Rough Country (Tannen Boys 3)

His eyes search mine, for what I’m not sure, but carefully, he asks, “How’s Hank doing? Not used to a workhorse like him skipping out.” He looks around, noticing that Unc’s not here again. “’Specially not two days in a row.”

Not wanting to tell Unc’s story since that’s his place, and technically, he hasn’t even told me, I shrug. “He’s okay, I guess. Said he’ll be in tomorrow for sure.”

“I’m glad you’re here to help him. Stubborn old coot needs it but is too proud to ask for any,” he says, spot on with both Unc’s need and unwillingness to accept help. Except he is letting me, and though I’d like to think it’s because he’s welcoming me with open arms, I think it has more to do with how bad the situation has become.

“Me too.” Glancing down the bar, I see a customer flagging me. “I’ll be back. Let me check on these people.”

“No worries, do what you need to do. I’m gonna wander over to the pool tables for a bit until you’ve got a second to eat, ’kay?” He’s truly asking, and if I preferred for him to sit right there and wait for me, I have no doubt he would without hesitation. Being the focus of his attention is a heady thing, but I would like to double-check that I’ve done everything I can for Unc for tomorrow’s shift.

“Sounds good,” I answer, already mentally checking whether that customer had a Bud or Coors.

“Hey,” he says, drawing my attention back. “I’m glad you’re here for me too, for us.”

“Wow.”

He chuckles, and I realize I said that aloud. The couple sitting two stools down even seem in awe, watching us like their daily soap opera. I’m pretty sure I hear her whisper, “Why don’t you say stuff like that to me?” He doesn’t do himself any favors when he answers, “Because you don’t say it to me, either.”

“Us?” I parrot, still lost in his orbit.

“Us.”

He turns to head to the back area where the pool tables are, and I finally close my mouth. The lady tells me, “Girl, lock that man down. Put a ring on his finger and yours, have his babies, and never let him go.” To her man, she adds, “It’s true.” He shakes his head but looks like he agrees.

“Oh.” I start, remembering that I’m supposed to be getting a beer. “Coors, right?” I ask, pointing at the guy who flagged me down. He nods kindly and even says ‘thanks’ when I set it in front of him.

After a couple of hours, the place slows down considerably, to my surprise. The Saturday with live music had been an absolute madhouse, but even the regular Saturdays were busier than this. I’m not complaining, though. It’s given me time to watch Bobby.

I guess I expected tonight to be a continuation of where we left off. Hot and heavy, in other words, but he’s been happily playing pool with a group of guys he seems vaguely familiar with. He’s still shooting sexy looks my way and keeping a close watch over me and the whole bar. I have no doubt he could tell you how many people are here, who’s tipsy, who’s looking to get laid, and who’s looking for an escape into the bottom of a glass. He also probably knows that today is wearing me out, my feet are tired, and my back is aching. I feel like he’s observant of things like that, the same way I am.

Actually, I’ve taken several pictures of him tonight with my phone. Thank God for digital zoom. Those photos are for me, though. To my blog, I posted a tub of lemons with a caption that read, “When life gives you lemons, chop them to bits and suck their insides out.” I’d thought it was funny, and it’s gotten several comments agreeing with me. Now, I take a shot of my shoes on the slick floor and rubber mats add, “Feet numb. Floor slippery. Bad combo for your girl. Pray for verticality.”

Having a few minutes, I make my way across the room toward the pool tables. Oh, who am I kidding? I’m going straight to Bobby like he’s pulling on my strings.

The small group shifts automatically, like they know I belong at his side and make space for me to be there. “Did you eat yet?” Bobby asks with real concern, his arm going around my waist and pulling me close.

“Yeah, Ilene set me and Olivia up with some extra fries she had.” They hadn’t been extra at all. She’d made them for us, delivered them to the bar, then nearly ran back to the kitchen where she prefers it.

“Good.”

“What about you? You want something?” I ask, knowing he usually eats with me too.

“I ate already. I was starving and grabbed a bite from Mama Louise before I came,” he says with a touch of regret, like I could fault him for it. “I figured I’d snack again with you, though.”