1
Paget Sour parked her Jeep in front of Boone’s Bar and Grill. She rested her head on the steering wheel and took in a deep breath, letting it out slowly. She’d figure it out. She had to. That house was all her father had left of his marriage to her mother. It meant everything to him, and it made him happy.
All Paget wanted for her old man was for him to live out his last days with a little dignity and in the one place that hugged him like a warm, fuzzy blanket.
She snagged her purse and slipped from the driver’s seat. Her mother was looking down at her, waggling her index finger and saying, your father shouldn’t eat fried foods or too much red meat. And you, child, don’t need a drink before dinner.
“Yeah, I do,” she whispered as she pushed open the door to her favorite local watering hole. Besides having the best burgers and fries, Boone’s had the sexiest bartender, who was also the owner, and he made the best whiskey sour that she’d ever tasted.
And Lord knew she needed one right about now.
For a Thursday night at six, Boone’s was pretty hopping, which wasn’t a shocker. Of all the local places to get some bar food and kick back after work this was the place.
She smiled as Boone waved, pointing to the permanently reserved seat at the end of the bar. He’d been really good to her, and she almost hated taking advantage of his hospitality and kindness.
The key word there was almost.
He’d been a good friend, and she wished she could do what her father suggested and just go for it, but that would never happen. No matter how much her father might have approved of the mysterious bartender, Boone didn’t see her as anything other than a sweet girl to share a lemonade with.
“Why don’t you tell me all about it,” he said with a smile and a wink.
“I’d rather talk about sunshine and rainbows,” she said. Boone had no idea the extent of her problems, and she’d never tell him, but he knew her father, and her dad had a special place in his heart for the sweet bartender, especially since they shared a common bond.
History.
Both men had an obsession about all things related to the past, specifically related to war and military, and she would be forever grateful for the late morning talks that Boone engaged in with the old man. The best part is she hadn’t even ever asked Boone. It had happened organically, simply because they were neighbors.
“Hey, good lookin’,” Boone said as he wiped the counter in front of her. “Can I get you the usual?”
“Yes, please. And I need two orders to go of my dad’s favorites.”
“I guess you’re not following your mom’s plan tonight.” Boone chuckled. “I had a nice turkey sandwich with your dad this afternoon, and then we went for a stroll. Just an FYI, his hip is acting up.”
“I know. I’m taking him to the doctor on Monday. I’m afraid he might need a replacement, but I know him and he won’t go for it.”
“He’s not even seventy yet. Why not? That kind of surgery at that age isn’t horrible, from what I understand.” Boone went about making a whiskey sour, her favorite drink and much needed after her day.
Besides being exhausted from work as a horse trainer at Whiskey Ranch, dealing with all the things her mother used to handle before she died, and realizing the only thing her mother had done well was hide all the problems from her and her dad, had taken its toll. At the ripe old age of thirty-one, Paget felt like she was older than her father with one foot in the grave.
“My pops is as stubborn as a mule and when he gets something in his head, you can’t change his mind, and he decided after a buddy of his had a bad time with one, he wasn’t ever going to have a replacement of any kind. He said old people have aches and pains. It’s a rite of passage.” She took the drink Boone offered and brought it to her lips, trying to avoid his smoldering gaze. His eyes were the color of milk chocolate melting in the warm sun.
“Your dad has some interesting philosophies about life, that’s for sure.” Boone was a bit of a mystery to the folks in Buhl. He’d moved there a couple of years ago, quietly purchasing the old bar that hadn’t been in use in over a year. Boone spent a good few months fixing up the place before his grand opening, which wasn’t really all that grand.
He simply opened his doors for business. However, it quickly became the hotspot in town.
It wasn’t a family place, nor was it a pickup joint either. It was just a nice bar and grill where the residents of this quaint town, along with all the ranchers, would come for a relaxing meal, a couple of beers, and occasionally, on the weekends, he’d provide a local singer.
And sometimes Boone would even pull out his guitar and play a few tunes.
“Damn. I can never get my whiskey sours to taste this good.” She smacked her lips.
“A good bartender never gives his secrets away.”
She laughed, staring at him as he pulled his hair back into one of those man buns. Never did she think she’d find that sexy. She always preferred a buzz cut, or at the very least a neat, short style, close to the neck, but his long locks, dangling close to his shoulders with a thick wave, made her go weak in the knees. She wished she could hang out here for the rest of the night and use his sexy body as a distraction to her problems.
Boone scowled. “Here comes your favorite police officer.”
Like flipping clockwork.
Paget sat up a little taller. “I swear that man has a tracker on my Jeep.”
“He does end up in this place a lot when you are.” Boone wiped down a couple glasses and nodded his head. “Officer Gunther. What brings you in here today?”
“I placed an order to go,” he said with his fingers looped in his belt. “I called it in about five minutes ago. I think your hostess took it, and I’m about twenty minutes early.”
“Let me go check,” Boone said as he disappeared into the kitchen.
“Thanks.” Steven widened his stance and smiled. “You look pretty this evening.”
Right. She smelled like horse shit, and her hair probably still had straw in it, but whatever. “Thank you.” She managed a grin that she hoped wasn’t too sarcastic. “I seem to see you in here more and more.”
“Best steak sandwich in a fifty-mile radius,” Steven said.
“I won’t argue that point.” She sipped her drink, trying not to be too rude.
Steven was a nice enough man. He was a good cop and highly respected in the community.
However, when it came to dating, he came on way too strong.
“How have you been?” Steven set his hand on the back of her bar stool and puffed out his chest. He wore his uniform proudly. He didn’t have a huge sense of arrogance, but he did enjoy the power of being a cop and the way people treated him because of it.
“Doing well, thanks.”
“I had a nice chat with your dad the other day,” Steven said.
She bit down on her tongue. What Steven thought was a decent conversation was totally frustrating for her father simply because her dad had told Steven more than once that Paget wasn’t interested, and buttering him up wouldn’t help to change her mind. Her father didn’t like Steven when they dated, and he liked him even less now.
“I offered to give him a hand when it came time to decorate for the Scarecrow Festival.” Steven rested his hand on her shoulder. “He told me you and he had it covered. I wish you would let me help more. I miss hanging out with you.”