Casanova Cowboy (A Morgan Mallory Story) (6 page)

Chapter 5

The ski trip couldn’t come fast enough for either Liz or me. We were both ready for a break from the boys. Liz and I had been pretty wild teenagers. We’d done a lot of playing and partying by the time we met Max and Dave. In a way, the two of them had calmed the two of us down a few degrees. In the weeks leading up to our trip we were both feeling the need to bust out, to be reckless and wild, “be bad” as Liz liked to say. We knew we would be far enough away that nothing would ever get back to them. We planned on having ourselves a good time.

Pat picked us up at the airport in Salt Lake.

“Hey
, Liz,” he said, grabbing her up while Liz wrapped her arms around his neck in a hug.

“Sis,” he said
, giving me a hug next.

“Cute little brother,” I said
through my teeth, holding him.

Little brother
was a joke as Pat towered over Liz and me. He was about six two with a great build. His hair was curly and light brown in color, his eyes blue. He was very popular with the ladies. When he released me, I pulled my jacket tighter around my neck.

“Chilly
,” I said.

“Ain’t in San Diego anymore
, Morgan, get used to it,” he laughed as he loaded our luggage, and we scrambled into his car.

“So what’s the plan?” Liz asked.

“It’s up to you two. We can go back to the house, or we can go straight to Main Street in Park City and go to a club,” Pat offered.

“I need a bar, not a club
,” Liz said.

“It is
a bar; they call them
private clubs
in Utah. There are some stupid laws here when it comes to drinking. We learn to get around them,” Pat said flippantly.

“Straight to the club then
,” I ordered.

Park City was ori
ginally a mining town, and Main Street was lined with buildings like an old western town. The fronts were different colors and there was no space between them except for the street breaks. The light spilling out of the buildings onto the narrow street made it feel warm even with all the snow.

Pat
took us to a place called The Club, a two-story wood-sided building with a balcony that ran the length of the upper floor. I figured in the summer that would be an awesome place to sit and view Main Street. The entrance was tucked under the balcony and consisted of two old-fashioned storefront glass windows with a green door in the middle. The place had been a gambling joint and whorehouse in the old days. On the drive over, Pat had explained that club membership rules were a way to get around the laws. That’s why bars were called clubs versus bars. As a private club with members, different rules applied.

“Hey, Jim,” Pat said to the doorman. “These girls are on my membership.”

“Good deal,” Jim said not moving from his wooden stool.

“What does that mean?” I whispered.

“I am a member so I’m bringing you in on my membership.”

“Kind of silly,” Liz said.

Walking in, I inhaled
oh, yeah, it smelled like a bar, sort of musty and thick
, and then I took a look around: it was a long narrow room with an old-fashioned wooden bar against the right wall. It was lined with barstools, several occupied, all by men. A shuffleboard table sat against the other wall making the pathway very tight. At the far end was a wood burning stove with a moose head above it, to the left of that was a stairway. We followed Pat single file through the room as the men noticeably checked Liz and I out.
Oh, yeah, we’re gonna have a good time.
As Pat started up the worn wooden stairs he turned around.

“T
he local guys hang out downstairs; there’s a bigger bar upstairs,” Pat explained.

I
was pretty certain the men watched us until we disappeared. The sound of “She’s So Cold”
by The Rolling Stones blared from the speakers as Liz and I looked around. It wasn’t crowded at all, but again it was only men.

“This is so cool
,” Liz said, with a big smile. “I love a good old-fashioned bar.”

“I can almost see the cowboys wandering in here with their spurs on can’t you?
A little gambling and then if they were lucky pick up one of those fancy saloon girls for a roll in the hay.”

“
Totally,” Liz chuckled.

Although
the upstairs bar was almost twice the size of the downstairs bar it still felt welcoming and cozy, both were old-fashioned and funky.

“Hey
, Pat,” the bartender said when we each took a stool at the massive wooden bar. “Who’s this?”

“This is my sister Morgan and her friend, Liz,” Pat said, introducing us. “This is Ryan Walker.”

“
Ryan, do you think you can get us a drink? We’ve come a long way for a cocktail,” Liz said sassily, as she flipped back her hair.

Ryan smiled
warmly at her flirty and fun tone; he could tell we were here for trouble. His hair was wavy and blond, his eyes an intense blue. He appeared to be about my height, but I couldn’t tell since he was behind the bar.

“What will it be
?” Ryan asked, putting napkins down in front of us.

“
Long Island Ice Teas,” Pat said with a grin. “That okay with you girls?”

“Sure,” Liz said
enthusiastically.

The three of us watched as R
yan put several mini bottles between his fingers, flipped off the tops with his other hand and made the drinks. As he moved behind the bar I noticed he had jeans on and a long sleeved T-shirt that had the logo of The Club on it. It was a side shot of a cowboy holding a hand of cards with the card that was the ace of clubs standing out more than the rest.

             
“They’re huge,” I exclaimed as he set them down. “What’s the deal with the mini bottles? I’ve only ever seen them on airplanes.”

             
I took a sip and it tasted refreshing and delicious.

“A Utah thing
,” Ryan explained. “All the liquor comes in mini bottles.”

“
So these Long Islands pack a mean punch,” I said smiling.

“About five ounces of liquor
, with a splash of Coke, so yeah, I guess you can say they’re strong,” he said with a small grin.

