WhiskeyBottleLover (3 page)

“I wish you luck, my friend,” the stranger said and then
turned his back and walked away.

“No!” The last of the mist absorbed into him. Even with the
weight of the shackles, he felt himself lighten as if his body didn’t exist.
The cork of the whiskey bottle popped out, dangled in the air and then he felt
himself being sucked inside. “No!”

Present day, central Pennsylvania

“I’ll give you twenty bucks for the box.” Chance Cook
enjoyed haggling over the price of a box full of odds and ends. It got her
blood pumping and the juices flowing. Untold treasures could be found in boxes
like this.

“Thirty,” the woman counteroffered.

“Twenty-two and not a penny more. You know as well as I do
the stuff in here isn’t worth that much.” God, she hoped she was wrong. All she
needed was one little item made of gold or inlaid with a diamond and she’d make
her money back plus profit.

“Okay. Twenty-two.”

Chance handed the money over, picked up the box and headed
toward her car. She had one more stop to make this morning and then she could
return home and go through her treasures. Her old Honda was packed to the gills
and Chance had to push and shove to get the box inside. If she found something
significant at the farm sale she was out of luck.

After punching the address for the sale into her GPS, she
set out on the forty-five-minute drive. It was barely eight thirty in the
morning and she’d already hit two yard sales. But making a living off other
people’s junk meant getting started early before the good junk was gone.

Sometimes she got lucky and found valuable items that she
sold on the internet, making enough to pay her bills for a couple of months.
The rest she repurposed and sold in her little shop, The Treasure Trove. She
certainly wasn’t going to get rich but she lived a comfortable life and that’s
all she wanted.

Chance turned off the main road as directed by her GPS and
headed down a country lane lined with colorful trees. Fall was her favorite
time of the year with all the color. You couldn’t beat the warm temperatures
during the day and crisp nights that made for comfy sleeping.

The tiny little house she bought a year ago wasn’t anything
fancy but it was sound, warm and perfect. Out back she had a little barn where
she did most of her work and kept her items before taking them in to the shop.
Yeah, life had done a one-eighty for her and she couldn’t be happier.

Up ahead the farm came into view, its quaint appearance
disheveled by about twenty cars parked in the yard. Maybe she should have come
here first. All the good treasures were surely taken by now. She found a spot
to park, slid from her car and breathed in deeply, enjoying the fresh fall air.
Leaves crunched beneath her feet as she hurried toward the house.

Several people who’d already purchased their lot passed.
Chance tried to ignore what they carried. No point in becoming depressed over
items she missed. She had to concentrate on what had been left behind for her.
Shoving her hands into her jacket pockets, she scanned the tables as she
meandered by. Knickknacks, a box of buttons, odds and ends, kitchen supplies,
some unique picture frames—it all turned the wheels inside her head.

Unfortunately she already had a store full of this sort of
thing. Buying more would be senseless. No, she needed to find items that
popped, something that would feed her creative mind. At the end of the house
she saw some old boards stacked along with a few wooden spools. That’s what she
wanted.

With her sights set on what would be seen as garbage to
others, Chance hustled over, bumping the edge of a table with her hip. An old
glass bottle jostled and fell to the ground. She picked it up, ready to set it
on the table when a strange current flowed up her arm and tingled in her
shoulder. It didn’t hurt but it did pique her curiosity.

More focused on the pile of junk that could be made into
money, she shrugged it off, set the bottle back on the table and continued on
with her mission. Kneeling down beside the wood stack, she lifted planks and
made sure they weren’t rotted. A little worn but this old lumber could still be
used and make some beautiful furniture. Maybe a few Adirondack chairs, an end table
or two. The spools had potential as well. Put some wheels on them, some paint
and a few dowels and a person had a cool bookshelf. She even had a light
fixture she could add.

“Now why would a pretty lady like you be interested in this
pile of junk?”

Chance looked up at the old man. His silvery-gray hair
shimmered in the morning sunlight and his smile, laugh lines and all, conveyed
a friendliness that made her grin. “You see junk,” she answered, standing and
brushing her hands off. “I see a million ideas. How much for the pile?”

The man rubbed his chin and then scratched behind his ear.
“Well, I hadn’t really planned on selling it. Figured I’d have a bonfire.”

