Rustic Hearts

Sophie

 

We pull up to the site of the old dye house mill a few miles outside of town. It still looks the same with its brick exterior, rusty tin roof, and huge, blacked-out, floor-to-ceiling windows.

I peer up at it through the windshield. “This is it? I thought this place closed down back when we were girls?”

“It did. Sat here empty for years and years until the town council finally decided to let Butch and his brother, Doug, buy it and turn it into a bar.”

“Butch? As in Butch’s Tavern?”

“Yep. He wanted to expand his redneck entertainment empire.”

“Looks sketchy.”

“It’s not. They kept everything original on the outside, but the inside is cool as shit. Come on in and see.”

We hop out and cross the parking lot where a large man in a black long-sleeved shirt that says Security across the chest is sitting in front of the enormous wooden beam doors.

“Hey, Fred.”

“Hey, Dallas. Who’s your friend?”

“This is Sophie. She’s Jefferson Lancaster’s daughter. She came in for Gram’s funeral.”

“Nice to meet you, Sophie. We sure were sad to hear about Gram. She was a great lady.”

“Thank you.”

“You two have fun and stay out of trouble.” He winks as he opens the door for us to walk inside.

Dallas is right. It is cool as shit. The inside was gutted, and a sizeable raw wood bar was added to the far wall. The walls are exposed brick, and the high ceilings are accented with brushed silver, old ductwork, and iron pipes. High pub tables made of the same raw wood as the bar top are peppered in front, and off to the right are six large pool tables. The lights are low-hanging cascade chandeliers with antique amber bulbs that give off a subtle glow, granting the room lots of private, dark nooks and corners.

Music is coming from an ancient jukebox to the left of the bar, but it’s not too loud that you can’t carry on a conversation.

“Wow.”

“Right! Pretty progressive for a beer joint in the woods of Poplar Falls, Colorado.”

“I’m impressed.”

“Wait till you order a drink.”

We sidle up to the bar, and Dallas lets out a whistle to get the bartender’s attention.

“I’ll have a shot of tequila and a glass of whatever beer you have on tap,” she shouts and then expectantly looks at me.

“Do they have a cocktail menu?”

She gives me a look that screams, Are you kidding me?

“Fine, I’ll have a glass of whatever red wine they serve.”

She shakes her head at me and shouts again, “Make that two shots of tequila and an iced tea.”

I guess they don’t serve wine here.

Dallas turns around and props both her elbows back on the bar as she surveys the room while we wait for our drinks.

“Uh-oh.”

“What?”

I spin around to follow her gaze and see Elle and Braxton at one of the pool tables with a group of six. I recognize Myer and Walker but none of the others.

“Morgan’s here.”

“Who’s Morgan?”

“Braxton’s ex-fiancée.”

I gasp. “He was engaged?”

“Sure was. But they broke up, and she moved to Texas. I heard she was back in town though. Looks like she came sniffing around, looking for him, right away.”

There are two women standing at the table with them, one with a pool stick in her hand.

“Which one is she? The one playing or the one watching?”

“She’s the one playing with the tight dress on. Who wears a damn dress to shoot pool?”

I assess the woman. She has long, dark hair that she has pi

I instantly hate her, and I have no idea why.

“I guess he has a type,” I observe. Then, I turn back to the bar and wait for my shot.

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve seen a brunette sneaking out of his place early in the morning.”

“Really? Was it her?”

“No, this girl was shorter, and her hair was a shade lighter.”

“That dog. Keeping his hook-ups on the down-low.”

The bartender places two salt-rimmed shots in front of us and two mason jars—one filled with draft beer and one with tea and lemon.

I pick up the shot glass and clink with hers before downing the shot. It burns all the way down, and I sputter and grab the jar with tea to wash it down. Which doesn’t help. That burns too. I start coughing, and Dallas begins to beat me on the back.

“Are you all right? Did it have a bone in it?”

“Fu

“It’s iced tea vodka. What did you think it was?”

“I thought it was tea.”

She wrinkles her nose. “Why would I order you tea at a bar?”

“Why would you order me a mason jar full of straight liquor?”

“Because it’s a bar, duh. And you don’t drink beer.”

Jeez. I already know this night is going to take an interesting turn.

“Come on. Grab your glass. Let’s go be nosy.”

She picks up her beer and starts toward the pool tables. I follow a little less enthusiastically.

“Hey, guys,” she bellows as we approach the crowd.

“Ladies.” Walker scoots off a chair and makes room for us at the table covered with empty beer bottles and squares of cue chalk.

Elle comes over right away and hugs us both. “You guys finally made it.” She drags a chair over from one of the other tables and sits with us.

Dallas gestures toward the pool table with her chin and asks, “Who’s wi

“Braxton and Myer, of course—because they cheat!” Walker yells across the room.

“You’re just mad because you shoot like a girl,” Braxton retorts as he shoves the ball rack into Walker’s gut.

“Hey,” Dallas huffs, “that’s offensive. Girls don’t play as bad as Walker.”

Myer spits beer across the floor, and Walker fakes an arrow to the heart.

“You wound me, Dal.”

“Sorry, baby, but it’s true. And we’ll prove it. Sophie and I play the wi

I sputter, “Um, Dal, I’m not good at pool. You don’t want me as a partner.”

“You scared, Princess?”

I look up at Braxton, who is standing with his arms folded across his chest and a challenge in his eyes.

“I didn’t say that.”

“Then, rack ’em, and let’s play.”

“Fine.” I grab my glass of horrible-tasting liquor, down it in one gulp, and stand. I’m swaying a little on the heel of my new boots.

“Whoa, you all right?” Walker asks as he catches my elbow.

“I’m good. Just stood up too fast.”

I make my way over to the rack on the wall and grab a cue stick. Then, I nervously chalk the tip as Dallas starts to rack the balls.

“What’s the wager?” Dallas asks the boys as she sets up the balls.

“No wager,” I insist.

“There’s always a wager,” Walker leans in and says into my ear.

“What do you want it to be?” Braxton asks her.

“We win, and you have to teach Sophie here how to drive this weekend.”

He raises an eyebrow and looks at me. “You can ride a horse that won’t let anyone else ride it, but you can’t drive a car?”

“I can drive. I think. I’ve never really tried before. I just don’t drive.”

He looks back at Dallas. “Done. What if we win?”

“What do you want?” she asks him with a seductive lilt to her voice that I don’t like.

Wait, why do I care if she flirts with him? She always flirts with him.

He does a one-shoulder shrug. “Myer, you pick.”