Mac was one of our very first employees. We called him Mac because he was our mechanic. His real name was something entirely too basic for him, so we continued to call him Mac.
I’d met him on the racing circuit and when I retired, he just followed me home. He probably wasn’t more than fifty or so, and I don’t know if he was ever married, or if he had a girlfriend. He came to work, he fixed the sleds, he accompanied us on tours, he helped cook the meals, and then he went home. On occasion, he’d accompany us to any number of the bars, but those instances were few and far between. If I had to call him something, I would call him our right-hand man.
Turning my attention to Cody, I asked, “Do you want to take the trucks into town now and fill them with gas? I’ll help Mac put everything out when you get back, and then load it all in the trailer. We’ll hook up the flatbed and load the sleds.”
Cody nodded in agreement, grabbed the keys from under the counter, and headed out the front door. He didn’t speak often, usually only when asked a question, or when asking a question, that needed words instead of action.
I turned to Mac. “How many sleds do we have at Racers Roost?”
He rubbed his chin and nodded thoughtfully, “I think we left four last weekend. We’ll need to load yours, and Cody’s, and mine.” He paused, thinking it through. “With a group this large, we’ll need three more doubles. The men can pair up from the bottom of the trail through the woods.”
I was nodding at him as he spoke. “So, there’s six of them?”
Glancing back down at the reservation sheet, he said, “Looks like.”
I drawled, “Great.” And rolled my eyes. “You and Cody can pull their luggage on the utility sled and I’ll take the fresh food and miscellaneous items behind me.”
“Sounds like a plan, Princess.”
“Yeah, well, you know what they say about best laid plans.” I added sardonically.
He laughed good-humoredly at me and headed out to the back storage area to start pulling gear for the men.
I was just reaching for the expedition packet when I heard the bell ring above the front door. My best friend, Camille, bounded towards me, eyes gleaming with mirth. Her brown hair flew crazily behind her. She was wearing very expensive snow boots and a fur-lined suede jacket with a hood. She will tell you it is fake fur.
With great enthusiasm she jumped up on the counter and started talking.
“I heard you’re picking up a bachelor party this afternoon. Mind if I tag along?”
Lifting my eyes to her, I shook my head and asked her how she knew.
“I ran into Lane Archer at the feed store.”
“What were you doing at the feed store? Never mind, go on.”
“He asked about you and I told him he missed a great birthday party last night.” She poked me in the arm and continued, “I think he’s keen on you.”
Sarcastically, I said, “Oh, please!”
She missed my tone and continued rambling. “Well, anyway, he’d heard from Morgan that your brother was sick, and that she was going to be helping out at the store because you had to take a bachelor party that Jacob was supposed to run.” Gleefully she added, “And so I ran right over to see how I could be of service.” She squeezed her breasts together and waggled her eyebrows.
Exasperated, I said, “Freaking Jackson. This town is so small. And no, you cannot come along.”
She jumped off the counter and started whining, “Oh come on Mia, you know I can help out! Please! Please let me come with you.”
“No. But you can help out here until Cody gets back so I can go help Mac.”
She pouted. “That doesn’t sound exciting at all. I’m going to walk next door and get a coffee. Do you want one?”
“Yes please. Vanilla latte.” I shouted after her, “NO FOAM!”
She waved at me over her head, and I took my phone out of the side pocket of my leggings to text Mac. I’ll be out when Cody gets back.
He texted a thumbs up.
Opening the packet…again…I read through the itinerary Jacob had planned for them. Their flight would arrive at three thirty this afternoon at the Corporate Aircraft terminal and tonight they would be staying at the Lodge at Jackson Hole. We had dinner reservations at Gun Barrell for eight people at 7 p.m. and then I would pick them up at the hotel tomorrow morning to start the excursion. They had booked four nights and then they would spend their last night in Jackson dining at… the Cowboy Bar.
I looked up from the packet and groaned out loud. “Ugh! Not the Cowboy Bar.”