Page 183 of Repairing the Wreckage

“Come say hi to me.” Molly waves over her shoulder as she continues moving through the crowd.

Rooster eyes me. “We will. Don’t go far, Stonewall.”

I tilt my head toward Molly, now a few steps ahead of me. “You know where I’ll be.”

Molly slips behind the counter, picks up an apron and wraps it around her waist. Instead of walking through the crowd again, I also slide in behind the counter, intent on popping out at the other end and perching my ass on the last stool, where I’ll have the best view of everyone approaching the bar.

Remy stops me with a hand on my chest. “You done mauling my sister?”

I brush his hand off me, but he’s still in my way. “Not even close.”

“Griff,” Molly rests one hand on each of our shoulders and leans up on her tiptoes, “will you please tell my brother that I can handle things for a few minutes so he can take a break?”

I lift my eyebrows at Remy.

He turns his head, quickly scanning the room.

“Fine.” He sets the rag in his hands on the counter. “I won’t go far,” he says to Molly. “If you get a request for something you don’t know how to make, just offer them a beer.”

She nods quickly. “I can do that.”

I push him down the line and out from behind the bar.

He lifts his head, searching the room or checking to see that everything’s still intact. “I’m gonna run in back.” His gaze shifts to Molly, then back to me. “You’ll?—”

“Be right here.” I settle myself on the last stool.

He nods once and takes off.

I swivel from side to side on the stool and cross my arms over my chest, trying to look more like a mascot than a guard dog.

A short blonde woman rests her silver cowgirl boots on the lower rung of one of the stools next to me and boosts herself up to lean over the counter. “Can you make me a Paloma?” she asks Molly in a thick Texan accent.

I recognize the accent and the woman it belongs to. “Hey, Shelby. How’ve you been?”

She whips her head my way, then beams. “Howdy, Griff! I’ve been lookin’ for ya.” Her lips quirk with amusement. “Rooster said you came this way. I shoulda been lookin’ for Molly, knowin’ you wouldn’t be strayin’ far.”

Molly’s waiting on the other side of the bar with a frozen deer-in-the-headlights expression. I can’t tell if it’s because she doesn’t know how to make a Paloma or she’s starstruck from being face-to-face with her favorite country singer. Probably a little of both.

“Did she ask for a Paloma?” Another girl with long black and rainbow-colored hair slips behind the bar. “I can show you how to make it,” she says to Molly.

“Griff,” Shelby says to me. “This is Jiggy’s sister, Jezzie. Have you met?—”

“We’ve met.” I nod once. “How are you?”

“Fine,” she answers in a perpetually bored tone.

Like her brother, she’s not much of a talker. But unlike Jigsaw, Jezzie’s kind and patient, as she shows Molly how to blend the tequila and grapefruit juice cocktail.

Molly’s scrunched expression seems torn between thankful for the help and wanting this strange woman off her turf, but she listens to Jezzie’s instructions and finally passes the drink to Shelby with a shaking hand.

“Thank you much.” Shelby takes a quick sip and sets the glass down. “Perfect.”

“So, why were you looking for me?” I ask Shelby.

“Oh! Ha! Vegas. I’m supposed to ask you about Vegas.” She takes another sip of her drink.

Before she elaborates, Jigsaw and Rooster approach us. Rooster rests his hands on Shelby’s shoulders and she tips her head back to smile at him.

---