Sex in the Sticks by Sawyer Bennett
Ted brings me my dinner and I make quick work of polishing it off, after which I have him get me another beer before I head home.
"Holy fucking shit," Monte Plume says from the stool to my right. Except it's exaggerated and comes out like Holeeeee fuckeeeeng sheeeet.
My head swivels to look at him, but I find him turned around completely on his stool facing the door. I also notice every other man in the bar has quieted and is now also looking at the door.
I swivel the opposite way on my stool, since the door is behind me but to my left, and I see what has suddenly caused everyone to go mute.
Valentine French is walking in.
And honest to fucking God, I cannot believe she's wearing that.
Gone is the fashionable but at least somewhat respectable attempt to blend in with the Alaskan environment that she was wearing earlier, but now she's just looking utterly ridiculous.
Gorgeous and high class. Sexy as sin.
But completely and totally ridiculous for Alaska.
She's wearing a slim black skirt that comes down just below her knees but hugs every inch of her body with a slit that runs up the side and provides a tantalizing peek of her thigh when she walks. She has on black boots with spiky heels that have to be at least four inches tall. And while she's wearing a sweater--which could potentially be a wise choice since our nights are cold even in the height of summer--it doesn't look like it was made for warmth. Instead, it seems to be fairly thin, fuzzy looking, and cut into a very low V that shows the dark shadow of her deep cleavage. That red hair is left long and loose and wavy, and I know every guy in here probably has a hard-on right now.
Women are scarce to begin with in East Merritt.
Women like Valentine French are an absolute endangered species in these parts.
She sashays through the restaurant, nodding at some of the men with an open smile. She's smart enough and savvy enough to know that she's just knocked every man stupid in here, and I swear I note a few of the guys seemed to be hypnotized by the sway of her hips as she walks to the bar.
Her eyes run down the length, considering the empty barstools, and I have to bite back a laugh as I see Jerry Boyd three stools down to my left sit up straighter and suck in his gut. When Valentine's gaze comes to me, it locks in place, and her smile goes bright with recognition.
"Well, hello, Chief," she says warmly as she nods toward the stool immediately to my left. "That seat taken?"
I shake my head and grin back at her. "It's all yours."
Valentine slides onto the cushioned seat and somehow manages to elegantly cross one leg over the other, which causes that slit on the side to gape open to almost midthigh. I can't help it. I look, but only briefly, and then manage to keep my eyes up as she swivels her seat toward me and rests her elbows on the bar.
Her cleavage deepens as she crosses her forearms...or so I imagine.
I refuse to let my eyes drop there.
"Sarah said this place has really good food," she explains. "And I missed dinner at her house, so here I am."
"So here you are," I agree, and then nod toward Ted, who I can see in my periphery has come up on the other side of the bar. "This is Ted Dawson, the owner of The Wounded Caribou."
Ted reaches across the bar, his eyes sparkling with keen interest toward the gorgeous Miss French. Ted is fifty-nine, which has got to be a good thirty years older than Valentine, I'm guessing, but that's not going to stop him or any other single guy in this town from hitting on her, regardless of age. Valentine takes his hand, and with a great flourish and a whole lot of cheesy affair, Ted pulls her arm across the bar as he leans in and kisses her knuckles. "I'm charmed, Miss French, to have you in my establishment."
"Well, thank you, kind sir," she says with a genial laugh as she pulls her hand back.
"You eating or drinking with us tonight?" Ted asks as he leans his elbows on the bar top and gazes at Valentine like a lovestruck puppy.
"Both. I'd love a glass of red wine, whatever you have is fine with me, and a menu."
I reach out in front of me and pluck one of the menus from the condiment dispenser and hand it to her. Ted straightens, turns quickly behind him to snatch a bottle of wine from a rack, and opens it while staring hungrily at Valentine. She ignores him and studies the menu for a moment. I take a sip of my beer, noting that it's still very quiet in here. I take a brief glance around and nearly every guy is still staring at Valentine, most eyes pinned on her ass as it occupies the stool beside me. A few of the guys are leaning in close to each other, whispering what I'm betting are nothing but hot-aired proclamations about all the ways they could make Miss French howl at the moon if given the opportunity.
