Rough Country (Tannen Boys 3)

Good news.

“No, and quit asking. I’ll tell you when I do, just like I said I’d tell Olivia and half the damn town when I hear.”

I’m not exaggerating. Last night was busy, even for a Friday night, with everyone coming up to the bar to order their beers instead of letting Olivia wait on them. They’d been using their drinks as cover to oh-so-casually mention Bobby and inquire what I’d heard. Nothing, nothing, nothing, I’d said all night.

I’m expecting tonight to be more of the same, the Saturday night crowd wanting their piece of flesh and the latest gossip.

But the answer’s the same. I don’t know anything.

I’m not worried. Bobby said he had no idea what Jeremy’s plans were for this meet and greet, so he didn’t know when, or if, he’d get a minute to call or text. But he assured me he’d be thinking of me the whole time.

“Well, excuse me for giving a shit about the boy. You just make sure that when he gets that first Country Music Award, he mentions his start at Hank’s, the best honkytonk in Great Falls, y’hear?” Unc grins, but he’s dead serious.

“Come on, we’ve got orders piling up. Hit the taps and call out my mixers.”

He takes the cue that we need to focus. Or actually, that I need to focus on anything but Bobby for a few minutes. I’m a big ball of jangly nerves, bouncing around like jingle bells inside a maraca.

Please let this go well for him. If anyone deserves a dream coming true, it’s Bobby.

“Two Jack and Cokes and a Long Island Iced Tea—don’t mouth about how gross they are again—and a Girly Beer, table four. Three Girly Beers, table five.” One corner of Unc’s mouth tilts up in devilment as he looks across the room. “You feeling lucky tonight? Want to make bets on which of my pitchers of Coors Light are going home with your Girly Beers?”

I glance over, seeing three women out for a night on the town at a table next to three guys who are already calling dibs. I’ve seen it a thousand times, but I’ve also seen this go the other way.

“I’ll take that bet. My call is that the guys buy at least two rounds before they realize none of them are getting lucky tonight. The ladies are looking for a buzz and a spin around the floor, nothing else.”

Unc holds out his hand and we shake on it. Standard bet rules apply, loser pulls closing duty. Not that it matters, I’ll clean up either way, but fun stuff like this makes the time pass by quicker and adds some fun to the night. And it’s the much needed distraction I was hoping for, which Unc full-well knows.

An hour later, we still don’t know who’s won the bet. The guys are sitting with the ladies now, paired off evenly, which Unc thinks bodes well for him. But they’ve done two rounds and at least one spin around the floor. Until someone makes a move for the door, we’re at a stalemate.

A blonde comes up to the bar, all smiles. “Amaretto sour.”

“You want to start a tab?” I ask, already putting a glass on the bar.

“No thanks. You heard from Bobby yet?”

I sigh and look at her again. She looks familiar. I’ve definitely seen her in here before, but I don’t know her name. “About what?”

I’ve decided that playing dumb is more entertaining than giving nosy people informational fodder. Keeps things interesting, Unc told me, and so far, he has been right about that.

“The music deal, of course,” she snips. Her eyes widen, “Oh, unless you two aren’t dating anymore. Bless your heart, did he already ditch you for the big city?”

Instead of sorrow, her tone is one of evil glee. And loud enough so that people four stools down can hear her. She’s good at playing the rumor mill.

“Loretta, take your drink and sit down. Everybody in here knows that you’ve thrown yourself at Bobby Tannen’s feet more times than Ilene’s made biscuits and that he’s turned you down every single time. So don’t be starting trouble where there ain’t none to be had, ’specially when you ain’t ready to finish it. Because I am.”

“Hmmph,” Loretta snorts as she hair flips away with her drink.

“What was that all about?” I ask.

Unc sighs. “Just what I said. You got a man that a lot of people like, and a lot of people don’t. Both for no good damn reason I can see. And some people are sad sacks who want everyone to be as miserable as they are. Loretta’s all right. She just never had nobody tell her no, about anything, if you know what I’m saying, so it sticks in her craw a bit.”

I glance over at Loretta. She’s pretty, at least on the outside. Not so sure about her insides, though. They seem a bit sketchy.