1. Leaping Into the Void

Grasshoppers swarmed in Noah Hunnicutt's stomach. At least that was how it felt, and in a bid to squelch his rising nausea, he chugged cool bottled water. What had he been thinking, opening his new bar on Cinco de Mayo? As his father would often remind him, Noah hadn't been thinking because he was incapable of breaking out of the pattern he'd followed his entire life. Namely, leaping into the void without considering the consequences until he hit bottom. And he always hit bottom. Spectacular splats over soft landings had been his norm his entire twenty-eight years.

He reminded himself to embrace the day for the simple reason that it had finally arrived. There was a time not so long ago when he had been doubtful it ever would. In fact, he'd planned to open on Valentine's Day, then St. Patrick's Day. Besides construction delays that had slowed the launch, Noah had had to weather a rival bar owner's attempts to thwart the Miners Tavern's very existence. The asshole—an uber-wealthy outsider from Aspen—had pulled out all the stops, from challenging the local board issuing Noah's liquor license to calling for investigations into his building permits.

The arrogant jerk might have obstructed Noah every way possible, but he hadn't succeeded in stopping him. So yeah, opening on Cinco de Mayo might prove to be pure chaos, but it was a triumph Noah definitely needed to celebrate.

His father, and the rest of Noah's family, would be there to witness his rising up like a phoenix. Hopefully he didn't choke on the ashes.

No, you're going to be fine.

He had had plenty of time to think his new life through during the last nine months as he'd painstakingly poured his soul into this new venture—but it didn't mean he wasn't terrified of unlocking the front doors and letting the public inside to judge him and his endeavor.

Nine long months. He laughed out loud when he realized the parallel he hadn't seen before. This experience was like giving birth, right? Well, minus the hair-raising physical pain the women in his family loved to describe in squirm-worthy detail at family gatherings. Still, the metaphor fit. The birth of the tavern was hisrebirth too—that whole phoenix analogy. Here was the shiny new bar owner who would make the extension of himself a stunning success, erasing all traces of past fuck-ups from his family's collective memory banks.

Jesus, he hoped his vision, his infinite analyses, and the pep talks he'd given himself over the past year would hold up under the crush of reality.

His jangling cell phone jarred him, but his stretched nerves loosened their grip when he registered the number, and he quickly picked up the call.

"Hey, cuz."

"Yo, barkeep!" his cousin, Wyatt Tompkins, greeted. "You ready for your big day?"

"What the hell kind of question is that? Of course I'm ready." If you don't count swinging back and forth between shaky confidence and sheer panic like Tarzan traveling through the jungle.

"Translation: you're not ready at all." Before Noah could raise a fake protest, Wyatt ran on. "But don't you worry your pretty little head because the cavalry's coming. We should be there in about a half hour to get the party started."

A warm chuckle rumbled through Noah. "We?"

"Yeah. Me and the boys and our wives. That way if no one shows up, you'll still look full." Wyatt chortled, but the sick feeling invaded Noah's stomach once more. What if no one besides Wyatt and a handful of his hockey teammates, their wives, and Noah's brothers and parents attended the grand opening of the Miners Tavern? It could happen.

The town of Fall River, tucked high in the San Juan Mountains in Colorado's southwest corner, might have been the county seat, but it boasted only six hundred souls—almost the county's entire population. Not a huge pool to draw from. And while the townspeople weren't shy about bending their elbows on a Friday night in late spring, it wouldn't take too many opting for other choices to make Noah's one-hundred-person bar look empty.

"Hey, I really appreciate you guys driving all the way up here from Denver for this." Noah cleared his sticky throat. "It means … well, it means a lot."

"How could we miss it? Besides, now that our season ended way too early, we need more bar time than ever, and bonus, we get to play this awesome course most of us haven't been to yet. It's a win-win."

The "course" was part of Silver Summit, a new upscale golf and ski resort ten miles south of Fall River, and one of the main inspirations behind Noah's decision to open the bar. Visitors liked to explore the beauty of the San Juans, and he wanted to capitalize on that attraction. He had yet another idea that would feed into the plan.

If he could turn the Miners Tavern into a draw, he could help turn the town's fortunes around and make ita destination where tourists with money falling out of their pockets would want to linger to soak up its charm … like his cousin's wealthy pro athlete buddies and their friends.

Wyatt had been on board from the start, which was one reason why, though he was "only" a cousin, he was Noah's best friend and as close as his real brothers. And Noah owed him more than a debt of gratitude. Despite being screwed out of a chunk of his wealth by his own mother, Wyatt had invested heavily in the Miners Tavern. Without his cousin's financial support, Noah couldn't have cobbled together enough funds to launch the enterprise on his own. The weight of that obligation pressed hard on Noah's shoulders. He had to make this thing go.