I love my town and its residents, but the men are a rough and rude lot without any good women to keep them in line. Not to say there aren't women, but there aren't a lot of them. Of the roughly thirty people I count in here right now, only two are women in addition to Valentine, and they're not locals. Probably from Ketchikan and came over to East Merritt to have a little fun. While the women are pretty, they're positively green with envy right now as they stare at the luminescent beauty of Valentine and the attention she's commanding.
"What do you recommend?" I hear Valentine ask, and I glance her way, not knowing if she's talking to me or Ted.
Turns out she's looking at Ted, who is pouring her wine, but I answer for him. "The Bou Stew. It's the best thing on the menu, but you can't go wrong with any of it."
"Thanks, buddy," Ted says graciously as he pushes the wineglass toward Valentine, genuinely touched I raved about his food. Then he tells Valentine, "Definitely the Bou Stew for your first visit here. And a salad on the side if you'd like."
"Bou stew?" Valentine asks with genuine interest as she looks back down to the menu and continues to peruse it.
"Caribou," I tell her, wondering if the thought of eating wild game would turn her off.
Instead, she looks up at me, her eyes lit with excitement. "Oh, I'm such a foodie. I love trying new things."
"Anything else, darlin'?" Ted asks suavely.
"Definitely a side salad with blue cheese dressing," she says as she closes the menu and sticks it back between the salt and pepper shakers.
"You got it," he says, and winks before heading into the kitchen.
"Nice guy," Valentine observes, and then takes a sip of her wine. She gives a moan of appreciation from deep in her throat and sets the glass back down. My dick jumps in my pants and I realize it's been quite awhile since I've heard a woman moan, whether it be over wine or what I'm doing to her. This is not surprising to me because, fuck, she's sexy as hell. Not a guy in here whose dick wouldn't jump if they heard that sound.
And now here she is, sitting next to me looking like she stepped out of a glossy fashion magazine and smelling amazing too, and I might as well enjoy this--
"I'm Monte Plume," Monte says from my right, leaning into me and stretching his arm out in front of me to shake Valentine's hand. She smiles at him, and now they're shaking hands right at my chest.
"Valentine French," she introduces herself. "But all my friends call me Valley...or just Val."
What the hell? She never told me to call her Valley. Or Val.
"Your next drink is on me, Val," Monte says, but doesn't release her hand.
"You're a sweetheart," she says all flirty-like. Monte's chest puffs out a little.
I clap my hands over each of their wrists and gently pull them apart. "If you don't mind, trying to drink my beer here."
"Sorry, Chief," Monte grumbles as he leans back into his space. Then out of the side of his mouth so he thinks it's just for my ears but it's totally too loud for that he says, "But damn, Logan...just damn."
Valentine--because apparently I've not been invited to call her Valley or Val--just gives a tinkling laugh. When I look at her, she's sipping her wine with sparkling eyes full of fun. She's totally enjoying the attention.
To my surprise, though, she puts her wineglass down and
"I was retrieving her, not saving her," I say with a chuckle.
"And for saving me at the docks. And hauling my luggage."
"Well, that was a little more labor intensive," I tell her with a grin. "But it was my pleasure."
"And here you are," Ted says as he walks up to the counter and lays a bowl of steaming, hot, fragrant caribou stew thick with chunks of tender meat, carrots, onions, and potatoes. He sets the salad beside the bowl, but Valentine ignores it, pulling the bowl closer to her. She leans over, inhales, and gives not quite a moan, but perhaps a pleasurable hum from deep in her throat. It's just as sexy as the moan.
"Smells delicious," she says in awe. She dips her spoon in, blows on it a few times, which I note makes Ted stare at her lips in a totally inappropriate way, and then takes a taste. "Oh my God...that's amazing."
Ted gets a wicked gleam in his eye and puts his elbows on the bar again, leaning in toward Valentine. "So would you like to go out with me tomorrow? I'll take you into Ketchikan for a fancy, romantic meal."
