by Meg Benjamin
Another stress headache began to work its way up to Ruth’s frontal lobes. “He’s not leaving yet, and I’m not calling him now. And you need to start getting ready for bed.”
“No!” Carol stamped her foot. “No, no, no! You need to call him right now. I want to go to California. You need to tell him so. It’s not fair. It’s not fair you’re not listening to me.”
Ruth closed her eyes, rubbing her fingers across her forehead. She didn’t need this. She so didn’t need this. And it didn’t help that she felt a little like crying herself. “Get ready for bed, Carol. I’m not doing this now.”
“I hate it here,” Carol shouted. “I hate everything.” She turned and ran upstairs, her feet hammering on the treads. A moment later, her door slammed so hard it rattled the windows in the hall.
At least she didn’t say she hated me. Yet. Ruth headed back to the kitchen. Maybe she could finish the bottle of wine, but that probably wasn’t a good idea, given her current state of mind and the fact that the bottle was over half full. She could have a glass of Bec’s beer, which would be a little harder to swill.
What she really wanted was Bec’s brother. Right here. Right now. Which would be a really bad idea.
She was in the middle of a fight with her rotten, cheating ex, a man who described women as “tasty” and who gave his daughter presents just because he could.
And who then forgot about her until something else stirred his memory.
She was also in the middle of a fight with her twelve-year-old daughter, who preferred her charming rat of a father to her drudge of a mother.
Are you jealous, Ruth? Really? She sighed. Yeah, she sort of was. David was glamorous and attractive. She was the one who made macaroni and cheese all the time because she couldn’t ever remember to buy groceries.
She didn’t have time for a lover. Not to mention, she didn’t deserve one. She needed to spend more time being a mom. She needed to make Carol understand why men like David were a trap. She needed to go back to being what she’d always been. Ruth Colbert, cheesemaker, deli owner, and mom. The rest of it was just illusion. This was real.
But I wanted that illusion. I wanted passion. I wanted…
It didn’t matter. Wanting passion was a trap. It made a woman vulnerable. It made her stupid. And Liam was leaving anyway.
She needed to take herself in hand. She and Liam needed to get ready for the end. Maybe they needed to just end it now. She didn’t have time for this. She’d never had time for this. She had too much on her plate already.
Tears prickled at the back of her eyes, and she bit her lip. I don’t want to give him up. It isn’t fair. I’ve spent all this time on my own.
No, it wasn’t fair. None of it was fair—Carol had a point. But she couldn’t do anything about it. Liam was going away, and Carol wanted to go away, too.
She had other things to worry about right then.
Chapter Nineteen
For the life of him, Liam couldn’t figure out what Stanton was planning for Black Mountain Tavern.
The complaints about the food had become constant, almost like white noise. McCullough had dropped nachos from the menu because they were “too much trouble.” That meant their only bar food besides peanuts and popcorn was wings, which were available only because Stanton had bought them frozen by the bag, already breaded and seasoned. However, McCullough’s lack of interest in the time they spent in the deep fryer produced every state from incinerated to suspiciously pink, and the bottled sauce Stanton provided had been watered down so much that the heat was just a memory.
Maybe giving the customers a case of food poisoning would be enough to get Stanton to finally fire the bastard. Unfortunately, Liam doubted that, too.
Not surprisingly, they were losing more of their regulars. The tourists were still hanging around, although they’d had some slippage there as well, thanks to all the bad Yelp reviews. Now the Antero citizens who’d once come in every night or so to test the new craft brews and play a game of pool had also begun to disappear.
Losing customers should have gotten Stanton’s attention, even if Liam’s own complaints about McCullough hadn’t. The locals were a problem, but the decline in tourist traffic was serious since tourists were their bread and butter. But Stanton was seldom around the tavern long enough to notice. He hadn’t been there in over a week.
Which explained why Liam was simultaneously surprised and suspicious when he saw Stanton walk in around six. The crowd was smaller than usual, but then, the crowds had been down for the past week or so, ever since the news of McCullough’s vast incompetence had spread around town.
