by Maisey Yates
CHAPTER ONE
THERE WERE TWO people in Copper Ridge, Oregon, who—between them—knew nearly every secret of every person in town. The first was Pastor John Thompson, who heard confessions of sin and listened to people pour out their hearts when they were going through trials and tribulations.
The second was Ace Thompson, owner of the most popular bar in town, son of the pastor and probably the least likely to attend church on Sunday or any other day.
There was no question that his father knew a lot of secrets, though Ace was pretty certain he himself got the more honest version. His father spent time standing behind the pulpit; Ace stood behind a bar. And there he learned the deepest and darkest situations happening in the lives of other townspeople while never revealing any of his own. He supposed, pastor or bartender, that was kind of the perk.
They poured it all out for you, and you got to keep your secrets bottled up inside.
That was how Ace liked it. Every night of the week, he had the best seat in the house for whatever show Copper Ridge wanted to put on. And he didn’t even have to pay for it.
And with his newest acquisition, the show was about to get a whole lot better.
“Really?” Jack Monaghan sat down at the bar, beer in hand, his arm around his new fiancée, Kate Garrett. “A mechanical bull?”
“That’s right, Monaghan. This is a classy establishment, after all.”
“Seriously,” Connor Garrett said, taking the seat next to Jack, followed by his wife, Liss. “Where did you get that thing?”
“I traded it. Guy down in Tolowa owed me some money and he didn’t have it. So he said I could come by and look at his stash of trash. Lo and behold, I discovered Ferdinand over there.”
“Congratulations,” Kate said. “I didn’t think anything could make this place more of a dive. I was wrong.”
“You’re a peach, Kate,” Ace said.
The woman smiled broadly and wrapped her arm around Jack’s, leaning in and resting her cheek on his shoulder.
“Can we get a round?” Connor asked.
Ace continued to listen to their conversation as he served up their usual brew, enjoying the happy tenor of the conversation, since the downers would probably be around later to dish out woe while he served up harder liquor. The Garretts were good people, he mused. Always had been. Both before he’d left Copper Ridge, and since he’d come back.
His focus was momentarily pulled away when the pretty blonde who’d been hanging out in the dining room all evening drinking with friends approached the aforementioned Ferdinand.
He hadn’t had too many people ride the bull yet, and he had to admit, he was finding it a pretty damn enjoyable novelty.
The woman tossed her head, her tan cowboy hat staying in place while her blond curls went wild around her shoulders. She wrapped her hands around the harness on top of the mechanical creature and hoisted herself up. Her movements were unsteady, and he had a feeling, based on the amount of time the group had been here, and how often the men in the group had come and gone from the bar, that she was more than a little bit tipsy.
Best seat in the house. He always had the best seat in the house.
She glanced up as she situated herself and he got a good look at her face. There was a determined glint in her eyes, her brows locked together, her lips pursed into a tight circle. She wasn’t just tipsy, she was pissed. Looking down at the bull like it was her own personal Everest and she was determined to conquer it along with her rage. He wondered what a bedazzled little thing like her had to be angry about. A broken nail, maybe. A pair of shoes that she really wanted that was unavailable in her size.
She nodded once, her expression growing even more determined as she signaled the employee Ace had operating the controls tonight.
Ace moved nearer to the bar, planting his hands flat on the surface. “This probably won’t end well.”
The patrons at the bar turned their heads toward the scene. And he noticed Jack’s posture go rigid. “Is that—”
“Yes,” Kate said.
The mechanical bull pitched forward and the petite blonde sitting on top of it pitched right along with it. She managed to stay seated, but in Ace’s opinion that was a miracle. The bull went back again, and the woman straightened, arching her back and thrusting her breasts forward, her head tilted upward, the overhead lighting bathing her pretty face in a golden glow. And for a moment, just a moment, she looked like a graceful, dirty angel getting into the rhythm of the kind of riding Ace preferred above anything else.
Then the great automated beast pitched forward again and the little lady went over the top, down onto the mats underneath. There were howls from her so-called friends as they enjoyed her deposition just a little too much.
She stood on shaky legs and walked back over to the group, picking up a shot glass and tossing back another, her face twisted into an expression that suggested this was not typical behavior for her.
Kate frowned and got up from her stool, making her way over to the other woman.
Ace had a feeling he should know the woman’s name, had a feeling that he probably did somewhere in the back corner of his mind. He knew everyone. Which meant that he knew a lot about a lot of people, recognized nearly every face he passed on the street. He could usually place them with their most defining life moments, as those were the things that often spilled out on the bar top after a few shots too many.
But it didn’t mean he could put a name to every face. There were simply too many of them.
“Who is that?” he asked.
“Sierra West,” Jack said, something strange in his tone.
“Oh, right.”
He knew the West family well enough, or rather, he knew of them. Everyone did. Though they were hardly the type to frequent his establishment. Sierra did, which would explain why she was familiar, though they never made much in the way of conversation. She was the type who was always absorbed in her friends or her cell phone when she came to place her order. No deep confessionals from Sierra over drinks.
