Chapter 4 #2
“I’m impressed,” I tell her, nudging her with my elbow as I slide her my ten-dollar coupon for the grocery store. “I never would have won that round without you, fair is fair.”
“She’ll take it!” George laughs, having no shame in accepting it on her behalf even as she’s shaking her head, and I’m pleased he’s calmed down about my presence. Of course, he won the ‘grand’ prize for the evening, which seems to come with bragging rights around the hall.
“What are you doing tomorrow night?” I ask Margo, and I can see all the effort I spent disarming her going down the drain.
“It’s supposed to snow. I’ll be on call,” she informs me. I know damn well that’s bullshit and besides, I need an alibi and over the course of the evening I decided she’d be perfect for that.
“Tell me the truth,” I drawl back, leaning to whisper the next words into her ear. “You enjoy playing whack-a-mole with the mailboxes, don’t you?”
The snort she unwittingly lets out has me chuckling. And becoming more determined to spend time with her.
“I gotta get going. I’ll keep an eye on the forecast, Go-Go,” I tell her, brushing my lips against her cheek. “Town’s too small to avoid me for long.”
I work the room on the way out, stopping to tell the announcer reach out to me, sponsoring the occasional week of Bingo prizes can only work in my favor.
My funeral home pays annual dues to the VFW, yet it’s to keep our name on literature and not because I ever had any interest in hanging out here. At least, not until now
Margo
Town’s too small to avoid me for long. Bull’s words have been echoing in my mind since he left, but looking at the number scrawled across my mirror has my heart racing for the second time in an hour.
This time in fear. It’s a solid minute before I can focus on the numbers long enough to realize that it’s a local area code. Once I do, I immediately dial the number.
“Good to know you’re home safe,” his voice comes across the line as a purr.
“You break into my house again and I’m calling the sheriff,” I growl back at him before hanging up.
He won’t hurt me. He won’t hurt me. He won’t hurt me. I chant over and over again, praying that my words are true as I scrub away his number. Picking up the lipstick, I consider tossing that out but this shit’s too expensive nowadays.
Crawling under the covers fully dressed, I squeeze my eyes shut, holding onto my childhood memory of him, barely into manhood and protecting me from the others.
He’s not like David.
I wake up a few hours later and reach for my phone again, a new habit of mine since taking over the snowplow job. Before I can get to the weather forecast, I notice a text message from the number I dialed earlier.
Fair enough. Just so you don’t shoot the delivery person, you should know I ordered some salve for your thighs, it’ll be there in the morning.
Shaking my head at his nonsense I try, repeatedly, to compose a witty text back to him. He must be awake because I nearly jump out of my skin when a new text comes through.
Still mad at me?
My jaw drops open as I lay there considering my answer.
Cat got your tongue?
Interesting phrase, I type back. I understand you have a harem of ‘kats’.
His laughing emoji makes me cringe at how childish I came across.
I’m no angel, but I have neither the energy nor the money to deal with a harem.
At first, I smirk feeling like I won that round. He answered for himself but not the infamous motorcycle club he runs. Granddad gave me a full rundown on the way home just in case I was under any illusion about the surprisingly charming man who sat with us all night.
I had a thought on the way home.
Did you? I take the bait.
You really know your music and your voice is sexy as hell. I know the guy who runs the radio station and he’s been looking for a new DJ.
I gasp, jumping out of bed and start pacing around my room. Does he know? No, he couldn’t.
Then my next thought freezes me in my tracks. I need to prepare in case someone does find out.
Dad sent me up here, using the excuse of Grandfather being alone, but what happens when David’s family tracks me down?
Hard pass. I answer Bull solely to stop him from running with the idea.
Just trying to save some mailboxes, he responds.
Funny.
Keeping an eye on the weather. If it’s clear, I’ll be by to pick you up tonight.
Stubborn-assed man, I think to myself before putting my phone down. Looking at the time, I know I’m too keyed-up to sleep anymore, so I go downstairs where I find Granddad watching Top Gun: Maverick.
“Again?” I ask, indicating the movie he watches almost constantly.
He merely shrugs as I snuggle into the recliner next to his. Maybe he’s onto something. While I didn’t think I’d be able to fall asleep again, it’s not long before my eyes close.
*
Checking the weather when I wake up later that morning, it looks like there will be a break in the snowfall for a while so I make a list of places that I can potentially get a job where they won’t be too picky about paying me under the table.