Valentine doesn't appear taken aback in the slightest, and I suppose a woman as beautiful as her is probably used to getting hit on all the time.
She puts her spoon down and smiles kindly at Ted. "That's really a sweet offer, but our age difference is probably a little too big for me."
Ted's eyebrows go up in surprise as if this is news to him. "I'm only forty-five, plus I used to play professional baseball. I'm loaded."
"Ted," I say in warning.
He cuts his eyes to me briefly, then back to Valentine. "Fine. Fifty."
"Ted," I growl with mock exasperation.
"Okay, okay," he says, straightening from the bar and holding his hands up with a grin. "Fine. I'm fifty-five. That too old for you darling?"
Valentine nods, and in the warmest, sweetest voice she says, "I'm afraid so."
"Good thing," I mutter. "Because Ted is closing in on sixty.
Ted laughs with good nature, shaking his head and points an accusing finger my way. "You're an asshole, Logan."
"Am not," I disagree, taking another sip of my beer.
"So, Ted," Valentine cuts in as she picks her spoon back up. "How'd you get from being a professional baseball player to owning The Wounded Caribou in East Merritt, Alaska?"
"It's a good story," I say, and turn slightly on my stool to better face Valentine as she eats and listens to Ted. This also has the benefit of blocking out Monte, who keeps leaning forward to look at Valentine sitting on the other side of me.
"I was out here on a hunting vacation," Ted says as he leans on the bar again and clasps his hands. "It was in 1985 and I was playing for the Kansas City Royals, and we'd just won the World Series."
"Wow," Valentine says in obvious awe between spoonfuls of stew. The salad remains neglected.
Ted shrugs his shoulders. "At any rate, came out here with some buddies to celebrate and do the outdoor male buddy thing, and I just fell in love with Alaska. I mean, really fell in love with it."
Valentine nods. "I can see why. I've only been here a few hours, but what little I've seen is really beyond imagination to this New Yorker."
Hmmmm...she's from New York. I can totally see that.
"Well," Ted continues. "It just hit me...that I was done with baseball. I'd played for ten years, had more money than I could ever dream of, and I was just done."
"There was the matter of your ex-wives too," I add so he doesn't leave out that part of the story.
Ted's lips curl up in chagrin and his eyes twinkle as he tells Valentine, "I'd had three wives in the ten years I'd played and they were all after my money. So I was done with that too. Decided to take my small fortune and move out here."
"Incredible," Valentine murmurs. "Most professional athletes want to go to their grave playing their sport. That's really commendable."
And she means that too. I can hear it in her voice and I can't help but ask, "Dated many professional athletes?"
She turns slightly to give me her attention and grins with mischief. "Two. One played for the Yankees, but he was a total whiny douche bag, and the other played hockey for the Rangers. He was nice and all, but he had a bit of a Napoleon complex."
"Wait a minute," I say with confusion. "Aren't hockey players tall? Why would he have a Napoleon complex?"
Valentine giggles. "Well...it wasn't his height that was lacking...if you know what I mean."
Ted busts out laughing and I can't help but snicker too.
"So how did you start this place?" Valentine asks after she takes another bite of her stew.
Ted chuckles and I can already feel my smile starting to form, and know I'll be laughing soon. It's the best story. In fact, several of the guys sitting at the bar all settle in to listen, even though they've heard it a million times before.
"So I moved out here to East Merritt and built me a fancy log cabin, and spent my time learning how to fish and hunt and do all kinds of outdoorsy things. That hunting trip that had led me out here for the first time was my actual first time hunting, and we'd had a guide and everything to show us what to do. Anyway, I moved out here when hunting season started and vowed to myself I was going to be the best hunter around and feed myself all winter off my kills."
I note that Valentine's nose wrinkles a little, and that's cute she's got a soft spot for the very types of animals she's eating right now.
"So I'm out by myself one morning, and I spot a caribou. He was close enough that I was able to line him in my sights perfectly, and I knew when I pulled that trigger he was a goner."
Valentine makes a sound of distress, but Ted's too into his story to notice.
