Bull’s-eye. Jo was never a super fan of retaliation, but she couldn’t be anything but honest … that one felt good.
A few male patrons nearby stepped in and asked if she needed assistance. Nice timing, of course. Couldn’t have been bothered ten minutes ago, but now that the guy was flat on his face, they were all eager beavers and concerned citizens. She asked two to help scoot the man out the door and into his friend’s truck.
“Did he pay?” she asked Amanda as they trailed behind the prone customer.
“Yeah, they cashed out about ten minutes ago. I made sure to keep up with their bill.”
“Nice work.” After the ever-so-helpful patrons shoved the half-conscious man into his truck, she offered them each a free round. “Who’s driving this guy home?”
One of his cheering squad mumbled he’d do it. She took a moment to gauge the way he walked, the look in his eye, then asked, “How many beers?”
“Two.”
She looked at Amanda, who nodded in agreement. But Jo still paid attention as they walked to the truck. Not a hiccup or falter to his step.
“Need us to call the cops?”
She watched from the doorway of the bar. When the friend got behind the wheel and took off, she shook her head. “He’s on his way. No point.”
The other man nodded at her arm. “Already starting some color there. Should be assault, if you ask me.”
And yet they’d hung back until she was finished dealing with the belligerent drunk. Typical. Jo had learned early in life to never count on a man to do anything. One of the few useful things her mother passed on. “I’ll be fine. A little ice and it’ll be good as new.”
They both shrugged and headed to the bar to claim their free drink.
“Jerks.”
“Eh, give ’em a break. It’s hard getting your hands dirty after a long week of work.” When Amanda gave her a confused look, Jo rolled her eyes and threw an arm around her shoulder. “That’s sarcasm. Remember how we talked about that?”
“Right, right.” But Jo could tell she was still mulling it over in her mind. “Still, a real man would have stepped up, regardless.”
“Possibly. Or maybe the real man would see that a real woman can handle herself.”
“No real man out here would dare let a woman step into a fight. It falls under the same category as opening doors and carrying boxes.”
“How nineteen-fifties.” Jo joked often about how ass-backwards everything seemed in Marshall after living in large cities her whole life, but the truth was … she loved it. Not the part where men still thought women couldn’t handle themselves. But the more simple way of thinking, overall. It was one of the reasons she’d come to a small town, rather than striking out on her own in another big city.
“I’ve got an order to deliver.”
“Off you go, then. Otherwise, the boss might fire you.” She grinned as Amanda stuck out her tongue and hurried off to the table. After seeing Amanda wasn’t too frazzled to keep working the rest of the shift, she headed back to her spot behind the bar. There were enough drink orders to keep her busy until closing time, when she managed to drag her tired ass up the stairs to her above-bar apartment. Not quite the Ritz, but perfectly adequate.
She stripped off her black polo with Jo’s Place stitched over the breast pocket and dumped it into a hamper full of identical shirts. Time for laundry. She’d have to run a load while doing the books tomorrow morning. After a quick debate between sleep and a shower, sleep won. Who did she have to impress in bed? Nobody, that’s who. So she’d grab the extra twenty minutes of shut-eye any day.
Another depressing thought, she realized as she changed into a sleep tank and some ugly shorts with a rip in one hem. One of the major drawbacks to small town life … no pool of single, available men looking for a night of fun. Not that she’d been a total slut or anything in Chicago. Or New York, or San Fran… . She just enjoyed a man from time to time, and working in a bar, she had her pick.
Now it was all cowboys who went to bed before the sun was fully set and married men who loved their wives. And good for them, she added, getting into bed and sighing at the glorious feeling of being off her feet.
Well, she’d known getting the bar up and running was priority number one. Now that the first year was nearly complete, she felt more confident. Maybe it was time to start watching for a man to slip into her bed now and again. Who wouldn’t like a little extra company to come home to after a long night?
With thoughts of sexy, faceless cowboys in tight chambray shirts dancing through her head, she fell asleep.