Horror speared through her at the thought of this
magnificent old wood being set ablaze. She actually made a strangled gulping
noise. “Oh please don’t do that.” His warm chuckle eased her panic slightly.

“For the life of me, I don’t know what you’d do with this
stuff, but if you want it, it’s yours. Thirty bucks for the pile?”

“That sounds fair.” Chance held out her hand and shook on
the deal. “I’ll have to come back for it with a truck. Promise you won’t cook
any marshmallows ’til I get back?”

“You have my word. Anything else you’d like while we’re at
it?” He swept his hand through the air, motioning toward all the other goods
for sale.

“I’ll have a look around.” Chance made the rounds but didn’t
find anything that struck her fancy. As she made her way back to the pile of
lumber she spotted the old bottle once again.

Wrapping her hand around the neck, she picked it up and
instantly that warm current of something zipped up her arm. Not an unpleasant
feeling, simply odd. The cloudy glass made it impossible to see clearly through
and the cork didn’t seem to want to come out. Still, she could tell it dated back
to at least the eighteen hundreds.

“You like old bottles?” an older woman asked.

Chance smiled. “I like everything old.” She turned the
bottle over, admired the way the glass swirled at the bottom and decided it
might look charming on her kitchen windowsill with a few fresh flowers in it.
“How much?”

“One dollar?”

“Sold.” She paid the woman, tucked the bottle into her
jacket pocket and made arrangements with the gentleman to pick up her lumber.

Eager to get home and borrow the neighbor’s truck, Chance rushed
to her car, tossed the bottle on the passenger’s side floor and forgot about
it. The next three hours consisted of running to the neighbor’s, undergoing
twenty questions about why she needed the truck, returning to the old farm,
dropping her lumber at her barn and then returning the truck, followed by
another twenty questions. When she pulled up in front of her shop she felt as
though she’d already put in twelve hours of work.

“Wasn’t sure you’d make it in today.”

Jenny Marshal, a seventy-eight-year-old woman who kept after
the shop for her, sat outside in the warm sun in an unsafe lawn chair. She and
Jenny had adopted each other when Chance first opened the place. Jenny would
wander in every day, look things over, chat, tell a few stories and, before Chance
knew it, had become a confidante. Jenny had become the closest thing to a
grandmother Chance ever had.

“I wish you would throw that old chair out,” she said,
grabbing a box from her car and walking toward the door. “It’s going to
collapse and you’re going to get hurt. I’ll be very angry if you get hurt,
Jenny.”

“It’s a little ragged around the edges but still strong
enough to hold this ass,” Jenny replied. “Find anything good today?”

Chance held her breath as Jenny pushed herself up out of the
chair and it wobbled, creaked and shifted sideways. When Jenny left today
Chance was throwing that dangerous piece of crap out. “I have a few boxes we
can go through and I bought some old, rough lumber at that farm sale. I should
be able to make some beautiful pieces out of it.”

“I have no doubt.” Jenny followed her inside. “Debbie from
the flower shop came in and bought all your vases this morning, said the
vintage look was doing well for her.”

“That’s great. Did you sell anything else?” Chance moved to
the computer and sat down. She checked the bids on her items listed and
grinned. Not bad—two of the five items were already over the reserve. It looked
as though she’d be able to pay her bills next month.

“We had a couple come in and spend a lot of time looking over
that light fixture you created. My gut says they’ll come back to buy it.”

“Now that would be great.” She’d put hours into cleaning up
the old strips of metal and twisting them, polishing, welding them to a base
and wiring the light. “Let’s go through the boxes and see what we’ve got.”

She and Jenny spent the rest of the afternoon picking out
what could be used and what needed to be tossed. She’d done well. They found a
small wooden jewelry box with a few antique pieces in the clutter. Even the
jewelry box could be sold for a nice profit after a little cleaning up.

“I think it’s time to call it a day, Jenny. I’m bushed.”
Chance yawned and her stomach growled.

“You need to eat more,” Jenny groused. “I know you didn’t
have lunch and I bet you didn’t eat breakfast either.”

“Don’t worry, Jenny. I pulled out the last of the frozen
lasagna you gave me this morning. I’ll be eating just fine tonight.”

