Page 115 of Roaring Fork Wrangler

Jay chuckled. “We talked about changing it right after we bought it, but never got around to it.”

“Do you remember who owned it before you?”

Jay scratched his chin. “I don’t remember the man’s name. Sorry, Cord. I’m sure I can find it once we’re home.”

“It’s not important. I was just curious.”

“I still can’t believesomeone else named their restaurant the Goat. It’s such a weird name,” said Patricia a couple of hours later when we were standing at the bar, waiting for a drink.

“My grandfather has a weird sense of humor,” said the bartender. “I’m Keltie, by the way.”

“Nice to meet you,” I said. “I’m Cord Wheaton, this is my wife, Juni, and her parents, Jay and Patricia.”

“Oh, good, you guys met,” said Holt, walking up to us. “Keltie bought the place from the Rice family.”

“Better put, I bought it back from them and at amuchhigher price than they paid for it.”

“Hey, Cord,” said Juni, who’d wandered to the end of the bar, where she stood studying a photo.

“Yeah, darlin’?”

“Where’s Sam?”

“Right here. What’s up?”

“Take a look at this,” Juni said, pointing.

“Oh my God. That’s Ursula!”

“How do you know my Aunt Ursula?” Keltie asked, walking to the far end of the bar, where we stood.

“I, um, don’t exactlyknowher,” Sam stammered.

“Hey,” said Jay, looking over Juni’s shoulder. “That looks like the guy I bought our place from.”

Keltie’s eyes scrunched. “That’s my dad.”

“What’s his name?” Jay asked.

“Victor, but everyone calls him Vic. Our last name is Marquez.”

“Hol-y shit,” I said under my breath when Juni spun around and looked at me with wide eyes.

“So, uh, anyone wanna fill me in on all this?” Keltie asked.

Sam stepped up to the bar. “Pilar Marquez was my grandmother. I’m Samantha.”

Keltie looked from Sam to me to Jay. “I think I need a drink.” She turned around and grabbeda bottle of bourbon, then lined up several shot glasses. “Raise your hand if you’re in.”

All five of us did.

“Are you from around here? I’ve been away for about a year, but I don’t remember meeting you before,” I said.

“I’ve only been here a couple of months. When my dad heard the place was for sale, he sent me here to buy it. And run it, not that he mentioned that on the front end.” She passed out the shots and raised her glass. “To the Goat.”

“To the Goat!” we all responded.

“Did your dad happen to own another restaurant outside of Buffalo, New York?” Jay asked.

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