Mark had his hands on his hips as he surveyed his new business.
The bar was ornate in parts and uncared for all around. He could envisage cowboys strolling in not caring if the glasses were clean, but as far as he knew there weren’t any cowboys in the valley. He could even see a lost traveler wandering inside, hoping for some respite from the heat, a cold beer, and maybe a map so he could get out of town fast.
But genuine customers?
“What do you think?”
Mark turned to old Gerdin. “Bet this place could tell some stories.”
The old man grinned and clicked his dentures. “You made the right choice, son.”
There’d been only one business in Surrender up for sale. There hadn’t been a choice. “I’ve got a nose for a bargain.”
The bar was wooden, wide, and stretched the length of the back wall, with fancy beading around the edges. It needed a good polish.
Myriad bottles, covered in what looked like decades-old dust, lined the counter on the rear wall behind the bar, their colored glass and contents reflecting like dull gems in the mirror that also spanned the back wall. The bottles were pretty enough, but he made a note to get rid of their contents immediately, before someone poisoned themselves.
He moved toward the middle of the bar where a palm in a terra-cotta pot teetered on the edge. He pushed it back to a safer spot then ran a sleek frond between his fingers. It reminded him of Lauren, and the sensation she’d given him of a serene courtyard in a grand hotel, kept cool by the occasional mist of water from pipes above.
She hadn’t been so cool half an hour ago.
He checked his reflection in the mirror behind the bar, which also needed a polish. He was frowning, but it was the look in his eyes he wanted to search.
Yep. He was wearing the look of a man who deserved judgment.
He’d traveled from LA on a completely different flight, with a quick layover in Phoenix. At Amarillo airport, he’d legged it to the rented four-wheel drive waiting for him. He’d wanted to get into the bar before Lauren arrived, so he could take some time to make further plans on how to deal with their eventual and certain meet up. But he hadn’t quite made it due to old Gerdin and Davie keeping him in the street, relating tales about the days when things had been profitable. Not the kind of conversation they should have been having with a guy who’d just sunk a pile of cash into one of the businesses in town, but it would have been rude to suggest they take the conversation into the bar. He was supposed to be friendly, gaining people’s confidence, going with the flow.
He’d almost broken out in a sweat when Lauren stepped out of the pickup and stared at him. So much for the cool, French persona. It had taken all his willpower to keep up the charming surprise of an apparent coincidence.
So he had a conscience. Well, of course he did, otherwise he wouldn’t be here trying to ensure that he and Mom didn’t disgrace his sisters. Because if things didn’t go well, they’d both be doing time for fraud—and possibly murder.
He shuddered. How in hell had all this happened to him?
He couldn’t go to the cops with his sorry tale, because if he welched on Donaldson, somebody out there might find themselves a lot dead.
He looked into the mirror again. It wasn’t a two-way but that’s what it felt like. As though there was someone inside it, looking out at him. Judging him.
He scrubbed a hand over his face, turned, and surveyed the large front area of the bar, split into two parts by a waist-height wooden railing.
Two men sprawled at a window table were drinking hard liquor, washing it down with a jug of beer. “Who are they?” he asked Gerdin.
“Out-of-towners. They’re the types you’ll have to watch out for.”
Mark hauled in a breath. He had the money to start renovations so it appeared he was genuine. His own money. Like he’d used his own money to purchase the lease. He’d had a fair stash of money—hard cash he’d worked his guts out for—but it was dwindling fast. Ridiculously, he wasn’t allowed to pay off the amount his father had stolen from Donaldson. Instead, they preferred blackmail. He didn’t know if it was some warped sense of humor on their behalf or if there was something else he hadn’t been told. But it was where he was at.
“And who are they?” he asked Gerdin, indicating three men huddled over a far corner table. They hadn’t once looked up.
“That’s Butch, Doc, and Kid Buckner.” Gerdin sucked on his dentures. “Hard gamblers.”
Mark did a double take. “They’re playing Monopoly.”
Gerdin nodded. “Best not interrupt ’em.”
Mark continued his appraisal of the bar. In true Old West fashion, steer horns, spurs, and horseshoes decorated the walls. Three wagon wheels, varying in size, had been turned into a fancy, arty-looking chandelier over the bar, and another, ornate—although dirty—glass chandelier hung over what must have once been a dining area.
“Built in 1938,” Gerdin said. “Just before the curse.”
“What curse?”
“The Mackillops. They’re cursed. All of ’em husbandless due to the curse. The whole darn lot.”
“Is that so?” There was a lot about this information that ought to put a man off, but his interest was piqued. They were shaping up to be quite a bunch, these Mackillop women. Fortune-telling. Curses. Were they going to use all this as a drawcard for tourists? The sooner he found out and passed the intel to Donaldson, the sooner he could leave. Lauren was supposed to be the person he got the closest to, since Donaldson’s Developement believed it was she who would attempt to turn the town around, the way her cousin had in Hopeless. But he had the distinct impression it was going to be difficult to explain away the “coincidence” of LAX. Dammit! He should never have approached her the way he had. He hadn’t blown his cover, but he’d put himself on a bit of a knife edge.
Gerdin stepped forward. “I have to say, son, getting your offer was just about the best thing that ever happened to me. Apart from my wife, Ingrid.”
Mark smiled politely.
“I guess now you’ve seen the place, you’re full to the brim with notions on how to revamp it and draw in the drinkers.”
“I sure am.” Closing it was the only thing that had come to mind so far.