Jenny nodded. “I’ll get busy on filling your freezer
tonight.”

“You don’t have to do that. I’m a big girl and can cook for
myself.” She’d never admit it but having someone worry over her the way Jenny
did filled her heart.

Jenny made an annoyed sound. “I’ve tasted your cooking.
You’ll waste away to nothing.”

She had a point. Cooking wasn’t something Chance excelled
at. Never having anyone to teach her, she simply didn’t develop an interest. “I
think I’m offended.”

“Don’t care. I’ll see you tomorrow and don’t stay up all
night, young lady.” Jenny waddled out the front door and when she disappeared
out of sight, Chance grabbed the old lawn chair and took it around back to the
garbage. Tomorrow there would be a new one to replace it.

Done for the day and ready to slip into her yoga pants and
tank top, Chance locked up and headed out. It wasn’t until she pulled into her
driveway and the old bottle rolled on the floor that she remembered it.
Snatching it up, she went inside, put it on her counter and put the thawed
lasagna in the oven.

A quick change of clothes, a nice fire in the fireplace and
the day came to a pleasant close. She pulled a chilled bottle of wine from the
fridge and poured a glass, and saw the old bottle again. Chance snatched it up,
somewhat ignored the tingle in her arm and tried to tug the cork out. No matter
how hard she twisted, pulled and stabbed the thing with a knife, it wouldn’t
come out.

Abandoning the idea of opening it, she grabbed a cloth, wet
it down and began to rub the thick layer of dirt away. The more she rubbed, the
warmer and stronger the tingle in her arm became. It even seemed the glass itself
vibrated.

“What the hell?” The bottle jumped in her hand, pulsed and
then shot into the air. Chance froze in place as it hung there in front of her,
suspended by nothing. The cork popped free with a thunk, releasing a thick,
green mist into the air.

Unable to move, rooted to the floor and paralyzed by fear,
she could only think that she’d unleashed some toxic chemical into the air.
Instincts had her holding her breath as she watched the cloud roll and gather
only feet from her. Oddly, it didn’t dissipate but stretched into a six-foot
column as it hovered over the floor.

Her lungs burned, her heart raced and a cold sweat broke out
all over her body as she watched the vapor form what looked like a hand and
grab the bottle. But it couldn’t be a hand, could it? Sure looked like one
though. Oh shit, what the hell was happening?

Hallucinating, that’s what it was. She’d breathed in the
fumes and now her brain was slowly melting. Yep, had to be because now the mist
began to take the shape of a human and things like that didn’t happen. Except,
legs were forming, a waist, torso, wide shoulders, thick arms and oh crap,
there was the head.

Her knees wobbled and then clanked together. Every muscle in
her body quivered so fiercely she thought for sure she’d shake apart. The foggy
form tipped its head back and let out a low, rumbling groan that sent icy
fright thundering through her bloodstream. With teeth chattering, she tried to
move her legs, ordered them to run, do something.

Slowly the green haze cleared, starting at the floor. Chance
shifted her gaze there and to her shock and amazement a pair of worn cowboy
boots appeared along with the hem of ragged jeans. She blinked several times,
reminded herself this was all a trick of her poisoned mind, but continued to
follow the denim up parted legs. Strong legs with a narrow waist.

Chance sucked in a much needed gulp of air as the chest
became clearer. Broad with wide shoulders, covered in a faded black shirt. The
sleeves were rolled up to the elbows, revealing defined muscles in the lower
arm. Wow, did she know how to hallucinate or what? And then the face cleared.
Chance’s eyes grew wide at the sight of the hard, chiseled features staring
back at her. Square jaw, slightly crooked nose and dark, gleaming eyes were
things of fantasy. They shouldn’t be standing in her kitchen.

Not in your kitchen
,
she reminded herself
.
Hallucination, that or I’ve gone batshit crazy
.
Still, she couldn’t
stop looking at the wavy black hair hanging past his shoulders. Damn, whatever
chemical she breathed in had some powerful effects on the mind.

Suddenly those gleaming eyes snapped to her face and she
felt a punch to the gut and chest that actually made her whimper. Her body
rocked slightly. It took everything she had not to collapse into a puddle on
the floor. Well, as imaginations went hers was stellar. If you’re gonna dream
up a man, do it right.