for burgers. Sierra pulled herself to an upright position, blinking owlishly around, scowling at Nick.
It was very clear Sierra imitated the seating chart at lunch. She squeezed in next to Emma before Santana had a chance to get in the booth next to her. Sierra glared at Nick, and took her menu from the waitress, opening it with a disgruntled flourish.
Emma hid a smile, and Santana thought it was big of Nick to ignore the darts being thrown at him.
“Shall we start with a bottle of wine?” Nick asked.
Santana winced. “It’s BYOB here, actually. Bring your own bottle, and in this town, that means beer or wine, nothing harder.”
“Ah.” Nick nodded, looking slightly surprised but clearly trying to roll with it. “Where do we get a bottle of good wine, then?”
“You have to cross some palms with silver,” Santana said, and Emma glanced at him.
“There’s no choice wine in this town,” Sierra told Nick pointedly. “Do you always sound like you should be sitting in an upper-crust country club?”
“Do I?” Nick asked. “I wasn’t aware wine was a social marker.”
Sierra rolled her eyes. “I would have respected you maybe a little if you weren’t trying to pair wine with a burger.”
“Sierra,” Santana said, “discreetly speak to Señor Hernandez, will you?”
“Let me provide the silver,” Nick said, pulling out his wallet. “This is my treat.” He cleared his throat, and Santana felt slightly sorry for him. The man was so far out of his depth he probably didn’t even realize it.
“How much silver is required for whatever adult beverage might be served in this establishment?” Nick asked.
They all stared at Nick’s leather passport wallet. Santana carried his money wrapped around his credit cards with a rubber band, as his father had, as did most men in the town, regardless of their financial well being.
“We can handle the silver,” Santana said, reaching into his pocket. He handed Sierra a couple of tens. “Thanks, Sierra.”
Nick watched Sierra leave and walk across the street. Emma noticed Nick’s interested gaze, too.
Emma looked at her menu. Nick studied the TVs in the upper aeries of the café, and watched the line dancers in the back, shuffling across the floor in boots. Sierra came back in with a six-pack of Dos she set on the table.
“ Señor says to tell you hola . And that he’s glad you’re back.” Sierra beamed. “He says the Dos is on him to celebrate your safe return.”
“Safe return from where?” Nick asked, and Santana shook his head.
Emma lost her focus on the menu. “Santana’s just back from being deployed.”
Nick’s gaze returned to him. “Deployed?”
“Got back a few weeks ago. I was in the Middle East,” he said slowly, realizing that for the first time, he wasn’t feeling anxiety about retiring from the Navy. He didn’t feel bottled up; he didn’t feel spent.
He felt just fine, the way he had in the old days, before his father had died, before they’d lost the ranch, before he’d realized that one more tour of duty would be one too many. Tempting the gods wasn’t wise. He’d come through four tours in better shape than most.
Of course, the gods had quixotic personalities, and were trying to lure his younger brothers away instead. Maybe they’d follow the rodeo, maybe try out some caves in Belize. Romero hadn’t clarified.
Hell, for all he knew, Romero had decided to join Luke and Cisco and give the military life a shot, now that they had no ranch to work.
“Thank you for your service,” Nick said, and Santana started.
“No need to thank me.” He passed around the beers, wishing he was sitting next to Emma.
“I appreciate your agreeing to take the job as foreman,” Nick said.
“Why? Do you get a tax credit for hiring a veteran?” Sierra demanded.
Santana shrugged. “I’m taking the job, and I’m grateful for it, Nick.”
When the waitress came over, they all ordered the same thing: Burgers, well-done,
It was very clear Sierra imitated the seating chart at lunch. She squeezed in next to Emma before Santana had a chance to get in the booth next to her. Sierra glared at Nick, and took her menu from the waitress, opening it with a disgruntled flourish.
Emma hid a smile, and Santana thought it was big of Nick to ignore the darts being thrown at him.
“Shall we start with a bottle of wine?” Nick asked.
Santana winced. “It’s BYOB here, actually. Bring your own bottle, and in this town, that means beer or wine, nothing harder.”
“Ah.” Nick nodded, looking slightly surprised but clearly trying to roll with it. “Where do we get a bottle of good wine, then?”
“You have to cross some palms with silver,” Santana said, and Emma glanced at him.
“There’s no choice wine in this town,” Sierra told Nick pointedly. “Do you always sound like you should be sitting in an upper-crust country club?”
“Do I?” Nick asked. “I wasn’t aware wine was a social marker.”
Sierra rolled her eyes. “I would have respected you maybe a little if you weren’t trying to pair wine with a burger.”
“Sierra,” Santana said, “discreetly speak to Señor Hernandez, will you?”
“Let me provide the silver,” Nick said, pulling out his wallet. “This is my treat.” He cleared his throat, and Santana felt slightly sorry for him. The man was so far out of his depth he probably didn’t even realize it.
“How much silver is required for whatever adult beverage might be served in this establishment?” Nick asked.
They all stared at Nick’s leather passport wallet. Santana carried his money wrapped around his credit cards with a rubber band, as his father had, as did most men in the town, regardless of their financial well being.
“We can handle the silver,” Santana said, reaching into his pocket. He handed Sierra a couple of tens. “Thanks, Sierra.”
Nick watched Sierra leave and walk across the street. Emma noticed Nick’s interested gaze, too.
Emma looked at her menu. Nick studied the TVs in the upper aeries of the café, and watched the line dancers in the back, shuffling across the floor in boots. Sierra came back in with a six-pack of Dos she set on the table.
“ Señor says to tell you hola . And that he’s glad you’re back.” Sierra beamed. “He says the Dos is on him to celebrate your safe return.”
“Safe return from where?” Nick asked, and Santana shook his head.
Emma lost her focus on the menu. “Santana’s just back from being deployed.”
Nick’s gaze returned to him. “Deployed?”
“Got back a few weeks ago. I was in the Middle East,” he said slowly, realizing that for the first time, he wasn’t feeling anxiety about retiring from the Navy. He didn’t feel bottled up; he didn’t feel spent.
He felt just fine, the way he had in the old days, before his father had died, before they’d lost the ranch, before he’d realized that one more tour of duty would be one too many. Tempting the gods wasn’t wise. He’d come through four tours in better shape than most.
Of course, the gods had quixotic personalities, and were trying to lure his younger brothers away instead. Maybe they’d follow the rodeo, maybe try out some caves in Belize. Romero hadn’t clarified.
Hell, for all he knew, Romero had decided to join Luke and Cisco and give the military life a shot, now that they had no ranch to work.
“Thank you for your service,” Nick said, and Santana started.
“No need to thank me.” He passed around the beers, wishing he was sitting next to Emma.
“I appreciate your agreeing to take the job as foreman,” Nick said.
“Why? Do you get a tax credit for hiring a veteran?” Sierra demanded.
Santana shrugged. “I’m taking the job, and I’m grateful for it, Nick.”
When the waitress came over, they all ordered the same thing: Burgers, well-done,
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