Stanton nodded at him. “How’s it going?”
“Shitty,” Liam shot back. “We need to talk. Bad.”
Stanton raised an eyebrow, then motioned him toward the back room, which functioned as both storage and Stanton’s pathetic excuse for an office. “What’s the problem?”
“McCullough is the problem. As I’ve been trying to tell you ever since the son of a bitch started working here. His food sucks. His attitude sucks. And we’re losing customers every day because of it.” He folded his arms across his chest. “Getting rid of craft brews doesn’t help, but McCullough’s the main problem here. He’s reduced the menu to next to nothing, and nobody wants to eat the shit he still fixes. He’s a bastard to the wait staff, and the customers hate him. Have you seen our Yelp reviews lately? Jesus, how long are you going to let this go on?”
Stanton stared at him, then shrugged. “End of the month.”
“End of the month what?”
“That’s how long I let it go on. My lease on the building is up at the end of the month, and Antero Steaks will be open another month after that. The tavern has to limp along until then, but when the month’s up?” He shrugged again. “Sayonara.”
Now it was Liam’s turn to stare. “What does that mean?”
“The tavern closes down so I’m no longer paying rent. The new place is all mine—no rent to worry about. Win-win.”
The winning didn’t seem to extend to the tavern staff, at least the ones who hadn’t already made the jump to someplace better. Stanton would kick them out on the street without any warning. “What about the people who’ll be out of a job?”
“Hey, I’ll be glad to take you on when the steakhouse opens. Like I said, a month or so and we’re up and running. I’m going to need a good bartender. Same thing with the waitresses. But this way, I don’t end up having to renew a lease I was going to drop anyway. We’re making enough to get to the end of the month, and who cares after that?”
Liam wasn’t sure what Stanton thought the tavern staff would live on while they waited for him to get around to rehiring them. He would have been in dire straits himself if he hadn’t had Park City waiting down the road. “A month?” he said slowly.
Stanton shrugged again. “About that. Maybe six weeks. You know how it is with renovations. You can’t guarantee anything in terms of schedule.”
Six weeks. He wasn’t sure whether Stanton believed the waitresses and part-time bartenders could hold out for six weeks or if he just didn’t give a crap. Liam was betting on the latter. “Are you taking McCullough over to the steakhouse, too?”
“McCullough?” Stanton grimaced. “No way. Antero Steaks gets a real chef. McCullough’s great at keeping costs down, but he’s strictly small-time.”
Liam gritted his teeth to keep from saying all the things he wanted to say. After all, the brewery would still need to sell beer to the bastard when he opened his freakin’ steakhouse. “When are you closing us down?”
“Saturday should be the last day. I thought maybe we could throw a little party after closing, say goodbye and everything. Maybe a potluck.” He gave Liam a bland smile.
Son of a bitch won’t even spring for refreshments. “Well, that’s it then. Are you going to tell the waitresses?”
“Maybe Friday. I don’t want to give them any reason to slack off before then.”
Liam re
garded Stanton with narrowed eyes. He was perhaps the most perfect sleazebag he’d ever met. And he wouldn’t even have the satisfaction of telling him so. At least closing down Black Mountain would save Liam from having to give the bastard notice he was leaving for Park City.
“They might like a little advance warning so they can start looking for new jobs.” Particularly given that tips had been going down ever since McCullough had taken over the kitchen.
“You can drop a few hints if you want. Hell, two of them have already given notice.” Stanton turned toward the door. “Anything else?”
Anything else? Besides maybe an apology for messing up the lives of a group of people who’d done nothing to deserve it? And for throwing a first-rate bar into the garbage? Liam considered appealing to Stanton’s nonexistent sense of decency, but then he dismissed the idea. He shook his head. “Nothing else.”
At midnight, he closed the bar. It was already almost empty, and the few customers who were left looked like they could use some fresh air. Plus, he was damned if he’d stay late just to make Stanton a few more bucks. Screw him.
