Mismatched in Mayhem (Whiskey Sisters) Read online

  Table of Contents

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Find your Bliss with these great releases… A Valentine Proposal

  The Firefighter’s Cinderella

  Romancing His Rival

  No Heartbreaker Required

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Copyright © 2020 by Lauren Rico. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.

  Entangled Publishing, LLC

  10940 S Parker Rd

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  Parker, CO 80134

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  Bliss is an imprint of Entangled Publishing, LLC.

  Edited by Stacy Abrams

  Cover design by Elizabeth Turner Stokes

  ISBN 978-1-64063-859-4

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  First Edition January 2020

  Dear Reader,

  Thank you for supporting a small publisher! Entangled prides itself on bringing you the highest quality romance you’ve come to expect, and we couldn’t do it without your continued support. We love romance, and we hope this book leaves you with a smile on your face and joy in your heart.

  xoxo

  Liz Pelletier, Publisher

  For Kelly…

  my friend, my sounding board,

  my gentlest critic and my biggest cheerleader.

  With all my love and gratitude.

  Chapter One

  Walker

  “Will you m-marry me?” he asks, and then promptly hiccups—a distinct improvement from the last time, when he belched out his proposal.

  “No.”

  “Ohhhhh…c’mon, W-walker. Don’t make me b-b-beg.”

  I lean across the top of the bar and drop my voice.

  “Jake, I said no last week and the week before. And the week before that. Three shots of Tanqueray and you’re ready to walk right down that aisle—do not pass go. Do not collect one hundred dollars.”

  The visibly swaying sixty-five-year-old blinks hard, trying to place the Monopoly reference.

  “What’s this?” Father Romance asks, nosing into our conversation from a few stools down. “Is someone in need of my services over here? Because I do a mean wedding,” he informs us with a sly grin.

  I roll my eyes and lift an eyebrow in the direction of my wannabe-fiancé.

  “Jake was just asking me to marry him. Again.”

  The priest snorts, then pretends to cover it with a cough, so as not to offend his drunken parishioner.

  “Ah, Jake, while you clearly have excellent taste in women, our Walker isn’t in the market for a husband just yet. Besides, you know the rules.”

  “R-rules?” Jake repeats, confused.

  “Rules, Jake. How many times do we have to go through this?” I grumble. “Rule number one of the bartender’s code…”

  “Don’t date regulars.” My younger sister Bailey appears with a tray of empty beer and wineglasses in hand. The four of us—Bailey, Jameson, Hennessey, and I—were well-schooled in the dos and don’ts of behind-the-bar etiquette by our pops before he died about five years back. “A regular, cash-paying customer is worth more than a date that may or may not go well,” she continues. “And if it doesn’t go well, we’re stuck staring at you across the bar while you try out the same lame lines on every other girl who walks in the door.”

  “No. Regulars,” I echo, nodding in agreement. “And you, my friend, are a regular. Rule number two,” I continue, “beware big tippers.”

  “Oh yeah—right, right, right,” Bailey agrees. She puts her hands on her hips and chicken-necks with disdain. “You know, just last week, I had a guy drop a fifty at the end of the night and then ask me out—like that would grease the wheels!”

  “I’m sure he hoped it would get something greased,” I mutter.

  “Ewwww!” She scrunches up her perfect little face. “As if! Like he can buy a date with me? Total turnoff.”

  Poor Jake. I see his glassy eyes move between us as he tries, with great effort, to follow the conversation.

  “What’s all the ‘ewwwwing’ about?” asks Hennessy as she comes out of the back office holding a stack of receipts. It’s her night to come in and balance the books, leaving her husband, Bryan, at home with the little hellions, twins Bud and Mick.

  “The rules, love,” Father Romance offers.

  “Oh! The rules. Let’s see…no regulars. No big tippers. No little tippers—”

  “Oh yeah! I forgot about that,” Bailey interjects. “Too much is obnoxious. Too little is just…cheap.”

  Henny nods. “And let’s not forget the cutesy names. I hate, hate, hate it when a guy calls me ‘baby,’ or ‘honey,’ or ‘sweetie.’”

  “Forget the names,” I jump in. “My biggest pet peeve is the cutesy drink names! How can I respect a guy who orders a birthday-cake-flavored martini?”

  We all groan. Suddenly Jake looks a little green.

  “I…I uh…” He lurches away from us and staggers, quickly, toward the front door.

  “One of us will have to take a hose to the alley later,” I predict.

  “Mmmm. Well, I’m outta here in like ten minutes,” Bailey informs us, starting to load up a new tray with drinks. “I’ve got a date tonight.”

  “And I promised Bryan I’d be home in time to tuck in the kiddos,” Henny says with a sympathetic smile and a shrug.

