12. Chapter 12
twelve
“To what do I owe this pleasure?” Tanner looks up from behind the bar as I walk into the Dust Devil.
“Shut up and give me a beer.” He knows why I’m here.
Damn, this cool air feels good. I sink onto a bar stool with a groan. Welding. Hard on the back. And today was the hottest day of the year.
He pulls a cold one from under the bar and nods at me as he twists the top, setting it in front of me, depositing the cap in the trash. “Wash your hands.”
I look down and—yeah. Dust, sweat, soot. “Been welding in a hundred degrees. What’d you expect?”
“A hundred-eight if the bank marquee’s right. Still, you should clean up before you walk into a respectable joint.”
“Who said this place is respectable?” I down half my beer in one tug. Damn, it slides down cold and good.
Tanner prides himself on serving the coldest beer in Texas. Keeps his coolers just above freezing. His arms braced on the bar, his eyes drag over me. “By the looks of you, I’d say it was worse than Ray thought.”
I reach back and rub the tight knot at the base of my neck, fingers digging in where the muscle won’t let go. “A lot worse. I told Ray they need a company to come assess the structural integrity of the whole damn place.”
“When did you become Mr. Civic Duty?” Waddy scoffs as he takes the stool beside me. “First you’re Chief’s go-to guy. Now Ray’s. Jesus. What’s next. Tanner going to be the Boy Scout leader?”
“Why don’t they sell you at the goddam auction. Send you to the dog food factory. I can’t help it if people ask me to do shit.”
Tanner barks a laugh. “No one would bid. He’s too scrawny.”
“Fuck yourselves.” Waddy spreads his elbows wide like he’s claiming territory. “You know we’re playing Zephyr Friday night at home.”
I slice him a mean side-eye. “If I was on the school board, I’d set a load limit.”
Tanner leans closer, almost whispering, “Are you messing with us?”
“No.”
He draws back, standing straight, alarm on his face as he looks from me to Waddy. “Well, fuck. We don’t want people getting hurt.”
“I told Ray the same.”
“Hey, Calder.”
I glance over my shoulder and nod. “Allison.”
“I see you’ve been working.”
“Ya think?” Not in the mood to flirt or be flirted with.
“Wow. Charming as ever.”
I give her a flat look, hoping she gets the hint.
“Excuse me, Mr. Boone. Waddy? What have you been up to?” She parks her ass on the other side of him.
Good.
Not interested. We had a go at it several years back. Didn’t go anywhere with me.
Tanner sets a cold one in front of her and slides down the bar to me. “What’s your problem?”
“Don’t start.”
He snickers. “Let me guess.”
Our eyes meet. “Fuck off, friend.”
Friend. I can’t believe she said that to me. I don’t want to be her goddamn friend. Jesus, is she for real? Friends?
“You’re stewing.”
“You need a dictionary to understand fuck off?” I set my empty on the bar, loud. “I’m going to wash up. Can I use the apartment bathroom?”
“If you clean up after you clean up. You’ve still got clothes back there.”
Earns him a sneer. “I know.”
Tanner and I built this place. It’s got an apartment in back. We both keep a change of clothes here for emergencies.
I snatch the fresh cold one he set on the bar for me and head back. “Thanks, man. When you see me again, I’ll be more presentable.”
Two tables, eight men. Five dollars a man each round. Texas 42 night—one Tuesday every month in the back corner. Tanner and I’ve been playing since we grew up watching our parents play.
The Dust Devil’s got a small crowd and no band on Tuesdays, so it’s quiet enough to think. Forty-two’s a game of math and strategy. Math was my best subject in school.
We play seven rounds per set. Winning team from each table goes to a play-off, and the winner walks away with the whole damn pot.
Three hundred dollars. One hundred fifty a man.
Me and Tanner win more often than not. We can read each other without talking. No need for cheating.
Besides, who the hell cheats at 42?
“Ante up, guys and draw,” Tanner says, then looks at me across the table. “You through sulking?”
He gets a growl. It’s one of his little pleasures in life—gigging me, especially when people are around.
Waddy, on my left, pulls the double-six right off—can’t beat that. He shuffles, and we all drag seven bones to us.
“You need to do something about your mood,” Tanner says as he lines up his dominoes.
“Not now.” I look at the hand I’ve pulled.
Just my luck.
“Thirty-one.” Tanner, on Waddy’s left, bids, before glaring at me again. “Your problem isn’t going anywhere, man. So, deal with it.”
I fist my beer. “For fuck’s sake, Tanner. Not now.” I don’t want everyone privy to my private shit.
“Pass.” Tom, on my right, says. He hasn’t got any more than I do.
“Pass.” I didn’t draw squat. The double one and a handful of low deuces.
“Thirty-two,” Waddy bids and slaps down a domino.
“You’re going in deuces?” I keep a straight face.
He sneers. “Led with the double. Duh.”
“Doesn’t mean it’s your trump.” Shithead.
We go—Tanner throws an off, no count.
Tom throws no count—if he had any, he’d have thrown it on the double.
I play my deuce-ace.
Waddy shoots me a withering glare. “Screw you.”
I can’t hold back the laugh. “Damn, man. I’ve got five of the fucking things, just not the two high ones. What were we bidding on?”
Waddy folds his dominoes face down and shoves them to the center. “Then you should’ve bid.”
“It’s more fun to set you.”
Tanner tips his head back and chuckles. “See, man? You can win, even with a losing hand.”
A few hours later, I’m stuffing a wad of cash in my pocket. “This round’s on me,” I tell the guys.
I’m feeling better. Cleaned up, cooled off. Won at dominoes. Life’s the same in the Dust Devil. I can do this. I can live in the same town with her.
I won’t see her that often.
Not like I’ll be back at the school anytime soon—I did all I could do to those stands.
Leaning back, taking in the room—yeah. I feel good. Feel like the old me.
I welded every beam in this place. Tanner and I used old barn wood to herringbone the walls. The U-shaped bar in the middle is lined in shiny corrugated metal. Trophy deer and elk on the walls, along with old signs and some new neon ones.
The dance floor’s not big, but big enough, with the juke box beside it.
Opposite the dance floor, on the far side of the building, three pool tables sit under those old rectangular green-shade lights that throw a tight circle of yellow over the felt.
Half the chains are mismatched because Tanner fixes them himself, but they hang straight enough. Down from them are the dartboards.
And he keeps the bathrooms clean. That’s big. Nothing worse for a business than nasty restrooms.
Tanner’s got the best bar in this part of Texas. Comfortable. Homey, if a bar can be homey.
Taking a deep breath, enjoying the company and the place, who the fuck walks in? Mercedes Bennett.
She’s to Laurel what Tanner is to me.
I think Mercy and Tanner had a go at it years back. Didn’t work, but they managed to keep their friendship. They’re actually tight. I’d say she’s his best friend, next to me.
She doesn’t head my way. Good. Don’t want to hear it.
She beelines for Tanner, standing on her tiptoes to lean over the bar, whispering to him.
When his gaze finds mine, my hackles rise.
I stand and stride their way. “What’s going on?”
Mercedes doesn’t waste time. “Dabbo Hayes had a heart attack.”
My chest goes tight, my beer at my lips. “How bad?”
“I don’t know. They took him by ambulance to the ER in Llano. Laurel said they’re running tests.”
Tests. He’s not in surgery.
I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding, but my pulse is hammering. Hopefully, it’s a scare, not the real thing.
Tanner’s already grabbing his keys, giving orders to his staff.
I’m right behind him.