insisted on driving. Which meant it took us fifteen minutes longer to get there
than if I’d been behind the wheel.
Clementine’s was hopping. Something had put this out-of-the-way, hole-in-the-wall
bar on the map in the last year. John-John halfheartedly complained about Clementine’s
becoming mainstream, but the steady stream of income softened the blow.
Muskrat was the bouncer. He didn’t give me one of his signature bear hugs, where I
felt my spine brush the skin behind my belly button as he squeezed me tight. Maybe
his lackluster response was a result of seeing Hope, since, like John-John, he wasn’t
fond of Jake. “So what brings the Gunderson girls by tonight?”
Hope tittered. God. I hoped she remembered she was a married woman and didn’t flirt
with every guy who paid attention to her, as the old, needy Hope would have. “Just
looking to get out of the house for some social time.”
Some of the same regulars filled the bar. Vinnie, the biker, and his posse holding
court beneath the TV. Construction workers and cowboys in the back shootin’ pool and
shootin’ the shit. Lots of folks in here I didn’t recognize. I weaved through the
crowd until Hope and I reached the main bar.
John-John saw us, but he was too busy mixing drinks to do more than nod.
I could tell Hope was trying to play it cool and not gawk at the customers who were
blatantly checking her out.
Winona gave me a one-armed hug from behind. “Mercy! Damn, girl, I miss working with
you. Why you hauling yourself in this mangy hole? You and the sheriff have words?”
“No, smart-ass. I’m here with my sister and we’re thirsty.”
“I’ll get you two beers since John-John’s glaring at me.” She slid two bottles of
Bud Light in front of us.
Hope was stuck sitting next to Lefty. I intended to warn her about the crotchety old
rancher. But Lefty, who hated everyone, seemed taken with my little sister.
I sipped my beer and kept playing Name That Regular to amuse myself. I was more happy
about who I didn’t see—no Cowboy Trey, no Kit McIntyre, no Tiny, no Laronda. Didn’t
appear Saro’s group was around, but that didn’t shock me.
I’d learned through the FBI that Saro was restructuring his organization after his
brother Victor’s murder. Shay had hoped the resident rez drug runner would be crippled
by the loss, but Saro rallied, although he and his group were staying pretty far off
the radar.
John-John stopped in front of me and wiped his brow.
“Looks like business is booming.”
“I’d hate to see what crazies it’d bring out if we actually ran happy-hour specials.”
He tossed a handful of nuts into his mouth. His eyes locked onto mine. “Why are you
palling around with Hope?”
“Last-minute thing,” I said, and didn’t explain further. “When it dies down, I’d like
to pick your brain about a couple of things.”
“Did Unci put you up to grilling me about my mom?”
“No.” Was he touchy and snappish tonight, or was it just me? “She’s worried about
Penny.”
“Join the club.” He pulled taps and opened the cooler.
I should’ve waited to get a better bead on his mood, but the question had just popped
out. “Has Saro been in lately?”
John-John lifted his head abruptly. The war braid with the red feather tip swung into
his face, and he impatiently batted it aside. “Why are you asking me for this information?”
“I’m asking because I’ve had Saro’s blade at my throat, and I’m not eager to repeat
the experience.”
He shot me a look that I interpreted as distrustful. Before I could cajole him or
try charm, he said, “Why don’t you ask your partner? He’s been in here several times.”
Partner? At first I thought he meant Dawson, but I figured out he meant Shay. “Why
has Turnbull been in here?”
“I asked him the same thing. He said he can drink anywhere he wants. Which sucks for
me. If I blackball him, he’ll show
than if I’d been behind the wheel.
Clementine’s was hopping. Something had put this out-of-the-way, hole-in-the-wall
bar on the map in the last year. John-John halfheartedly complained about Clementine’s
becoming mainstream, but the steady stream of income softened the blow.
Muskrat was the bouncer. He didn’t give me one of his signature bear hugs, where I
felt my spine brush the skin behind my belly button as he squeezed me tight. Maybe
his lackluster response was a result of seeing Hope, since, like John-John, he wasn’t
fond of Jake. “So what brings the Gunderson girls by tonight?”
Hope tittered. God. I hoped she remembered she was a married woman and didn’t flirt
with every guy who paid attention to her, as the old, needy Hope would have. “Just
looking to get out of the house for some social time.”
Some of the same regulars filled the bar. Vinnie, the biker, and his posse holding
court beneath the TV. Construction workers and cowboys in the back shootin’ pool and
shootin’ the shit. Lots of folks in here I didn’t recognize. I weaved through the
crowd until Hope and I reached the main bar.
John-John saw us, but he was too busy mixing drinks to do more than nod.
I could tell Hope was trying to play it cool and not gawk at the customers who were
blatantly checking her out.
Winona gave me a one-armed hug from behind. “Mercy! Damn, girl, I miss working with
you. Why you hauling yourself in this mangy hole? You and the sheriff have words?”
“No, smart-ass. I’m here with my sister and we’re thirsty.”
“I’ll get you two beers since John-John’s glaring at me.” She slid two bottles of
Bud Light in front of us.
Hope was stuck sitting next to Lefty. I intended to warn her about the crotchety old
rancher. But Lefty, who hated everyone, seemed taken with my little sister.
I sipped my beer and kept playing Name That Regular to amuse myself. I was more happy
about who I didn’t see—no Cowboy Trey, no Kit McIntyre, no Tiny, no Laronda. Didn’t
appear Saro’s group was around, but that didn’t shock me.
I’d learned through the FBI that Saro was restructuring his organization after his
brother Victor’s murder. Shay had hoped the resident rez drug runner would be crippled
by the loss, but Saro rallied, although he and his group were staying pretty far off
the radar.
John-John stopped in front of me and wiped his brow.
“Looks like business is booming.”
“I’d hate to see what crazies it’d bring out if we actually ran happy-hour specials.”
He tossed a handful of nuts into his mouth. His eyes locked onto mine. “Why are you
palling around with Hope?”
“Last-minute thing,” I said, and didn’t explain further. “When it dies down, I’d like
to pick your brain about a couple of things.”
“Did Unci put you up to grilling me about my mom?”
“No.” Was he touchy and snappish tonight, or was it just me? “She’s worried about
Penny.”
“Join the club.” He pulled taps and opened the cooler.
I should’ve waited to get a better bead on his mood, but the question had just popped
out. “Has Saro been in lately?”
John-John lifted his head abruptly. The war braid with the red feather tip swung into
his face, and he impatiently batted it aside. “Why are you asking me for this information?”
“I’m asking because I’ve had Saro’s blade at my throat, and I’m not eager to repeat
the experience.”
He shot me a look that I interpreted as distrustful. Before I could cajole him or
try charm, he said, “Why don’t you ask your partner? He’s been in here several times.”
Partner? At first I thought he meant Dawson, but I figured out he meant Shay. “Why
has Turnbull been in here?”
“I asked him the same thing. He said he can drink anywhere he wants. Which sucks for
me. If I blackball him, he’ll show
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