Page 60 of On The Rocks

A text came through my in-dash screen.

“If you can tear yourself away, we’re at Lucky’s.”

A beer sounded good right about now. Instead of heading back to the orchard, I continued into downtown. Since it was still warm, there were quite a few cars and trucks in Lucky’s parking lot.

That and March Madness was in full effect. Basketball was a big draw in this area. I’d never been overly interested in that particular sport, but I appreciated the excitement during finals.

I parked at the back of the lot and followed a crowd of guys who looked as if they’d come from a construction site. Once inside, I scanned the busy sports bar. It was all wood and neon with plenty of old school beer signs. A trio of women manned the bar, reminding me instantly of Lennon.

They didn’t have her grace, but they were efficient as hell.

Beckett turned with a pint in his hand, waving at me. He turned back to the bartender and another pint of whatever was on tap slid in front of him. He nodded to the top deck of tables.

I met him at the stairs and took the beer he offered. “Just an IPA.”

“Good enough for me.”

“Had a busy day, did you?” Beckett shoved his ever-present Yankees cap back with a grin.

“No comment.”

He slapped my shoulder, and I bit back a wince. I had a fair bit of claw marks from Lennon back there. “I heard you were pretty sloppy last night, son.”

I sighed. “Hayes shared his new honey pear moonshine. I believe the proof level had to be in the stratosphere.”

“First batch always is. Why I never try it.” He headed up the stairs with a laugh.

“Now you tell me,” I called after him.

He got to the top and grinned over his shoulder. “We all have to learn the hard way. Just ask Justin.”

“Ask Justin what?”

I got to the top of the stairs to see Justin with a Guinness and a shot glass beside him along with a paper with a grid on it. “Why didn’t you warn me about Hayes and his first batches?”

Justin grinned, white teeth gleaming from his tanned skin. He was already browning in the early spring sun we’d been enjoying. “Did you end up with your face in the bowl?”

“No, thank God.” I slid into a chair in front of him. “Just don’t remember much of my evening.”

Justin’s eyebrows disappeared into the shadow of his own ballcap. Where Beckett was loyal to one hat, and one woman—his wife, Helena—Justin was all over the map with his caps. Today was a well-loved Buffalo Bills cap that matched his red plaid shirt over a black T-shirt streaked with mud.

“How the hell did you get muddy today?”

“Well, I worked today, unlike a certain someone.”

I took a sip from the foamy IPA. “Not a topic of discussion.”

“Yet.” Beckett spun his chair around and straddled it, cupping his rough hands around his glass.

Ignoring him, I glanced at Justin. “Who’s your car guy?”

“Depends on what you need.” Justin flipped the paper in front of him around and slid it my way. “Want a square for tonight’s game?”

“I don’t know anyone on there.” I pulled out two twenties, tossed it on top, and pushed it back toward him. “You pick.”

Justin rubbed his hands. “I’ll happily spend your cash.” He started scribbling something on the paper. “What’s the problem? Something with your truck?”

“Lennon’s Jeep.”

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