But he wasn’t paying attention to that. He didn’t care. He wasn’t a lawman anymore. He was the dude who sat at a booth because he didn’t want to talk to anyone or see anyone or be around anyone unless there was a fight and he was in a fighting mood.
“She’s yours. I’ll keep my paws off her. You made yourself plain a couple of months ago. Got it.” Maybe that would get him the peace he needed.
Ty had shown up shortly before he’d taken the assignment to watch over Nell Flanders while her husband, Henry, had been out of town doing whatever ex-CIA agents did. He was fairly certain being around Nell was where he’d gone wrong. She was optimistic and creative and so positive it sometimes hurt. He’d also liked having a comfy bed and hot showers and food that didn’t taste like crap.
For the first time since Jessie had betrayed him, he’d asked how long he would keep punishing himself.
It was Nell’s fault he’d started to think that maybe, just maybe, he could hang out with Lucy and see where it went.
“Yeah, well that’s not working.” Ty followed him in. “I have to admit that my plans thus far have been a bust. So it’s time for a new plan.”
The jukebox was on, playing “November Rain” by Guns N’ Roses, which was odd because that juke usually played southern fried rock or country songs about drinking beer and crying over women and dogs.
Though, granted, “November Rain” kind of fit that latter motif.
Sawyer looked up and nodded his way. Sawyer’s family owned the bar. He tended to work the later shifts, so he was the bartender Michael was most familiar with. The place was usually filled with bikers, some casual and some one percenters Michael usually would have watched carefully.
He didn’t care now.
Sawyer’s eyes widened as he took in Tyler. He crossed his arms over his massive chest and frowned. “Hey, no murders. Not tonight. I’m tired and I don’t want to clean up the blood, man.”
“Whiskey, and I promise nothing,” Michael replied on his way to the booth in the back he thought of as his second home. “You could bounce him, you know.”
When he slid onto the side of the booth that let him look out over the whole bar, including the front door, Ty eased in across from him.
Perfect.
“I’m not being bounced,” Ty swore. “I only want a couple of minutes of your time. Maybe half an hour.”
It was obvious he wasn’t getting rid of the kid. “To talk about what?”
Ty’s face went mulishly stubborn, like he was about to say something he didn’t want to say.
He was saved by Sawyer, who placed a double whiskey in front of Michael. “I’m serious about the murders. It’s been a week. Fucking Texas tourists going to kill me. What do you want, Ty?”
Ty looked up at him. “Piña colada.”
Sawyer stared. “You’re fucking with me, right? Do I look like I have a blender and a bunch of umbrellas behind that bar? Do you think this is girls night?”
“You know you used to be more tolerant. I happen to remember when you used to drink wine coolers, the sweeter the better. Piña coladas are delightful, and I don’t care what you think, Sawyer. You liked Cosmopolitans that night in Denver,” Ty pointed out.
There was the slightest uptick of Sawyer’s lips. “I was trying to get into a woman’s panties that night.” He sighed and rolled his dark eyes. “I don’t have any freaking cream of coconut, Ty. The best I can do is rum and coke, or I might have enough lime for a margarita.”
Now he was curious. Sawyer didn’t exactly bend for anyone Michael had seen. He was a hardass who might be slightly criminal.
Ty brightened. “Margarita, please. No umbrella. And what’s with the hair metal?”
“November Rain” had given way to “Mr. Brownstone.”
Sawyer’s frown seemed to encompass his whole body. “Some asshole who bought Hiram’s old place in town came in. Gorgeous wife, but he didn’t like my choice in music. I’m fairly certain he had someone hack my digital juke and now it only plays Guns N’ Roses. All day. Every day. I might shoot myself.”
He turned and walked away.
“So you know Sawyer.” It was the only reason the man hadn’t simply told Ty to fuck off.
“We went to high school together.” Ty sat back, seemingly more comfortable now that he had a fruity drink on the way. “He’s not a bad guy. Just cranky. Kind of like you.”
Well, cranky did sum him up. He took a drink of the whiskey and bit back a groan. It was shit whiskey, but then if he wanted the good stuff he should have gone to Trio. Which was closed for the night and might be forever closed to him from now on. “If you don’t like the company, the door’s that way.”