“Seems like he ain’t all that fond of you,” Chester said, continuing his monologue. “Ain’t got no right waltzin’ in here and tryin’ to turn you into somethin’ you ain’t.”
“My sentiments exactly.”
Mack glanced over, noticed Travis had appeared at the opposite end of the bar. He motioned Mack over.
With a sigh, Mack shifted his feet, cleared the distance between them.
“I don’t know what your plans are,” Travis told him, his voice low. “But if you’re thinkin’ of goin’ the route that kid of yours wants, I’d appreciate a private conversation with you first.”
Because Mack respected Travis’s old man, he gave a curt nod. He figured sooner or later Daniel was going to wear him down. As it was, Mack had gone so far as to peek at real estate in Austin, though it made him cringe whenever he did. But for the past four years, the kid had been chipping away at him, making his life hell with his demands, his constant reminder of what a fuckup Mack had been in the parental department. He’d done it enough, Mack had begun to lose sight of the good times he’d had with the boy, back before his secret slipped out and Daniel had developed a hatred for him.
Mack knew he had to make up for his sins somehow. He’d merely hoped it wouldn’t come down to him giving upeverythinghe loved, but that did appear to be Daniel’s goal.
*
Jeff Endsley was off duty tonight and he knew he should’ve been enjoying himself. He could’ve caught a movie, gone to dinner, paid a visit to his daughters and grandsons, or sat at home on his ass and read a book.
Aside from visiting his daughter and grandsons, none of those things appealed to him. Since he’d already stopped by Kennedy’s twice this week, he risked the chance of overstaying his welcome, so here he was, sitting in his office, taking care of the backlog of paperwork. He was the sheriff of Coyote Ridge, and it was a never-ending cycle, and even though he put in extra hours on his nights off, he couldn’t seem to keep up with the influx.
As he stared at the computer monitor in front of him, hen-pecking at the keyboard, he let the police radio fill the silence. He liked keeping up with what was going on in his town. So far tonight, his deputies had dealt with a neighbor complaint, a stray dog digging in someone’s garbage, and a couple of hoodlums daring to spray-paint the water tower. The last was a regular occurrence, though Jeff was happy to say, they’d managed to intervene every time for the past three years. The kids these days were a bit more graphic, and the last thing he wanted was Mrs. Whitaker waking up to see a crude image of a cock and balls through her kitchen window. Again.
“All units, be advised we’ve got multiple reports of a ten-ten in progress at Moonshiners.”
Though he should’ve allowed the deputies to handle the situation, Jeff was on his feet instantly. He snagged his hat from the rack near the door, along with his coat and headed for the parking lot. He didn’t bother telling the dispatcher he’d handle it, figuring the closest deputy could deal with the disturbance and Jeff would be there to oversee the situation.
It took roughly three minutes to get from the station to the bar, and by that point, the brawl had spilled out into the parking lot.
Jeff wasn’t surprised to see a couple of cowboys throwing down in the headlights from the deputy’s car. It used to be a nightly occurrence, but ever since the Walkers had grown up and settled down, it had cooled off some.
“Cassius, I said stop! Don’t make me tell you again,” Dwayne Downs hollered, his hand on the butt of his gun.
Jeff remained on the perimeter as Dwayne inserted himself between the two pissed-off cowboys. The deputy was intimidating on a good day. Probably had a lot to do with his tremendous size. The man was also damn good at his job, having been working for the department for the past two years.
Jeff kept an eye out to ensure no one was going to spring into action, catch Dwayne off guard.
“You wanna spend the night in a cell?” Dwayne asked Cassius, as out of breath as the brawlers, but his tone was calm and cool.
“No, sir,” Cassius snapped, his eyes locked on Rafe Sharpe.
Son of a bitch.
“What about you, Rafe?”
The younger man didn’t say a word, fists clenched at his sides.
Jeff wasn’t surprised to see Rafe throwing punches. The man had come back to Coyote Ridge only a year ago with a huge chip on his shoulder. It seemed to Jeff he was looking to work off some of the rage he carried around with him thanks to the shitty childhood he and his brother had endured. While his brother, Rex, had learned to live with the ghosts haunting him, Rafe hadn’t quite come to terms with his.
“Hey, Mack? You wanna press charges?” Dwayne called out.
Jeff’s gaze instantly shot to Mack, who was standing on the wooden porch, hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans.
Speaking of intimidating men… Mack Schwartz didn’t have to work to accomplish that feat. He stood six feet tall, and the breadth of his shoulders and chest rivaled Dwayne’s. And at fifty-seven, Jeff wouldn’t be surprised if the bar owner could hold his own in a knock-down drag-out.
Not that he wanted to see that.
“No,” Mack hollered. “But they can cool their jets elsewhere.”
Before Mack turned to head back inside, Jeff ensured he saw him. Their eyes locked for long seconds, a silent conversation ensuing before Mack strolled back into the bar.
