“She should be. Three of her friends are dead. This isn’t a video game where if you screw up you hit Reset and start over.”
“I know that,” Geneva snapped. “Just because I’m not living in a foreign country dodging bullets doesn’t mean I’m naïve. That’s why I’m telling you to stay away from Molly. Don’t call her. Don’t stop by. I couldn’t take it if anything happened to her. Or to one of my other kids. I’m not like you, Mercy.”
I flinched. I couldn’t help it. “How aren’t you like me?”
“You don’t understand how much my family means to me.”
Trying to gain control of my temper and my tongue didn’t work. For once I didn’t give a crap if she thought I was the coldest, meanest bitch on the planet, because at times I was.
Like now.
“You think I don’t understand? Why? Because I haven’t given birth I’m incapable of understanding love? Or the loss that comes with it? I’ve lost a helluva lot more in the last two months than you have in the last twenty years, so fuck that, Geneva.”
She notched her chin higher and continued the self-righteous glare.
“I might not be able to break the Gunderson curse, but I can break the curse of having a friend like you.”
After I stormed to my truck, I cranked the music as loud as it would go and burned rubber in my race to escape.
My mood was black. I practically ripped off the doors at Clementine’s so I could belly up to the bar. Inside, no one gave a shit about my attitude. The assorted customers were busy adjusting their own moods with various grain-based remedies.
Some shifty, stringy haired biker squatted on my bar stool. I tapped him on the shoulder.
He turned. “Yeah?”
“Get off my chair.”
He laughed. “Yeah, right.”
“Now.”
Before he opened his maw again, I fisted his leather vest in both hands and threw him on the concrete floor.
He hit. Hard.
The buzz in the bar stopped briefly.
I straddled the stool and didn’t bother to look behind me. If one greasy finger touched me, I’d kill him.
He must’ve sensed my murderous intentions because he disappeared.
Muskrat lifted a brow.
I threw my keys at him. “Don’t let me drive.”
“You got it. Whatcha drinking?”
“Two shots of Cuervo. In single glasses.”
“Lime?”
“No.”
Muskrat lined them up. I worked my way from left to right until they were empty. Took two minutes, tops.
“More?”
“Just one. And a pitcher of Bud Light.”
The golden liquid went down the hatch before Muskrat finished pulling the pitcher.
He slid an empty pilsner glass in front of me and I said, “Good man.”
“Anything else?”
“Does the jukebox take fifties?”
“Twenties.”
I dug a wad of money from my purse. Peeled off a hundred and handed it over. “Then I need change.”
“You wanna start a tab?”
“Yeah.” I peeled off another hundred. “Tell me when I’ve used this up.”
Muskrat frowned at the cash.
“What? If you tell me my money’s not good here, I’ll get shitfaced someplace else, Muskrat.”
“Your money is good, Mercy.”
“Then what?”
“Nothing.” He punched buttons on the cash register and passed me five twenties in change. “Pick something good.”
“Dwight, George, and Gretchen coming right up.”
He sort of smiled.
I played every song I loved, liked, and the stuff making the rounds on country radio. A Benjamin buys a lot of tunes. I parked my ass back on the stool, glaring at the bowl of soggy pretzels Muskrat not so subtly placed by the pitcher. “What the hell is this?”
“A buffer before your next round.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
Muskrat gave me a flinty-eyed stare.
A measure of guilt made me amend, “Works for me.”
I crunched pretzels, sang along to “Little Sister,” and drank. And drank some more. I leaned across the bar. “You sure you didn’t water down that tequila? ’Cause I don’t feel anything.”
“You will.”
I drained the last of my beer. Looked around.
Interesting crowd. No one I knew. Maybe it was time to make new friends since I was a pariah to the few I had.
Even Geneva had turned on me. I could understand her wanting to protect Molly, but she didn’t have to go off on me with such a vicious, personal attack. Fuck that. Fuck her. Fuck everyone on the whole fucking planet.
The tequila hit me like a donkey kick to the head.
Thank God. Rarely did I purposely pursue a falling-down drunk, but when I did I wanted instant gratification.
I sucked down a glass of beer to ensure I wouldn’t sober up in the next ten minutes.
More folks crowded in.
My gaze landed on a young, buff cowboy at the end of the bar. Mmm. Mmm. Mmm.
He lifted his head.
Ooh. Check out those baby blues.
He smiled.
I went one better and crooked my finger at him.
He sauntered over. Hooked his thumbs in the belt loops of his skintight Wranglers so I could see his Badlands Circuit Rodeo Champion belt buckle.
“Hey there, darlin’,” I said, full of tequila charm.
“Hey there, yourself.”
“Nice buckle.”
“Thanks.”
“How long it take you to win it?”
He grinned. “Four years.”
“Still rodeoing?”
“Now and again.” His smile dimmed. “So, didja call me over to hear my roping and riding stats? Or for something else, sugar?”
“Actually I need a dip. Whatcha got?”
“Skoal.”
“Flavored?”
“Hell no.”
“Bandits?”
“Bandits and Long Cut.”
“Bandits it is.”
He reached in his back pocket and pulled out a can. Popped the lid open, held it out, and the smoky scent of tobacco wafted up.
I picked a pouch and slid it back by my left molars. I couldn’t stand to have chew under my lip. The tang of mint and tobacco burst in my mouth. I fell into that category of “social” tobacco users; I could take it or leave it. “Thank you… what’d you say your name was?”
“I didn’t. But it’s Riley.”
“Thanks, Riley.”
“My pleasure.”
He didn’t ask my name and I didn’t offer. “Whatcha drinking?”
“Jack and Coke.”
I motioned to Muskrat. “My friend Riley here needs a Jack and Coke.” I poured myself another beer from the pitcher.
Gretchen Wilson belted out “One Bud Wiser.”
“Do you believe in karma, Riley?” His pretty, smooth brow wrinkled with confusion. Probably didn’t know what karma meant. No matter. I gifted him with my party-girl grin. “Never mind. Let’s dance, cowboy.”
We stopped in front of the jukebox. I led until he got over whatever made him uneasy. Then we did a jitterbug/two-step combo. Whoo-ee. The kid could move. Must’ve looked like we were having fun because two other couples joined us.
Yeah, I’m a real trailblazer.
While Martina McBride warbled a sappy tune, we knocked back our drinks. Riley kept sneaking strange looks at me. I suspected ol’ blue eyes wanted to scamper off, but was scared I’d toss him on his ass if he tried to escape my evil clutches. Smart man. Still, it wasn’t my thing to force him to stay in my company, so I cut him some slack. “Could I get another Bandit? For the road?”
Riley offered his can again. “You leaving?”
“No. I don’t want to monopolize your time.” I dropped the extra pouch in my shirt pocket. “Thanks for the dip.”
“Thanks for the drink.”
He had a nice ass. Lewd, but I openly ogled that fine bit of Wrangler-clad flesh as he strutted out the door. I sucked down my draft, feeling my thirty-eight years. Truth was, he was too young for me. Too green. I needed a man with at least a couple years of a steady sexual relationship under his big belt buckle. A man who knew his way around a woman’s body. A man with stamina.