"The bullet struck, but not the heart, which is where I was aiming. I was way off and I mean...I hit him right in the ass, and I knew it hit him good because he sort of spun around, then took off running. The chase was on."
"You chased him?" Valentine says as she pushes the bowl of stew away from her.
"Right into town," he says proudly. "By the time that caribou hit Main Street, though, he was hobbling and limping pretty bad from the bullet in his ass."
"Oh," Valentine says as she puts her hand over her heart and her eyes go completely round and soft with sympathy for the caribou.
"Well, here I was, the mighty hunter, and I was imagining how much of my freezer this big buck would fill," Ted said with relish, but then, as always in this part of the story, it turns very somber. "But that damn caribou, exhausted from the chase and bleeding from the wound, just turned around, right in the middle of Main Street, and faced me down."
"Faced you down?" Valentine gasps.
Ted nods. "Faced me down. Held his head up high and looked me dead in the eye, giving me permission to finish him off."
The entire bar is quiet, most everyone listening now.
This is where Ted gets dramatic. "Valley, darling...I kid you not. Some type of message passed from that animal to me. I can't describe it, but in that moment, I was just overwhelmed with abhorrence over what I'd done. I couldn't stand the thought of finishing that animal off. I think perhaps that caribou was my spirit animal or some shit like that, so I lowered my gun and told that son of a bitch that he was free to go."
I can't help the snicker that pops out of my mouth, and Valentine turns to give me an inquisitive look. "Is he pulling my leg?"
I shake my head. "He's absolutely not pulling your leg. But the best part is that he felt so bad for that caribou he actually paid a veterinarian out of Ketchikan to come and fix the animal."
"You did?" Valentine asks with sparkling eyes and close to what sounds like adoration in her voice. She might be considering his age difference isn't that big of a deal now.
Ted nods. "Call me a sap, or whatever, but yeah...I got him fixed up. No clue whatever happened to him, though, and that was the last time I went hunting."
"And you named this place The Wounded Caribou," Valentine says. "I love it."
"Yeah, well
"But you serve caribou on the menu," Valentine exclaims, her brows furrowed in confusion.
"Well, yeah," Ted says as if this was not unusual. "It's a popular staple around here. And makes the best stew."
Valentine laughs--and all the men laugh along with her--but I notice she doesn't finish her stew, instead pulling her salad in front of her. I pick up my mug, drain the last of my beer, and set it back down.
"Want another?" Ted asks.
"Nah," I say as I stand from my stool and fish my wallet out of the back of my jeans. I pull out a twenty and a ten and throw it on the bar, knowing it's enough to cover my meal, beers, and a good tip for Ted.
Valentine turns on her stool and smiles up at me. "It was good seeing you again."
"Likewise," I say to her as I grab my fleece jacket off the back of the stool I'd been sitting on. I reach over and put it on the back of her stool. "Assume you walked here from Sarah's, and what you're wearing won't be warm enough by the time you leave. You need to get a jacket like this as the nights get cold."
"Oh, but I couldn't," Valentine exclaims.
I shut her down. "That's an order from the chief of police. It goes on my state record if a tourist dies of the cold here."
Ted laughs and Valentine giggles.
"Okay, then," she says with a thankful nod of her head. "Lesson learned and I accept. I'll get this back to you tomorrow."
I tip my head at her and throw a wave at Ted as I walk out of The Wounded Caribou, wondering how many dates Valentine will be asked out on before she leaves tonight.
And will she accept any of them?
Chapter 5
Valentine
I shiver as I roll out of bed and pull on the short cashmere robe I'd brought with me. It comes down only to midthigh but adequately covers the blue silk sleep shorts and cami I'm wearing, and there's no one downstairs except Sarah to notice. I'd heard the three men leave about two hours ago after they finished their six A.M. breakfast, which still amazes me that they got up so early to head out to work. I'd had the good fortune to meet my fellow boarders last night at The Wounded Caribou, as it seems I'd met half the town. They all wanted to buy me drinks, but I stopped after two glasses of wine and left not long after. I heard my roommates come in well after midnight.