“We were right wary about you to begin with. There’s developers crawling the valley, trying to get sneaky and persuade us to sell. Sent a few men to snoop on us. One of them offered me a lot of money for the lease on the bar. But I knew straight off they were Donaldson’s people.” Gerdin sniffed his disparagement.
Mark didn’t blink. “You let it go to me for less than you could have gotten?”
“Liked the sound of you. You’ve got a telephone manner my wife appreciated and I always listen to Ingrid. She’s an older woman, did you know that? Got myself an older chick back in the day.”
“Lucky man.”
Just then, a glass smashed and a fight started. “I’ll just see if Davie’s still around,” Gerdin said.
Mark put a hand on the old man’s arm. It was thin and wiry, and although it still felt like there was some muscle tone, Gerdin was ninety-one years of age. “Let me.”
“Suppose you better get used to it.”
“How did you put up with it for so long?” he asked as he made his way to the window table where the two hard-drinking out-of-towners were pushing and shoving each other, getting a punch in whenever they could.
“Have to put up with the customers I’m given, that’s how.”
“Bar’s closed for renovation!” Mark yelled, a second before grabbing the men’s shirts.
Being a notch over intoxicated, both men stumbled and he had no problem dragging them to the doors.
Gerdin picked up a broom and swung it above his head like it was a rodeo rope. “Git!” he yelled, swiping at the air.
After a couple more minutes, they’d swept the men clear onto the street.
Mark waited while they got into their truck and drove out of town.
“I’ll call the cops,” Gerdin said. “Let them know there’s drunk drivers on the road. They’ll catch ’em before they hit the highway.”
Mark nodded and took his eyes off the dust trail the drunks’ vehicle created. The bar was at the far end of the street, so he had a good view of the town.
Spring was in the air, and as the dust settled, shimmering in the sunshine, the light falling through the branches of the plains cottonwood trees lining the street gave the town a whimsical touch. Deep red on the brick archway, pale blues and yellows on the cabins. Natural wood verandas on the few businesses. It was as pretty as the gem-colored glass bottles reflected in the mirror. It just needed a good polish.
Although why he cared what the place looked like, he didn’t know.
He headed back inside the bar and looked across to the far corner where the game of Monopoly was still underway.
“What about the Buckner boys?” he asked Gerdin.
“They’re like fugitives. Hiding out from real life. Eldest one worked on some building renovation that was started some years ago, but everyone ran off and it never got finished. He stayed in town. Rented a house on Water Street from Mr. and Mrs. Fairmont. Then brought his brothers here.”
“What do they do for a living?”
“Whatever they can. They’ve got a truck, but find it hard to gain employment due to not having no proper schooling. They’re wizards with their hands.” Gerdin pointed to the wagon-wheel chandelier. “Made that for me and Ingrid one night after we bought the Monopoly board and set it up in their corner.”
“How come they skipped the education system?”
“Their daddy was a horse’s ass,” Gerdin said in a hiss. “Doc, the middle brother, he had the most schooling. He can get right fancy sometimes. Big words and all.”
“Thanks,” Mark said, and made his way to the Buckner brothers, Gerdin following.
“Afternoon, gentlemen. Just wanted to introduce myself. Mark Sterrett.”
“He’s the dude who’s bought the lease,” Gerdin said. “The one I told you about.”
The middle brother stood, a polite expression on his face. “Name’s Doc. I’m thirty-seven. I’m the spokesman for the family.”
“How do you do, Doc?”
“This here’s Butch, he’s the eldest. And this is Kid. He’s just a kid.”
“I’m not. I’m twenty-one.”
“I’m forty-three,” Butch said, in a deep bass voice, looking up at Mark.
“I’m thirty-one,” Mark replied, taking the eldest brother’s hand and thinking it best if he joined in with the age game in case there was some importance attached to it that he’d missed.
“If you’re closing the bar,” Doc asked, “can we perchance borrow the Monopoly board?”
“It’s all yours.”
“I’ll miss my apple juice,” Kid said grumpily.
“We’ll get Mrs. Wynkoop from Hopeless to bring you some over,” Gerdin supplied. “She’s got an orchard. Four apple trees,” he informed Mark.
“Impressive.”
“I like my hard liquor,” Doc said. “But in moderation, so I reckon I won’t miss it too much.”
“Man after my own heart,” Mark told him with a smile, clocking the one shot glass on the table.
Butch stood. Ponderously, like a sleepy grizzly bear. “I like beer, but I limit myself to one a day. Gotta keep a clear head for the Monopoly. Reckon I can go without for the duration too.”
Mark smiled. “I’ve heard the Buckner men are good with their hands. I might be looking to employ three good men. How would you be fixed for time?”
Doc pulled his shoulders back. “We are currently free and can be engaged in employment.”
Butch nodded agreement, still expressionless.
Kid looked like he’d been given his first lollipop. “Heck,” he said. “Real jobs.”
“We’ve got a deal then.” Mark shook each man’s hand, something about the earnest expression in their faces incredibly rewarding.
The Buckner brothers. Possibly the nicest hard gamblers in Surrender.
They packed up their game, straightened the chairs around their table, and left.
“I’ll leave you to it, then.” Gerdin handed Mark the keys to the bar. “Oh, and by the way. There’s a big iron gate at the end of the bar’s rear yard. It’s locked. Don’t open it. Don’t go through it.”
“Why not?”
“It leads straight to Sage Springs.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s the house where young Lauren’s going to be living. Wild Ava gave it to her.” Gerdin shook his head. “That curse. It’ll likely kill us all off before Donaldson’s get a chance to make another move on us, or send some slimy fella down here to spy on us.”
Mark maintained his expression but a little heat crawled under his collar.