Read Online Burned in Broken Hearts Junction: A Cozy Matchmaker Mystery (Cozy Matchmaker Mystery Series) by Meg Muldoon - Free Book Online
Authors: Meg Muldoon
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place, huh?” I said. “How else are you bailing out water?”
He rubbed his eyes.
“We’re turning it into a sports bar. No live music. Just games on the TV.”
My mouth fell open a little.
“A sports bar?” I said. “A sports bar?!”
Like saying it twice would convince him what a terrible idea it was.
You didn’t take a place as good as The Cupid and turn into a sports bar.
“It’s a better business model,” he said. “No bands to pay. And that’s what we need right now. A plan of action.”
A better business model would have been him not gambling away all the saloon’s money.
“I’ve been coming to The Cupid before you or Courtney ever moved to Broken Hearts, Dale,” I said.
I wasn’t sure why I needed to say that, but I did.
“And I hope that you do keep coming back,” he said. “But it’ll have to be as a customer.”
That was the last straw.
I thought about throwing something. About picking up that stupid green lamp from his desk and chucking it against the wall.
But I restrained myself.
Breaking glass wasn’t going to do me anyone any good now. Nothing would.
I started heading for the door, walking fast and mean.
“Wait, Bitters,” he said, standing up. “Look, you don’t have to leave now. You can work here a couple days more if you want. Until you find something. But no more than that.”
What on earth was I going to find in a couple days? What good would it do? I wasn’t going to take his pity.
I turned around to look at him.
“Go to hell, Dale.”
I walked out of his office and to the back. I grabbed my coat, and rushed quickly through the saloon, not even so much as looking in Courtney’s direction.
“It’s been nice knowing you, Dry Hack,” I said, patting him on the shoulder. “I’ll miss hearing you recount all them battles.”
Dry Hack’s big bushy black eyebrows drew together in confusion.
“C’mon, Hank,” I said, clicking my tongue against the roof of my mouth to grab his attention.
The dog stood up and followed me.
I tried slamming the door on my way out, but in the same way that it hadn’t slammed for Raymond the night before, it didn’t slam for me.
It just closed feebly.
I couldn’t even take that satisfaction with me.
Chapter 16
I sat on the hood of my car, bundled up in my sheep’s fleece jacket, listening to the sound of Dwight’s BuenasNoches from a Lonely Room coming from the car speakers, mixing in with the sound of the river running past.
I was holding a flask in my hand.
You’ve probably got a bad impression of me by now, thinking I’m some sort of lush.
But I’m not.
I only drink when the occasion calls for it. It’s just that it had been calling for it a lot lately.
Hank sat on the hood with me, lying on his side, dozing. Big dog snores coming out of his mouth.
It was cold, but the afternoon sun was out. A bright, clean sky glowed overhead.
The snow had all just about melted, and the dead leaves of the cottonwoods along the river were dancing in the fresh wind coming down the canyon. It was all so pretty that it almost made me feel better.
Almost.
I took another swig of whiskey from the flask.
“Things just don’t come easy, do they Hank? It’s always so hard.”
Hank wasn’t listening, but it didn’t matter. I was listening enough for the both of us.
I didn’t know what I was going to do. I had lost not only my job, but I’d lost The Stupid Cupid Saloon too.
The place wasn’t going to last three more months the way it was going: whether or not Dale and Courtney decided to go with the sports bar idea and replace me with flat screen TVs. And somehow, the idea that The Cupid was in its death throes hurt even more than losing my monthly pay check.
I knew that it was dumb to be so invested in a little old bar in the middle of nowhere. It was stupid to turn a place like that into your reason for staying in a small town.
I sighed, thought again about that night, standing out on the
He rubbed his eyes.
“We’re turning it into a sports bar. No live music. Just games on the TV.”
My mouth fell open a little.
“A sports bar?” I said. “A sports bar?!”
Like saying it twice would convince him what a terrible idea it was.
You didn’t take a place as good as The Cupid and turn into a sports bar.
“It’s a better business model,” he said. “No bands to pay. And that’s what we need right now. A plan of action.”
A better business model would have been him not gambling away all the saloon’s money.
“I’ve been coming to The Cupid before you or Courtney ever moved to Broken Hearts, Dale,” I said.
I wasn’t sure why I needed to say that, but I did.
“And I hope that you do keep coming back,” he said. “But it’ll have to be as a customer.”
That was the last straw.
I thought about throwing something. About picking up that stupid green lamp from his desk and chucking it against the wall.
But I restrained myself.
Breaking glass wasn’t going to do me anyone any good now. Nothing would.
I started heading for the door, walking fast and mean.
“Wait, Bitters,” he said, standing up. “Look, you don’t have to leave now. You can work here a couple days more if you want. Until you find something. But no more than that.”
What on earth was I going to find in a couple days? What good would it do? I wasn’t going to take his pity.
I turned around to look at him.
“Go to hell, Dale.”
I walked out of his office and to the back. I grabbed my coat, and rushed quickly through the saloon, not even so much as looking in Courtney’s direction.
“It’s been nice knowing you, Dry Hack,” I said, patting him on the shoulder. “I’ll miss hearing you recount all them battles.”
Dry Hack’s big bushy black eyebrows drew together in confusion.
“C’mon, Hank,” I said, clicking my tongue against the roof of my mouth to grab his attention.
The dog stood up and followed me.
I tried slamming the door on my way out, but in the same way that it hadn’t slammed for Raymond the night before, it didn’t slam for me.
It just closed feebly.
I couldn’t even take that satisfaction with me.
Chapter 16
I sat on the hood of my car, bundled up in my sheep’s fleece jacket, listening to the sound of Dwight’s BuenasNoches from a Lonely Room coming from the car speakers, mixing in with the sound of the river running past.
I was holding a flask in my hand.
You’ve probably got a bad impression of me by now, thinking I’m some sort of lush.
But I’m not.
I only drink when the occasion calls for it. It’s just that it had been calling for it a lot lately.
Hank sat on the hood with me, lying on his side, dozing. Big dog snores coming out of his mouth.
It was cold, but the afternoon sun was out. A bright, clean sky glowed overhead.
The snow had all just about melted, and the dead leaves of the cottonwoods along the river were dancing in the fresh wind coming down the canyon. It was all so pretty that it almost made me feel better.
Almost.
I took another swig of whiskey from the flask.
“Things just don’t come easy, do they Hank? It’s always so hard.”
Hank wasn’t listening, but it didn’t matter. I was listening enough for the both of us.
I didn’t know what I was going to do. I had lost not only my job, but I’d lost The Stupid Cupid Saloon too.
The place wasn’t going to last three more months the way it was going: whether or not Dale and Courtney decided to go with the sports bar idea and replace me with flat screen TVs. And somehow, the idea that The Cupid was in its death throes hurt even more than losing my monthly pay check.
I knew that it was dumb to be so invested in a little old bar in the middle of nowhere. It was stupid to turn a place like that into your reason for staying in a small town.
I sighed, thought again about that night, standing out on the
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