Bernie hadn’t been joking around when she said she was going to buy a new truck. Not only did she pick out a fancy one, but she also whipped out her checkbook and didn’t bat an eye when she wrote out the amount to payfor it. Then she went to the bank, got a cashier’s check, and called the lady who owned the trailer and asked if she could pick it up on the way home.
Now Clara was driving Bernie’s old pickup truck—hers in a couple of days when the title was transferred—and following behind her aunt’s new rig toward Ratliff City.
Her thoughts spun around like they were on a merry-go-round, making her dizzy as they jumped from one scenario to another and played the what-if game all the way to the bar. What if she stayed at the bar and worked for Nash? Could she keep the attraction for him at bay? Would she eventually give into it, get her heart shattered, and be bitter like Endora? What if she didn’t fight it, and she and Nash wound up together, then it went sour?
“Looks to me like I’ll end up with a broken heart no matter which what-if is in play,” she muttered as she parked the truck in its usual parking space. “With my luck, there’s only about a ten percent chance that things could go right.”
Nash pulled his vehicle in right beside her and raised an eyebrow. “Looks like y’all have been on a buying binge.”
“We have,” Bernie said. “It’s a beauty, ain’t it?”
“The trailer is nice, but that truck is gorgeous,” Nash answered. “I wanted a candy-apple red one, but decided to go with the white since it was on sale that day.”
“When you retire, you can have a new red one,” Bernie told him.
“I’ll put that on my bucket list,” Nash said. “Does this mean you are really going to sell the bar to me?”
“It means most likely,” Bernie told him, “and that I like what I’m seeing in you. It will take a while for you to get a loan all done through the bank, so we’ll…”
Nash held up a palm and butted in. “I don’t need a loan. I’ll be paying cash. I know this is what I want to do. When you get ready to make it official, just let me know and I will write you a check, or we can go to the bank and simply do a transfer from my account into yours.”
“After we close tonight, meet me and Clara out behind the bar. We’ll have us a cigar and talk more about all this,” Bernie said. “Right now, we need to get inside and clean up before we open for business.”
Clara had never smoked a cigar in her life, but if that’s what her aunt wanted to do, then she would give it a try. Who knew? Maybe that was the icing on the cupcake that made Bernie so successful.
In all the excitement of the day, Clara had forgotten that the AC had been on the blink, so she was shocked when cold air rushed out to meet them. “I’ve never been so glad to see air-conditioning.”
“Amazing what a new fan motor and thermostat will do,” Nash explained.
“Yep, the repairman was here first thing this morning, before I even started making breakfast for you, Clara. Nice thing is that the unit is still under warranty, so the parts were covered. All I had to pay out was forthe labor,” Bernie said. “Now, Clara, you can clear the tables and start the dishwasher with the first load. I’ll wipe down the tables, and Nash can put the chairs up on them so we can sweep and mop. It’s almighty good to have help.”
“You think we can run this place without Bernie?” Nash asked Clara.
“We can give it our best shot,” she answered. On one hand, she was excited that she wouldn’t have to leave the Chicken Coop. On the other, she felt as if the merry-go-round was going way too fast. Still, she had two options in front of her—the bar and living in Spanish Fort. That was more than she’d had when she first walked in the place.
She had loaded a tray with mugs and was on the way to the dishwasher when Nash touched her on the arm. “You looked excited over the cool air, but now you look worried, or maybe sad. Want to talk about anything?”
She set the tray down on the bar and opened the dishwasher. “Last week I had nowhere to go. Now I have decisions to make, and I don’t want to look back with regrets on whatever I wind up doing.”
“That’s understandable,” Nash said. “I was in the same aggravating spot until I came home to my grandparents’ ranch and they told me about this place. I’m excited now, and happy that I don’t have to go back to three-piece suits and an office in a thirty-story building.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” Bernie said. “Looks likewe’re about done with this, so let’s sit down and rest our feet for a few minutes.” She unlocked the door and had barely gotten settled into a chair when the first rooster crow echoed through the empty place.
Hoot came inside and let out a long sigh. “Man, it’s good to be in out of the heat. I thought I’d be the first one here tonight, but it looks like someone beat me.” He glanced around the place. “Where’s the owner of that new truck and trailer out there?”
Bernie raised her hand. “Sittin’ right here. It’s a beauty, ain’t it?”
Hoot removed his cowboy hat and sat down in the last empty chair around the table. “Yes, ma’am, it is. Nash, I need a beer so cold that it makes my throat hurt, and bring Bernie a double shot of Jameson on the rocks to celebrate her first step in retirement. Put them both on my tab, and I’ll settle up before I leave.”
Nash nodded and pushed back his chair. “Coming right up.”
“So, you are serious about selling the Chicken Coop to Nash?” Hoot asked.
“I am,” Bernie answered. “He’s proved himself this past week, but I’ve been here a long time, and it will take a while to sort through my stuff.”
Clara overheard the conversation between Hoot and Bernie, but then the sound of vehicles out on the gravel parking lot drowned out anything else they said. The rooster crowed again, and three couples came insideand ordered six mixed drinks. The women went straight to the jukebox, and music soon filled the place. Clara poured up Bernie’s whiskey, then added an icy-cold bottle of beer to the tray and carried them back to the table.
“Anything else?”
