“Once you’re settled in the city, we can work on your image, get you cleaned up.”
Oh, hell. Mack knew what was coming next.
“Once we do that, we’ll work on getting you a date. I’m sure there’re plenty of single ladies your age.”
Yeah, well, there was one major flaw in his son’s ill-devised plan. Mack was gay, and no single lady—regardless of age—was going to catch his eye.
“I’ve considered gettin’ a dog,” he told Daniel. “Apartments don’t allow dogs.”
Another sigh. “You don’t need a dog, Father. You’re getting up there in age, and the last thing you need is someone dependent on you. We both know that’s not your strong suit, anyway.”
Though both those points rankled, Mack couldn’t get past the dig at his age. At fifty-seven, he didn’t feel all that old. Well, that wasn’t entirely true, but he blamed his overindulgence in booze for that recent development. As of late, he’d established a fondness for whiskey, and he indulged every night.
In his defense, it was the only thing that helped him sleep.
That and his late-night visitor, but Mack couldn’t afford to think about Jeff right now. Certainly not with his homophobic, highfalutin son sitting a foot away.
“I tell you what,” Daniel said as he got to his feet. “A good friend of mine’s a Realtor. I’ll reach out to him, get his advice on how we market your house and this bar. I’m sure he knows someone in commercial real estate.” Daniel peered around, the flare of his nostrils signaling his distaste for the place Mack considered his home away from home.
Since it wouldn’t do any good to argue with the boy, Mack nodded. The familiar flash in Daniel’s eyes was like a punch to his solar plexus. The one that said Mack owed him and he would for the rest of his miserable life.
“Hey, Mack. Could I get a beer down here?”
Mack peered down the bar at the big cowboy, nodded.
Daniel leaned over. “While we’re on the subject of image, I’d really like you to consider going by Michael. Mack’s far too redneck for my tastes.”
In an effort to hold on to his temper, Mack bit his tongue, nodded again, and he didn’t take a full breath until the door closed behind Daniel.
“What in all tarnation was that shit?” Chester Sharpe asked, glaring at Mack.
“It’s nothin’,” he told his old friend.
“You thinkin’ about sellin’ this place?”
Ah, hell.
Chester’s boisterous voice tended to carry on a good day, and it didn’t skip his notice that several people had heard his question, including Travis Walker, who was sitting at a table with his husband and two of his brothers.
When Mack met Travis’s concerned gaze, he gave a subtle shake of his head. At this point, Mack hadn’t committed to anything, and he wasn’t about to get into it with Travis or anyone else.
“And I damn sure ain’t gonna call you Michael,” Chester snarled before downing the rest of the cheap whiskey in his glass. “That’s some bullshit right there.”
Doing his best to put that conversation behind him, Mack was grateful when the bar began to fill up. That was the trend. Around eight o’clock on Friday was when the influx occurred, and aside from closing time, it didn’t let up until last call on Sunday morning.
“Hey, Mack,” Bailey greeted with a beaming smile. “You’re lookin’ mighty handsome tonight. New shirt?”
“Young lady,” he said with a nod, refusing to peer down at his T-shirt. The girl knew damned good and well it wasn’t new, but her positivity lightened his mood.
She moved closer to him, still smiling, though he noticed the strain. “You might wanna keep an eye on the pool tables. There’s a rowdy bunch back there.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
As he continued with his duties of pouring drinks and cleaning, he did as Bailey requested, continuing to monitor the situation in the back. The rowdy cowboys weren’t anything new, and as long as they kept their ruckus peaceful, Mack didn’t do much to interfere. However, he had two rules. First and foremost, those who visited his establishment had to show proper respect to his waitresses. Secondly, he would start knocking heads if and when they didn’t. And most folks in Coyote Ridge did not want to see Mack brawl. Hell, it had been years since he’d had to put hands on a patron, and he didn’t intend to pick up the habit again.
“Why’s that boy so insistent you dump this place?” Chester grumbled, his eyes on the bar in front of him.
Mack didn’t answer, hoping the question was rhetorical. He knew if he waited long enough, Chester would come up with an answer.
