.

Stepping inside its cozy, Old World interior, she was greeted by the burble of diners crowded around tables and along an antique wooden bar with an ornate backdrop that rose to a pressed tin ceiling. Evenly spaced chandeliers added a "wow" factor to the bar's historical elegance.

A woman who was either in costume or a throwback to 1980s Texas greeted her with a smile. "How many?"

"Just me."

The woman mumbled something about pretty single women eating alone and what the world was coming to before announcing, "It's a forty-minute wait for a table, hon, or we have a seat at the bar available right now." The hostess was swathed in a caftan-style top in psychedelic orange and pink, big hair the color of a brass candlestick, and electric-blue eyeshadow. Her curved, painted fingernails could have doubled as weapons. A little ore cart attached to her top said, "Dixie."

"Could I sit at the bar and have a glass of wine while I wait for one of the tables to open up?"

"Of course you can. And if you change your mind and decide to take your meal there instead, either bartender can fill your dinner order." Dixie gave her an appraising sweep from her tennies to the crown of her head. "You look like you could use a meal or two and right quick. Put some meat on them bones."

Joy's mouth closed, opened, and closed again. Was that an insult? Sure, she was on the thin side. Between the work stress and the meds she hated taking for her ADHD, her appetite had been MIA for years. But hey, she liked her svelte style. The latest styles hung better. No bumps to hide— including her boobs, but that was a different story. She had the money to buy those, if she chose to.

Dixie pointed to an empty barstool, and Joy made a beeline for it. When she slid onto the seat, a woman with honey-blond hair and light blue eyes buffed the shiny bar top and dropped a coaster on it. Everything about her screamed healthy, natural, and beautiful. She beamed Joy a smile. "Hi! Welcome to the Miners Tavern. What can I get you?" She wore an ore-cart name tag too, and hers declared her to be "Hailey."

Joy scanned the bottles lining the tidy glass shelves. She had a hankering for good wine, which was probably nonexistent in this town. "Do you have a wine list?"

A tall, dark-haired, ripped hunk—the other bartender, apparently—handed Hailey a menu, and she turned a smoldering version of her smile on him. "Thanks, barkeep."

He sent her a sly wink. "I aim to please, surfer girl."

Oh, these two were definitely doing the dirty. The charge between them was so powerful one might get blown off one's stool from the bolts of electricity, and a story kernel popped in Joy's head. Those ideas always started with a sex scene—probably because that was as close to sex as Joy got these days.

Sex on the bar. Oh, that would be hot! Wonder if these two have done it there?

Focus, Joy! Shit! She'd forgotten her meds again. No wonder she was hungry and scattered.

She perused the short list of wines, pleasantly surprised to see labels she recognized and actually liked. The selection, though small, wasn't what she'd expected for a tavern in a rundown mining town.

She placed her order, and Hailey delivered the pale yellow liquid in a chilled glass.

Joy thanked her. "This place is gorgeous. I love the finishes."

"Thank you. Just a few years ago, it was falling down, but the area's best renovator restored it for the owner. There are pictures of the transformation in the hallway that leads to the restrooms, in case you're interested."

"Don't tell me. Past Perfect Restorations?"

Hailey's smile brightened. "Yes! How did you know?"

"I'm staying at the Grand Majestic and heard about their work there. "

"Are you just passing through, or are you staying in Fall River to see the sights?"

Sights? What sights? "I'm passing through on business for a few days."

"Oh! There I go assuming." Hailey laughed, the sound warm and rich. Joy had no idea how she knew, but this woman was genuinely happy, and a pang of envy sunk a claw into her chest. "I thought you were one of our many tourists that visit this time of year."

Joy took a modicum of satisfaction from knowing that she didn't look like she belonged in this backwater. She raised her wineglass to the bartender. "No, I'm stuck here for a few days trying to sort out my mother's estate."

Hailey's face fell. "Oh! You must be Helene's daughter. I am so sorry about your mother." She leaned across the bar and dropped her voice. "Did you come to Miners to see where it happened?"

The rim of Joy's wineglass was about to make contact, but she stopped mid-raise. "Where what happened? And how did you guess who I am?"

