Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 96178 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 481(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96178 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 481(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
Reaching for his wallet, Fitz said, “Can I ask a favor?”
Another heavy-browed stare.
“When that blond girl comes back from the bathroom, could you pretend to be a little scary?” Fitz said as he set a ten down on the bar.
The bartender blinked, impassive.
“It goes against type, I know,” Fitz added.
More silence.
“Fine.” With a sigh, Fitz reached into his wallet and pulled out another ten. “How’s that?” The man grunted, taking the money and crumpling it in his fist. “And a couple menus, please.”
Reaching below, the man grabbed a pair of laminated menus and slammed them down so hard a few bottles shook on the bar, the music screeched to a stop, and everyone looked over again.
Into the yawning silence, Fitz’s “Thanks!” seemed to reverberate. Quickly scanning the menu, Fitz guessed it would be smart to keep things simple. More to the point, he would not be having the niçoise salad.
A minute later, Ren returned, looking shell-shocked as she slipped onto the stool beside him, her cheeks flushed a bright pink.
Giddily, Fitz leaned in to get a better look. “You okay there, Sunshine?”
“Yeah.” She blinked rapidly, composing herself. “I’m good.”
“I must admit, that wasn’t very convincing.”
“It’s nothing.” Absently picking up her bottle, she took a sip of the beer in front of her, grimaced, and then took another sip. When she spoke again, her tone was a little too casual. “There were some photos of naked men on the wall in the bathroom.”
“I’m sorry, what?”
“I mean, more like wallpaper. As in the whole room was wallpapered with photos of naked men.”
Fitz coughed a laugh into his fist, managing, “Yeah, that’s pretty standard for a restaurant restroom.”
“And then someone opened the men’s room as I came out, and first, the smell coming from inside was awful, but also, there were photos of naked women in there.”
Fitz pretended to get off his stool. “Now this I’ve got to see.”
“Don’t leave me.” Ren jerked him back by his collar, gripping his shirt even after he’d settled again. “I’ve never seen a naked man before.” She had a thousand-yard stare. “I mean, I’ve studied anatomy textbooks, and of course we see all kinds of things with barnyard animals, but…” She swallowed and took another long sip. “I saw David Sparrow changing at the state fair after he spent the whole day in the dunk tank, but not…he did not look like that.”
“Listen, Sunshine, it’s a bathroom in a bar, just like every other bar bathroom in the world. If it’s too much for you, you really should reconsider this trip.”
The bartender materialized again, leaning two meaty fists on the counter in front of them. The wood groaned in protest. “What do you want?” he growled.
“Apologies, barkeep,” Fitz said, wincing. “My friend here hasn’t had a chance to peek at the menu. Maybe another couple of minutes.”
He leaned in menacingly. “Should I give you a little bell that you can ring when you’re ready?”
“Oh,” Ren said, smiling sweetly at him, “that would be amazing. Thank you!”
Something softened in his gaze before he flickered it back to Fitz and looked homicidal again.
“You know what,” Fitz cut in, hoping the man was just a better actor than ten dollars in a run-down biker bar in Middle of Nowhere, Montana, warranted. “We’ll have two of your Char-Spangled Burgers.”
The man peeled their menus off the bar with an audible squelch and pushed through the swinging doors to the kitchen in the back.
“Lovely place,” Fitz said, inhaling deeply and looking around. “I always figured if I was going to open a saloon, I’d go with peanuts in bowls and let the peanut shells litter the ground, but the sawdust and bullet casings are a nice touch.”
Ren stared at her beer before lifting it and finishing it in a series of long gulps.
“Easy there, Sweden.”
She let out a satisfied “Ahhhh” and set the bottle down. “I’ve never had one of these before, but it’s pretty good.”
“You’ve never had beer?” Fitz bumped her shoulder. “I figured that was a staple on the homestead.”
“I’ve had alcohol,” she clarified, looking at the label. “Just not a Coors.”
“No kidding? Y’all make moonshine on that farm?”
“We have some neighbors who make moonshine—I’ve had it….” She looked at him and grimaced comically. “I prefer our wines and ciders.”
“You’re telling me you get to live on a big piece of land with wild cats, don’t have to speak to anyone if you don’t want to, and you make your own booze?” He tilted his bottle to his lips, speaking against it. “Homesteading is sounding better by the minute.”
They looked over at a crash of glass to the right, where a fight was breaking out near the jukebox. The crowd backed up to give the fighters space, jostling Fitz and Ren against the bar. On instinct, Fitz put an arm around her shoulders, shielding her. The furor reached a crescendo, and they looked at each other and then to the kitchen doors when they swung open and a leathered woman in a greasy apron stepped through, held up a shotgun, and fired it twice into the ceiling. Ren and Fitz slapped their hands over their ears, hunching for the impact of the ceiling raining down, but other than a spray of dust, it seemed to remain intact.