“I’ll give it a go, but it’s on a day-by-day basis,” Bernie agreed. After all, she would be getting free help, and that could give her more time to try to help Clara out of whatever fix she had gotten herself into.
“Fair enough,” Nash said. “Since I’m here and already working, can you tell me what all goes with this place? Do you have it listed with a Realtor?”
“The place has three acres. The parking lot and bar take up one of those, and there’s two back behind the place. There’s a two-bedroom apartment beyond the storage room.” She pointed toward the door where Clara and the dog had disappeared. “Lots of trees, squirrels,and a few deer live back there. I do not have it listed, and don’t intend to. If the Universe means for me to retire, it will give me a sign, not a fancy-dressed Realtor out to make a buck off my property. Besides, what if someone bought it and then tore it down to build a convenience store? If I sell, it has to be to a person who will promise to give me the first rights if they don’t want to keep it.” She looked up when the rooster crowed and waved at two women wearing scrubs.
“Hey, Bernie!” they both said at the same time.
“Two margaritas?” she asked.
“You know us too well,” the taller one said and hiked a leg on a barstool.
“Ladies, this is Nash, who’s going to help me out for a few weeks to see if he likes living here in Ratliff City and bartending. Nash, these are two of my weekend regulars, Dolly and Loretta.”
Dolly raised a dark eyebrow and grinned. “Well, we might just stop in after our shifts every weekday if you keep this little hunk of eye candy.”
Loretta sat down on the barstool next to Dolly. “I feel like I’m a part of the old video that Dolly Parton and Billy Ray Cyrus was in. What was the name of the song?”
“That would be ‘Romeo,’” Bernie answered. “It’s still on the jukebox. Why would you…” She frowned, but soon it turned into a grin. “Now I get it. The older woman gets the young stud.”
“Oh, yeah,” Loretta said. “But how is he a youngstud with all that gorgeous hair?”
Bernie snuck a sideways peek at Nash and found that their comments hadn’t affected him at all. He just might be the one who could run the bar if smart-ass and flirty comments didn’t faze him. “He’s only thirty-five,” she whispered.
Dolly’s brown eyes lit up. “That’s even better.”
“Are y’all still liking the weekend shift at the hospital?” Bernie asked.
Dolly covered a yawn with her hand. “Love it from Monday through Thursday. Not so much Friday, Saturday, and Sunday. On those days both of us wonder why we ever went into nursing or agreed to work twelve-hour shifts.”
“We’re gettin’ too old for the long hours three days in a row. We are grandmothers for goodness’ sake and shouldn’t even be teasing you about your new help,” Loretta said and took the first sip of the drink Nash set in front of her.
“But,” Dolly followed her cousin’s lead, “the younger generation doesn’t want to do weekend work. They want to party from Friday night to Sunday evening,”
“Are y’all named aftertheDolly andtheLoretta?” Nash asked.
“Yep, we are,” Dolly answered. “Our mamas are sisters, and they love country music. They vacation in Nashville every single summer.”
“Do you live here in Ratliff City?” he asked.
“A few miles east of here, but not all the way to Tatums,” Loretta said. “Where do you come from? I haven’t seen you around these parts.”
“Dallas, Texas. I used to be a lawyer,” he replied and looked up to see half a dozen people coming through the door.
“Hey, Larry, how’s life treatin’ you?” Bernie said and waved.
“Horrible.” Larry laughed. “I’m so dry, I’m spittin’ dust. Don’t that damned old rooster ever get tired of crowing?”
Bernie grinned at the same thing Larry said every time he came into the bar, which was several times a week. “What are you having this evening?”
“Make it a pitcher of Miller,” Larry answered. “The high-end stuff, not that light junk.”
“You got it,” Bernie said and left Nash to take care of the rest of the people who came in right after Larry.
The bar was never fully packed to capacity, but business was steady all evening. A few minutes before two, Bernie flashed the lights and the last of the customers slowly made their way to the door. Nash grabbed a rag and began to wipe down the bar.
Bernie poured up a shot of Jameson and took a sip. “Rule number one. You can clean up right before opening, not after closing. At night, I get a shot of whiskey or a beer, prop up my feet for ten or fifteen minutes, and then go home. I am always too tired to put things inorder after working eight hours.”
“Sounds like a plan to me,” Nash said as he twisted the top off a bottle of beer and sat down at a nearby table.
