Natalie’s name flashes again, and I snatch up the phone.
Natalie: I really am sorry.
So am I. I met Natalie when she’d just finished her first PhD in Bozeman. She came to Huckleberry Springs with friends for a rafting vacation. We dated for a few months, and I tried to lock it down, but she decided early on to do a second PhD in bioethics on the East Coast. Just far enough away to make regular visits difficult. I haven’t been out there for a year, and she hasn’t been here since that summer vacation four years ago.
I don’t feel like talking to her, but I have to hand it to her. She didn’t make me fly out there to break it off. Guess the answer to my earlier question is that Idoappreciate getting dumped with some unknown dude in the background.
Durban: Me too.
I down the rest of my glass.
Silas turns from where he’s handwashing a few glasses in the bar sink. I’ve quit questioning how often he changes the water, or if he ever does. No one comes to Bootleg if they’re worried about health code violations.
“ ’Nother?” he asks.
Since it doesn’t look like Campbell’s quitting early... “Yup.”
For another hour, I sip my second whiskey and read through distilling blogs and articles to keep me from being a sad sack at the bar. When I get done, my ass is starting to hurt, so I help Silas take and fill orders. I replace the cold dishwater with fresh stuff, adding more soap than Silas ever does, and keep an eye on Campbell.
She’s on her second mug of beer, and now the three guys who are probably seasonal help have joined her group for pool.
Any other night, I wouldn’t care how many guys are hitting on her, but she’s drunk. Her laughter’s gotten louder, and her balance is shit. How has she not fallen on her ass?
I shake my head and clamp my teeth together. I can’t go over there and haul her to my pickup, drive her home, dump her in bed, and tell her to sleep it off.
Why can’t I?
Right. She wouldn’t cooperate.
I like the thought of throwing her over my shoulder too much. Finally, her impromptu friends start putting away pool cues and giving her hugs.
Good. I can get home and stroke one off to the memory of Natalie and— Nope. I’m single now. That routine is over, and I won’t torture myself with it.
Campbell’s bell chime of a laugh rings through the bar. The three guys are eyeing her like wolves would a newborn calf on slippery ground. Their ringleader is touching her—a hand on her hip, leaning in close, even feathering his fingers over her hair.
Not on my watch.
The ringleader drags her to their table, and he scoots his half-full beer toward her.
I round the bar and I’m at her side in seconds. “Hey, Campbell. Do you have a ride?”
She sways when she spins around and grabs on to the string of her cross-body bag. Her green eyes are glassier than they were before. “I’ve got it taken care of.”
That’s Campbell code for no. “I’ll drive you home.”
She gives me a saccharine-sweet smile. “Don’t worry that pretty little head of yoursh.”
The ringleader puts a proprietary hand on her lower back. “We’ll make sure she gets home.”
Anger dings at my temples. I’m a bronc that’s just thrown its rider—pissed as hell, and I just want to leave.
A flash of worry crosses her face, but she smothers it. She doesn’t want to be at that guy’s mercy. Why in the hell can’t she just make this easy?
“Give me your keys,” I tell her.
She pouts. “You’re not in charge of me, Durban.” She teeters and tries to punch a finger into my shoulder.
The men surround me. I didn’t grow up with two brothers in the foothills of the Beartooth Mountains to let them intimidate me.
