began loading glasses beside Deirdre. “How’s it going?”
She glanced at him, her eyes bleak. “Okay. I’ll clear the rest of the tables. Do you need me to sweep?”
Tom shook his head. “Leon’ll do it when he cleans tomorrow.” He took the tray of glasses out of her hands. “Come sit down.”
Deirdre’s forehead furrowed, but she followed him.
Tom rounded the bar, taking down a couple of clean glasses. “I’m having a beer. What can I get for you?”
Deirdre’s forehead smoothed slightly. “A Lone Star, I guess.”
Tom pulled two drafts and then motioned her to a stool across from him. “Quite a night.”
She nodded, sipping her beer, her gaze glued to the floor.
“Look…” Tom began, wishing for once that he was better at talking than playing poker. “This wasn’t exactly a normal night. I’ve never seen those guys before, but we get assholes here pretty regularly. You don’t want to take it personally.”
Deirdre took another swallow of beer. “I guess not. I just…maybe I shouldn’t dress like this. Maybe I gave them the wrong idea.”
Tom felt like groaning. “You’re dressed exactly right for the Faro. Don’t let those idiots make you back down. It was their problem, not yours.”
“I don’t want to start trouble.”
“You’re not starting trouble. You’re working as a barmaid, and you’re doing a great job. You can dress any way you want to. If those guys have a problem with it, they can go drink at the Silver Spur.”
Deirdre gave him a tiny smile, just the slightest lift at the corners of her mouth. “So you’re okay with this? The jeans and the T-shirt and…everything?”
Tom licked his lips. “Totally. Don’t change a thing. Well—” he paused, “—you might want to change the T-shirt every day or so. God knows we’ve got enough of them.”
“Okay.” Deirdre took a final swallow of her beer, sliding off her bar stool. “I’ll check into it tomorrow. I guess I’ll go on home now. Thanks for the beer.”
Tom frowned. “You’re walking?”
“Sure—it’s only a few blocks.”
“It’s after midnight. You shouldn’t walk around by yourself. Even in Konigsburg.” Especially when she was now established as the hottest cowgirl in town. Tom wiped his hands on a bar towel and then stepped around the end of the bar, nodding at Chico. “I’ll be back in fifteen minutes or so. Just walking Deirdre home.”
Deirdre looked like she might protest again, so Tom took her arm and headed for the door. “Where do you live. Up Main?”
For a moment he thought she wouldn’t answer, then she shrugged. “I’m staying in the apartment above Docia’s bookshop. The entrance is on Spicewood.”
Tom didn’t think he’d ever been in Docia Toleffson’s bookshop, but he had a general idea of where it was. He headed back up Main. The air was still warm, even at midnight, with the scent of petunias wafting from the half whiskey barrels set up in front of the shops. He kept his hand on Deirdre’s elbow, guiding her from one pool of light to the next, the dark velvet night enveloping them. Contrary to his expectations, the street seemed deserted.
“So where’d you find the jeans? They weren’t in Ferguson’s stock were they?”
Deirdre shook her head. “Clem took me shopping at a place called Too Good To Be Threw. They had a lot of stuff.”
Tom made a mental pledge to raise Clem’s salary yet again. “Good for Clem. Did you count up your tips yet?” He navigated them around a folding sign in front of Brenner’s restaurant.
“Nope. But I know I made more than I’ve made the last two nights. Maybe now I can start pricing stuff for the shop.”
“Let me know when you’re ready to paint.” Tom wasn’t sure how he was going to do it, but he figured he’d find a way to do some of the painting himself.
“Probably next week.” Deirdre turned at the corner of Spicewood.
He tried to think of some not-entirely-transparent way of keeping the
She glanced at him, her eyes bleak. “Okay. I’ll clear the rest of the tables. Do you need me to sweep?”
Tom shook his head. “Leon’ll do it when he cleans tomorrow.” He took the tray of glasses out of her hands. “Come sit down.”
Deirdre’s forehead furrowed, but she followed him.
Tom rounded the bar, taking down a couple of clean glasses. “I’m having a beer. What can I get for you?”
Deirdre’s forehead smoothed slightly. “A Lone Star, I guess.”
Tom pulled two drafts and then motioned her to a stool across from him. “Quite a night.”
She nodded, sipping her beer, her gaze glued to the floor.
“Look…” Tom began, wishing for once that he was better at talking than playing poker. “This wasn’t exactly a normal night. I’ve never seen those guys before, but we get assholes here pretty regularly. You don’t want to take it personally.”
Deirdre took another swallow of beer. “I guess not. I just…maybe I shouldn’t dress like this. Maybe I gave them the wrong idea.”
Tom felt like groaning. “You’re dressed exactly right for the Faro. Don’t let those idiots make you back down. It was their problem, not yours.”
“I don’t want to start trouble.”
“You’re not starting trouble. You’re working as a barmaid, and you’re doing a great job. You can dress any way you want to. If those guys have a problem with it, they can go drink at the Silver Spur.”
Deirdre gave him a tiny smile, just the slightest lift at the corners of her mouth. “So you’re okay with this? The jeans and the T-shirt and…everything?”
Tom licked his lips. “Totally. Don’t change a thing. Well—” he paused, “—you might want to change the T-shirt every day or so. God knows we’ve got enough of them.”
“Okay.” Deirdre took a final swallow of her beer, sliding off her bar stool. “I’ll check into it tomorrow. I guess I’ll go on home now. Thanks for the beer.”
Tom frowned. “You’re walking?”
“Sure—it’s only a few blocks.”
“It’s after midnight. You shouldn’t walk around by yourself. Even in Konigsburg.” Especially when she was now established as the hottest cowgirl in town. Tom wiped his hands on a bar towel and then stepped around the end of the bar, nodding at Chico. “I’ll be back in fifteen minutes or so. Just walking Deirdre home.”
Deirdre looked like she might protest again, so Tom took her arm and headed for the door. “Where do you live. Up Main?”
For a moment he thought she wouldn’t answer, then she shrugged. “I’m staying in the apartment above Docia’s bookshop. The entrance is on Spicewood.”
Tom didn’t think he’d ever been in Docia Toleffson’s bookshop, but he had a general idea of where it was. He headed back up Main. The air was still warm, even at midnight, with the scent of petunias wafting from the half whiskey barrels set up in front of the shops. He kept his hand on Deirdre’s elbow, guiding her from one pool of light to the next, the dark velvet night enveloping them. Contrary to his expectations, the street seemed deserted.
“So where’d you find the jeans? They weren’t in Ferguson’s stock were they?”
Deirdre shook her head. “Clem took me shopping at a place called Too Good To Be Threw. They had a lot of stuff.”
Tom made a mental pledge to raise Clem’s salary yet again. “Good for Clem. Did you count up your tips yet?” He navigated them around a folding sign in front of Brenner’s restaurant.
“Nope. But I know I made more than I’ve made the last two nights. Maybe now I can start pricing stuff for the shop.”
“Let me know when you’re ready to paint.” Tom wasn’t sure how he was going to do it, but he figured he’d find a way to do some of the painting himself.
“Probably next week.” Deirdre turned at the corner of Spicewood.
He tried to think of some not-entirely-transparent way of keeping the
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