Now Hailey's pretty face turned a shade that matched the neon pink in Dixie's top, and she buffed the counter—which didn't need it—with renewed vigor. "Um, this is a smaller town than most small towns. I'm an outsider here, still getting used to the way things work, but there's a reason folks call it Mayberry of the Mountains." She swallowed. "Your mama passed right out front. Someone got to her right away, but it was too late. It was a shock to the whole town."

Joy pointed over her shoulder and squawked, "She died in front of your bar? On the sidewalk?" Even above the din, her voice carried, and a few heads turned her way.

Why hadn't Mary clued her in? Probably because she operated with the same need-to-know state of mind as their mother had, and both women had decided long ago that Joy didn't need to know anything about what went on in their family.

Hailey's big blue eyes darted right, then left, as if she was looking for backup. "Y-yes, she did. I am so, so sorry. Were you thinking of a memorial plaque or something?"

Joy gawped. "Like, ‘X marks the spot'?" Hailey gasped. "Sorry. Sometimes I'm blunt, but sugarcoating things wastes time and doesn't always communicate one's true sentiments. And no, I'm not considering a plaque or any sort of commemoration." She finally took a sip of her crisp, refreshing sauvignon blanc, soothing her scratchy throat. "Thank you for your condolences. The Grim Reaper finds us all eventually, doesn't he?"

"He does, but there always seems to be a new soul ready to step up." Hailey lifted her chin toward someone or something behind Joy. Joy swiveled and spotted a young couple being seated. The woman was two-thirds the man's height and had a belly the size of a basketball. He pulled out her chair and helped her into it.

Normally, Joy bristled at men treating women like they were utterly helpless, but this one was so caring she nearly melted into a useless puddle.

Gah! Gushy feels begone!

No, no, she needed scenes like this so she could use them for her books. Lord knew she didn't have any similar experiences to draw from in her own life.

The poignancy of the scene suddenly struck her. It was a study in contrasts, where they had moved from the death of her mother—a cantankerous old biddy—to the upcoming birth of a child who would be cherished by people who loved it and who were filled with happiness at the prospect. What a lucky kid.

The hunky bartender, whose name tag read "Noah," tapped Hailey's shoulder. When she turned toward him, his face lit with a dazzling smile that reminded Joy of someone else who lived in Fall River.

Hailey cast Joy a regretful glance before turning her full attention on Noah. Joy should have told her not to worry, that her comments about Helene's death hadn't offended Joy. Before she could even flash the woman a reassuring smile, though, a familiar blond contractor materialized in a doorway that led somewhere in the back—probably the hallway with the pictures.

He jerked his chin at Noah. "Reporting for duty, bro."

Bro? Was that simply a term of man endearment, or were they actually related? It would explain why their smiles were similar.

A grin spread over Charlie's face as he leaned in to kiss Hailey on top of her head. "Hey, Hail. Let's make him jealous." Hailey swatted his pec, and he laughed. Something about that laugh lifted Joy's spirits, and she felt another twinge of envy.

A redhead seated beside Joy shrieked out Charlie's name. She waved frantically and bounced on the barstool as though she rode a bucking bronc .

Charlie's eyes darted to the woman. The smile slid away, replaced by a frown he quickly hid. "Hey, Germaine. How's it going?"

"Better now that you're here." Her tone was sultry, and she wriggled on the stool.

He didn't seem to notice because his gaze slid to the side, landing on Joy, and widened. A beat later, he recovered himself, and the grin returned, aimed right at her. He was good at that. "Oh, hey. Looks like you found the best place in town to eat."

"Looks like," she quickly agreed. Why had her heart kicked up its rhythm? "So you work here too?" Realization struck like a two-by-four being wielded by a maniac. He was broke! That was why he was pushing for the extreme restoration: He needed to extract a big fat paycheck from her! How else was he going to make the payments on his shiny new truck? Work in a town this size had to be slow.

"He helps us out when he can," Hailey offered. "He's a good brother that way."

A good penniless brother. Got it.

"Hey, handsome," came another female voice. "I'm better now that you're here too."

Joy swiveled her head and caught Dixie, the hostess, winking at Charlie. Where had she come from?

He winked right back. "Glad to hear it, gorgeous. What can I do for you?"

"Oh, so many things, but my man wouldn't like it very much. How about you get me four pints of Fat Tire for some thirsty folks instead?"

