like days. With a sigh, she headed toward the only gas station that still had a light in the window. She prayed they had a vending machine with salt-free chips and diet soda.
As she turned into the parking lot, Elizabeth noticed a low-slung brick building hidden behind the gas station. A flashing blue neon sign proclaimed the place as Ruby’s Bar. Not a pub, grille or nightclub. Just a plain old bar.
She drove into the parking lot, undecided. With her stomach telling her it would soon be willing to eat shoe leather, she parked under the single street light. After carefully locking the SUV doors behind her, she took several deep breaths. If it hadn’t been for the mouth-watering odor of grilled meat floating on the cold night air, Elizabeth never would have ventured inside the seedy-looking joint alone.
She kept mentally chanting she was safe as she opened the heavy oak door and stepped inside. Such a place in L.A. would’ve invited robbery, rape, maybe even worse. But this was Salt Lick, Colorado. Small Town America. A woman alone should be safe enough. Had her mother thought the same thing and run into trouble?
She opened the door and stepped inside. A yellowed, cracked mirror hung behind the oak bar which ran the length of the room. A few scattered tables were empty. An old jukebox played the only Kenny Chesney tune she knew.
As she moved through the establishment, Elizabeth felt the gaze of several men upon her. They sat at the bar, all eyeing her. Swallowing hard, pretending to ignore them, she ducked under a dingy light embossed with a beer slogan and found a booth.
Remembering from countless Sunday afternoons spent watching old westerns to always face the front door, she sank into the cracked leather chair and removed her coat and gloves.
When she glanced at the group of men, they seemed to be discussing her. One of them tipped his hat. In L.A., she would have stuck her nose in the air and ignored him. But this wasn’t the city. These men could be possible avenues of information. She nodded back.
“What can I get you?”
Elizabeth glanced up, startled. A petite brunette stood poised above her. “I’m sorry, I was a million miles away.” That was a small white lie. Her mind had been on her day with Cooper. Again. “What’s good?”
“The steak. The enchiladas.”
“Chicken? Fish?”
“Bob, the guy who owns the place, won’t allow fish or chicken on the menu.”
At this point Elizabeth didn’t care that she had vowed to never allow red meat to pass her lips. She’d already eaten bologna today and it hadn’t killed her. Of course the day wasn’t over. “I guess I’ll take a steak. Well done, please. With rice, wild, if you have it.”
“Bob doesn’t believe in overcooking good meat. You’ll get medium-rare at best. No rice. Just potatoes. Baked, mashed or fried?”
Elizabeth’s stomach growled. “Baked. A teaspoon of sour cream and butter, too.” What the hell. If she was going to succeed in fitting in around here, then she’d better get used to the way of life. If that meant eating animals, and vegetables laden with fat, then she’d have to make a few changes.
She’d always expected small-town life to be uneventful, peaceful. A place to be safe. A wave of grief caught her and she fought back tears. Would the pain ever end? She blinked furiously. No tears.
Her attention was drawn to the men huddled at the nearest end of the bar. They now ignored her, for which she was grateful. One of them especially stood out from the others. He wore a long, black duster and knee-high cowboy boots. A rakish black Stetson completed his look. Just like every bad guy in every movie she’d ever seen. Outlaws always wore black.
Cooper’s hat wasn’t white, but brown. She supposed the good guy didn’t always wear white.
Cooper again. Why couldn’t she get her mind off the man? If he had indeed killed Lyle Pritchett, she was making a serious error in character judgment. Why did her gut tell her
As she turned into the parking lot, Elizabeth noticed a low-slung brick building hidden behind the gas station. A flashing blue neon sign proclaimed the place as Ruby’s Bar. Not a pub, grille or nightclub. Just a plain old bar.
She drove into the parking lot, undecided. With her stomach telling her it would soon be willing to eat shoe leather, she parked under the single street light. After carefully locking the SUV doors behind her, she took several deep breaths. If it hadn’t been for the mouth-watering odor of grilled meat floating on the cold night air, Elizabeth never would have ventured inside the seedy-looking joint alone.
She kept mentally chanting she was safe as she opened the heavy oak door and stepped inside. Such a place in L.A. would’ve invited robbery, rape, maybe even worse. But this was Salt Lick, Colorado. Small Town America. A woman alone should be safe enough. Had her mother thought the same thing and run into trouble?
She opened the door and stepped inside. A yellowed, cracked mirror hung behind the oak bar which ran the length of the room. A few scattered tables were empty. An old jukebox played the only Kenny Chesney tune she knew.
As she moved through the establishment, Elizabeth felt the gaze of several men upon her. They sat at the bar, all eyeing her. Swallowing hard, pretending to ignore them, she ducked under a dingy light embossed with a beer slogan and found a booth.
Remembering from countless Sunday afternoons spent watching old westerns to always face the front door, she sank into the cracked leather chair and removed her coat and gloves.
When she glanced at the group of men, they seemed to be discussing her. One of them tipped his hat. In L.A., she would have stuck her nose in the air and ignored him. But this wasn’t the city. These men could be possible avenues of information. She nodded back.
“What can I get you?”
Elizabeth glanced up, startled. A petite brunette stood poised above her. “I’m sorry, I was a million miles away.” That was a small white lie. Her mind had been on her day with Cooper. Again. “What’s good?”
“The steak. The enchiladas.”
“Chicken? Fish?”
“Bob, the guy who owns the place, won’t allow fish or chicken on the menu.”
At this point Elizabeth didn’t care that she had vowed to never allow red meat to pass her lips. She’d already eaten bologna today and it hadn’t killed her. Of course the day wasn’t over. “I guess I’ll take a steak. Well done, please. With rice, wild, if you have it.”
“Bob doesn’t believe in overcooking good meat. You’ll get medium-rare at best. No rice. Just potatoes. Baked, mashed or fried?”
Elizabeth’s stomach growled. “Baked. A teaspoon of sour cream and butter, too.” What the hell. If she was going to succeed in fitting in around here, then she’d better get used to the way of life. If that meant eating animals, and vegetables laden with fat, then she’d have to make a few changes.
She’d always expected small-town life to be uneventful, peaceful. A place to be safe. A wave of grief caught her and she fought back tears. Would the pain ever end? She blinked furiously. No tears.
Her attention was drawn to the men huddled at the nearest end of the bar. They now ignored her, for which she was grateful. One of them especially stood out from the others. He wore a long, black duster and knee-high cowboy boots. A rakish black Stetson completed his look. Just like every bad guy in every movie she’d ever seen. Outlaws always wore black.
Cooper’s hat wasn’t white, but brown. She supposed the good guy didn’t always wear white.
Cooper again. Why couldn’t she get her mind off the man? If he had indeed killed Lyle Pritchett, she was making a serious error in character judgment. Why did her gut tell her
Similar Books