He headed out into the crisp mountain night. Late July nighttime temperatures were already dropping into the forties and fifties as fall approached. He should have brought a jacket, but it was hard to remember to do that when the daytime temperature was still in the seventies or eighties. He hunched his shoulders, sliding his hands into his pockets to keep them warm.
It was time to head home. He didn’t look forward to tomorrow, when he’d have to tell the waitresses that they were on the verge of unemployment. No way was he going to “drop hints.” They all needed to know what was coming and when.
He intended to serve everybody tequila shots on the house come Saturday night. Stanton could pay for something. Besides, the tequila they were serving was probably too low-class for Antero Steaks. He started walking across Main, heading toward his block.
But the nearer he got, the more reluctant he was to go home. He wanted to talk to someone, needed to tell somebody about Stanton and the dirty trick he’d pulled on his staff, to say nothing of his long-time customers. The whole thing still burned in his gut. He needed to get it out where he could think about it rationally.
Bec might be up. She’d been known to work late, particularly if she had something brewing that she wanted to check out or if she was coming up with a new beer. He could walk to the brewery and see if any lights were on. She could probably even provide him with some alcohol. At this point, he could use some.
He couldn’t seem to turn his feet in the right direction, though. Instead, he found himself heading in the opposite direction, toward the right place at the wrong time.
Ruth’s house was dark, but that wasn’t surprising. It was after midnight, and she had to get up early for her breakfast deliveries. He thought of her in her bed, her dark hair feathered around her face, eyelashes like shadows across her cheeks. His body tightened accordingly. He might be tired and pissed-off, but he wasn’t dead.
Ruth would listen. Ruth might even have something to say. And Ruth was the one he wanted to talk to.
Maybe he could toss some pebbles at her window. If he was quiet, he wouldn’t wake the neighbors. Ruth could let him in the back door.
Except… Carol was home. And he had a feeling Ruth wouldn’t be big on late night visitors when her daughter was upstairs.
He stood staring at the house, wanting her so badly he could taste it. Remembering her scent, her feel, her savor.
You don’t have the right to go to her. Not when you’re taking off in a couple of weeks. Not when you still haven’t figured out what’s going on between you.
He turned and headed for the brewery. Time to be a grown-up, no matter how much it hurt.
Bec was up, so at least his trip wasn’t entirely in vain. “I wanted to work on that coffee stout I’ve been thinking about. It’s almost there, but not quite. I’ll see if I can fit in some more time tomorrow to get it right. We’ll need to do another red ale run soon. Maybe we can do it between shifts—I get off from Ruth’s around three. If you can work tomorrow morning, we can get it up and running.”
“Yeah, well, about that.” Liam rubbed a hand along the back of his neck. “It turns out I may have a lot more time to work here starting next week. At least for a little while.”
“Oh?” She paused, then pulled out a chair to sit across from him. “What’s up?”
“Stanton’s closing the tavern. After Saturday, everybody’s out of a job.”
Bec frowned. “Why would he do that? I thought the tavern was a profitable joint.”
“It was. Once upon a time it was a great place, and I loved working there. But Stanton was just leasing the building—he took over when Garrett Wilhelm had his heart attack. The new place he’s opening, Antero Steaks, he owns himself. I think that made him decide to get rid of the business he didn’t control. He kept it going until his lease ran out, but he kept the costs at rock bottom so that he could maximize profits with minimal effort.”
Bec grimaced. “I guess that explains why he let the place go downhill. Hire a third-rate cook for peanuts and give him free rein—you can still make money. But it’s a shitty thing to do. Hell, when Ruth had to deal with her third-rate cook, she paid even more attention to the kitchen. Now that Peaches is there, Ruth just lets her alone. Which is fine.”
