also happened to be the owner of the Paydirt and the mayor of Sweetheart, was already filling a mug with his favorite brew by the time Will had settled himself on the stool, his jacket laid across his lap.
“Thanks,” he muttered when the beer was slid in front of him.
“Same here.” The mayor accepted the bills Will left on the bar, which covered his drink and a tip.
That was the extent of their conversation. As the minutes passed, more patrons came in, Friday-night regulars getting a head start on the weekend.
Before the fire, Sweetheart had boasted three drinking establishments. Two had burned down. While one of the other saloons was currently undergoing repairs, it wasn’t yet operational, leaving the Paydirt to service the needs of the entire town and the few tourists who had recently returned.
Sitting there sipping his beer, Will remembered Sweetheart as it was before the fire. He’d worked for High Country Outfitters, taking tourists on trail rides, fishing trips and hikes in the summer, and cross-country ski excursions in the winter.
Honeymooners had made the town into what it was. Named after a pair of sweethearts who had met on a wagon train passing through the Sierra Nevada Mountains during the gold rush, the town had gained popularity around the turn of the twentieth century. Couples had eloped here in droves, thanks to a judge who had turned a blind eye when it came to verifying ages. The mayor’s distant uncle, in fact.
He had retired after ten years, but the honeymooners continued to come. Hundreds of weddings were performed every year. The entire town’s economy had relied on the wedding trade and—until the Gold Nugget had closed a few years ago—fans of the show The Forty-Niners.
Last summer, careless hikers had abandoned a still-burning campfire, which had caught and destroyed over nine thousand acres of spectacular mountain wilderness—along with the town of Sweetheart.
The honeymooners and tourists had abandoned the town. Profound devastation didn’t exactly make a nice backdrop for a wedding. And tourists didn’t want to hike trails or ride horses through a blackened wasteland. As a result, the town had nearly died.
Then three months ago Sam Wyler, Will’s boss, had purchased the Gold Nugget and converted it into a working cattle ranch where guests could experience the cowboy way of life. Will, who’d lost his previous job in the wake of the fire, was hired on and began the newest phase in a life of many phases.
Even with the ranch, Sweetheart was slow to recover. Nearly one-third of the original thousand residents had moved away. Homeless and unemployed, they’d had no choice. Will was fortunate. His new job suited him fine, and the single-wide trailer he resided in, while not much, satisfied his needs.
“There you are.”
Will turned at the deep voice addressing him, surprised yet not surprised. “Howdy.”
Sam Wyler claimed the empty bar stool next to him. Will turned his attention to his half-empty beer mug. He wasn’t much in the mood for company, even good company like Sam’s.
“I was in town having the oil changed in the truck. Got your text and figured I’d join you.” Sam signaled Mayor Dempsey for a beer.
“Sorry about not heading straight back to the ranch.”
“No problem.” The beer arrived and Sam took a swig. “You’ve worked for me, what? Three months? Four?”
“Something like that.”
“If you want to take a long lunch once in a while, you won’t hear me complain.”
They drank in companionable silence for several minutes. Will liked Sam. More than that, he respected the man. He’d done a lot to help the town after the fire. Not only had he brought back the tourists and created jobs for a few fortunate locals, he’d helped home owners and business owners rebuild by bringing in an architect and a construction contractor.
As the hometown boy who’d returned after a nine-year absence, Sam was well liked, if not loved, by all. He’d further cemented his place in the community by marrying his former love, Annie Hennessy, last month. Theirs had been the first wedding in Sweetheart since the fire. It was also the only one so far.
The entire population was concerned about the lack of honeymooners. Especially the mayor. She and Sam had sponsored a contest for a free wedding and a week’s stay at the ranch, hoping to generate publicity. In addition to a ceremony in the chapel and a honeymoon cabin at the ranch, the couple would also receive free tuxedo rentals, photographs and a fully catered reception at the Paydirt Saloon.
The winning couple was scheduled to arrive next week with their families. Everyone in town, especially the business owners, hoped and prayed they were the first of many.
Will had been assigned to the contest winners and their families, his job to make sure they enjoyed themselves at the ranch and to teach them the basics of calf roping. The last thing he needed was to be suffering from panic attacks right now.
“You okay?” Sam asked.
Will considered his answer. His boss wasn’t one to stick his nose in Will’s personal business. Not that a simple, “You okay?” qualified as prying.
“Fine.”
“If you want to talk about what happened—”
“Nothing happened.”
“If you say so. But this is the first time you’ve taken a long lunch.”
Three more minutes of silence ticked by.
“You stop by Miranda’s today?” Apparently his boss wasn’t going to let this go.
“Yeah.”
“Is Mrs. Litey all right?”
“Same.”
Sam had known the ranch’s curator from when he had spent time in Sweetheart as a younger man. For thirty years the woman had given tours of the iconic TV ranch and had overseen the daily operations. Her Alzheimer’s and inability to remember Sam was hard on him.
“Then I guess it’s Miranda that’s bugging you.”
That got Will’s attention. He slanted Sam a sideways glance.
“Hey, I like the woman,” Sam said. “Even if she’s caused me and my contractor a pile of grief. Insisting the sheriff issue him all those tickets...”
“Not her fault her neighbor’s house burned down and that the work crews are always parking their trucks in front of her place.” Will’s defense of Miranda came out stronger than he’d intended.
“’Course it’s not her fault. And she does need unobstructed access to get those residents of hers in and out.”
Will didn’t respond. Instead, he focused on his breathing. Steady. Rhythmic. He didn’t feel another panic attack coming on, but why take the chance?
“Ask her out,” Sam said.
“What?”
“Just get it over with. Same as