"Coming right up." Charlie stepped behind the bar, looking at ease and at home, plucking glasses and pulling beer taps as efficiently as he had measured her mother's store. He bobbed his head to an old rock-and-roll tune barely audible above the din. Joy dropped her chin in her palm and watched in fascination. When Germaine struck a duplicate pose, Joy immediately straightened. No way did she want anyone thinking she was mooning over Charlie Hunnicutt too.

Germaine let out a noisy sigh. "Love them Hunnicutts. I'm aiming to catch me one."

Was that a thing in this town? "How many are there? "

"Three, but only two are available." Germaine nodded toward Noah. "He's taken, and the other one doesn't date and is scary serious besides, but Charlie …" She sighed again.

"He does date, and he's not serious, I take it," Joy probed, wanting to know if this guy was a party animal who would flake out on her later.

Germaine giggled. "Charlie is the fun one. F. U. N. Fun."

Yes, I know how to spell "fun," thank you very much. Joy suppressed an eye-roll and took a slug of her wine. "Why do you want one? A Hunnicutt, I mean?" And why hadn't Joy heard of these brothers before? Oh. Because she'd shunned this town and the woman who might have filled her in on its population.

Germaine batted her eyelashes at Charlie's back. "Because they're the best catches on the entire Western Slope. They're handsome, they're rich, and they run this town."

Joy didn't mask her surprise. "They do?"

"Oh yes, ma'am." Germaine turned toward Joy and began drumming her fingers on the bar top. "You're not fixing to steal him, are you?"

"Charlie?" Joy's surprised yelp came out a little too loudly.

The man in question glanced over his shoulder. "Need another wine, miss?"

"No, that wasn't directed at you."

He pivoted slowly and faced her. The devil danced in his gray-green eyes. "Is there another Charlie in here tonight?"

Gawd, he was handsome. So different from the men she dated—when she found time to date. Like Sterling, they were more about expensive suits, perfectly coiffed hair, and buffed nails. While they had muscles, theirs weren't the kind that could toss you over their shoulder fireman-style or rip off your clothes. In fact, sex tended to be tame. Civilized. Sedate. In other words, not the kind that ended in orgasms for her. Joy wasn't sure she'd ever had an orgasm, but she had become an expert at faking them. Thank you, Meg Ryan.

Charlie's cocked eyebrow brought her back to the here and now. Had two sips of wine already gone to her head?

She cleared her suddenly sticky throat. "No, I-I was telling, um, Germaine here something, and then ‘Sorry, Charlie' slipped out. You know, that old expression?" Then she barked out a pretend laugh that unfortunately turned into a snort .

Charlie frowned. So did Germaine. Joy took another sip of wine and muttered, "Maybe I will have another one."

He delivered it quickly and with a note of formality he didn't use on the other customers, including wiggly Germaine. No, with them he spread around plenty of easy smiles and flirty eyebrow waggles. Though Joy told herself his demeanor toward her was different because she was a client, the fact of it didn't sit well for some reason.

A slight shift in the air had Joy glancing to her side. Dixie stood there. Joy startled at the woman's materialization out of thin air.

"We have a table open now, hon. Ready to move?" Dixie held out a hand presenter-style toward an empty four-person table. The table was somewhat isolated, exactly the way Joy had wanted it, but suddenly she didn't want to be alone.

"I've changed my mind. I think I'll eat here instead. Why don't you give it to that young family? They look hungry and tired." Joy pointed toward two droopy kids, a frantic mom, and a possibly hangry dad who stood just inside the front door.

"I'm sure they will be dee-lighted. Thank you, missy." Dixie hurried away, her voluminous top billowing around her.

Missy? She was Joy or Ms. Holiday, not Miss or Missy. What was wrong with these people? Oh, right. They were small-town .

The tap of a palm on the bar top yanked her attention back to her contractor-slash-server. "Ready to order some food?"

"I haven't seen a menu," she sniffed. He held her gaze for a beat with devastating intensity, as if trying to read her innermost thoughts and challenge each and every one. Inconvenient tingles cascaded down her spine. She wasn't sure if they were the good kind or the bad.

Hailey darted in and handed her a laminated menu covered in colorful illustrations. When Charlie tended to a different customer, Hailey dropped her voice conspiratorially. "See the illustrations on the menu? Charlie did those. His own designs."

"He doesn't seem very happy about it."

