“He was nice.” Bea fiddled with the menu. “Wanna talk about it?”
“Nope.”
Like an angel of good timing, a short woman with black hair scraped back in a tight ponytail came over and set napkins in front of them. Hopping up on the empty chair, she leaned against the high back, as if getting comfortable for the evening. “Girls night out?”
Peyton stared for a moment. Quite forward for a waitress.
Bea smiled. “Trying to work out some man problems.”
The woman nodded, as if she heard this all the time. Heck, maybe she did. “Trying to keep one, or get rid of one? Gotta warn you, I’ve got no experience in the first, but plenty with the second.”
“Neither,” Peyton answered before Bea could spill out her life story. “Just spending a nice night out.”
The waitress shrugged, her shoulder brushing against one of the large hoops hanging from her ears. Just one of several pairs of earrings, actually. She must have at least four piercings in each ear. “Easy enough. What can I get ya?”
They each ordered, though the woman never wrote anything down. After hopping down from the tall chair—the woman really was quite short—she said, “I’ll be back in a minute with those drinks. Just holler for Jo if you need anything.”
“Jo, as in . . .” Bea pointed to a sign over the top of the bar declaring the building Jo’s Place.
“That’d be me. My name, my place.” She disappeared without another word.
“Hmm. She’s interesting. Definitely not local, or even from the surrounding area.” Bea tapped one finger against her lips. “Wonder what her story is.”
“Hey, Nosy, don’t worry about it. What’s with you and all the curiosity these days? I thought you couldn’t wait to get out of this place.”
“I couldn’t. I can’t,” she corrected quickly. “I’m just trying to keep busy while I’m here. Might as well get to know people, including you, if I have to stay.”
“You don’t have to stay,” Peyton pointed out.
The ongoing argument was put on hold when Jo returned with their drinks.
“One Bud Lite for everyone’s favorite cowgirl,” Jo said, placing a cold bottle on Peyton’s napkin, “and one Cape Cod.” A short glass with pink liquid settled in front of Bea, ice clinking.
“Thank you sweet baby Jesus.” Bea grabbed the glass like a drowning man might grab a life preserver and took a sip. “That is fantastic. Jo, you might be my new favorite person in this town.”
“Thanks,” Peyton said dryly.
“Thanks,” Jo answered, a little more pleasantly. Sitting back down on the tall chair, she sighed. “Mind if I take a breather? I like being out on the floor with the customers, but I’m not twenty-one anymore.”
Coulda fooled Peyton. Maybe it was the woman’s short stature, or her slightly round face, but Peyton wouldn’t have put her over twenty-two, max. Obviously that was wrong, since someone in her early twenties wouldn’t typically have the cash or know-how to open a bar in a town like Marshall and keep it running well.
“I heard what Dan said before he walked away. I was eavesdropping.” She just put that out there, so there was no confusion. “Unlike Dan, sweet man that he is, I have no problem with gossip of all shapes and sizes. So, what’s the deal with you and Red Callahan?”
Peyton nearly tipped her beer over. “What? How do you . . .”
“I overheard, remember? It’s my place. I figure if someone’s talking in here, I’ve got a right to hear what you’re saying.”
Bea watched her for a moment. “I think you and I are going to be very good friends.”
Peyton sighed. “Before you two start bonding, could we back up a minute?”
Jo set her tray down on the table and stretched her arms overhead, causing her breasts to press against the front of her polo. For a short woman, she had some unexpected curves. “Current chatter is that you, dear Peyton, are involved in a hot, torrid affair with Red Callahan. Which most of the women in this town are green with envy over and the men are split on.”
Bea pushed her empty glass toward Jo. “I’m gonna need another one of these when you get a minute. You can drive home, right, Peyton?”
She ignored her sister. “Split? How so?”
“Seems a pretty even divide, truthfully. Half of them are pretty sure it’s the downfall of society once owners and trainers start shacking up and doing the nasty. The few who made some disgusting remarks I won’t repeat because it won’t add to the probably-already-shattered illusion that I’m a lady.”