The rooster crowed again, and more bikers pushed into the bar.
“Hey, Bernie!” one of them yelled and raised a hand. “Good to see you are still open and that the pandemic didn’t close you down.”
“Almost did,” she shouted above “Cry to Me” playing on the jukebox. The lyrics to the Solomon Burke song might not be totally appropriate to the situation, but the title dang sure was. Hershal was still sniffling, and Clara looked like she might break into sobs any minute.
Nash whipped a hair tie out from his pocket and pulledhis silver locks back into a ponytail. Then he picked up the tray loaded with empty mugs. “I’ll take these and come back for the pitchers. You probably need to straighten out whatever is going on with these other two.”
“Thank you,” Bernie said.
“Gonna be a hot Fourth of July,” one of the skinny bikers with a Gator embroidered on the back of his leather vest said as he made his way back to the table. “A good cold beer is just what we need to get on down to the rally.”
“Y’all supporting cancer for kids this year?” Bernie asked.
“Yep,” he answered. “Some stupid weatherman said we were going to get rained out, but he’s wrong. We never get rain in July, not in these parts. We can barely scare up a little breeze.”
“Ain’t it the truth,” Bernie agreed and turned back to Hershal and Clara. “Okay, what is going on here? I swear this looks like…” She didn’t get the last words out before they both started talking at once. Finally, she stuck her fingers in her mouth and whistled so loudly that the dog hunkered down and covered his eyes with his paws.
Nash had returned to his stool, so she nodded his way. “You were here first, and you were willing to help, so you get to talk first—and make it fast before Hershal falls off his stool and goes to meet his maker.”
“Grandpa said you were talking about selling your bar. I’m interested in buying it,” he said. “That and I would like a beer, but I’m glad to come back there anddraw it up myself.”
“Okay then, get to it, and we’ll discuss selling this place after I hear from these two.” Her finger shot up toward Hershal. “Now you.”
Hershal crammed the bandanna back into his pocket. Years ago, when he and Bernie were both young and had their fling in her apartment at the back of the bar, he had been almost as sexy as Nash. She glanced over her shoulder and shook her head.Nope,she thought,there ain’t ever been a man that good-lookin’ in this bar. I wonder how old he is. His face, body, and eyes say one thing, but his hair tells me another.
She took a step down the bar. Her nose wrinkled at the smell of a dead fish and a sweaty older man with thinning hair and enough wrinkles to bury an army tank in. “What’s the matter with you, Hershal? Make it quick because that nasty smell is going to run my customers off.”
Hershal’s lower lip trembled, and he nodded at the Chihuahua sitting on the bar. “That is for you, and it’s cost me my precious Goldie. She was dead, floating belly-up…”—he said between hiccups—“when I got home off my truck route about an hour ago. I tried to revive her, but it was too late.”
A vision of Hershal giving a goldfish mouth-to-mouth resuscitation flashed through Bernie’s mind. She stifled a giggle, but it wasn’t an easy feat.
“Poor thing has had to suffer formysins, just likeDavid’s son did in the Bible.”
“When did you get so religious?” Bernie snapped. “And why did you bring me a dog of all things?”
“I’m past seventy years old now, so I figured it was time to get right with the Lord and get a seat in heaven reserved for me. I started going to church when I could, and I got myself baptized, but I saw this dog and fell off the wagon. I’m afraid God has done gone and gave my place away,” he moaned.
“What in the hell are you talking about?” Bernie asked.
“Remember when you rode with me on a weekend trip to New Mexico all them years ago?”
“A lot of water has run under the bridge and whiskey been poured since those days,” she snapped.
“Yes, it has, but I cheated on you back then, and I’m making amends by bringing you Pepper,” he answered.
“We were never dating, Hershal. We were just having fun, and for the record, you were not the only one I was having a good time with, either. Now, take your dog and dead goldfish and go home,” Bernie said.
“I thought we were in love,” he groaned between sobs.
Bernie sucked in a lungful of air and let it out in an aggravated whoosh. “What does a dog have to do with anything?”
“You saw one in a yard just like this, and you said that you thought it was adorable. You even said if youhad one, you would name it Pepper because what we had was as hot as a habanero pepper,” he answered. “I’ve been looking for a critter just like that little guy ever since, and I found this one yesterday in the Texas Panhandle. I stole it, and…” He pulled out the bandanna and blew his nose just as the rooster crowed again.
“Hey, Bernie.” Hoot waved. “I see you’ve already put Nash to work. Did he tell you that he wants to buy this place?”
“Yes, but we’ll have to talk about that later,” Bernie said and then shifted her gaze back to Hershal.
“Beer or whiskey sour, Grandpa?” Nash asked.
