Shelter Me Home Read Free Page B

luggage, she stomped her snow boots on the welcome mat at the door and approached one of the cashiers. “Excuse me. Do you know of any places to rent around here?”
    The teenager was in the process of emptying a roll of quarters into his drawer and pointed to a large bulletin board up front. “Sometimes people put want ads up there.”
    “Thanks.”
    With enough money stashed in her bag to cover a deposit and one month’s rent if it was cheap enough, she should be able to secure herself a place and start looking for a job. All she needed was for her luck to hold.
    The rentals on the board were way out of her price range, and when she called the town real estate professional from a pay phone out front, the woman described the six rentals she knew about, and every one of them was too grandiose for her pocket book. She stood, resting her back against the phone booth and biting her lip. What she couldn’t control would sort itself out. She’d started over before, and this was no different. She’d go look for a job first and find a cheap room for the night somewhere. Then tomorrow, she’d tackle the living situation after she figured out how much her job would pay. Heartened, she set the rickety wheels of her bag on the sidewalk out front, which someone had thoughtfully shoveled. A new layer of snow was blanketing it, so she tightened her grip and dragged it along. The bag thumped and bumped behind her as she trudged up the street. The sign on the front door of Wildman’s said they weren’t hiring, but she’d try every store in town until something stuck. She wasn’t picky. Desperate times did that to a person.
    The laundromat and graphic design store were closed due to inclement weather. A wood carver’s shop owner said she needed more experience to land a job with him, and a small travel office was only big enough for the one employee currently working there. The general store had a very familiar Chevy parked out front with steam coming from its exhaust, so that was out of the question, and the taxidermy store, gas station, and fly and rod store weren’t hiring.
    It wasn’t until, exhausted and anxious, she pulled her luggage up to Briney’s Tavern and Tackle that she had that feeling she often got before something was about to go right. She’d started as a bartender in a murky bar on the outskirts of New York and worked her way from bar to bar until she was serving the city’s elite. She’d even managed her shifts for about five months before she left.
    Clenching her teeth, she made her way up the creaking porch stairs. She just wouldn’t take no for an answer.
    Inside the bar, the theme was rustic chic. The floors and rafters were wooden, and old rusted street signs decorated the walls. Fishing nets decorated the corners with stuffed salmon and halibut hanging from them, and the bar top took up half the room, with plenty of stools for the few bar patrons who dotted them. Inhaling, she took in the musty air. No smoke at all, which made this a more viable option in her current condition.
    “Are you hiring?” she asked the balding man behind the bar.
    He dried a glass with a worn cloth and shook his head. “Sorry, we aren’t right now. About to hit the slow season I’m afraid.”
    Disappointment tasted bitter as she bit back the tremble that threatened to commandeer her lips. It had been a long, emotional day. She was tired, weak, and hungry again after having tossed her breakfast over the side of a mountain. She had no place to stay, no job, and she wasn’t above begging.
    Sliding the extended handle of her suitcase back into place, she lifted the countertop door and let it fall behind her.
    “What are you doing?” the old bartender asked. “You can’t be in here!”
    “Mr.”—she squinted at his nametag—“Briney. I’m a hard worker, and I know the bar. Even if you only have a few shifts a week, I’ll take anything you’ve got.” She pulled a glass and filled it with beer at the perfect