They hung up, and Noah stripped off his tattered Blizzard T-shirt and yanked on a stiff, creased one with the Miners Tavern logo emblazoned on the front. The chemical smell of the fabric had him wishing he'd washed the brand-new garment, but time had been in short supply recently. Smoothing his beard, he jogged downstairs from his second-floor apartment to his office at the back of the bar.

His mother's voice sang out from the back entry. "Knock, knock."

"Come in, Mom."

She pressed herself—and a huge bouquet of squeaky balloons—through the doorway while balancing a plastic cake carrier.

Taking the bunched strings from her, he fought off the floating latex spheres. "Are you heading to a kid's birthday party?"

"No, we're celebrating my kid's bar's birthday." She patted him on the cheek and lifted the carrier.

His eyes widened. "Chocolate with buttercream frosting?"

"Of course, and unless you want to share with your brothers and your dad, I suggest we hide it."

He licked his lips with a loud slurp. "Let me find someplace for these, and we'll stash the cake upstairs." He squeezed his body and the balloons through the hallway that led to the bar and dining room. Placing the weight on a corner of the bar top, he let the balloons soar toward the burnished tin ceiling. Only then did he notice they were sage green and gold, the same colors as his logo. The realization that his mom had gone to the trouble warmed him all over.

Hustling back to where he'd left her, he took the cake carrier from her hand and gestured for her to climb the stairs. "Now I can show you the apartment before all hell breaks loose."

"Whoa, I didn't realize how steep these are. Better not be tipsy when you go to bed," she laughed.

"That's how they built them back in the nineteenth century." He followed her up, one hand ready to shoot out and break her fall if she toppled backward—not that he expected it. Marilyn Hunnicutt was a youngish fifty-six in great health.

"Oh, Noah!" She stood at the landing, peering through the door he'd left ajar.

"Like it?" He held his breath. For reasons he didn't comprehend, he needed his mother to approve of his new home. Then again, it was important she approved of anything he did when he was doing the right thing. Not that she withheld it like his dad did, but her good opinion was pure gold to him.

"It's adorable! Charlie did a wonderful job, and you've fixed it up so nicely."

He nudged her inside, shut the door, and closed the distance to the kitchenette, where he deposited the cake on a butcher-block island barely bigger than the sink. "I'll take you on the penny tour."

She gave him a sly smile. "Not the nickel tour?"

"This place isn't big enough to cost a nickel." He led her to the three-quarter bath, a closet, and the foot of industrial iron steps leading to the sleeping loft. "Bedroom's up here." Noah had to duck to avoid hitting his head, but at five-two and a full foot shorter than he, his mom had no trouble with the clearance.

"This is cozy … and neat as a pin. Not that I expected messy from my neatnik middle child."

He plopped on the edge of his king-sized mattress. "What do you think?"

She glanced over the railing to the space below before sweeping her eyes around the loft. "I love it! The exposed brick, the metal, the refinished wood trim … it suits. I have to say, though, I still don't understand why you felt the need to move out of our place—especially with us being in Florida most the year and you having it to yourself."

He dipped an eyebrow in response, and she rushed to add, "But I understand the appeal, even if this space is a little on the small side."

"Cramped, you mean," he chuckled. "Less to maintain that way. Plus, when I'm pulling late nights, all I have to do is head upstairs instead of climbing into a cold truck and driving the fifteen minutes to yours and Dad's ranch." Not to mention the satisfaction from finally being independent, such as it was. As his dad liked to point out, twenty-eight-year-olds should not be living at home, sponging off their parents. Noah didn't disagree, but circumstances of his own making had left him few options.

When he'd decided to buy the building and turn it into a bar, he'd asked his contractor brother, Charlie, to convert a dingy attic space into the apartment.

His mother sat beside him. "That makes sense. Plus, this offers you a bit of privacy when we are home and a place to escape to when you and your dad, um, butt heads."

"Exactly."

She looked at him, the sparkling green eyes he'd inherited from her probing his. "I'm proud of you, Noah. It hasn't been easy, but you've pulled yourself up by your bootstraps, and look what you've accomplished." She waved her hand in the air.

The doubter in him wanted to caution her not to get too high on him yet. In the back of his mind, his father barked the word "quitter" over and over, and while Noah wanted to prove him wrong so badly he could taste it, he couldn't deny the barb was dead-on.

"I couldn't have done it without your help, Mom. In case I haven't told you lately, I really appreciate this chance. I promise I won't let you down this time."

She patted his knee, and though her skepticism was written all over her face, she gave him an encouraging smile. "I know you won't."

Her unconditional support both elevated and devastated him. More than anyone, he wanted to do right by her. She'd stood by him, a stalwart soothing his self-inflicted wounds and fending off his father's fury every time he had screwed up. Not once had she uttered a word about her own disappointment in her one son who marched to the beat of a drummer no one else could hear, let alone understand. Wyatt wasn't the only one who had put faith in Noah, nor was he the only one Noah couldn't fail.

