“Adam Bridger. Definitely not a tourist.”
Lani turned to peer out the window at a tall, broad-shouldered man standing outside the bookstore while he talked to a gray-haired woman in a navy parka. “That’s a Montana cowboy right there.”
“Imposing in an unassuming way.”
“Cowboys excel at that.” Adam’s black Stetson shaded his face except for the firm line of his jaw. His confident, slightly bow-legged stance marked him as someone who’d spent considerable time on the back of a horse.
“Let’s go meet him. I’m excited for Lucky. Adam looks like the kind of guy who makes things happen.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Rance loved Christmas at the Buffalo. Tyra and Clint went all out with lights and decorations, the band played holiday favorites and customers ordered festive drinks. It was his favorite time to be a bartender.
Not today.
But he was a professional and their clientele didn’t need to be exposed to his crappy mood. He laughed and joked with everyone, including his brother Clint, who kept an eye on the bar and pitched in whenever the orders got out of control.
Clint saw through his act, of course, although he didn’t say so. The occasional brotherly hand on his shoulder or a knowing glance sent his way said more than words that he understood the anxiety masked by his outward cheer.
His big brother had no idea. He likely thought Irving Quick’s arrival was the problem. But his shitty dad was the least of his concerns. He’d thought he had his life figured out, and last night the whole structure had collapsed like an Eiffel Tower made of popsicle sticks.
He'd been through some bad patches in his life, most recently with Lucky back in February. They’d almost come to blows and now they were tighter than ever. February had beena watershed month. He’d emerged a changed man, one with exciting prospects that had a good chance of materializing.
Or so he’d thought. Oh, he’d been transformed, all right. He’d always been something of an idiot, or eejit, as Kieran would say. But he’d been a happy one. Not anymore. Things couldn’t possibly get any worse.
Then his father strolled into the bar.
Wrong again.
Hard to miss the guy. That black turtleneck and leather jacket must be part of his brand. He could have walked right off the back of his book cover. Pretension, thy name is Irving Quick.
He sailed right past the wooden mascot as if he heard talking buffalos every day of the week.
Rance’s lip curled. He might have even snarled.
“Easy, bro.” Clint had silently moved to stand beside him. “Don’t let this loser get to you.”
“He was mean to Mom.”
“I know, and he won’t ever have the opportunity again.”
“Damn straight. D’ya think he knows I’m here?”
“I think you’rewhyhe’s here.”
“Mom told him?”
“Doubt it. My guess is he hasn’t been out there yet. All he had to do was stop someone on the street. Everybody in town knows Rance McLintock.”
That comment put a little more starch in his spine. He didn’t always wear his Stetson while working behind the bar, but today he had. He tugged down the brim and straightened his shoulders.
Clint chuckled. “Attaboy.”
He didn’t want to look at the jerk, but he couldn’t help it. This would be him in thirty years. There was no mistaking they were father and son.
Bile rose in his throat. He didn’t want to look like this piece of trash. Tomorrow he’d shave his head and grow a mustache.
His dear old dad seemed equally fascinated with him. He paused a few feet away and openly stared. “It’s like looking in a mirror.”