I’ve waitressed before and hated it. I’m better at bartending as long as they don’t mind me having a drink or two during my shift.
Other than that, I might have to look into construction work.
I’m strong and Dad made sure I knew the basics; he was a contractor most of his life so I’ve spent a lot of time around work sites.
There’s probably some part of Dad that wishes I maybe wasn’t so good with a hammer, but that’s neither here nor there right now.
“Looks like we’re getting an Indian summer for the rest of the week,” my Granddad says as I head upstairs to get dressed.
“Which will give me time to look for another part-time gig.”
I narrow my eyes at him when he chuckles.
“I seem to recall Stryker mentioning he needed help at the funeral parlor,” he says, and I turn, grabbing the counter as I feel the blood drain from my face.
It’s suddenly impossible to get a word out, so I just shake my head.
“Margo, are you alright?”
“I must have missed that,” I respond after taking a sip of water. If I never return to Wells’ Mortuary again, it’ll be too soon.
“Maybe you were in the bathroom? But he needs office and billing help,” Granddad tells me, seemingly unable to read the room right now. “I’m off to PT. Leave a note if you’re going out tonight.”
Between his house and town, there’s a bar, that while a bit on the sketchy side, always seems to be busy, so that’s my first stop.
Entering the dimly lit room, you’d never know it was barely noon.
“Tables only if you’re ordering food,” a waitress calls out, passing me with four plates balanced on one arm and the fifth in her left hand.
Damn. I look down at my own arm, fairly certain that it’s not long enough to carry that many plates all at once.
A quick glance is all that’s needed to take in the room, so I turn to head to the bar; keeping my gaze fixed on the bartender who’s assessing me every step of the way.
“You look like a tequila kind of woman,” he says, tossing a coaster with such complete precession that it lands directly in front of where I stop.
“Is that so?” I counter, unable to tap down on the grin his words bring.
“It is. Unfortunately, you aren’t old enough to get served, but I’ve got some homemade root beer you might like.”
“Actually, I’d prefer a job. You don’t happen to have any of those, do you?”
“Are you nineteen?”
“Twenty,” I reply, sticking my hand out to shake his. “I’m Margo Tucker and I was hoping for some bartending work a few days a week.”
“Which one of George’s wives did you come from?” he asks, and I wonder why that’d be relevant.
“His third one. Does it matter?”
“Yeah, your step-uncles used to beat the shit out of me in school. So that’d make you Eli’s daughter, he was a year ahead of me. Heard he settled down in Texas.”
I nod, not bothering to correct him about where I was raised or committing to any information as I keep an easy smile on my face.
“I’ve been driving the snowplow, but I could really use some extra cash.
Maybe we can do a trial period for a couple of weeks?
I just keep my tips and maybe a meal per shift? ”
“What do you say, partner?” he asks, finally shifting his eyes over my shoulder and that’s the moment my skin starts to tingle and I know exactly who’s come up to stand behind me. “Is this the bartender we’ve been looking for? Or are you still salty about that tow charge?”
“Son-of-a-bitch,” I accidently say out loud.
“Maybe a little test,” Bull’s deep voice is barely a whisper as he leans down to my ear, his head nearly brushing against mine. “Why don’t you get back there and make me a, hmm, a cosmo.”
There’s a quick flicker in the bartender’s eyes and I realize I never asked him his name.
Walking behind the dark wood bar, I scan the liquors, glasses, and overall set up before looking up at the man who called Bull ‘partner’. “I’m sorry, what’s your name?”
“You can call me Captain. Everyone does,” he says, scooting over when I motion for the shaker.
I fill that with ice, trying not to hum as I pretend to play their little game. Next, I reach for a bottle of Johnnie Walker Black and guestimate what’ll amount to a double shot over the ice. Shaking that, I pour the chilled liquid into a rocks glass and put it in front of him.
“There’s no fucking way you drink cosmos,” I tell him, crossing my arms over my chest when he raises an eyebrow at me.
“But how the hell did you guess Johnnie Walker?” Captain asks me as he mimes a clapping motion with his hands.
“I’m not telling,” I reply in a singsong voice, figuring that I had nailed it.
“Bull?” Captain looks at him, waiting on his say-so.
“Come sit with me,” Bull says to me, tilting his head to indicate a table in the back corner then waiting for me to lead the way.
Letting out a sigh as I feel my small victory slip away from me, I head over to his table.
“What are you doing here?” he asks me without preamble.
“Looking for a job,” I answer with a shrug.