“
Welcome to Park City,” I said, gleefully lifting my glass to Liz and Pat. “I love it, Pat.”

Pat leaned across and clicked both our glasses. His face was tan from skiing, sunglass marks around his eyes and
across the side of his face.

“Figured you would
. There are a lot of funky bars in town, but this one is my favorite.”

The half
of the room not taken up by the massive bar was dotted with circular wooden table-and-chair sets. The chairs had spoke backs, like I envisioned an old time saloon would have. A large cement fireplace with a wooden mantle sat in the far corner, a fire blazing in it. Six fringed purple velvet ottomans sat in front of it in a half-circle. Several guys came over to say hello to Pat, and each time, he introduced Liz and me.

Liz gave me a sly smile. Each introduction the guys seemed happy to meet us, hesitant to move on.
I could tell we were going to get a lot of attention in Park City. Pat had told me that there weren’t a lot of women in town, let alone attractive women, so the ratio was in our favor. I think that information was partly responsible for Liz’s and my anticipation.

For the next week
, Liz and I partied like rock stars. We would ski all day regardless of whether we had a hangover or not and then hit the clubs till late at night. We rarely paid for a drink. The guys we met seemed pleased to pick up the tab, as did several bartenders, including Ryan.

We were invited to parties and found ourselves
naked in hot tubs on many occasions.
Why be shy? Who were we going to see again?
We hung out with Pat’s friends and the guys we met in the bars; we flirted and laughed a lot. It felt good to have such positive male attention.

“Pat says Ryan’s meeting us tonight at The Club. He has the night off,” I said to Liz, as I blew my hair dry.

B
oth of us were in the bathroom getting ready for the evening, and the dryer had made the small room warm.

“He thinks we’
re crazy. The crazy California girls,” Liz shouted above the dryer.

I clicked the dryer to the cool setting.

“I think they all think we’re crazy,” I laughed. “Fun crazy.”

“God
, we need to go home and dry out for about a month,” Liz laughed.

She leaned in toward the mirror to apply her mascara as I thought about how comfortable this small town felt, like home.

“Seriously. I really like this town. I would love to do what Pat’s doing,” I said.

“As in
?” Liz asked stroking her lashes with the brush.

“Be daring enough to move.
Be a ski bum for a year. Change my life. Look at Pat: he skis, works, and parties. Simple, fun, no worries, non-conforming, I guess,” I said.

“That’s not like you.
You have always seemed to want the norm. You have this kind of crazy side, but you struggle to stay within the lines,” Liz said. “Just like when you color a picture.”

I frowned at this description
of me.
Did I really want to stay within the lines?
Liz loved art and now and then she would pull out her old coloring books and we’d color like two young kids.

“
Pat’s going with us tonight, right?” Liz asked, switching gears.

“Of course
, it’s our last night in town,” I said.

Liz blew
her hair dry while I put on my makeup, sharing one small mirror over a single pedestal sink. The bathroom was really hot now and I cracked the door hoping to cool it off. I could feel the energy between us, the excitement of another night on the town.

“
We need to downplay our nighttime activity here in Park City when we get back home,” I teased.

“
For sure, the boys would be pissed if they knew how much we partied, and who we partied with,” Liz said with a laugh.

We found Ryan staked out by the fire, holding onto four of the purple velvet ottomans when we got to The Club. It was a Friday night so the place was hopping, and in front of the fire was a desired gathering spot. He stood up and quickly hugged Liz and me.
Man, Ryan was looking handsome tonight in his button-down shirt, jeans, and cowboy boots.
He smelled like he had just come from the shower: a slight hint of a fresh good-smelling soap lingering on him. I loved it when a man simply smelled good without using cologne.

             
“How was the skiing today?” he asked, as we sat down on either side of him.

             
I angled into him slightly as I did so and he smiled.

“It was great
; it’s been great all week,” I answered unreservedly.

“Partied out yet?” he asked
, grinning.

“Never
,” Liz declared.

“What can I get you guys?” the wait
ress asked. “Looks like you’ve got your hands full tonight, Ryan.”

It seemed there was a little tinge of jealousy in her tone and I wondered if she was interested in Ryan.
We’d seen her in The Club several times.

“Jill, a round of Long Island’s on me,” he said.

“
Ryan, we can get these,” I protested. “You’ve been too nice to us this week. Seems you’ve been buying no matter which side of the bar you’ve been on.”

“It’s ok
ay, I got it,” Ryan said, waving me off.

When he did
I noticed he had a rather large cut on the top of his hand.

“What happened?” I asked.

He turned his hand over inspecting it.

“I work construction during the day.
The nail won,” he said with a grimace.

“So you bartend at night
and then do construction during the day… That’s ambitious,” I said.

“I guess
. Better making money in the bar than spending it,” he said with a chuckle.

Liz and I laughed.
We’d enjoyed his sharp wit and good sense of humor, had even talked about it when he wasn’t around. Although our antics in the bars had amused him this past week, I could tell he thought Liz and I were a handful; he wasn’t wrong.

“So you’
re not really the ski bum I envisioned, the guy who bartends at night so that he can ski all day,” I asked.

“No.
I’m more work-all-I-can and ski-if-possible,” Ryan said.

“A rarity in Park City
, I would guess,” I said cocking my head.

Looking into his blue eyes I couldn’t help but smile
.