"Have you told Dad about the loan yet?"

"What loan?" She blinked—repeatedly—feigning complete innocence.

"You haven't, have you? Mom, you need to tell him before he finds out." Noah could shoulder his dad's disdain, but he couldn't stand the thought of fostering a wedge between his parents. In thirty-some years of marriage, Noah had never witnessed his parents exchange a cross word. There was no mistaking how much the two loved each other. As abrasive as his father could be, his tenderness toward Noah's mother gave him a glimpse of the man's softer side and allowed him to cling to a sliver of respect for his dad.

"You'll have me paid back before he finds out. Besides, all he would see is the money I transferred to Charlie's business so he could restore the place. An investment in our town and the family legacy, in other words."

While Wyatt had forked over cash directly to Noah, Noah's mother had financed fixing up the building. Charlie had gutted and restored the structure to its former glory days when it had been a mercantile owned by their great-greats many generations back. It had gone through a number of iterations and businesses, passing from the family to one owner and the next in the process. Once a proud addition to the town, it had become an eyesore—not unlike many of the other properties surrounding it. Fall River had been in decline for decades. With a recent surge of investors buying and rehabbing the historic buildings, Noah had recognized opportunity and had thrown in his entire pot, gambling on catching that wave and riding it to its crest. If he succeeded, he would earn himself a steady livelihood, pay his mother and cousin a tidy return on their investments, and contribute something positive to the town where he'd grown up and loved to live.

And the biggest carrot: maybe his family could forgive his past and see him as someone other than the only brother who had blown through his grandparents' trust fund—all two million of it—in two years.

Yeah, the pressure to do good sat like a granite boulder on his back, and he prayed it wouldn't crush him.

His mother pulled in a breath. "Now for the sixty-four-dollar question: Is Ursula coming?"

Noah shoved his hands through his hair. If it had been longer, he'd have gripped it and tugged. Hard. "I didn't invite her."

"I'm afraid that won't stop her. This town is too small for her not to know, and she does enjoy being seen in the right places."

He refrained from adding she didn't shy away from the wrong places either. "I can't imagine her missing out on the chance, so I expect she'll turn up at some point tonight."

A few silent beats ticked by.

"What exactly happened between you two at Wyatt's wedding last January?" His mom's question was delicately posed, a gentle probe.

The night of his cousin's wedding came blasting up from a remote corner of Noah's brain, where he'd stored the unwelcome memory.

"You don't want details, Mom. Let's just say things went so far south they hit Antarctica, and we broke up for good." No need sharing the gory details that would make him look like a dupe of epic proportions and make Ursula appear to be a two-timing bed-hopper—which she was, but their moms had been friends since they were kids, and he saw no reason to inject that level of awkwardness into their friendship. His and Ursula's on-again, off-again tumultuous … whatever it was … had made the relationship between their two families uncomfortable enough as it was over the years.

His mother pursed her lips in response.

"What?"

"I'm just wondering … You two have broken up and gotten back together so many times it's hard to gauge how serious it is this time. I mean, what do I say to her mother?"

"How about you don't bring it up? If she mentions it, you can say you don't know anything because I'm not talking. Which is the truth. Between you and me, though, the breakup was my choice, and it really is final."

His mother's eyes scanned his, appraising him. "Can I say I'm relieved to hear it?"

"To hear that I finally woke up?" he snorted.

She shook her head. "I just never thought she … You need someone who supports you, who's your best friend. Not someone who manipulates everyone to get what she wants. I know our families go way back and it's been practically expected that you two would wind up married, but I think that, just like this town is getting an infusion of fresh blood, it wouldn't hurt for a little fresh blood to come your way too."

He cocked an eyebrow. "Are we talking about vampires here? I mean, with all that fresh blood—"

"No," she spluttered, "that's not what I meant."

He pulled her in and dropped a kiss on her head. "It's a joke. I was trying to lighten things up."

A familiar voice yelled from downstairs.

She slapped her palms against her thighs. "Sounds like the gang's here—or at least Charlie is. I'll head on down."

"Give me a sec, and I'll be right behind you."

After she let herself out, he paced into the bathroom and stood in front of the mirror. "You can do this, Hunnicutt." The exercise was strange, and he let out a self-conscious laugh. The next two attempts went no better.

"All right, let's get serious."

He closed his eyes and imagined himself at the top of Harakiri in Austria or Delirium Dive in Banff, ready to propel himself down a steep mountain chute. He did what he'd done to calm his fears back then, rolled his shoulders, popped his neck, and pushed three enormous breaths through his lungs.

"You can do this," he repeated until his voice grew stronger and he could look at his reflection and believe.

Who knew that facing this reboot of his life was more frightening than hurtling down a vertical ski run that held a high probability of ending one's life?