Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 96121 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 481(@200wpm)___ 384(@250wpm)___ 320(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96121 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 481(@200wpm)___ 384(@250wpm)___ 320(@300wpm)
“Colors never die.”
That whisper seared her. It made her regret not arriving in Manning Grove in time to find it and give it to the funeral director. It had been her responsibility and she failed. “The Fury’s colors did, Trip. They died and now you’re trying to dig them up again.”
His fingers curled hard enough to fist the old leather as he cleared his throat. “Colors never die,” he repeated, louder this time.
The unexpected, raw emotion pulling at him was beginning to suck her in, too. She needed to shut that shit down. Otherwise, she might tumble back into that deep, dark pit of loss. She took a mental step back from the crumbling edge. “Anyway, do with it what you’d like. Pass it on. Display it. It’s yours now to do what you want.”
He nodded and moved to the full-length bar on his left, laying the cut carefully over it.
She followed him, impressed with what she saw. She concentrated on the bar, which was amazing. It looked like it was hand-crafted out of solid oak, sanded and stained to bring out the natural wood grain, then shellacked to a high shine. She ran her fingers over the glossy, glass-like top, noticing under the thick clear coating, the club colors had been burned into the wood.
She was jealous Crazy Pete’s didn’t have such a beautiful bar. Hers was original and some of the wood had split and the shellac had cracked, chipped and patrons had carved words into the top.
“You make this?”
“No. Learned a few trades inside but woodworkin’ wasn’t one of them.”
It was her turn to mumble, “Pity,” under her breath.
“One of the Amish guys, Samuel, made it. Built the back bar, too.”
Her eyes scanned the noticeably empty back bar. Not a bottle of booze to be seen, but she was jealous of the craftsmanship there, too. If she only had the money...
“Might need to hire them to fix up Crazy Pete’s.” Though at this point, that was more like a pipe dream than reality.
She needed to start doing promotions and adding entertainment to bring back the customers. Maybe even book a few of those traveling revue shows. Male and female alike. Whatever was needed to make some quick cash, turn around and dump it back into the bar.
“You got the scratch?”
She wondered how much she should reveal to the man whose chocolate brown eyes were focused on her.
She schooled her face too late when he said, “Don’t got shit, do you?”
She glanced around the new BFMC church. “This is everything you have, right? This land, the house, the buildings. This is it. You’ve got nothing else, right?” When he didn’t answer her, she continued. “Like you, I’ve got nothing else.” Though, he had a lot more than her.
“Whataya mean?”
“I’ve got nothing else. The bar is it. It’s everything I own. Everything I have. The only thing left that belongs to me.”
“Sell it. Take the cash and go get somethin’ else.”
“Why didn’t you sell the farm?”
“Already know why.”
“Right, you wanted to make something from nothing.” Again, she didn’t get an answer. “It’s not a choice for me. I also need to make something from nothing.”
“Got a choice to sell it.”
“And then what?”
“Then you start fresh.”
“This is my fresh start,” she whispered. “I can’t fail.”
“Then don’t.”
Then don’t.
Pete’s life insurance had been very small. Enough to cover his burial expenses and allow her to restock some liquor and beer. But it had been gone in a flash.
Unfortunately, property taxes would be due again in a couple of months.
Shit was becoming overwhelming. Maybe Trip was right. She should just sell it, take whatever she could get and cut her losses. She couldn’t shake the feeling of drowning.
A grumbled, “Need booze,” pulled her out of her self-pity.
“What?”
She must have been so deep in her own wallowing, she missed him pulling on his T-shirt. It was old and worn with thin spots and stains. And it fit him like a glove. A shirt which should be used as a rag did not distract from the man. At all.
She gathered her wandering thoughts. “If you haven’t noticed, there’s a liquor store on Main Street.”
“Know it.”
“Well, there you go.”
“Need more than that.”
“You need more booze than what the liquor store holds?”
“Need a continuous supply at a good price.”
It hit her then what he was saying. She shook her head. “No.”
“Need scratch, right?”
She raised her palms up and took a step back. “No fucking way. Getting booze from me isn’t legal. Private club or not. Last thing I need is to have the Liquor Control Board shutting me the fuck down. I’m not risking that. If you’re that desperate, there are some crazy fucks that live up on the mountain who make moonshine and other shit. Get it from them.”
“Might do that, too.”
She shook her head again. “I don’t want any part of that. I just told you the bar is all I have left.”