Wednesday's Words: Groom. An excerpt from The Fairy Tale Thief

 Welcome to Wednesday's Words where I share a snippet from one of my stories using the previous day's word from the New York Times' game. WORDLE. Yesterday's WORDLE was GROOM. 

Today's excerpt is from The Fairy Tale Thief. 

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Although the Hearty Oak Canyon Road was less than three miles from the center of Santa Magdalena, the canyon looked like it belonged on a different planet. Gone were the groomed greenbelts with the perfectly pruned roses. Things, including plants, people, and animals, were wilder in the crevice between Saddlehorn Mountain and the rolling foothills. Oak trees formed an umbrella that sheltered the road from the sun. Bikers roared their Harleys from the Aliso Creek trail to the Santiago Canyon. Mountain bikers headed for the Wilted Ranch and hikers wandered off the trails. Campers and vagrants stayed in the Neal Ford State Park. The only place serving food was Jax Junction.

Grace had never been inside Jax because it was a bar, and Grandpa Hank believed that the only reason people went into the canyon was to deal drugs. Grace knew that last part wasn’t true, but she couldn’t help thinking about what Grandpa Hank would say if he knew she was spending a Saturday morning in a biker bar in the canyon.

But what would he say if he knew Heather was hanging out with fairytale characters?

Brock rolled the BMW off the road and parked it under the shade of a gnarled oak. When they climbed from the car, Kelly had Hans cradled against her chest.

“They probably won’t let you bring dogs into the bar,” Brock said.

Kelly took a look at the men dressed in leathers hanging out on the porch. “I think he’ll fit right in.”

“Same hairdo,” Grace muttered.

“I think Hans is better groomed, actually,” Kelly whispered and ran a loving hand over the top of the dog’s head.

They picked their way through the motorcycles gathered in the dirt lot. The smell of bacon mingled with pine and the smoke from distant campground fires tinged the crisp air.

Men lounging on the porch straightened as the trio passed. One of them dropped his cigarette and ground it beneath his boot, but no one pointed and shrieked, “Minors!” as Grace had feared.

Kelly tightened her hold on Hans as they went through the swinging doors. The floors and walls were made of the same wide planks of wood. The bar dominated one wall and Grace caught their reflection in the mirror behind it. They looked as out of place as she felt.

“Hail, young Brockbank!” The sturdy man behind the bar raised his arm in welcome, and his face cracked a wide grin.

Brock returned the smile. “Hey there, Jax. These are my friends.” He introduced Grace and Kelly.

Grace tried not to stare at the crumbs of food in Jax’s beard while Kelly shuffled her feet. A few of the men in the bar watched, but most went back to their conversations and breakfasts.

“What can I get you, man?” Jax asked Brock.

“We’re looking for her sister.” Brock motioned toward Grace.

“She look like you?” Jax asked her.

“Yes!” Grace felt a well of hope.

“Haven’t seen her. I would have remembered a pretty thing like that.” Jax braced his hands on the bar and leaned toward them.

“How about a guy with a French accent?” Brock asked. “A Prince Charming kind of guy?”

Jax raised an eyebrow. “Haven’t seen any pretty boys around here, either.”

“Forget pretty.” Brock asked Jax about the dwarfs.

Interest lit Jack’s eyes. “Now I can help you. Word is those guys are camping in the park.”

“I knew it!” Brock looked really proud of himself.

“What do they have to do with your sister?” Jax asked. “Want me to send some guys to corkscrew their arms?”

“No! Please.” Grace didn’t know who Jax would send for the arm-screwing, but she was pretty sure it wouldn’t be a fair fight. “We just want to know if they can find the prince…pretty boy.”

Jax seemed satisfied.

“They’re at the campground, huh?” Brock asked.

Jax bobbed his head. “You sure you don’t want me to send some heavyweight in there for you?”

“I’m sure,” Brock said. “Hey, thanks.”

They made their way back to the car and headed for the state park.

“It looks like a really big park,” Kelly said when they pulled up to the gate.

“And they’re really little guys,” Grace said.

Brock pointed the BMW down the dirt road, passing ramshackle trailers, scarred pickup trucks, brightly colored pop-up tents, and blanket-swaddled people sleeping on picnic tables.

“We’re never going to find them,” Kelly moaned.

“I don’t think we’re in Orange County anymore,” Grace murmured.

“We are,” Brock assured them.

For the first time ever, Grace thought Grandpa Hank might have been right, as a man dressed in only a tight pair of jeans, cut off mid-thigh, crossed the road in front of them. He disappeared into a stone building that probably housed the restrooms.

Brock whistled.

“Oh my golly! They’re real!” Kelly exclaimed, pointing to the left.

There, in the shadow of a towering pine, the dwarfs had set up camp. Two ropes strung between trees draped a variety of brightly colored blankets and quilts making a long, rectangular canopy. One man stood beside a struggling fire, poking at it with a stick. A few more were gathered around the table, stirring bowls with long-handled spoons, and chopping vegetables with wicked-looking knives. One was doing jumping jacks and kicking up small puffs of dirt with his boots. Another stood in front of a mirror that had been hung from a tree. He had a razor in his hand and looked as if he didn’t quite know what to do with it. They all stopped whatever they were doing when Brock parked the BMW in front of their campsite.

Brock lowered his window.

The men peered back at him, suspicion lighting their eyes.

“Hey, guys,” Brook began. “How are ya?”