  “Yeah, right. So, I guess it’s my turn. Again,” I mutter.

  “Now, now, Walker,” Father Romance jumps in. “It seems only right that you be the one to clean up after Jake, considering he’s going to be your husband and all.”

  I give him a long, hard, withering stare. The kind of stare that would make anyone else shrivel up right in front of me. But not Fathe
r Romance. Apparently, priests are impervious to the evil eye. Still, he takes my unspoken point and raises his palms in a gesture of surrender before turning his attention back to his pint.

  “Fine, you all just go ahead and abandon me. What else is new?”

  “It’s not like you ever have plans,” Bailey reminds me. “You never date. You never go out with friends. All you do is go to school, sleep, and work.”

  “Yeah, and?” I counter. “So, what? Doesn’t mean I wouldn’t like an extra night off every once in a while.”

  Hennessy pats my back as she finds her purse behind the counter. “You’re absolutely right. And, more importantly, we shouldn’t just assume you’ll be available to watch the bar whenever the rest of us have plans. That being said…”

  “You have plans.”

  She gives me a sheepish smile before planting a kiss on my cheek.

  “Thank you, my sweet, kind, thoughtful, wonderful sister…”

  “Oh, for God’s sake just—just stop before I have to go out into the alley!”

  “You in for Sunday dinner this week? Jameson’s making lasagna. And the boys are dying to show you the macaroni art they made for you.”

  “Yeah, Walker, you haven’t made it for a few weeks now. How about it? We can ride over to James’s together,” Bailey adds.

  The truth is, I’ve been checking out of the big family gatherings for a while now. Hennessy and Bryan’s business is taking off. Nurse Jameson is saving the world one high-risk delivery at a time, while her husband Scott has just finished law school. Even Bailey has been accepted into a study-abroad program in London for next year. All of these successful, productive people have a way of making me feel like a loser—even if they do love me.

  “Fine,” I capitulate with an exasperated sigh. “Fine, fine, fine. But I am not sitting next to the wonder twins. Last time, I left with half a chicken stuck to my head.”

  “Yeah, you guys are really up to your eyeballs in the terrible twos,” Bailey comments.

  “Soon to be threes,” Henny adds. “Wait till you see the birthday party Bryan’s got planned. He’s buying out the entire Benny’s Birthday Bonanza. It’s going to be amazing!”

  “Typical over-the-top Bryan. Are they even going to remember this party?” I mutter.

  “Maybe, maybe not. But the little guys have had some trouble adjusting since Theta left us to get married and Penny went back to Australia. They’ve had the two of them around for as long as they can remember, and now they won’t be here for the big birthday.”

  “I’m sorry, but I still don’t get why you needed two nannies in the first place. It’s not like there haven’t been enough of us around to help you out with them.”

  “Oh, stop being Grumpy McGrumpypants,” Bailey says, swatting me with a bar towel. “You’re just crabby because Penny took your BFF J.B. with her when she went back to Australia.”

  She’s right, of course. J.B., “manny” to my oldest nephew, Jackson, and I dated a couple of times. In the end, we found we were much better suited to friendship than romance. He and the twins’ nanny, Penny, on the other hand… Well, now they’re off touring the Outback on his Harley Davidson and I’m left to snark alone, which isn’t nearly as fun.

  “It’s fine, Bailey,” Hennessy calls over her shoulder as she heads for the front door. “At least I get out of the pub once in a while.”

  “You, too!” Bailey squawks back at her. “Enough with the nasty, already!”

  Henny stops, turns around, and comes to face me across the bar top.

  “I love you,” she says.

  “I love you, too.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Me, too.”

  She nods. I nod. We both look at Bailey. She nods.

  All is right in the world again.

  For now, anyway.

  …

  Several hours after my sisters have fled the scene, I’m starting to have hallucinations about my pillow. Unfortunately, there’s a whole lot that needs doing around here before it and I can be reunited. And, I realize a moment too late, “lock the door” should have been at the top of that to-do list, because one of my customers has just boomeranged back on me.

  “Sorry, man, we’re closed,” I tell the tall blond.

  “I know…” he begins sheepishly. “I’m sorry to bother you but my cell’s dead and I was hoping maybe you could call me a cab?”

  I consider him carefully. He doesn’t seem to be drunk. No slurry words or goofy expression. And, while he’s a little too guy-next-door for my taste, he’s pretty easy on the eyes. If I remember correctly, I’ve served him only a few bottles of Michelob over the course of the night. Not that he couldn’t have snuck a flask in or finished one of his buddies’ drinks.

  “I’m not drunk or anything,” he explains quickly, guessing at what I’m wondering. “It’s my friends…they left while I was in the bathroom and sort of forgot to tell me. I’ve been outside waiting for them to come back…but it doesn’t look like that’s going to happen.”

