Trace followed suit with Ninja, who was across the way. “I started taking out Salamander when I need to clear my mind. He doesn’t give a damn inch, you always have to be present with him. Helps take the mind off whatever it’s working on.”
“Oh. Right.”
“Need to talk about it?”
Was he seriously going to have to have this conversation with her brother? Hell, no. “Nope. Nothing to talk about. How was Ninja?”
Trace smiled, the smile of a man who knew the score and wasn’t going to push, even though he could. “Did well. Enjoyed the obstacles for sure. You were right to suggest cutting for this one. Not really my forte, though. That’s Peyton’s skill. She’ll have some good shows with this horse under her.”
His head nearly imploded with the sound of her name. He focused on brushing Salamander out.
“I think I need to head into town,” said Trace, his voice breaking the silence of the barn.
The statement seemed rhetorical so Red said nothing.
“Want to come with?”
Red lifted his head. “Nope. I have a list though, if you don’t mind stopping at the feed store.”
Trace laughed and shook his head. “I didn’t mean for an errand. I mean for the night. There’s a new bar in town that wasn’t here when I left all those years ago. I was going to go check it out. Get off the ranch for the night, kick the dust off my boots and forget about horses and business for a few hours. Sound like a plan?”
Red debated only for a moment before nodding once, decisively. “Absolutely.”
Chapter Nine
In Red’s experience, typical watering holes in a town Marshall’s size consisted of a dying jukebox, a dart set missing most of the darts, and two types of beer. Tap, or bottle. The customers were always cowboys, looking to get away from something. Maybe the little woman back home. Or the fact that they were fifty and still working for someone else. The buckle that got away. And the atmosphere would always be dark and smoky, even if nobody smoked indoors anymore.
Jo’s Place, as the sign above the front door proclaimed, looked from the outside to be another such watering hole. But stepping inside was a whole new experience. Light filled every inch, not a dark corner to be found. The air was clean, a little sweet smelling. Music played from a decent sound system. And there were women, more than a few. They sat scattered around, in groups or with a man. As the two men made their way to the bar, Red caught sight of more than one drink with a colorful umbrella sticking out.
But while the place clearly appealed to women, the decor was still country, nothing so feminine that would drive a man out the door. Brilliant.
Sitting down, he and Trace waited until a woman walked up, wearing a clean black polo with the bar’s name embroidered over the breast pocket. Her long black hair swayed from a ponytail down between her shoulder blades, one black strand caught on the third earring in her right ear.
“What can I get you boys?”
“Bottle,” Red said, then was shocked when she handed him a real menu, not a laminated piece of cardboard.
“Domestic is on the left, foreign to the right,” she said, leaning in a little, pointing with one finger, the nail painted black.
“Bud for me,” Trace drawled, his accent deepening. Red didn’t miss the fact that Trace’s eyes were glued to the woman’s chest, which strained the front of her polo.
“Same,” Red answered, handing the menu back. She flashed them both a genuine smile and turned, giving them a moment to appreciate the soft curves hidden under the uniform.
“This is not what I was expecting,” Trace said quietly, looking around in awe. “From the few times I snuck in here before I left town, things have definitely changed.”
“Disappointed?”
“Nope. Just different. But change is good.” He waited until the server set the drinks on the bar. When he reached for his wallet, she shook her head.
“First timers, first round’s on the house.” With a wink she hurried down to the other side of the bar to take care of a man waving at her.
“How’d she know?” Trace asked. “We look just like every other guy in here.”
Red shrugged and took a sip. No point asking questions when free beer was involved.
After a moment, Trace asked, “Mind if I give that a go?” He used his bottle to point at the pretty dark-haired bartender leaning over the front to talk to another patron. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, more earrings in this one than the other.
“You have my blessing.”
“Hmm.” After his own sip, Trace went on. “Not at all interested? Someone else in here catch your eye?”