Liam shrugged. “Stanton didn’t care. Why should he? He already had one foot out the door. All he wanted to do was keep costs down and profits up until the lease ran out. And whatever else you can say about McCullough’s cooking, it was cheap. As long as Stanton was making some money off the deal—even if it wasn’t as much money as he used to make—he was satisfied. He knew the bar was going to close and he didn’t feel like putting any extra cash into it.”
Bec sighed. “I’m sorry, bro. It was a good job. Back in the day, I liked the place. Good thing you’ve already got another job lined up.”
“I liked it, too.” He sprawled back in his chair. “I know I was already poised to leave, but it still hurts. I hate to see somebody take a great bar and run it into the ground. And I’m beginning to realize how much I’m going to miss Antero.” It wasn’t just Antero he’d miss. But mentioning Ruth still seemed a little risky. They hadn’t made any commitments, after all.
“You could stay around and work here. I mean, we talked about hiring somebody full time. That somebody could be you.” She gave him a hopeful look.
Liam tried to look hopeful back, but it was a stretch. The work he did at the brewery wasn’t all that exciting, and the salary they could afford to pay him was minimal. He was ready for something where his presence actually made a difference.
Bec seemed to read his mind. “We could up your share of the profits, at least for a while. Until we’re really making money again.”
“Really making money” had always been a goal, but not one they’d managed to reach yet. He had a feeling they wouldn’t make it now either if he started pulling money out, particularly when they could hire part-time labor for a lot less.
“I’ll work here until I have to leave for Utah, but the brewery job can’t be a substitute. We need to keep putting the money back into the business and we can’t do that if we’re subsidizing my food and rent. Like it or not, Park City is my best shot.”
Bec nodded. “Okay. I’ll check with Wyatt when he comes up this weekend. Maybe he’ll have some ideas. Or maybe some contacts here in town—he’s met just about every restaurant and bar owner in Antero. Maybe he could come up with something in Antero that’s as good as the Park City job.”
Wyatt probably did have better contacts than Liam did, particularly since Liam hadn’t cultivated any other bar owners since he’d gone to work for Stanton. Still, he doubted Wyatt would find anything around here.
“What do you think will happen to the tavern building?” Bec asked.
“It’ll probably get rented out. Commercial property doesn’t stand empty for long around here.”
> Bec sighed. “It’s got that great carved oak bar, too.”
He nodded. “From a hotel bar in Leadville or a brothel in Ouray. I never got that part straight.”
Bec looked like she was trying to find something positive to say, but he’d already tried that. He could tell her there wasn’t much. “Ready to make some beer?”
“Yep.” She turned toward the brew kettle. “To the suds.”
Liam managed to get a couple of hours of sleep after they finished with the red ale. He bunked down on a cot at the brewery, not the most comfortable bed, but he was so tired it didn’t matter much.
At six, his phone alarm went off and he rolled out of bed. He sneaked into Bec’s apartment, trying not to wake her as he took his shower. No clean clothes, but the ones he’d worn the day before weren’t too bad. And he hoped his unshaven morning look was trendy rather than suspicious.
He headed out into the early morning twilight. The sun was inching its way above the mountains to the east, casting dim light along the streets while it turned the sky rosy. The lights were on at the Salty Goat, and as he arrived, he saw one of the early morning customers coming through the front door. He caught it before it could swing closed and stepped inside, into the enveloping scent of cinnamon and sugar. His mouth started watering before he even got the door closed behind him.
“Hey there,” Peaches called. “Want some breakfast? I’ve got fresh cinnamon rolls and coffee.”
“God, you want a body part? I’d give just about anything for one of your cinnamon rolls and a cup of coffee.” He managed a smile as she passed him a plate.
“These have raisins. They’re an experiment. Tell me what you think, and I really want to know, so don’t pull your punches.” She handed him a cup of coffee to go with his roll.
What he thought was that Peaches’s cinnamon rolls might be able to raise the dead. They were sure as hell getting him going. “Where’s Ruth?”
Peaches frowned. “She’s around. Or she was just a minute ago. Maybe she went to get more coffee.”