  “You get into a fight or something?”

  “Nah, nothing like that,” he assures me, shaking his head. “You may remember there were a bunch of us. We came in like, three cars, and I think everyone thought I was in one of the others when they left.”

  I quirk an eyebrow at him as I push a clean bar rag into a damp beer glass to dry it. “Did they take your cell phone with them or something?”

  He looks sheepish as he pulls it out of his pocket.

  “It’s out of juice. The thing’s been dying a slow death for a while now… I just haven’t gotten around to getting a new one yet.”

  “How come you’re all the way out here, anyway?” I ask.

  We do get some traffic from the University of Minnesota’s Iron Range campus, but that’s usually just on quiz nights and the odd chili cookoff.

  He rolls his eyes. “I know, it’s a hike, right? It wasn’t my idea. One of the guys is dodging his ex-girlfriend—who always seems to turn up wherever he is. So we decided to cast the net a little farther out this time. And I’m glad we did—it’s a nice place,” he comments, looking around the now-empty pub.

  “Well, I’m glad you like it, but you’re out of luck with the taxi. There’s only one driver who services this area outside of ice fishing season, and he’s on vacation.”

  “The only taxi driver in town is on vacation?” he repeats incredulously. “How is that even possible?”

  I chuckle.

  “What, you think you can just hail a cab out on Main Street? Dude, this is Mayhem not Minneapolis. And you won’t find an Uber or Lyft driver willing to come out this far this late, either.”

  “Oh,” he says flatly. I can see he doesn’t quite know what to do.

  “There must be someone you can call. Parents? Siblings? Frat brother, maybe?”

  “No, not really. Both my folks are working out of the country right now…” he says absently, looking more embarrassed now. “Ummm, yeah, you know, it’s not so far. I’ll just walk it, that’s all. Maybe I can hitch a ride once I hit the interstate. What is that, like a couple miles from here?”

  “Seven,” I tell him and watch with some interest as his enthusiasm deflates.

  Still, he just nods firmly, as if to convince himself this is the correct course of action, and starts to zip up his jacket—which isn’t nearly warm enough for the rapidly dropping temps forecast for this Friday night in November. He’s going to freeze his butt off out there. But that’s not what makes me do it. It’s…something else. Something I can’t quite put my finger on as I glance at my watch.

  “I’ll take you.”

  Even I am surprised by the words that have just come tumbling out of my mouth.

  “What?” he asks, as if he might’ve misheard.

  “I said I’ll drive you. But I have to finish up
here. It’ll be another half hour or so.”

  I can’t explain my own actions. I mean, he’s not even my type! This guy looks like the captain of the football team, the prom king, and the high school valedictorian all rolled into one tall, blond-haired, blue-eyed package. Not so much as a stud in his ears or a dot of ink on his muscled limbs.

  “Why would you do that?” he asks, sounding a little suspicious of my offer.

  That’s a really good question. And the answer is that I don’t know. It’s against the Girl Code. No strangers in your car. Including the pub customers. Especially the pub customers. Still…

  “Because you’re stuck and it’ll take you like six hours to walk back to campus. That’s if you don’t turn into a popsicle along the way.” He studies me carefully as if trying to gauge my sincerity. And it’s pissing me off. “Look, you can walk if you want. I don’t particularly care. I was just trying to do something nice—which, I assure you, is a rarity. But it’s been a long night, and I’ve got some work to do around here before I can get my own butt home and into bed. So, if you’ll excuse me…”

  “Yeah, okay,” he rushes to say, as if there’s a clock ticking down on his response. “That would be really great… I’m sorry, what’s your name?”

  “Walker.”

  “Walker?”

  I hate this part. How much easier my life would be if I were a Jen, or Madison, or Danielle.

  “Mmm-hmm.”

  “Huh. That’s kind of a cool name.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “What?”

  “You know you want to.”

  “What?”

  “Tell me about the zombies on The Walking Dead—they’re called walkers, right? Or maybe you’d like to call me Skywalker. Or Walker, Texas Ranger. Or—”

  “Hey, hey!” he cuts me off, putting his hands up and chuckling. “I said it’s a cool name and I meant it! And, for your information, I don’t watch The Walking Dead. Walker Texas Ranger, on the other hand… I think my mother had a crush on him or something, because we had like every episode on DVD. But I thought he was kinda cool. I even went as him for Halloween one year.”

  “Did you now?” I ask, suppressing a smirk. “And how’d that work out for you?”

  “Not so well,” he admits, a painful look passing over his face at the memory. “None of the kids my age knew who I was supposed to be. And, to make matters worse, I used superglue to attach the fake Chuck Norris beard. I spent the night in the ER while the doctor tried to get it off without taking half my face with it.”