"Oh, I'm sorry if he acted a little grumpy. He's usually the friendliest member of our waitstaff."

"Well, he seems friendly enough with everyone else," Joy huffed and cast her gaze to the offerings without really seeing them. "What do you recommend? "

"Our burgers are to die for, and I love the sweet potato fries. Or onion rings if you're not worried about breathing on someone later." Hailey flashed her an impish grin.

"I definitely don't have that worry. I'll take a Swiss burger with the sweet potato fries." Joy never ate huge, meat-heavy meals, and she was sure most of hers would wind up in the trash, but when in Rome …

Germaine slid her a sidelong glance. It wasn't friendly. "Why was Charlie looking at you like that?"

"No idea. Do I have something stuck on my face?"

Germaine shook her head.

Someone who gave a rat's ass might laugh off the question and inform Germaine that Charlie was Joy's contractor, but Joy didn't give a rat's ass. It was none of the redhead's business.

Germaine glanced down at Joy's shoes. "Cute sneakers. Did you get them at Famous Footwear?"

"What? No! These are from The Row."

Germaine's brows flexed. "Row of what?"

"It's a store." Germaine stared at her. Joy didn't hide her exasperation and got her snoot on. "A very exclusive store. They cost over eight hundred dollars."

Germaine jerked backward as though she'd been slapped. "Oh my God. For one pair of shoes? What are they made of?"

"Leather."

"Really? Can you throw them in the washing machine when someone accidentally spills beer on them?" Before Joy could untangle the bewildering question, Germaine tipped her glass and poured half its contents on Joy's shoe. "Oh, whoops."

Joy froze with shock as the cold liquid seeped inside the sneaker. "Why did you do that?"

"Germaine," Charlie boomed with authority. Germaine and Joy both whipped their heads toward him. His expression was one big thunder cloud, and Germaine's face fell. He dropped his voice into its usual casual cadence. "I think it's time to close out your tab for the night."

Germaine thrust out her bottom lip. "I'm not done yet, Charlie Hunnicutt."

Noah Hunnicutt placed both palms against the bar. "I think you are, sweetheart." His eyes were a different shade of green, but they were just as intense as his brother's, belying his smooth tone and relaxed posture. The guy had obviously thrown people out of bars before.

A flicker of motion made Joy realize that Dixie had reappeared with rags and was mopping up the mess. She popped up from her crouch and handed Joy a clean rag. "For your shoe." To Germaine, she said, "I'm sure you didn't mean to do that, did you now?"

Germaine pointed a defiant chin at Dixie and slid a glare Joy's way. Joy was new in town, but even she knew better than to mess with the formidable hostess.

"You go on home now, hon," Dixie drawled, "and thank the god of mud pies His Nibs is only banning you for one night. Think how heartbroken you'd be if you couldn't set foot in here again. I hate to think of your little nose pressed against the glass, looking in from the outside." Dixie rolled out her lower lip, then gave her a nod as if punctuating the statement.

Strangely enough, the diners seemed oblivious to the drama playing out, saving Joy the mortification of the entire restaurant witnessing her center-stage moment.

Apparently, Germaine was smarter than she looked because she didn't take long to cave. Charlie handed her a credit card receipt, which she snatched from him and signed. "No tip for you," she grumbled. "Next time, I'm going to Dell's."

Dixie flashed her a wide smile. "That might not be a bad idea."

Germaine slid from her barstool and flounced to the front door. Dixie turned a cocked russet eyebrow on Joy. "Might want to watch who you tangle with next time."

"But I … I didn't start it …" she trailed off as Dixie turned her back and rushed to the front podium, where more people had crowded in. "What's Dell's?" she called after Dixie's retreating form.

Mere seconds passed before a new body slid onto the stool beside Joy. "Dell's is a run-down salmonella factory jokingly called a restaurant one street over." The new barstool occupant beamed a smile at Charlie and greeted him in a kittenish voice. "Hi, Charlie."

He beamed one right back and added a wink. "Hey, Neve. The usual?"

Was the barstool some kind of rotating portal for women hot to trot after Charlie Hunnicutt? No idea, but the fodder Joy was gathering glued her butt to her stool. She had the best seat in the house for watching these kooky characters and one contractor who was giving her all kinds of ideas—for her book—with each breath of his carved chest.