Amelia

I shoved through the door into the bar, coming to a quick stop as my eyes adjusted to the light. I brushed a wet lock of hair off of my cheek and threaded through the tables to the bar at the back. Once I slipped onto a stool, the bartender spun to face me. He was a jolly looking man with round blue eyes.

"I'm Tank. You look like you could use a drink," he announced, his wide smile softening his observation.

"A beer will do," I replied.

"House draft okay?" he asked.

At my nod, he spun around. Within seconds, he'd handed me my beer and silently offered a clean towel. Though it was tiny, seeing as it was a bar towel, I quickly scrubbed it over my dripping wet hair and face before handing it back to him. I settled in to try to forget my shitty day.

A bit later, I drained my beer and glanced around the bar, savoring the anonymity of being in a crowded bar in Anchorage, Alaska where no one knew me. I was tucked in the corner by the wall, pleased to have a nice view of the crowd and yet go unnoticed by just about everyone there. Tank caught my eyes again, a question held in them. I nodded and held my empty pint glass aloft. He nodded in return while he mixed a drink for someone and pulled another pint for me with his free hand. The extent of my conversation with anyone this evening had been limited to Tank's earlier introduction.

If he thought anything awry with the fact I was wearing a wedding dress splashed with mud, he didn't show it. Neither did anyone around me. Anchorage was just large enough of a city people left you alone if you appeared to want to be left as such. That said, people were friendly too. Alaska, despite its sprawling geography, kept its residents close, all bound by the knowledge they lived on the edge of the wild and had the strength and guts for such a life.

I took a drag on what was my third beer and wondered if perhaps I should slow down. I was definitely tipsy and on my way to drunk. I fingered the cream silk of my wedding dress. Or maybe I needed to consider it my not—wedding dress. I'd been all dressed and ready to go when I'd failed in my battle against the knot of tension balled like a vise around my heart. I swallowed against the rush of emotion that rose inside as my eyes traveled down the fitted bodice of my dress and bounced to the muddy splotches all over its swirling skirt. Oh yeah. I hadn't simply ditched my groom—to—be just before we got to the altar, I'd bolted in the rain. Another swallow of beer, followed with a slow sigh. What stung the most—all I felt was relief. Not regret, not second thoughts. Just pure relief.

I'd walked across the hallway at the back of the church and barged into Earl's dressing room. There he'd stood, tall and handsome with his dark blonde hair and brown eyes. It was what I never saw in his eyes when he looked at me that pushed me to tell him I couldn't marry him. When Earl looked at me, I saw a kind regard, a humored attempt to appreciate me for who I was. Yet, there was never anything close to the hot fire I'd known once upon a time with someone else. I'd apologized, but I'd also been flat pissed with him for trying to trick himself and me into thinking he really loved me.

A dash into the late afternoon rain on a cool summer day in Alaska had felt cleansing. Until I got chilled and finally ducked into this bar. I didn't even know what it was called. I suddenly recalled I didn't have a penny on me. It wasn't like I'd been carrying a purse for my aborted walk up the aisle. Oh well, oh hell. I caught sight of my reflection in the mirror behind the bar and bit back a sigh. My amber hair was a damp, tangled mess.

I didn't think much about how I looked. To be honest, it was more that I tried not to. I was as tall as most men. I ran my own construction business to boot. I tried to never let it show, but when it came to my femininity, seeds of doubt were planted firmly inside. It didn't help that all but one man treated me pretty much like a man, Earl included.

I gave my head a hard shake and glanced around the bar again, scanning the collection of people. Businessmen rubbed elbows with fishermen here. Sports reigned supreme on the televisions screens mounted at various points in the bar, and a few pool tables were clustered in the corner. That's what I'd do. I loved pool and was pretty damn good at it.

A few minutes later, I was paired up in a game with three other guys. They'd thrown a few looks askance at my wedding dress and seemed amused at playing with me. Tipsy and deep into my don't give a damn mode, I set out to beat them.

Roughly an hour later, I grinned as my last ball rolled neatly into a pocket corner. "Well, boys," I said, glancing among them.

The boys in question had been drinking and gotten steadily more sullen as we played. One of them, a hulking sort with dark eyes and hair, glared at me. They'd bet on this game after the first two, and I was due five dollars each from them.

Mr. Hulk, as I'd come to call him in my head, stepped close to me, too close for comfort. "No fiver from any of us. You got that?"