A week had passed since the incident at Camp Nelson Saloon, and Bonnie was determined to put in another appearance. She walked the access road at a little after sundown. Rudy followed close behind.
“You don’t need to prove anything to anyone,” he said. “Least of all that inbred trash.”
“That’s where you’re wrong,” Bonnie said. “They can’t think I’m backing down.”
“Then let me go alone.”
“Ha! Thanks, but I don’t feel like making a trip to the hospital or the morgue tonight. Besides, they need to see my face. If I send you, it looks worse than if I do nothing at all.”
“And what if they decide to start something? How are you going to—”
“I’ll play it by ear.”
They walked the rest of the way without talking. At first glance, it seemed Bonnie had already won. Apart from Kelly and a large red-haired biker at the far end of the bar, the place was empty.
“Looks like they’re trying to hit me in my wallet,” Bonnie said.
“Or maybe it’s just early,” Rudy said.
“Let’s find out.”
They sat dead-center at the bar, took two of the same stools the delinquent bikers had occupied a week earlier.
“Evening ma’am,” Kelly said. “Rudy. What can I get you all tonight?”
Bonnie remembered how Kelly had smirked while she wiped beer from her pants. She decided to have a little fun at her employee’s expense.
“I could really go for an Old Fashioned,” she said.
“That a microbrew?” Kelly asked.
“It’s a cocktail. Part bitters, part…You know, never mind. I’ll just take a Manhattan.”
Kelly gave a blank stare. Rudy covered his grin.
“How about a Sidecar?” Bonnie asked.
“This is a beer and shots bar, ma’am,” Kelly said.
“Well, I guess we’ll need to fix that, won’t we?” Bonnie said, smiling. “Meanwhile, pour me a Pilsner.”
“I’ll take a Jameson, on the rocks,” Rudy said.
They carried their drinks to a nearby table. Bonnie sat down, then popped back up.
“There’s something sticky on my seat,” she said, reaching for a napkin. “I’m telling you, that woman really needs to go. And this jukebox needs an overhaul. Or at least a song with more than three chords.”
“Country and Western sells booze,” Rudy said. “More than rock or pop or jazz. That’s a fact. There have been studies.”
“Well, maybe we don’t need a bar at all,” Bonnie said.
“Let’s take one thing at a time.”
They were quiet for a while, Bonnie casting glances at the door, Rudy staring down into his drink, giving the ice an occasional stir.
“No family this weekend?” he asked.
Bonnie frowned. “Jim says he won’t bring the kids back until it’s safe. Can you believe that? He’s never thought twice about anyone’s safety—he just wants to drive a wedge between me and this place.”
Rudy went back to poking at the ice in his glass, pushing a cube down with his straw and then watching it float back up.
“You know you’re supposed to drink that, not play with it,” Bonnie said.
Rudy’s smile looked more like a grimace.
“I’m out of practice,” he said. “To be honest, I kind of gave it up when I moved out here. I guess you could say that I moved out here in order to give it up.”
“I’m sorry,” Bonnie said. “I had no idea. I’ll take these back and get us two Cokes.”
“No, it’s all right,” Rudy said. “I’m ready now. I’m all grown up. I should be able to enjoy a drink like anybody else.”
“You should be able to, or you are?”
“I am.”
“You’re sure?”
“I’m sure. I promise.”
He lifted his glass in a toast.
“To growing up,” he said.
They drank, then sat grinning sheepishly at one another.
“Let me ask you something,” Bonnie said.
“Shoot.”
“You’ve been living out here for a while now. Does it ever get old? Are you still happy?”
“Happier now than ever,” Rudy said, winking.
“That’s not what I mean,” Bonnie said. “You could have met a girl anywhere. Do you miss…civilization? Do you ever feel like you made a big mistake?”
“If I felt that way, I’d leave,” Rudy said. “But this is where I belong. I’m a better person now. I’m better because of this place.”
“You mean because you stopped drinking?”
“That’s part of it.”
“What’s the other part?”
Rudy tapped his glass.
“I’ll need a few more before I answer that one.”
“How about this? How about we have one more, then take a late-night stroll up to the lake?”
“That’s why you’re the boss,” Rudy said. “You have all the good ideas.”
Bonnie looked over her shoulder, signaled to Kelly for another round. The clock above the bar read ten p.m.
“Seems like they really are boycotting me,” she said. “Honestly, it’s a relief. I’m going to remake the place from top to bottom. A high-end bar for discerning guests. A bartender who knows how to make a Manhattan.”
She wondered if the bikers realized they’d gone too far that morning in the woods. Maybe they’d scared themselves off. Maybe they expected the cops to come swooping down if they set foot anywhere near Camp Nelson Lodge.
“Hold that thought,” Rudy said, cupping a hand to his ear.
Bonnie listened, caught the roar of approaching motorcycles. Sure enough, the bikers came filing in a short time later, the same gaggle Rudy had tossed out the week before. It looked to Bonnie like they’d been drinking already. The towering rabble-rouser in the red bandana wobbled as he walked, and his entourage was cackling like a gang of teenage girls.
“Hey, Kelly,” the leader called, “line ’em up. And crank up the music while you’re at it.”
Rudy leaned across the table.
“What do you want to do?” he whispered.
Bonnie shrugged.
“It’s a new day in a free country, right?” she said. “We sit here and enjoy our drinks.”
She got ready to be stared down, called names, laughed at, even spit on. But they walked past her table without so much as acknowledging her or Rudy. Bonnie watched them gather their drinks at the bar, then huddle around a nearby table.
“You want to take that walk now?” Rudy asked.
“Uh-uh, no way,” Bonnie said. “We stay right here until they leave.”
“All right, as long as you don’t mind being seen out and about with the help. Especially the male help.”
“I don’t mind at all,” Bonnie said. “Anyway, it looks like they’ve come to their senses.”
“It’s a little early to make that call,” Rudy said.
Two hours and four rounds later, the bikers were the last of the paying customers to leave. They mouthed an ominous “Goodnight” to Bonnie and Rudy on their way out but were otherwise well behaved.
“Maybe they really have come around,” Rudy said.
Bonnie laughed.
“What’s so funny?” Rudy asked.
“You’re slurring your words.”
“I told you, it’s been a while.”
“And it’s been a long time since I took advantage of a drunk guy. Why don’t I steer you back to my cabin?”
Rudy smiled.
“As long as you promise to take advantage of me,” he said.