Freddie frowned, but he didn’t argue. Freddie knew his limits. He knew he was good-looking, but Everett had the brains.
* * *
It was a chilly afternoon at the Tumbleweed Bar, but late-October weather in the Texas panhandle was iffy on a good day. The wind had a bite to it, and had there been enough moisture in the air, it might have been cold enough to work up a little snow. But it hadn’t happened, and the nip didn’t slow down the customers. The Tumbleweed was cozy and warm, and the perfect hideout for every old cowboy and every out-of-work local in Crossroads, not to mention the customers from the constant traffic out front on Highway 86.
Jacob was mopping up a beer spill on the floor and waiting for Billy Jack Woford’s wife, Lisa, to come pick him up, because Billy Jack didn’t drive anymore. Nobody minded Billy Jack’s lapses in memory, or that one beer made him drunk. His wife was just grateful he was still alive.
Once Billy Jack had earned a living as a farrier until he got kicked in the head. He had been in a coma for weeks and woke up thinking he was still in high school, and that his wife was his girlfriend. The kick erased fifteen years of his memory. He drew disability and sometimes forgot how to count the money he owed, but Billy Jack would just smile at his own confusion. He didn’t have a care in the world.
Jacob got the spill cleaned up, stored the mop, and was back at the bar serving customers when the door opened. He looked up, thinking it might be Lisa coming for Billy Jack, and saw two strangers, instead. He watched them scoping out the place and thought nothing of it as they meandered toward the bar and sat down at the two stools at the end.
“Afternoon. What’ll it be?” Jacob said.
“Two Lone Star Originals,” Everett said.
Jacob got the bottles out of the cooler and popped the lids, eyeing the men as he served them. “Enjoy,” he said as he set a little bowl of pretzels between them and walked away.
“Now what?” Freddie whispered.
“Drink your beer. Have a pretzel,Darren. Relax.”
Freddie grinned. It was like being a spy. “Yeah…yeah…right,” and took a big swig.
Everett was eyeing Kingston’s size and age, trying to decide if he was as imposing as he appeared. He’d expected an old man, not a big, physically fit dude. The only thing that gave away his age was the full head of gray hair and the weathered maturity of his face.
He popped a pretzel in his mouth and crunched it, and when Kingston went to the cash register to make change for a customer, Everett saw the ripple of muscles across his back and frowned.
What Everett didn’t know was, at the same moment he frowned, Jacob glanced up in the mirror over the bar andsaw it.That one’s trouble, he thought, then turned back to his customer.
“Here you go, Waylon. Buy Lorraine some flowers before you go home, and she won’t even care that you’re late.”
Waylon grinned. “I’m always late getting home.”
Jacob shook his head. “Doesn’t mean she’ll always be there when you get back. Buy her flowers, man. Trust me. Don’t ever take your woman for granted.”
The smile slid off Waylon Morris’s face. They all knew what Jacob’s wife had done to him and their sons.
“Right,” Waylon said, and left the bar as three more customers walked in.
Everett Brandt finished his beer and was pulling out his wallet when Jacob came back to them.
“Ready for another round?” he asked.
Everett flashed a big grin. “Not this time. I’m driving.”
“Good call,” Jacob said. “Just passing through?”
“In a manner of speaking,” Everett said. “I’m Joe Wilson. This is my brother Darren. We’ve been admiring your setup. This is a nice place. Are you the owner, or…”
“Thanks, and yes, the Tumbleweed is mine,” Jacob said.
“Ever think of selling it? We’re looking for something like this.”
Jacob shook his head. “Sorry. No… Not for sale.”
Freddie felt obliged to at least participate. “What would a place like this sell for?” he asked.
Everett resisted the urge to put his fist in his brother’s mouth.
