The Old Man's Back in Town Read Free Page A

wet floor.
    A volley of gunshots blasted around me as I fell, my shoulder exploding in pain, my head connecting with a stool on the way down. The crack echoed through my skull…

    Goldwash, Nevada
    December 24th
    On the first day of Christmas my true love gave to me…

    “Would you turn off that Christmas crap and help me clean up all this beer?” I said, throwing a wet rag at my cousin Buffalo as he nursed his drink at the end of the bar.
    Buffalo caught the rag mid-air. “Jeez, Montana, can’t you let a man enjoy a nostalgic moment? Where’s your holiday spirit?”
    “I think your dog ate it.” I dragged a bucket of sudsy water over, pulling the stools out on each side of Buffalo, and mopped up the beer pooled there. The clinical, ammonia-heavy odor from the mop bucket blocked out any yeasty whiffs of beer.
    “Leave Brunhilda out of this.” Buffalo reached down and scratched his bulldog between her fake reindeer antlers.
    “I’d like to, but her fat butt is in my way.” I nudged her with the toe of my red cowboy boot. Brunhilda grunted, but didn’t budge. “I’m not even supposed to have dogs in here. If the state health inspector were to walk in, I’m screwed.”
    “Nah. I’d just explain that she’s our Aunt Harriet. They kind of look alike. Besides, if it weren’t for me and Brunhilda, you’d be all alone on Christmas Eve.”
    Sad, but true. I needed some new friends. “I’m closing the bar early tonight. You can either help me with this mess or drag both of your sorry asses home.”
    “Just call me Cinderella,” Buffalo said, setting his glass to the side. “Whoever spilled all of this good beer should be thrown in the hoosegow.”
    Something about my standing there with a mop in my hand spurred déjà vu. I tried to remember what had happened earlier in the night, but everything jumbled together in my memory—the two old drunks caroling on top of the bar like they were Vegas night club singers, the feisty retiree in the red velvet running suit bouncing around and dangling mistletoe over her head. It was a wonder someone hadn’t broken a hip.
    “You have everything you need for New Year’s?” Buffalo asked.
    “Everything but a date.”
    “You can be mine—minus anything disgustingly sexual.”
    I grinned. “The feeling is mutual, Buff. I still can’t believe you got in a fight with your girlfriend over your neighbor’s pig and ended up with a broken arm.”
    “I can’t believe she came at me with that cast iron skillet.” He bent down and scratched Brunhilda’s back. “But we’re sure glad that crazy bitch left us, aren’t we old girl? She was just jealous because you’re prettier than she ever was.”
    “You and that dog are spending way too much time together. Next you’ll be telling me she’s the ‘one’ for you.”
    “You know I don’t believe in just having one woman for more than a couple of months. It’s unnatural.”
    “You’re unnatural. Now help me clean up this beer or get the hell out of my bar.”
    Buffalo wiped the bar down in silence for several seconds. “I wonder what Joel is up to. You’d think he’d come home for the holidays, pay his dad a visit, drop in and share a drink with the latest woman he’d kicked to the curb.”
    I stopped mopping mid-swish, my hackles rising unbeknownst to Buffalo apparently, because he kept rambling. “The guy always hated staying in the big city too long, said it rotted his lungs.”
    “Can we not talk about that son of a bitch tonight?” I asked. “I’m hoping to have a sober holiday.”
    Buffalo shook his head. “I can’t believe you’re still not over him. I hate to say it after he left you like he did, but that means something, Monty. You should probably go see him, run some tests, and find out if it’s really love.”
    “Or just chronic heartburn,” I said, glaring at Buffalo. “If only I had the power to turn men into dung beetles.”
    He laughed. “You know, it’s not your fault. Joel always