“Fuck,” he muttered, grabbing the phone and answering. “Sorry. I must’ve overslept.”
“You’re not late,” Mack grumbled in his ear. “But I’d like to talk if you can get here before your shift starts.”
“Sure. Somethin’ wrong?”
“Nope. Just get yer ass here.”
Not one to mince words, Mack disconnected, and Rafe was left holding the phone to his ear, his eyes closed. He forced them open to see what time it was and realized he still had two hours before he was supposed to be in.
In all the time he’d worked for Mack, never had the man called him to come in to chat. Hell, Rafe wasn’t sure they’d ever really carried on a conversation that wasn’t had with a few drunk cowboys bellied up to the bar.
He forced himself out of bed, then stumbled to the shower. The water was lukewarm by the time he’d finished shaving, so he tolerated the slight chill because he didn’t want to waste time. All the while, he tried to figure out what he’d fucked up. Surely that was why Mack was calling. Had he left the bar unlocked, and someone came in and stole all the liquor? He’d had a dream that he’d done that once, shortly after Mack gave him a set of keys. Rafe had been so worried he’d gotten out of bed and hurried back only to find it locked up tight.
Or maybe this was about Ivy. She wasn’t getting along so well with two of the waitresses, and Rafe had gotten an earful this past week about it. Ivy was stealing tables, or so she was accused. Rafe hadn’t had a chance to talk to Mack about it, and he’d purposely avoided talking to Ivy because every time he did, she suggested he come over. Rafe didn’t want to hurt her feelings, but he wasn’t interested in making new friends. There was only one he cared about—Bailey—and finding a way to fix things between them was all he had time for right now. He figured if he were going to burden anyone with his baggage, he would go for the one he was in love with.
Once dressed, he grabbed his cell phone, keys, and wallet and was out the door.
Twenty-three minutes had passed between when Mack called and when Rafe walked into Moonshiners.
It wasn’t empty. A couple was sitting at a table on the far side of the room, and Sheriff Jeff Endsley was seated on a stool at the bar. Since he was out of uniform, Rafe figured Mack’s husband had the night off.
“Take a seat,” Mack commanded, pointing to the bar stool on Jeff’s left.
Yeah, he was pretty sure he’d fucked something up.
Rafe straddled the stool and rested his arms on the bar top. “Afternoon, Sheriff.”
“Are you ever gonna call me Jeff?”
“Not as long as you’re the sheriff.”
Jeff chuckled.
Rafe appreciated that the man was in good spirits, but it didn’t help the knots twisting in his belly.
Mack stood directly across from Rafe, his expression solemn. “It’s been a long time comin’, kid. I didn’t wanna do it like this, but—”
“Are you really gonna screw with him like that?” Jeff asked his husband.
Mack’s gaze slid to Jeff, but his countenance remained the same. “It has to be done.”
“Well, I know that. Andyouknow that, but your delivery needs some work. I mean, it’s not like he killed somebody.”
Rafe turned to look at the sheriff, his jaw unhinged in disbelief.
Jeff glanced over and grinned. “Too soon?”
He couldn’t help it; he barked a laugh. Not in all his life had anyone made a joke about what happened, and though there wasn’t anything funny about the situation, the fact that the sheriff, of all people, could say that…
“I knew I could rely on you to lighten the mood,” Mack told Jeff.
“Of course you could. I’m the fun one.”
Rafe noticed a smile under Mack’s bushy mustache and beard, but it disappeared as quickly as it had arrived, and he was back to looking grim.
“I’ve been doin’ some thinkin’.” Mack tapped the bar with his index finger. “About all those changes you keep askin’ me to make.”
Oh, shit.
